THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 N>\ 
 
Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books 
 are reasons for disciplinary action and may 
 result in dismissal from the University. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
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 O-1096 
 
uMVttsr 
 
■ 
 
 m 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 PA<3B 
 
 Introductory, , 1 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 St. Ambrose's College, 8 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 A Bow on the River, 15 
 
 CHAPTER HE. 
 A Breakfast at Drysdale's, 81 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The St. Ambrose Boat-Club : its Ministry and their Budget, 49 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Hardy the Servitor, 61 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 How Drysdale and Blake went Fishing, 75 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 An Explosion, 97 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 Hardy's History '. 107 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Brown Bait, 128 
 
 1 l<3 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Summer Term, 13tf 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Muscular Christianity, 161 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 The Captain's Notions, .185 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 The first Bump, 206 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 A Change in the Crew, and what came of it, 224 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 A Storm brews and breaks, 211 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Storm Rages, 257 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 New Ground, 271 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 Englebourn Village, 285 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A Promise of Fairer Weather, 807 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 The Reconciliation,. 824 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Captain Hardy entertained by St. Ambrose, 330 
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 Departures expected and unexpected, 843 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 * The Englebourn Constable, 861 
 
TO 
 
 JAMES fiUSSELL LOWELL, 
 
 OP 
 
 HARVARD COLLEGE, MASSACHUSETTS, 
 
 THE AMERICAN EDITION OF THIS BOOK 
 
 IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 AS A SMALL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE DELIGHT AND BENEFIT 
 WHICH THE AUTHOR HAS DERIVED FROM HIS WORKS. 
 
 Lincoln's Inn, June 15, 1861. 
 My Dear Lowell, — You will see by the foregoing 
 that I have dedicated this book, at least the American 
 edition of it, to you, at which I hope you will neither be 
 surprised nor offended. It is one of the highest rewards 
 an English author can hope for, to be read on your side 
 of the Atlantic, and I have had so many proofs of hearty 
 and kindly sympathy from over the water since I have 
 taken to publishing, that I feel as though I had old friends 
 scattered all about your States, and think of New England 
 pretty much as I do of Yorkshire. To you, as the fore- 
 most of such friends, — though unhappily only known to 
 me as yet on paper and by photograph, — I turn when I 
 
 iii 
 
IV DEDICATION. 
 
 hear that the last sheets of proof are being made up for 
 Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, and cannot resist the tempta- 
 tion of thus associating your name with a book of mine, 
 as I have already over here had the honor of associating 
 my name with a book of yours. 
 
 The book itself needs no comment. Superficially our 
 youngsters no doubt differ from yours, and the lesson of 
 life has to be learnt under very different surroundings 
 at Harvard and Oxford, in 'New York or Boston an.d 
 London. But at bottom it is the same battle, and the 
 Devil, I doubt not, has just such subtle ways, with you as 
 with us, of keeping them back from steady growth in pu- 
 rity, and manliness, and truthfulness. But, however un- 
 like one another the young men of New England and Old 
 England may be, they are a thousand times more like one 
 another than they are like any other human creature the 
 sun shines on. So if the book is, as I hope, one which 
 will do some good to Oxford and Cambridge men if they 
 will try to find out what it means to say, however feebly 
 the meaning may be brought out, I have no fear but that 
 it will do as much for your pupils at Harvard. 
 
 But enough about the book. It seems like fiddling 
 while Rome is burning to be talking of such matters now 
 to any American. My dejar friend, you cannot know how 
 deeply all that is soundest and noblest in England is sym- 
 pathizing with you in your great struggle. You must not 
 judge by newspapers or magazines, though so far as I see 
 the best of them are speaking decidedly on the right side. 
 Not so warmly or decidedly as I could wish ; for this our 
 free-trade notions and some hasty and inconsiderate speak- 
 ing and writing on your side will account. But be sure 
 that the issues are appreciated here, and while we see the 
 awfulness of the task you have in hand, we have faith in 
 
DEDICATION. V 
 
 you, we believe that if it .can be done you will do it, and 
 we wish you, from the bottom of our hearts, God speed! 
 
 The great tasks of the world are only laid on the strong- 
 est shoulders. We, who have India to guide and train, 
 who have for our task the educating of her wretched peo- 
 ples into free men, who feel that the work cannot be shifted 
 from ourselves and must be done as God would have 
 it done, at the peril of England's own life, can and do feel 
 for you. But as we hope to get through with our own 
 work, as we would ask no meaner work for ourselves, so 
 we rejoice that you, our brethren, have shaken yourselves 
 up to your work, and have put your hands to it in such 
 grim earnest as assures us that the old blood is still the 
 same despite all difference of latitude or longitude. 
 
 And so, with firm faith that your country will quit her- 
 self as England's sister should in this fiery trial time, and 
 with all good wishes to you and yours, believe me ever 
 gratefully and most truly yours, 
 
 THOS. HUGHES. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 ST. Ambrose's college. 
 
 St. Ambrose's College was a moderate sized one. 
 There might have been some seventy or eighty under- 
 graduates in residence, when our hero appeared there as 
 a freshman. Of these, unfortunately for the college, there 
 were a very large proportion of gentlemen-commoners ; 
 enough, in fact, with the other men whom they drew 
 round them, and who lived pretty much as they did, to 
 form the largest and leading set in the college. So the 
 college was decidedly fast ; in fact, it was the fast college 
 of the day. 
 
 The chief characteristic of this set was the most reckless 
 extravagance of every kind. London wine merchants 
 furnished them with liqueurs at a guinea a bottle, and 
 wine at five guineas a dozen ; Oxford and London tailors 
 vied with one another in providing them with unheard 
 of quantities of the most gorgeous clothing. They drove 
 tandems in all directions, scattering their ample allow- 
 ances, which they treated as pocket money, about road- 
 side inns and Oxford taverns with open hand, and going 
 tick for every thing which could by possibility be booked. 
 Their cigars cost two guineas a pound ; their furniture 
 was the best that could be bought; pineapples, forced 
 fruit, and the most rare preserves figured at their wine 
 parties ; they hunted, rode steeple chases by day, played 
 billiards until the gates closed, and then were ready for 
 vingt-et-une, unlimited loo, and hot drink in their own 
 rooms, as long as any one could be got to sit up and play. 
 
4 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "The fast set then swamped, and gave the tone to the 
 college ; at which fact no persons were more astonished 
 and horrified than the authorities of St. Ambrose. 
 
 That they of all bodies in the world should be fairly 
 run away with by a set of reckless, loose young spend- 
 thrifts, was indeed a melancholy and unprecedented fact; 
 for the body of fellows of St. Ambrose was as distinguished 
 for learning, morality, and respectability, as any in the 
 university. The foundation was not indeed actually an 
 qpenjone^ Oriel at that time alone enjoyed this distinc- 
 tion ; but there were a large number of open fellowships, 
 and the income of the college was large, and the livings 
 belonging to it numerous : so that the best men from other 
 colleges were constantly coming in. Some of these of a 
 former generation had been eminently successful in their 
 management f the college. The St. Ambrose under- 
 graduates at one time had carried off almost all the uni- 
 versity prizes, and filled the class lists, while maintaining 
 at the same time the highest character for manliness and 
 gentlemanly conduct. This had lasted long enough to 
 establish the fame of the college, and great lords and 
 statesmen had sent their sons there ; head-masters had 
 struggled to get the names of their best pupils on the 
 books j in short, every one who had a son, ward, or pupil, 
 whom he wanted to push forward in the world — who was 
 meant to cut a figure, and take the lead among men — 
 left no stone unturned to get him into St. Ambrose's ; and 
 thought the first and a very long step gained when he had 
 succeeded. 
 
 But the governing bodies of colleges are always on tho 
 change, and in the course of things men of other ideas 
 came to rale at St. Ambrose, — shrewd men of the world ; 
 men of business, some of them, with good ideas of making 
 the most of their advantages; who said, "Go to: why 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Bhould we not make -the public pay for the great benefits 
 ' we confer on them ? Have we not the very best article in 
 the educational market to supply — almost a monopoly of 
 it — and shall we not get the highest price for it?" So 
 by degrees they altered many things in the college. In 
 the first place, under their auspices, gentlemen-commoners 
 increased and multiplied ; in fact, the eldest sons of 
 baronets, even of squires, were scarcely admitted on any 
 other footing. As these young gentlemen paid double fees 
 to the college, and had great expectations of all sorts, it 
 could not be expected that they should be subject to quite 
 the same discipline as the common run of men, who would 
 have to make their own way in the world. So the rules 
 as to attendance at chapel and lectures were relaxed in 
 their favor ; and, that they might find all things suitable 
 to persons in then position, the kitchen and buttery were 
 worked up to a high state of perfection, and St. Ambrose, 
 from having been one of the most reasonable, had come to be 
 about the most expensive college in the university. These 
 changes worked as their promoters probably desired that 
 they should work, and the college was full of rich men, 
 and commanded in the university the sort of respect which 
 riches bring with them ; but the old reputation, though 
 still strong out of doors, was beginning sadly to wane 
 within the university precincts. Fewer and fewer of the 
 St. Ambrose men appeared in the class lists, or amongst 
 the prize-men. They no longer led the debates at the 
 Union ; the boat lost place after place on the river ; the 
 eleven got beaten in all their matches. The inaugurators 
 of these changes had passed away in their turn, and at last 
 a reaction had commenced. The fellows recently elected, 
 and who were in residence at the time we write of, were 
 for the most part men of great attainments, all of them 
 men wha had taken very high honors. The elector, 
 1* 
 
6 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 naturally enough had chosen them • as the most likely 
 persons to* restore, as tutors, the golden days of the college ; 
 and they had been careful in the selection to confine them- 
 selves to very quiet and studious men, such as were likely 
 to remain up at Oxford, passing over men of more popular 
 manners and active spirits, who would be sure to flit soon 
 into the world, and be of little more service to St. Am- 
 brose. 
 
 But these were not the men to get any hold on the fast 
 set who were now in the ascendant. It was not in the 
 nature of things that they should understand each other ; 
 in fact, they were hopelessly at war, and the college was 
 getting more and more out of gear in consequence. 
 
 "What they could do, however, they were doing ; and 
 under their fostering care were growing up a small set, 
 including most of the scholars, who were likely, so far as 
 they were concerned, to retrieve the college character in 
 the schools ; but they were too much like their tutors, men 
 who did little else but read. They neither wished nor 
 were likely to gain the slightest influence on the fast set. 
 The best men amongst them, too, were diligent readers 
 of the Tracts for the Times, and followers of the able 
 leaders of the high-church party, which was then a grow- 
 ing one ; and this led them also to form such friendships 
 as they made amongst out-college men of their own way 
 of thinking — with high churchmen, rather than St. Am- 
 brose men. So they lived very much to themselves, and 
 scarcely interfered with the dominant party. 
 
 Lastly, there was the boating set, which was beginning 
 to revive in the college, partly from the natural disgust 
 of any body of young Englishmen, at finding themselves 
 distanced in an exercise requiring strength and pluck, and 
 partly from the fact that the captain for the time being 
 was one of the best oars in the university boat, and also a 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 7 
 
 deservedly popular character. He was now in his third 
 year of residence, had won the pair-oar race, and had 
 pulled seven in the great yearly match with Cambridge, 
 and by constant hard work had managed to carry the St. 
 Ambrose boat up to the fifth place on the river. He will 
 be introduced to you, gentle readers, when the proper time 
 comes; at present, we are only concerned with a bird's- 
 eye view of the college, that you may feel more or less at 
 home in it. The boating set was not so separate or 
 marked as the reading set, melting on one side into, and 
 keeping up more or less connection with, the fast set, and 
 also commanding a sort of half allegiance from most 
 of the men who belonged to neither of the other sets. 
 The minor divisions, of which of course there were many, 
 need not be particularized, as the above general classifica- 
 tion will be enough for the purposes of this history. 
 
 Our hero, on leaviug school, had bound himself solemnly 
 to write all his doings and thoughts to the friend whom he 
 had left behind him : distance and separation were to make 
 no difference whatever in their friendship. This compact 
 had been made on one of their last evenings at Rugby. 
 They were sitting together in the sixth-form room, Tom 
 splicing the handle of a favorite cricket bat, and Arthur 
 reading a volume of Raleigh's works. The doctor had 
 lately been alluding to the " History of the World," and 
 had excited the curiosity of the active-minded amongst his 
 pupils about the great navigator, statesman, soldier, author, 
 and fine gentleman. So Raleigh's works were seized on 
 by various voracious young readers, and carried out of the 
 school library ; and Arthur was now deep in a volume of 
 the "Miscellanies," curled up on a corner of the sofa. 
 Presently, Tom heard something between a groan and a 
 protest, and, looking up, demanded explanations ; in answer 
 to which, Arthur, in a voice half furious and half fearful, 
 read out : — 
 
8 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 u And be sure of this, thou shalt never find a friend in 
 thy young years whose conditions and qualities will please 
 thee after thou comest to more discretion and judgment ; 
 and then all thou givest is lost, and all wherein thou shalt 
 trust such a one will be discovered." 
 4i You don't mean that's Raleigh's ? " 
 " Yes — here it is, in his first letter to his son." 
 " What a cold-blooded old Philistine," said Tom. 
 " But it can't be true, do you think ? " said Arthur. 
 And, in short, after some personal reflections on Sir 
 Walter, they then and there resolved that, so far as they 
 were concerned, it was not, could not, and should not be 
 true ; that they would remain faithful, the same to each 
 other, and the greatest friends in the world, through I 
 know not what separations, trials, and catastrophes. And 
 for the better insuring this result, a correspondence, reg- 
 ular as the recurring months, was to be maintained* It 
 had already lasted through the long vacation and up to 
 Christmas without sensibly dragging, though Tom's letters 
 had been something of the shortest in November, when he 
 had had lots of shooting, and two days a week with the 
 hounds. Now, however, having fairly got to Oxford, he 
 determined to make up for all short-comings. His first 
 letter from college, taken in connection with the previous 
 sketch of the place, will probably accomplish the work of 
 introduction better than any detailed account by a third 
 party ; and it is therefore given here verbatim : — 
 
 " St. Ambrose, Oxford, February, 184-v 
 " My Dear Geordie, — 
 
 " According to promise, I write to tell you how I get on 
 up here, and what sort of a place Oxford is. Of course, 
 I don't know much about it yet, having been only up some 
 two weeks; but you shall have my first impressions. 
 
TOM BKOWN AT OXFORD. 9 
 
 " "Well, first and foremost, it's an awfully idle place ; at 
 any rate, for us freshmen. Fancy now. I am in twelve 
 lectures a week of an hour each — Greek Testament, 
 first book of Herodotus, second JEneid, and first book of 
 Euclid ! There's a treat ! Two hours a day ; all over 
 by twelve, or one at latest ; and no extra work at all, in 
 the shape of copies of verses, themes, or other exercises. 
 
 " I think sometimes I'm back in the lower fifth ; for we 
 don't get through more than we used to do there ; and if 
 you were to hear the men construe, it would make your 
 hair stand on end. Where on earth can they have come 
 from ? unless they blunder on purpose, as I often think. 
 Of course, I never look at a lecture before I go in ; I know 
 it all nearly by heart ; so it would be sheer waste of time. 
 I hope I shall take to reading something or other by 
 myself; but you know I never was much of a hand at 
 sapping, and, for the present, the light work suits me well 
 enough, for there's lots to see and learn about in this 
 pfajce. 
 
 "We keep very gentlemanly hours. Chapel every 
 morning at eight, and evening at seven. You must attend 
 once a day, and twice on Sundays — at least, that's the 
 rule of our college — and be in gates by twelve o'clock at 
 night. Besides which, if you're a decently steady fellow, 
 you ought to dine in hall perhaps four days a week. 
 Hall is at five o'clock. And now you have the sum total. 
 All the rest of your time you may just do what you like 
 with. 
 
 " So much for our work and hours. Now for the place. 
 Well, it's a grand old place, certainly ; and I dare say if 
 a fellow goes straight in it, and gets creditably through 
 his three years, he may end by loving it as much as we 
 do the old schoolhouse and quadrangle at Eugby. Our 
 college is a fair specimen : a venerable old front of 
 
10 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 crumbling stone, fronting the street, into which two or 
 three other colleges look also. Over the gateway is a 
 large room, where the college examinations go on, when 
 there are any ; and, as you enter, you pass the porter's 
 lodge, where resides our janitor, a bustling little man, with 
 a potbelly, whose business it is to put down the time at 
 which the men come in at night, and to keep all discom- 
 monsed tradesmen, stray dogs, and bad characters gener- 
 ally, out of the college. 
 
 "The large quadrangle into which you come first, is 
 bigger than ours at Rugby, and a much more solemn and 
 sleepy sort of a place, with its little gables and old mul- 
 lioned windows. One side is occupied by the hall and 
 chapel ; the principal's house takes up half another side ; 
 and the rest is divided into staircases, on each of which 
 are six or eight sets of rooms, inhabited by us undergrad- 
 uates, with here and there a tutor or fellow dropped down 
 amongst us (in the first-floor rooms, of course), not exactly 
 to keep order, but to act as a sort of ballast. This quad- 
 rangle is the show part of the college, and is generally 
 respectable and quiet, which is a good deal more than can 
 be said for the inner quadrangle, which you get at through 
 a passage leading out of the other. The rooms aint half 
 so large or good in the inner quad ; and here's where all 
 we freshmen live, besides a lot of the older undergraduates 
 who don't care to change their rooms. Only one tutor has 
 rooms here; and I should think, if he's a reading man, it 
 wont be long before he clears out ; for all sorts of high 
 jinks go on on the grass-plot, and the row on the stair- 
 cases is often as bad, and not half so respectable, as it 
 used to be in the middle passage in the last week of the 
 half year. 
 
 " My rooms are what they call garrets, right up in the 
 roof, with a commanding view of college tiles and chim- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 11 
 
 ney pots, and of houses at the back. No end of cats ; both 
 college Toms and strangers haunt the neighborhood, and I 
 am rapidly learning cat-talk from them; but I'm not going 
 to stand it, — I don't want to know cat-talk. The college 
 Toms are protected by the statutes, I believe ; but I'm 
 going *to buy an air-gun for the benefit of the strangers. 
 My rooms are pleasant enough, at the top of the kitchen 
 staircase, and separated from all mankind by a great, iron- 
 clamped, outer door, my oak, which I sport when I go out, 
 or want to be quiet ; sitting-room eighteen by twelve, bed- 
 room twelve by eight, and a little cupboard for the scout. 
 " Ah, Geordie, the scout is an institution ! Fancy me 
 waited upon and valeted by a stout party in black, of 
 quiet, gentlemanly manners, like 'the benevolent father in 
 a comedy. He takes the deepest interest in all my pos- 
 sessions and proceedings, and is evidently used to good so- 
 ciety, to judge by the amount of crockery and glass, wines, 
 liquors, and grocery, which he thinks indispensable for my 
 due establishment. He has also been good enough to rec- 
 ommend me to many tradesmen who are ready to supply 
 these articles in any quantities ; each of whom has been 
 here already a dozen times, cap in hand, and vowing that 
 it is quite immaterial when I pay, — which is very kind 
 of them ; but, with the highest respect for Friend Perkins 
 (my scout) and his obliging friends, I shall make some 
 inquiries before ' letting in ' with any of them. He waits 
 on me in hall, where we go in full fig of cap and gown at 
 five, and get very good dinners, and cheap enough. It is 
 rather a fine old room, with a good, arched, black oak ceil- 
 ing and high panelling, hung round with pictures of old 
 swells, bishops and lords chiefly, who have endowed the 
 college in some way, or at least have fed here in times 
 gone by, and for whom, ' cseterisque benefactoribus nos- 
 tris,' we daily give thanks in a long Latin grace, which one 
 
12 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 of the undergraduates (I think it must be) goes and rattlea 
 out at the end of the high table, and then comes down 
 again from the dais to his own place. No one feeds at 
 the high table except the dons and the gentlemen-com- 
 moners, who are undergraduates in velvet caps and silk 
 gowns : why they wear these instead -of cloth and -serge, 
 I haven't yet made out, — I believe it is because they pay 
 double fees ; but they seem uncommonly wretched up at 
 the high table, and I should think would sooner pay double 
 to come to the other end of the hall. 
 
 " The chapel is a quaint little place, about the size of 
 the chancel of Lutterworth Church. It just holds us all 
 comfortably. The attendance is regular enough, but I 
 don't think the men care about it a bit in general. Sev- 
 eral I can see bring in Euclids, and other lecture books, 
 and the service is gone through at a great pace. I couldn't 
 think at first why some of the men seemed so uncomfort- 
 able and stiff about the legs at the morning service, but I 
 find that they are the hunting set, and come in with pea- 
 coats over their pinks, and trousers over their leather 
 breeches and top-boots ; which accounts for it. There 
 are a few others who seem very devout, and bow a good 
 deal, and turn towards the altar at different parts of the 
 service. These are of the Oxford high-church school, I be- 
 llere ; but I shall soon find out more about them. On the 
 whole, I feel less at home, I am sorry to say, at present 
 in the chapel than anywhere else. 
 
 " I was very nearly forgetting a great institution of the 
 college, which is. the buttery-hatch, just opposite the hall- 
 door. Here abides the fat old butler (all the servants at 
 St. Ambrose's are portly), and serves out limited bread, 
 butter, and cheese, and unlimited beer, brewed by himself, 
 for an hour in the morning, at noon, and again at supper- 
 time. Your scout always fetches you a pint or so on each 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 13 
 
 occasion, in case you should want it, and if you dea't, it 
 falls to him ; but I can't say that my fellow gets much, for 
 I am naturally a thirsty soul, and cannot often resist the 
 malt myself, coming up, as it does, fresh and cool, in one. 
 of the silver tankards, of which we seem td have an end- 
 less suppl} r . 
 
 " I spent a day or two in the first week, before I got 
 shaken down into my place here, in going round and see- 
 ing the other colleges, and finding out what great men had 
 been at each (one got a taste for that sort of work from 
 the doctor, and I'd nothing else to do). Well, I never 
 was more interested: fancy ferreting out Wycliffe, the 
 Black Prince, Sir Walter Raleigh, Pym, Hampden, Laud, 
 Ireton, Butler, and Addison, in one afternoon. f walked 
 about two inches taller in my trencher cap after it. Per- 
 haps I may be going to make dear friends with some fellow 
 who will change the history of England. Why should- 
 n't I ? There must have been freshmen once who were 
 chums of Wycliffe of Queen's, or Raleigh of Oriel. I 
 mooned up and down the High Street, staring at all the 
 young faces in caps, and wondering which of them would 
 turn out great generals or statesmen or poets. Some of 
 them will, of course, for there must be a dozen at least, I 
 should think, in every generation of undergraduates, who 
 will have a good deal to say to the ruling and guiding of 
 the British nation before they die. 
 
 " But, after all, the river is the feature of Oxford, to my 
 mind ; a glorious stream, not five minutes' walk from the 
 colleges, broad enough in most places for three boats to 
 row abreast. I expect I shall take to boating furiously ; 
 I have been down the river three or four times already 
 with some other freshmen, and it is glorious exercise ; that 
 I can see, though we bungle and cut crabs desperately at 
 present. 
 
14 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Here's a long yarn I'm spinning for you ; and I dare 
 say after all you'll say it tells you nothing, and you'd rather 
 have twenty lines about the men, and what they're think- 
 ing about, and the meaning and inner life of the place, 
 and all that. Patience, patience ! I don't know any thing 
 about it myself yet, and have only had time to look at the 
 shell, which is a very handsome and stately affair ; you 
 ehall have the kernel, if ever I get at it, in due time. 
 
 " And now write me a long letter directly, and tell me 
 about the doctor, and who are in the sixth, and how the 
 house goes on, and what sort of an eleven there'll be, and 
 what you are all doing and thinking about. Come up here 
 and try for a scholarship ; I'll take you in and show you 
 the lions. Remember me to all old friends. Ever yours, 
 affectionately, T. B. w 
 
r 4LIN0^ 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 A ROW ON THE RIVER. 
 
 WiTniN a day or two of the penning of this celebrated 
 epistle, which created quite a sensation in the sixth-form 
 room as it went the round after tea, Tom realized one of 
 the objects of his young Oxford ambition, and succeeded 
 in embarking on the river in a skiff by himself, with such 
 results as are now to be described. He had already been 
 down several times in pair-oar and four-oar boats, with an 
 old oar to pull stroke and another to steer and coach the 
 young idea, but he was not satisfied with these essays. 
 He could not believe that he was such a bad oar as the 
 old hands made hirnOut to be, and thought that it must be 
 the fault of the other freshmen who were learning with 
 him that the boat made so little way and rolled so much. 
 He had been such a proficient in all the Rugby games, 
 that he couldn't realize the fact of his unreadiness in a 
 boat. Pulling looked a simple thing enough — much 
 easier than tennis ; and he had made a capital start at the 
 latter game, and been highly complimented by the marker 
 after his first hour in the little court. He forgot that 
 cricket and fives are capital training for tennis, but that 
 rowing is a speciality, of the rudiments of which he was 
 wholly ignorant. And so, in full confidence that, if he 
 could only have a turn or two alone, he should not only 
 satisfy himself, but everybody else, that he was a heaven- 
 born oar, he refused all offers of companionship, and 
 6tarted on the afternoon of a fine February day down to 
 
16 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 the boats for his trial trip. He had watched his regular 
 companions well out of college, and gave them enough 
 start to make sure that they would be off before he him- 
 self could arrive at the St. Ambrose's dressing-room at 
 Hall's, and chuckled, as he came within sight of the river, 
 to see the freshmen's boat in which he generally per- 
 formed go plunging away past the university barge, keep- 
 ing three different times with four oars, and otherwise 
 demeaning itself so as to become an object of mirthful 
 admiration to all beholders. 
 
 Tom was punted across to Hall's in a state of great 
 content, which increased when in answer to his casual in- 
 quiry, the managing man informed him that not a man of 
 his college was about the place. So he ordered a skiff 
 with as much dignity and coolness as he could command, 
 and hastened up-stairs to dress. He appeared again, car- 
 rying his boating coat and cap. They were quite new, so 
 he would not wear them ; nothing about him should be- 
 tray the freshman on this day if he could help it. 
 
 " Is my skiff ready ? " 
 
 " All right, sir ; this way, sir," said the manager, con- 
 ducting him to a good, safe-looking craft. "Any gentleman 
 going to steer, sir ? " 
 
 " No," said Tom, superciliously ; " you may take out 
 the rudder." 
 
 " Going quite alone, sir ? Better take one of our boys 
 — find you a very light one. Here, Bill ! " — and he 
 turned to summon a juvenile waterman to take charge 
 )f our hero. 
 
 " Take out the rudder ; do you hear ? " interrupted 
 Tom. " I wont have a steerer." ■ 
 
 " Well, sir, as you please," said the manager, proceed- 
 ing to remove the degrading appendage. " The river'? 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 1? 
 
 ratner high, please to remember, sir. You must mind 
 the mill-stream at Iffley Lock. I suppose you can swim ?" 
 
 M Yes, of course," said Tom, settling himself on his 
 cushion. " Now, shove her off." 
 
 The next moment he was well out in the stream, and 
 left to his own resources. He got his sculls out success- 
 fully enough, and, though feeling by no means easy on 
 his seat, proceeded to pull very deliberately past the 
 barges, stopping his sculls in the air to feather accurately, 
 in the hopes of deceiving spectators into the belief that 
 he (was an old hand just going out for a gentle paddle. 
 The manager w r atched him for a minute, and turned to 
 his work with an aspiration that he might not come to 
 grief. 
 
 But no thought of grief was on Tom's mind as he 
 dropped gently down, impatient for the time when he 
 should pass the mouth of the Cherwell, and so, having no 
 longer critical eyes to fear, might put out his whole strength, 
 and give himself at least, if not the world, assurance of a 
 waterman. 
 
 The day was a very fine one, a bright sun shining, 
 and a nice fresh breeze blowing across the stream, but 
 not enough to ruffle the water seriously. Some heavy 
 storms up Gloucestershire way had cleared the air, and 
 swollen the stream at the same time ; in fact, the river 
 was as full as it could be without overflowing its banks — 
 a state in which, of all others, it is the least safe for boat- 
 ing experiments. Fortunately, in those days there were 
 no outriggers. Even the racing skiffs were comparatively 
 safe craft, and would be now characterized as tabs ; while 
 the real tubs (in one of the safest of which the prudent 
 manager had embarked our hero) were of such build that 
 it required considerable ingenuity actually to upset them. 
 
 If any ordinary amount of bungling could have done 
 2* 
 
18 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 it, Tom's voyage would have terminated within a hundred 
 yards of the Cherwell. While he had been sitting quiet 
 and merely paddling, and almost letting the stream carry 
 him down, the boat had trimmed well enough ; but now, 
 taking a long breath, he leaned forward, and dug his 
 sculls into the water, pulling them through with all his 
 strength. The consequence of this feat Avas that the 
 handles of the sculls came into violent collision in the 
 middle of the boat, the knuckles of his right hand were 
 barked, his left scull unshipped, and the head of his skiff 
 almost blown round by the wind before he could restore 
 order on board. 
 
 " Never mind ; try again," thought he, after the sensa- 
 tion of disgust had passed off, and a glance at the shore 
 showed him that there were no witnesses. " Of course, I 
 forgot, one hand must go over the other. It might have 
 happened to any one. Let me see. "Which hand shall I 
 keep uppermost? The left ; that's the weakest." And away 
 he went again, keeping his newly acquired fact painfully 
 in mind, and so avoiding further collision amidships for 
 four or five strokes. But, as, in other- sciences, the giving 
 of undue prominence to one fact brings others inexorably 
 on the head of the student to avenge his neglect of them, 
 so it happened with Tom in his practical study of the 
 science of rowing, that by thinking of the hands he forgot 
 his seat, and the necessity of trimming properly. Where- 
 upon the old tub began to rock fearfully, and the next 
 moment he missed the water altogether with his right 
 scull, and subsided backwards, not without struggles, into 
 the bottom of the boat ; while the half-stroke which he had 
 pulled with his left hand sent her head well into the bank. 
 
 Tom picked himself up, and settled himself on his 
 bench again, a sadder and a wiser man ; as the truth 
 began to dawn upon him that pulling, especially sculling, 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 19 
 
 does not, like reading and writing, come by nature. 
 However, he addressed himself manfully to his task ; 
 savage indeed, and longing to drive a hole in the bottom 
 of the old tub, but as resolved as ever to get to Sandford 
 and back before hall time, or perish in the attempt. . 
 
 He shoved himself off the bank, and, warned by hi3 
 last mishap, got out into mid stream, and there, moderating 
 his ardor, and contenting himself with a slow and steady 
 stroke, was progressing satisfactorily, and beginning to 
 recover his temper, when a loud shout startled him ; and, 
 looking over his shoulder at the imminent risk of an upset, 
 he beheld the fast sailer the Dart, close hauled on a 
 wind, and almost aboard of him. Utterly ignorant of 
 what was the right thing to do, he held on his course, and 
 passed close under the bows of the miniature cutter, the 
 steersman having jammed his helm hard down, shaking 
 her in the wind, to prevent running over the skiff, and 
 solacing himself with pouring maledictions on Tom and 
 his craft, in which the man who had hoid of the sheets 
 and the third, who was lounging in the bows, heartily 
 joined. Tom was out of ear-shot before he had collected 
 vituperation enough to hurl back at them, and was, more- 
 over, already in the difficult navigation of the Gut, where, 
 notwithstanding all his efforts, he again ran aground ; but 
 with this exception he arrived without other mishap at 
 Iffley, where he lay on his sculls with much satisfaction, 
 and shouted, " Lock — lock ! " 
 
 The lock-keeper appeared to the summons, but instead 
 of opening the gates seized a long boat-hook and rushed 
 towards our hero, calling on him to mind the mill-stream, 
 and pull his right-hand scull ; notwithstanding which 
 warning, Tom was within an ace of drifting past the 
 entrance to the lock, in which case assuredly his boat, if 
 Dot he, had never returned whole. However, the lock- 
 
20' TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 keeper managed to catch the stern of his skiff with the 
 boat-hook, and drag him back into the proper channel, and 
 then opened the lock-gates for him. Tom congratulated 
 himself as he entered the lock that there were no other 
 boats going through with him ; but his evil star was in 
 the ascendant, and all things, animate and inanimate, 
 seemed to be leagued together to 'humiliate him. As the 
 water began to fall rapidly, he lost his hold of the chain, 
 and the tub instantly drifted across the lock, and was in 
 imminent danger of sticking and breaking her back, when 
 the lock-keeper again came to the rescue with his boat- 
 hook ; and, guessing the state of the case, did not quit 
 him until he had safely shoved him and his boat well out 
 into the pool below, with an exhortation to mind and go 
 outside of the barge which was coming up. 
 
 Tom started on the latter half of his outward voyage 
 with the sort of look which Cato must have worn when he 
 elected the losing side, and all the gods went over to the 
 winning one. But his previous struggles had not been 
 thrown away, and he managed to keep the right side of 
 the barge, turn the corner without going aground, and zig- 
 zag down Kennington reach, slowly indeed, and with much 
 labor, but at any rate safely. Rejoicing in this feat, he 
 stopped at the island, and recreated himself with a glass 
 of beer, looking now hopefully towards Sandford, which 
 lay within 'easy distance, now upwards again along the 
 reach which he had just overcome, and solacing himself 
 with the remembrance of a dictum, which he had heard 
 from a great authority, that it was always easier to steer 
 up stream than down, from which he argued that the 
 worst part of his trial trip was now over. 
 
 Presently he saw a skiff turn the corner at the top of 
 Kennington reach, and, resolving in his mind to get to 
 Sandford before the new-comer, paid for his beer, and be* 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 21 
 
 took himself again to his tub. He got pretty well tff, and, 
 the island shutting out his unconscious rival from his view, 
 worked away at first under the pleasing delusion that he 
 was holding his own. But he was soon undeceived, for in 
 monstrously short time the pursuing skiff showed round 
 the corner, and bore down on him. He never relaxed 
 his efforts, but could not help watching the enemy as he 
 came up~with him hand over hand, and envying the per- 
 fect ease with which he seemed. to be pulling his long, 
 steady stroke, and the precision with which he steered, 
 scarcely ever casting a look over his shoulder. He was 
 hugging the Berkshire side himself, as the other skiff 
 passed him, and thought he heard the sculler say some- 
 thing about keeping out, and minding the small lasher ; 
 but the noise of waters and his own desperate efforts pre- 
 vented his heeding, or, indeed, hearing the warning plainly. 
 In another minute, however, he heard plainly enough most 
 energetic shouts behind him ; and, turning his head over 
 his right shoulder, saw 1 the man who had just passed him 
 backing his skiff rapidly up stream towards him. The 
 next moment he felt the bows of his boat turn suddenly 
 to the left ; the old tub grounded for a moment, and then, 
 turning over on her side, shot him out on to the planking 
 of the steep descent into tfie small lasher. He grasped at 
 the boards, but they were too slippery to hold, and the 
 rush of water was too strong for him, and, rolling him 
 over and over, like a piece of drift-wood, plunged him 
 into the pond below. 
 
 After the first moment of astonishment and fright was 
 over, Tom left himself* to the stream, holding his breath 
 hard, and paddling gently With his hands, feeling sure that 
 if he could only hold on, he should come to the surface 
 sooner or later; which accordingly happened after a 
 somewhat lengthy submersion. 
 
22 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 His first impulse on rising to the surface, after catching 
 his breath, was to strike out for the shore, but, in the act 
 of doing so, he caught sight of the other skiff coming stern 
 foremost down the descent after him, and he trod the 
 water and drew in his breath to watch. Down she came, 
 as straight as an arrow, into the tumult below ; the sculler 
 sitting upright, and holding his sculls steadily in the water. 
 For a moment she seemed to be going under, but righted 
 herself, and glided swiftly into the still water ; and then 
 the sculler cast a hasty and anxious glance round, till his 
 eyes rested on our hero's half-drowned head. 
 
 " Oh, there you are ! " he said, looking much relieved ; 
 " all right, I hope. Not hurt, eh ? " 
 
 " No, thankee ; all right, I believe," answered Tom. 
 "What shall I do?" 
 
 " Swim ashore ; I'll look after your boat." So Tom 
 took the advice, swam ashore, and there stood dripping 
 and watching the other as he righted the old tub, which 
 was floating quietly bottom upwards, little the worse for 
 the mishap, and no doubt, if boats can wish, earnestly 
 desiring in her wooden mind to be allowed to go quietly 
 to pieces then and there, sooner than be rescued to bo 
 again entrusted to the guidance of freshmen. 
 
 The tub having been brought to the bank, the stranger 
 started again, and collected the sculls and bottom boards, 
 which were floating about here and there in the pool, and 
 also succeeded in making salvage of Tom's coat, the pock- 
 ets of which held his watch, purse, and cigar case. These 
 he brought to the bank, and delivering them over, inquired 
 whether there was any thing else to look after. 
 
 "Thank you, no ; nothing but my cap. Never mind it. 
 It's luck enough not to have lost the coat," said Tom, hold- 
 ing up the dripping garment to let the water run out of 
 the arms and pocket-holes, and then wringing it as well 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 23 
 
 as he could. " At any rate," thought he, " I needn't be 
 afraid of its looking too new any more." 
 
 The stranger put off again, and made one more round, 
 searching for the cap and any thing else which he might 
 have overlooked, but without success. While he was doing 
 so, Tom had time to look him well over, and see what sort 
 of man had come to his rescue. He hardly knew at the 
 time the full extent of his obligation — at least if this sort 
 of obligation is to be reckoned not so much by the service 
 actually rendered, as by the risk encountered to be able 
 to render it. There were probably not three men in the 
 university who would have dared to shoot the lasher in a 
 skiff in its then state, for it was in those times a really 
 dangerous place; and Tom himself had had an extraor- 
 dinary escape, for, as Miller, the St. Ambrose coxswain, 
 remarked on hearing the story, " No one who wasn't born 
 to be hung could have rolled down it without knocking 
 his head against something hard, and going down like lead 
 when he got to the bottom." 
 
 He was very well satisfied with his inspection. The 
 other man was evidently a year or two older than himself, 
 his figure was more set, and he had stronger whiskers than 
 are generally grown at twenty. He was somewhere about 
 five feet ten in height, very deep-chested, and with long, 
 powerful arms and hands. There was no denying, how- 
 ever, that at the first glance he was an ugly man ; he was 
 marked with small-pox, had large features, high cheek- 
 bones, deeply set eyes, and a very long chin ; and had 
 got the trick which many underhung men have of com- 
 pressing the upper lip. Nevertheless, there was that in 
 his face which hit Tom's fancy, and made him anxious to 
 know the other better. 'He' had an instinct that he should 
 get good out of him. So he was very glad when the 
 6earch was ended, and the stranger came to the bank. 
 
24 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 shipped his sculls, and jumped out with the painter of hia 
 skiff in his hand, which he proceeded to fasten to an old 
 stump, while he remarked, — 
 
 " I'm afraid the cap's lost." 
 
 " It doesn't matter the least. Thank you for coming to 
 help me ; it was very kind indeed, and more than I ex- 
 pected. Don't they say that one Oxford man will never 
 save another from drowning, unless they have been intro- 
 duced ? " 
 
 "I don't know," replied the other; "are you sure you're 
 not hurt ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite," said Tom, foiled in what he considered an 
 artful plan to get the stranger to introduce himself. 
 
 " Then we're very well out of it," said the other, look- 
 ing at the steep descent into the lasher, and the rolling, 
 tumbling rush of the water below. 
 
 " Indeed we are," said Tom ; " but how in the world 
 did you manage not to upset ? " 
 
 " I hardly know myself — I have shipped a good deal 
 of water, you see. Perhaps I ought to have jumped out 
 on the bank and come across to you, leaving my skiff in 
 the river ; for if I had upset I couldn't have helped you 
 much. However, I followed my instinct, which was to 
 come the quickest way. I thought, too, that if I could 
 manage to get down in the boat I should be of more use. 
 I'm very glad I did it," he added, after a moment's pause ; 
 " I'm really proud of having come down that place," 
 
 " So aint I," said Tom with a laugh, in which the other 
 joined. 
 
 " But now you're getting chilled," and he turned from 
 the lasher and looked at Tom's chattering jaws. 
 
 ■" Oh, it's nothing ! I'm used to being wet." 
 
 " But you may just as well be comfortable if you can. 
 Here's this rough jersey which I use instead of a coat ; pull 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 25 
 
 off that wet cotton affair and put it on, and tlien we'll get 
 to work, for we have plenty to do." 
 
 After a little persuasion Tom did as he was bid, and 
 got into the great woollen garment, which was very com- 
 forting ; and then the two set about getting their skiffs 
 back into the main stream. This was comparatively easy 
 as to the lighter skiff, which was soon baled out and hauled 
 by main force on to the bank, carried across and launched 
 again. The tub gave them much more trouble, for she 
 was quite full of water and very heavy ;• but after twenty 
 minutes or so of hard work, during which the mutual re- 
 spect of the laborers for the strength and willingness of 
 each other was much increased, she also lay in the main 
 stream, leaking considerably, but otherwise not much the 
 worse for her adventure. 
 
 " Now what do you mean to do ? " said the stranger. 
 " I don't think you can pull home in her. One doesn't 
 know how much she may be damaged. She may sink in 
 the lock, or play any prank." 
 
 "But what am I to do with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, you can leave her at Sandford and walk up, and 
 send one of Hall's boys for her, or if you like I will tow 
 her up behind my skiff." 
 
 " Wont your skiff carry two ? " 
 
 " Yes ; if you like to come I'll take you, but you must 
 sit very quiet." 
 
 " Can't we go down to Sandford first and have a glass 
 of ale ? What time is it ? — the water has stopped my 
 watch." 
 
 " A quarter past three. I have about twenty minutes 
 to spare." 
 
 " Come along, then," said Tom ; " but will you let me 
 pull your skiff down to Sandford ? I resolved to pull to 
 Sandford to-day, and don't like to give it up." 
 3 
 
26 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " By all means, if. you like," said the other rc ith a 
 smile ; " jump in, and I'll walk along the bank." 
 
 " Thank you," said Tom, hurrying into the skiff, in 
 which he completed the remaining quarter of a mile, 
 while the owner walked by the side, watching him. 
 
 They met on the bank at the little inn by Sandford 
 lock, and had a glass of ale, over which Tom confessed 
 that it was the first time he had ever navigated a skiff by 
 himself, and gave a detailed account of his adventures, to 
 the great amusement of his companion. And by the time 
 they rose to go, it was settled, at Tom's earnest request, 
 that he should pull the sound skiff up, while his companion 
 sat in the stern and coached him. The other consented 
 verj' kindly, merely stipulating that he himself should take 
 the sculls, if it should prove that Tom could not pull them 
 up in time for hall dinner. So they started, and took the 
 tub in tow when they came up to it. Tom got on fa- 
 mously under his new tutor, who taught him to get for- 
 ward, and open his knees properly, and throw his weight 
 on to the sculls at the beginning of the stroke. He man- 
 aged even to get into Iffley lock on the way up without 
 fouling the gates, and was then and there complimented 
 on his progress. Whereupon as they sat there, while the 
 loci: filled, Tom poured out his thanks to his tutor for 
 iiis instruction, which had been given so judiciously that, 
 wh.Ue he was conscious of improving at every stroke, he 
 did not feel that the other was asserting any superiority 
 over him ; and so, though he was really much more hum- 
 Lie than at the most disastrous period of his downward 
 voyage, instead of being brimful, of wrath and indigna- 
 tion, was getting into a better temper every minute. 
 
 It is a great pity that some of our instructors in more 
 important matters than sculling will not take a leaf out 
 of the same book. Of course, it is more satisfactory to 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. . 27 
 
 one's own self-love, to make every one who comes to one 
 to learn, feel that he is a fool, and we wise men : but, if 
 our object is to teach well and usefully what we know 
 ourselves, there cannot be a worse method. I suppose 
 that no man is likely to adopt it, so long as he is conscious 
 that he has any thing himself to learn from his pupils ; 
 and as soon as he has arrived at the conviction that they 
 can teach him nothing — that it is henceforth to be all 
 give and no take — the sooner he throws up his office of 
 teacher, the better it will be for himself, his pupils, and his 
 country, whose sons he is misguiding. 
 
 On their way up, so intent were they on their own 
 work, that it was not until shouts of " Halloo, Brown ! 
 how did you get there ? Why, you said you were not 
 going down to-day," greeted them just above the Gut, 
 that they were aware of the presence of the freshmen's 
 four-oar of St. Ambrose College, which had with some 
 trouble succeeded in overtaking them. 
 
 " I said I wasn't going down with you" shouted Tom. 
 grinding away harder than ever, that they might witness 
 and wonder at his prowess. 
 
 " Oh, I dare say ! Whose skiff are you towing up ? 
 I believe you've been upset." 
 
 Tom made no reply, and the four-oar floundered on 
 ahead. 
 
 "Are you at St. Ambrose's?" asked his sitter, after a 
 minute. 
 
 " Yes ; that's my treadmill, that four-oar. I've been 
 down in it almost every day since I came up, and very- 
 poor fun it is. So I thought to-day I would go on my 
 own hook, and see if I couldn't make a better hand of it. 
 And I have, too, I know, thanks to you." 
 
 The other made no remark, but a little shade came 
 over his face. He had had no chance of making out 
 
28 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Tom's college, as the new cap which would have betrayed 
 him had disappeared in the lasher. He himself wore a 
 glazed straw hat, which was of no college ; so that up to 
 this time neither of them had known to what college the 
 other belonged. 
 
 When they landed at Hall's, Tom was at once involved 
 in a wrangle with the manager as to the amount of dam- 
 age done to the tub ; which the latter refused to assess 
 before he knew what had happened to it ; while our hero 
 vigorously and with reason maintained, that if he knew 
 his business it could not matter what had happened to the 
 boat. There she was, and he must say whether she was 
 better or worse, or how much worse than when she 
 started. In the middle of which dialogue his new ac- 
 quaintance, touching his arm, said, " You can leave my 
 jersey with your own things ; I shall get it to-morrow," 
 and then disappeared. 
 
 Tom, when he had come to terms with his adversary, ran 
 up-stairs, expecting to find the other, and meaning to tell 
 his name, and find out who it was that had played the good 
 Samaritan by him. He was much annoyed when he found 
 the coast clear, and dressed in a grumbling humor. " I 
 wonder why he should have gone off so quick. He might 
 just as well have stayed and walked up with me," thought 
 he. " Let me' see, though; didn't he say I was to leave 
 his jersey in our room, with my own things ? Why, per- 
 haps he is a St. Ambrose man himself. But then he 
 would have told me so, surely. I don't remember to have 
 seen his face in chapel or hall ; but then there are such a 
 lot of new faces, and he may not sit near me. However, 
 I mean to find him out before long, whoever he may be." 
 With which resolve Tom crossed in the punt into Christ's 
 Church meadow, and strolled college- wards, feeling that 
 he had had a good hard afternoon's exercise, and was 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 29 
 
 much the better for it. He might have satisfied his curi- 
 osity at once by simply asking the manager who it was 
 that had arrived with him ; and this occurred to him 
 before he got home, whereat he felt satisfied ; but would 
 not go back then, as it was so near hall time. He would 
 be sure to remember it the first thing to-morrow. 
 
 As it happened, however, he had not so long to wait for 
 the information which he needed ; for scarcely had he sat 
 down in hall and ordered his dinner, when he caught 
 sight of his boating acquaintance, who walked in habited 
 in a gown which Tom took for a scholar's. He took his 
 seat at a little table in the middle of the hall, near the 
 bachelors' table, but quite away from the rest of the under- 
 graduates, at which sat four or five other men in similar 
 gowns. He either did not or would not notice the looks 
 of recognition which Tom kept firing at him until he had 
 taken his seat. 
 
 " Who is that man that has just come in, do you know ? " 
 said Tom to his next neighbor, a second-term man. 
 
 " Which ? " said the other, looking up. 
 
 " That one over at the little table in the middle of the 
 hall, with the dark whiskers. There, he has just turned 
 rather from us, and put his arm on the table." 
 
 " Oh, his name is Hardy." # . 
 
 " Do you know him ? " 
 
 " No ; I don't think anybody does. They say he is a 
 clever fellow, but a very queer one." 
 
 " Why does he sit at that table ? " 
 
 " He is one of our servitors," said the other ; " they 
 all sit there together." 
 
 " Oh," said Tom, not much the wiser for the informa- 
 tion, but resolved to waylay Hardy as soon as hall was 
 over, and highly delighted to find that they were after all 
 3*' 
 
30 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 of the same college ; for he had already begun to find out, 
 that however friendly you may be with out-college men, 
 you must live chiefly with those of your own. But now 
 his scout brought his dinner, and he fell to with marvel- 
 lous appetite on his ample commons. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BREAKFAST AT DRYSDALE's. 
 
 No man in St. Ambrose College gave such breakfasts 
 as Drysdale. I don't mean the great heavy spreads for 
 thirty or forty, which came once or twice a term, when 
 every thing was supplied out of the college kitchen, and 
 you had to ask leave of the dean before you could have it 
 at all. In those ponderous feasts the most humdrum of 
 undergraduate kind might rival the most artistic, if he 
 could only pay his battel-bill, or get credit with the cook. 
 But the daily morning meal, when even gentlemen-com- 
 moners were limited to two hot dishes out of the kitchen, 
 this was Drysdale's forte. Ordinary men left the matter 
 in the hands of scouts, and were content with the ever- 
 recurring buttered toast and eggs, with a dish of broiled 
 ham, or something of the sort, and marmalade and bitter 
 ale to finish with ; but Drysdale was not an ordinary man, 
 as you felt in a moment when you went to breakfast with 
 him for the first time. 
 
 The staircase on which he lived was inhabited, except 
 in the garrets, by men in the fast bet, and he and three 
 others, who had an equal aversion to solitary feeding, had 
 established a breakfast-club, in which, thanks to Drys- 
 dale's genius, real scientific gastronomy was cultivated. 
 Every morning the boy from the Weirs arrived with 
 freshly caught gudgeon, and now and then an eel or trout, 
 which the scouts on the staircase had learnt to fry deli- 
 cately in oil. Fresh watercresses came in the same 
 
32 TOM BROWN AT OXFOED. 
 
 basket, and the college kitchen furnished a spitehco iked 
 chicken, or grilled turkey's leg. In the season there were 
 plover's -eggs ; or, at the worst, there was a dainty ome- 
 lette ; and a distant baker, famed for his light rolls and 
 high charges, sent in the bread — the common domestic 
 college loaf being of course out of the question for any 
 one with the slightest pretensions to taste, and becoming 
 the perquisite of the scouts. Then there would be a deep 
 Yorkshire pie, or reservoir of potted game, as a piece de 
 resistance, and three or four sorts of preserves ; and a 
 large cool tankard of cider or ale-cup to finish up with, or 
 soda-water and maraschino for a change. Tea and coffee 
 were there indeed, but merely as a compliment to those 
 respectable beverages, for they were rarely touched by 
 the breakfast-eaters of No. 3 staircase. Pleasant young 
 gentlemen were on No. 3 staircase ; I mean the ground 
 and first-floor men who formed the breakfast-club, for the 
 garrets were nobodies. . Three out of the four were 
 gentlemen-commoners, with allowances of £500 a year at 
 least each ; and, as they treated their allowances as pocket- 
 money only, and went tick for every thing which the wide 
 range of Oxford tradesmen would book, and as they were 
 all in their first year, ready money was plenty and credit 
 good ; and they might have had potted hippopotamus for 
 breakfast if they had chosen to order it, which I verily 
 believe they would have done if they had thought of it. 
 
 Two out of the three were sons of rich men who had 
 made their own fortunes, and sent their sons to St. Am- 
 brose's because it was very desirable that the young gentle- 
 men should make good connections. In fact, the fathers 
 looked upon the university as a good investment, and 
 gloried much in hearing their sons talk familiarly in the 
 vacations of their dear friends Lord Harry This and Sir 
 George That. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 33 
 
 Drysdale, the third of the set, was the heir of an old a3 
 well as of a rich family, and consequently,* having his 
 connection ready made to his hand, cared little enough 
 whom he associated with, provided they were pleasant 
 fellows, and gave him good food and wines. His whole 
 idea at present was to enjoy himself as much as possible ; 
 but he had good manly stuff in him at the bottom, and, 
 had he fallen into any but the fast set, would have made 
 a fine fellow, and done credit to himself and his college. 
 
 The fourth man of the breakfast-club, the Hon. Piers 
 St. Cloud, was in his third year, and was a very well- 
 dressed, well-mannered, and well-connected young man. 
 His family was poor, and his allowance small, but he 
 never wanted for any thing. He didn't entertain much, 
 certainly, but when he did, every thing was in the best pos- 
 sible style. He was very exclusive, and knew no man in 
 college out of the fast set ; and of these he addicted him- 
 self chiefly to the society of the rich freshmen, for some- 
 how the men of his own standing seemed a little shy of 
 him. But with the freshmen he was always hand and 
 glove, lived in their rooms, and used their wines, horses, 
 and other movable property as his own; and, being a 
 good whist and billiard player, and not a bad jockey, man- 
 aged in one way or another to make his young friends pay 
 well for the honor of his acquaintance ; as, indeed, why 
 should they not, at least those of them who came to col- 
 lege to form eligible connections ? for had not his remote 
 lineal ancestor come over in the same ship with William 
 the Conqueror ? were not all his relations about the Court, 
 as lords and ladies in waiting, white sticks or black rods, 
 Rnd in the innermost of all possible circles of the great 
 world ? and was there a better coat of arms than he bore 
 in all Burke's Peerage ? 
 
 Our hero had met Drysdale at a house in the country 
 
34 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 shortly before the beginning of his first term, and they had 
 rather taken to one another ; so as soon as Tom came up, 
 Drysdale had left his pasteboard ; and, as he came out of 
 chapel one morning shortly after his arrival, Drysdale's 
 scout came up to him with an invitation to breakfast. So 
 he went to his own rooms, ordered his commons to be 
 taken across to No. 3, and followed himself a few minutes 
 afterwards. No one was in the rooms when he arrived, 
 for none of the club had finished their toilettes. Morning 
 chapel was not meant for, or cultivated by, gentlemen- 
 commoners ; they paid double chapel fees, in considera- 
 tion of which, I suppose, they were not expected to attend 
 so often as the rest of the undergraduates ; at any rate, 
 they didn't, and no harm came to them in consequence of 
 their absence. As Tom entered, a great splashing in an 
 inner room stopped for a moment, and Drysdale's voice 
 shouted out that he was in his tub, but would be with him 
 in a minute. So Tom gave himself up to the contemplation 
 of the rooms in which his unfortunate acquaintance dwelt; 
 and very pleasant rooms they were. The large room, in 
 which the breakfast-table was laid for five, was lofty and 
 well proportioned, and panelled with old oak, and the fur- 
 niture was handsome and solid, and in keeping with the 
 room. 
 
 There were four deep windows, high up in the wall, 
 with cushioned seats under them, two looking into the 
 large quadrangle, and two into the inner one. Outside 
 these windows, Drysdale had rigged up hanging gardens, 
 which were kept full of flowers by the first nursery-man 
 in Oxford all the year round ; so that even on this Febru- 
 ary morning, the scent of gardania and violets pervaded 
 the room, and strove for mastery with the smell of stale 
 tobacco which hung about the curtains and sofas. There 
 was a large glass in an oak frame over the mantelpiece, 
 
TOM DROWN AT OXFORD. 35 
 
 which was loaded with choice pipes and cigar-case?, and 
 quaint receptacles for tobacco ; and by the side of the 
 glass hung small carved oak frames, containing lists of the 
 meets of the Heythrop, the Old Berkshire, and Drake's 
 hounds, for the current week. There was a queer assort- 
 ment of well-framed paintings and engravings on the 
 wails ; some of considerable merit, especially some -water- 
 color sea-pieces and engravings from Landseer's pictures, 
 mingled with which hung Taglioni and Cerito, in short 
 petticoats and impossible attitudes; Phosphorus winning 
 the Derby ; the Death of Grimaldi (the famous steeple- 
 chase horse — not poor old Joe); an American Trotting 
 Match, and Jem Belcher and Deaf Burke in attitudes of 
 self-defence. Several tandem and riding whips, mounted 
 in heavy silver, and a double-barrelled gun, and fishing 
 rods, occupied one corner, and a polished copper cask, 
 holding about five gallons of mild ale, stood in another. 
 In short, there was plenty of every thing except books — 
 the literature of the world being represented, so far as 
 Tom could make out in his short scrutiny, by a few well- 
 bound but badly used volumes of classics, with the crihf 
 thereto appertaining, shoved away into a cupboard which 
 stood half open, and contained, besides, half-emptied de- 
 canters, and large pewters, and dog-collars, and packs of 
 cards, and all sorts of miscellaneous articles to serve as an 
 antidote. 
 
 Tom had scarcely finished his short survey, when the 
 door of the bedroom opened, and Drysdale emerged in a 
 loose jacket lined with silk, his velvet cap on his head, 
 and otherwise gorgeously attired. He was a pleasant- 
 looking fellow, of middle size, with dark hair, and a mcrrj- 
 brown eye, with a twinkle in it which spoke well for his 
 pense of humor; otherwise, his features .were rather plain, 
 but he had the look and manners of a thoroughly well- 
 bred gentleman. 
 
36 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 His first act, after nodding to Tom, was to seize on a 
 pewter and resort to the cask in the corner, from whence 
 he drew a pint or so of the contents, having, as he said, 
 u ' a whoreson longing for that poor creature, small beer.' 
 TVe were playing Van-John in Blake's rooms till three 
 last night, and he gave us devilled bones and mulled port. 
 A felbw can't enjoy his breakfast after that without some- 
 thing to cool his coppers." 
 
 Tom was as yet ignorant of what Van-John might be, 
 so held his peace, and took a pull at the beer which the 
 other handed him; and then the scout entered, and re- 
 ceived orders to bring up Jack and the breakfast, and not 
 to wait for any one. In another minute, a bouncing and 
 scrattling was heard on the stairs, and a white bull-dog 
 rushed in, a gem in his way ; for his brow was broad and 
 massive, and wrinkled about the eyes ; his skin was as fine 
 as a lady's, and his tail taper and nearly as thin as a clay 
 pipe ; but he had a way of going snuzzling about the calves 
 of strangers which was not pleasant for nervous people. 
 Tom, however, was used to dogs, and soon became friends 
 with him, which evidently pleased his host. And then 
 the breakfast arrived, all smoking, and with it the two 
 other ingenious youths, in velvet caps and far more 
 gorgeous apparel, so far as colors went, than Drysdale. 
 They were introduced to Tom, who thought them some- 
 what ordinary and rather loud young gentlemen. One of 
 them remonstrated vigorously against the presence of that 
 confounded dog, and so Jack was sent to lie down in a 
 corner, and then the four fell to work upon the breakfast. 
 
 It was a good lesson in gastronomy, but the results are 
 scarcely worth repeating here. It is wonderful, though, 
 how you feel drawn to a man who feeds you well ; and- 
 as Tom's appetite got less, his liking and respect for his 
 host undoubtedly increased. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 37 
 
 "When they had nearly finished, in walked the Honora- 
 ble Piers, a tall, slight man, two or three years older than 
 the rest of them ; good-looking, and very well and quietly 
 dressed, but with a drawing up of his nostril, and a draw- 
 ing down of the corners of his mouth, which set Tom 
 against him at once. The cool, supercilious half-nod, 
 moreover, to which he treated our hero when introduced 
 to him, was enough to spoil his digestion, and hurt his self- 
 love a good deal more than he would have liked to own. 
 
 " Here, Henry/' said the Honorable Piers to the scout 
 in attendance, seating himself, and inspecting the half- 
 cleared dishes ; " what is there for my breakfast ? " 
 
 Henry bustled about, and handed a dish or two. 
 
 * I don't want these cold things ; haven't you kept me 
 any gudgeon ? " 
 
 "Why, sir," said Henry, "there was only two dozen 
 this morning, and Mr. Drysdale told me to cook them all." 
 
 *' To be sure I did," said Drysdale. " Just half a dozen 
 for each of us four : they were firstrate. If you can't get 
 here at half-past nine, you wont get gudgeon, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " Just go and get me a broil from the kitchen," said the 
 Honorable Piers, without deigning an answer to Drysdale. 
 
 * Very sorry, sir ; kitchen's shut by now, sir," answered 
 Henry. 
 
 " Then go to Hinton's, and order some cutlets." 
 "I say, Henry," shouted Drysdale to the retreating 
 scout ; " not to my tick, mind ! Put them down to Mr. 
 St. Cloud." 
 
 Henry seemed to know very well that in that case he 
 might save himself the trouble of the journey, and conse- 
 quently returned to his waiting ; and the Honorable Piera 
 Bet to work upon his breakfast, without showing any 
 4 
 
58 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 further ill-temper certainly, except by the stinging things 
 which he threw every now and then into the conversation, 
 for the benefit of each of the others in turn. 
 
 Tom thought he detected signs of coming hostilities 
 between his host and St. Cloud, for Drysdale seemed to 
 prick up his ears and get combative whenever the other 
 spoke, and lost no chance of roughing him in his replies. 
 And, indeed, he wasn't far wrong ; the fact being, that dur- 
 ing Drysdale's first term, the other had lived on him — 
 drinking his wine, smoking his cigars, driving his dog-cart, 
 and winning his money ; all which Drysdale, who was the 
 easiest-going and best-tempered fellow in Oxford, would 
 have stood without turning a hair: but St. Cloud addeil 
 to these little favors a half-patronizing, half-contemptuous 
 manner, which he used with great success towards some of 
 the other gentlemen-commoners, who thought it a mark of 
 high breeding, and the correct thing, but which Drysdale, 
 who didn't care three straws about knowing St. Cloud, 
 wasn't going to put up with. 
 
 However, nothing happened beyond a little sparring, 
 and the breakfast things were cleared away, and the tank- 
 ards left on the table, and the company betook themselves 
 to cigars and easy chairs ; Jack coming out of his corner 
 to be gratified with some of the remnants by his fond mas- 
 ter, and then curling himself up on the sofa along which 
 Drysdale lounged. 
 
 "What are you going to do to-day, Drysdale?" said 
 one of the others. " I've ordered a leader sent on over 
 the bridge, and mean to drive my dog-cart over, and dine 
 at Abingdon. Wont you come ? " 
 
 "Who's going besides?" asked Drysdale. 
 
 " Oh, only St. Cloud and Farley here. There's lots of 
 room for a fourth." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 39 
 
 " No. thank'ee ; teaming's slow work on the back seat \ 
 besides, I've half promised to go down in the boat." 
 
 "In the boat !" shouted the other. " "Why you don't 
 mean to say you're going to take to pulling ? " 
 
 " "WeU, I don't know ; I rather think I am. I'm dog- 
 tired of driving and doing the High Street, and playing 
 cards and billiards all day, and our boat is likely to be 
 head of the river, I think." 
 
 " By Jove ! 1 should as soon have thought of your tak- 
 ing to reading, or going to University Sermon," put in St. 
 Cloud. 
 
 " And the boating-men, too," went on Farley ; " did you 
 ever see such a set, St. Cloud ? with their everlasting flan- 
 nels and jerseys, and hair cropped like prize-fighters." 
 
 " I'll bet a guinea there isn't one of them has more than 
 £200 a-year," put in Chanter, whose father could just 
 write his name, and was making a colossal fortune by sup- 
 plying bad iron rails to the new railway companies. 
 
 " What the Devil do I care," broke in Drysdale ; " I 
 know they're a deal more amusing than you fellows, who 
 can do nothing that don't cost pounds." 
 
 " Getting economical ! " sneered St. Cloud. 
 
 " "Well, I don't see the fun of tearing one's heart out, 
 and blistering one's hands, only to get abused by that little 
 brute, Miller the coxswain," said Farley. 
 
 " "Why you wont be able to sit straight in your chair for 
 a month," said Chanter ; " and the captain will make you 
 dine at one, and fetch you out of anybody's rooms, con- 
 found his impudence, whether he knows them or not, at 
 eleven o'clock every night." 
 
 " Two cigars a day, and a pint and a half of liquid," 
 and Farley inserted his cod-fish face into the tankard ; 
 " fancy Drysdale on training allowance ! " 
 
40 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Here a new-comer entered in a bachelor's gown, who 
 was warmly greeted by the name of Sanders, by Drysdale. 
 St. Cloud and he exchanged the coldest possible nods ; 
 and the other two, taking the office from their mentor, 
 stared at him through their smoke, and, after a minute or 
 two's silence, and a few rude, half-whispered remarks 
 amongst themselves, went off to play a* game at pyramids 
 till luncheon time. Sanders took a cigar which Drysdale 
 offered, and began asking him about his friends at home, 
 and what he had been doing in the vacation. 
 
 They were evidently intimate, though Tom thought that 
 Drysdale didn't seem quite at his ease at first, which he 
 wondered at, as Sanders took his fancy at once. However, 
 eleven o'clock struck, and Tom had to go off to lecture, 
 where we cannot follow him just now, but must remain with 
 Drysdale and Sanders, who chatted on very pleasantly for 
 6ome twenty minutes, till a knock came at the door. It 
 was not till the third summons that Drysdale shouted 
 " Come in," with a shrug of his shoulders, and an impa- 
 tient kick at the sofa cushion at his feet, as though he were 
 not half pleased at the approaching visit. 
 
 Reader ! had you not ever a friend a few years older 
 tha*n yourself, whose good opinion you were anxious to 
 keep ? A fellow teres atque rotundus ; who could do every 
 thing better than you, from Plato and tennis down to sing- 
 ing a comic song and playing quoits ? If you have had, 
 wasn't he always in your rooms or company whenever any 
 thing happened to show your little weak points ? Sanders, 
 at any rate, occupied this position towards our young 
 friend Drysdale, and the latter, much as he liked Sanders' 
 company, would have preferred it at any other time than 
 on an idle morning, just at the beginning of term, when 
 the gentlemen tradesmen, who look upon undergraduates 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 41 
 
 in general, and gentlemen-commoners in particular, as 
 their lawful prey, are in the habit of calling in flocks. 
 
 The new arrival was a tall, florid man, with a half-ser- 
 vile, half-impudent manner, and a foreign accent ; dressed 
 in sumptuous costume, with a velvet-faced coat, and a 
 gorgeous plush waistcoat. Under his arm he carried a 
 large parcel, which he proceeded to open, and placed upon 
 a sofa the contents, consisting of a couple of coats, and 
 three or four waistcoats and pairs of trousers. He saluted 
 Sanders with a most obsequious bow, looked nervously at 
 Jack, who opened one eye from between his master's legs 
 and growled, and then, turning to Drysdale, asked if he 
 should have the honor of seeing him try on any of the 
 clothes ? 
 
 " No ; I can't be bored with trying them on now," said 
 Drysdale ; " leave them where they are." 
 
 Mr. Schloss would like very much on his return to 
 town, in a day or two, to be able to assure his principals, 
 that Mr. Drysdale's orders had been executed to his satis- 
 faction. He had also some very beautiful new stuffs with 
 him which he should like to submit to Mr. Drysdale ; and 
 without more ado began unfolding cards of the most fabu- 
 lous plushes and cloths, 
 
 Drysdale glanced first at the cards and then at Sanders, 
 who sat puffing his cigar, and watching Schloss' proceed- 
 ings with a look not unlike Jack's, when any one he did 
 not approve of approached his master, 
 
 " Confound your patterns, Schloss," said Drysdale ; " I 
 tell you I've more things than I want already." 
 
 a The large stripe, such as these, is now \ery much worn 
 for trousers in London," went on Schloss, without heeding 
 the rebuff, and spreading his cards on the table. 
 4* 
 
42 T03I BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "D trousers," replied Drysdale; "you seem to 
 
 think, Schloss, that a fellow has ten pairs of legs." 
 
 " Monsieur is pleased to joke," smiled Schloss ; " but, to 
 be in the mode, gentlemen must have variety." 
 
 "Well, I wont order any now, that's flat," said Drys- 
 dale. 
 
 " Monsieur will do as he pleases ; but it is impossible 
 that he should not have some plush waistcoats ; the fabric 
 is only just out, and is making a sensation." 
 
 " Now look here, Schloss ; will you go if I order a 
 waistcoat ? " 
 
 " Monsieur is very good ; he sees how tasteful these new 
 patterns are." 
 
 " I wouldn't be seen at a cock-fight in one of them ; 
 they're as gaudy as a salmon-fly," said Drysdale, feeling 
 the stuff which the obsequious Schloss held* out. "But it 
 seems nice stuff, too," he went on ; " I shouldn't mind 
 having a couple of waistcoats of it of this pattern ; " and 
 he chucked across to Schloss a dark tartan waistcoat which 
 was lying near him. " Have you got the stuff in that 
 pattern ? " 
 
 " Ah ! no," said Schloss, gathering up the waistcoat ; 
 " but it shall not hinder. I shall have at once a loom for 
 monsieur set up in Paris." 
 
 " Set it up at Jericho if you like," said Drysdale ; "and 
 now go ! " 
 
 "May I ask, Mr. Schloss," broke in Sanders, "what 
 it will cost to set up the loom ? " ' 
 
 "Ah! indeed, a trifle only; some twelve or perhaps 
 fourteen pounds." Sanders gave a chuckle, and puffed 
 away at his cigar. 
 
 " By Jove," shouted Drysdale, jerking himself into a 
 sitting posture, and upsetting Jack, who went trotting 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 43 
 
 about the room, and snuffing at Schloss^ legs ; " do you 
 mean, to say, Schloss, you were going to make me waist- 
 coats at fourteen guineas apiece ? " 
 
 " Not if monsieur disapproves. Ah ! the large hound is 
 not friendly to strangers ; I will call again when monsieur 
 is more at leisure." And Schloss gathered up his cards 
 and beat a hasty retreat, followed by Jack with his head 
 on one side, and casting an enraged look at Sanders, as 
 he slid through the door. 
 
 " Well done, Jack, old boy ! " said Sanders, patting 
 him ; " what a funk the fellow was in. Well, you've 
 saved your master a pony this fine morning. Cheap dog 
 you've got, Drysdale." 
 
 " D the fellow," answered Drysdale, " he leaves a 
 
 bad taste in one's, mouth ; " and he went to the table, took 
 a pull at the tankard, and then threw himself down on 
 the sofa again, and Jack jumped up and coiled himself 
 round by his master's legs, keeping one half-open eye 
 winking at him, and giving an occasional wag with the 
 end of his taper tail. 
 
 Sanders got up, and began handling the new things. 
 First he held up a pair of bright blue trousers, with a 
 red stripe across them, Drysdale looking on from the 
 Bofa. " I say, Drysdale, you don't mean to say you really 
 ordered these thunder-and-lightning affairs ? " 
 
 "Heaven only knows," said Drysdale; "I dare say I 
 did. I'd order a full suit cut out of my grandmother's 
 farthingale to get that cursed Schloss out of "my rooms 
 sometimes." 
 
 "You'll never be able to wear them; even in Oxford 
 the boys would mob you. Why don't you kick him 
 down-stairs ? " suggested Sanders, putting down the trou* 
 eers ; and turning to Drysdale. 
 
44 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Well, I've been very near it once or twice \ but, I 
 don't know — my name's Easy — besides, I don't want to 
 give up the beast altogether ; he makes the best trousers 
 in England." 
 
 "And these waistcoats," went on Sanders; "let me 
 see ; three light silk waistcoats, peach-color, fawn-color, 
 and lavender. "Well, of course, you can only wear these 
 at your weddings. You may be married the first time in 
 the peach or fawn-color ; and then, if you've luck, and 
 bury your first wife soon, it will be a delicate compliment 
 to take to No. 2 in the lavender, that being half-mourn- 
 ing ; but still, you see, we're in difficulty as to one of the 
 three, either the peach or the fawn-color — " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by another knock, and a 
 boy entered from the fashionable tobacconist's in Oriel 
 Lane, who had general orders to let Drysdale have his 
 fair share of any thing very special in the cigar line. 
 He deposited a two-pound box of cigars at three guineas 
 the pound on the table, and withdrew in silence. 
 
 Then came a bootmaker with a new pair of top-boot^ 
 which Drysdale had ordered in November, and had for- 
 gotten next day. This artist, wisely considering that his 
 young patron must have plenty of tops to last him through 
 the hunting season (he himself having supplied three 
 ?^*jvious pairs in October), had retained the present pair 
 for show in his window ; and every one knows that boots 
 wear much better for being kept some time before 
 use. Now, however, as the hunting season was drawing 
 to a close, and the place in the window was wanted for 
 spring stock, he judiciously sent in the tops, merely adding 
 half a sovereign or so to the price for interest on his outlay 
 6ince the order. He also kindly left on the table a pair 
 of large plated spurs to match the boots. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 45 
 
 It never rains but it pours. Sanders sat smoking his 
 cigar in provoking silence, while knock succeeded knock, 
 and tradesman followed tradesman ; each depositing some 
 article ordered, or supposed to have been ordered, or 
 which ought in the judgment of the depositors to have 
 been ordered, by the luckless Diysdale ; and new hats 
 and ties and gloves and pins jostled balsam of Neroli 
 and registered shaving-soap and fancy letter-paper and 
 eau de Cologne, on every available table. A visit from 
 two livery-stable-keepers in succession followed, each of 
 whom had several new leaders which they were anxious 
 Mr. Drysdale should try as soon as possible. Drysdale 
 growled and grunted, and wished them or Sanders at the 
 bottom of the sea ; however, he consoled himself with the 
 thought that the worst was now past, — there was no 
 other possible supplier of undergraduate wants who could 
 arrive. - 
 
 Not so ; in another minute a gentle knock came at the 
 door ; Jack pricked up his ears and wagged his tail ; 
 Drysdale recklessly shouted, " Come in ! " and the door 
 slowly opened about eighteen inches, and a shock head of 
 hair entered the room, from which one lively little gimlet 
 eye went glancing about into every corner ; the other eye 
 was closed, but whether as a perpetual wink to indicate 
 the unsleeping weariness of the owner, or because that 
 hero had really lost the power of using it in some of his 
 numerous encounters with men and beasts, no one, so far 
 as I know, has ever ascertained. 
 
 "Ah ! Mr. Drysdale, sir ! " began the head ; and then 
 rapidly withdrew behind the door, to avoid one of the 
 spurs, which (being the missile nearest at hand) Drysdale 
 instantly discharged at it. As the spur fell to the floor, 
 the head re-appeared in the room, and as quickly disap- 
 peared again, in deference to the other spur, the top 
 
46 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 boots, an ivory-handled hair-brush, and a translation of 
 Euripedes, which in turn saluted each successive appear- 
 ance of said head ; and the grin was broader on each re- 
 appearance. 
 
 Then Drysdale, having no other article within reach 
 which he could throw, burst into a loud fit of laughter, 
 in which Sanders and the head heartily joined, and 
 shouted, " Come in, Joe, you old fool ! and don't stand 
 bobbing your ugly old mug in and out there, like a jack 
 in the box." 
 
 So the head came in, and after it the body, and closed 
 the door behind it ; and a queer, cross-grained, tough- 
 looking body it was, of about fifty years' standing, or 
 rather slouching, clothed in old fustian coat, and cordu- 
 roy breeches and gaiters, and being the earthly taber- 
 nacle of Joe Muggles, the dog-fancier of St. Aldate's. 
 
 " How the deuce did you get by the lodge, Joe ? " in- 
 quired Drysdale. Joe, be it known, had been forbidden 
 the college for importing a sack of rats into the inner 
 quadrangle, upon the turf of which a match at rat-killing 
 had come off between the terriers of two gentlemen-com- 
 moners. This little event might have passed unnoticed, 
 but that Drysdale had bought from Joe a dozen of the 
 slaughtered rats, and nailed them on the doors of the four 
 college tutors, three to a door; whereupon inquiry had 
 been made, and Joe had been outlawed. 
 
 " Oh, please, Mr. Drysdale, sir, I just watched the 'ed 
 porter, sir, across to the buttery to get his mornin', and 
 then I tips the wink to the under-porter (pal o' mine, sir, 
 the under-porter) and makes a run of it right up." 
 
 " Well, you'll be quod'ed if you're caught ! Now, what 
 do you want ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, Mr. Drysdale, sir," said Joe, in his most 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 47 
 
 insinuating tone, " my mate hev' got a old dog brock, sir, 
 from the Ileythrop kennel, and Ilonble Wernham, sir, of 
 New Inn 'All, sir, he've jist been down our yard with a 
 fighting chap from town, Mr. Drysdale — in the fancy, sir, 
 he is, and hev' got a matter of three dogs down wi' un, 
 stoppin' at Milky Bill's. And he says, says he, Mr. Drys- 
 dale, as arra one of he's dogs '11 draw the old un three 
 times, while arra Oxford dog '11 draw un twice, and Honble 
 Wernham chaffs as how he'll backun for a fi'pun note;"— 
 and Joe stopped to caress Jack, who was fawning on him 
 as if he understood every word. 
 
 " Well, Joe, what then ? " said Drysdale. 
 
 " So* you see, Mr. Drysdale, sir," went on Joe, fondling 
 Jack's muzzle, " my mate says, says he, ' Jack's the dog as 
 can draw a brock,' says he, ' agin any Lunnun dog as ever 
 was whelped ; and Mr. Drysdale,' says he, ' aint the man 
 as 'd see two poor chaps bounced out of their honest name 
 .by arra town chap, and a fi'pun note's no more to he, for 
 the matter o' that, than to Honble Wernham his self,' says 
 my mate." 
 
 " So I'm to lend you Jack for a match, and stand the 
 stakes ? " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Drysdale, sir, that was what my mate was 
 a sayin'." 
 
 " You're cool hands, you and your mate," said Drys- 
 dale ; " here, take a drink, and get out, and I'll think about 
 it." Drysdale was now in a defiant humor, and resolved 
 not to let Sanders think that his presence could keep him 
 from any act of folly which he was minded to. 
 
 Joe took his drink ; and just then several men came in 
 from lecture, and drew off Drysdale's attention from Jack, 
 who quietly followed Joe out of the room, when that 
 worthy disappeared. Drysdale only laughed when he 
 
48 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 found it out, and went down to the yard that afternoon to 
 Bee the match between the London dog and his own pet. 
 
 " How in the world are youngsters with unlimited 
 credit, plenty of ready money, and fast tastes, to be kept 
 from making fools and blackguards of themselves up 
 'here ? " thought Sanders as he strolled back to his college. 
 And it is a question which has exercised other heads be- 
 sides his, aud probably is a ^>ng way yet from being welJ 
 Bolved. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ST. AMBROSE BOAT-CLUB: ITS MINISTRY AND 
 THEIR BUDGET. 
 
 We left our hero, a short time back, busily engaged on 
 his dinner commons, and resolved forthwith to make great 
 friends with Hardy. It never occurred to him that there 
 could be the slightest difficulty in carrying out this re- 
 solve. After such a j)assage as they two had had together 
 that afternoon, he felt that the usual outworks of acquaint- 
 anceship had been cleared at a bound, and looked* upon 
 Hardy already as an old friend to whom he could talk out 
 his mind as freely as he had been used to do to his old 
 tutor at school, or to Arthur. Moreover, as there were 
 already several things in his head which he was anxious 
 to ventilate, he was all the more pleased that .chance had 
 thrown him across a man of so much older standing than 
 himself, and one to whom he instinctively felt that he 
 could look up. 
 
 Accordingly, after grace had been said, and he saw that 
 Hardy had not finished his dinner, but sat down again 
 when the fellows had left the hall, he strolled out, mean- 
 ing to wait for his victim outside, and seize upon him then 
 and there ; so he stopped on the steps outside the hall- 
 door, and, to pass the time, joined himself to one or two 
 other men with w T hom he had a speaking acquaintance, 
 who were also hanging about. While they were talking, 
 Hardy came out of hall, and Tom turned and stepped for- 
 ward, meaning to speak to him ; when, to his utter dis- 
 5 
 
50 TOM BROWN 4T OXFORD. 
 
 coraCiture, the other walked quickly away, looking straight 
 before him, and without showing, by look or gesture, that 
 he was conscious of our hero's existence, or had ever seen 
 him before in his life. 
 
 Tom was so taken aback that he made no effort to fol- 
 low. He just glanced at his companions to see whether 
 they had noticed the occurrence, and was glad to see that 
 they had not (being deep in the discussion of the merits 
 of a new hunter of Simmon's, which one of them had been 
 riding) ; so he walked away by himself to consider what 
 it could mean. But the more he puzzled about it, the less 
 could he understand it. Surely, he thought, Hardy must 
 have seen me ; and yet, if he had, why did he not recog- 
 nize me ? My cap and gown can't be such a disguise as 
 all that. But common decency must have led him to ask 
 whether I was any the worse for my ducking, if he knew 
 me. 
 
 He scouted the notion, which suggested itself once or 
 twice, that Hardy meant to cut him ; and so, not being 
 able to come to any reasonable conclusion, suddenly be- 
 thought him that he was asked to a wine party ; and, put- 
 ting his speculations aside for the moment, with the full 
 intention nevertheless of clearing up the mystery as soon 
 as possible, he betook himself to the rooms of his enter- 
 tainer. 
 
 They were fair-sized rooms in the second quadrangle, 
 furnished plainly but well, so far as Tom could judge ; but 
 as they were now laid out for the wine party, they had 
 lost all individual character for the time. Every one of 
 us, I suppose, is fond of studying the rooms, chambers, dens 
 in short, of whatever sort they may be, of our friends and 
 acquaintance — at least, I know that I myself like to see 
 what sort of a chair a man sits in, where he puts it, what 
 books lie or stand on the shelves nearest his hand, what 
 
TOM BRaWN AT OXFORD. 51 
 
 the objects are which, he keeps most familiarly before him, 
 in that particular nook of the earth's surface in which he 
 is most at home, -where he pulls off his coat, collar, and 
 boots, and gets into an old easy shooting-jacket, and hia 
 broadest slippers. Fine houses and fine rooms have no 
 attraction whatever, I should think, for most men. and 
 those who have the finest drawing-rooms are probably the 
 most bored by them ; but the den of a man you like, or 
 are disposed to like, has the strongest and strangest attrac- 
 tion for you. However, as I was saying, an Oxford un- 
 dergraduate's room, set out for a wine party, can tell you 
 nothing. All the characteristics are shoved away into the 
 background, and there is nothing to be seen but a long 
 mahogany set out with bottles, glasses, and dessert. In 
 the present instance the preparations for festivity were 
 'pretty much what they ought to be: good sound port and 
 shei'ry, biscuits, and a plate or two of nuts and dried 
 fruits. The host, who sat at the head of the board, was 
 one of the mainstays of the college boat-club. He was 
 treasurer of the club, and also a sort of boating-nurse, 
 who looked up and trained the young oars, and in this ca- 
 pacity had been in command of the freshmen's four-oar, in 
 which Tom had been learning his rudiments. He was a 
 heavy, burly man, naturally awkward in his movements, 
 but gifted with a sort of steady, dogged enthusiasm, and 
 by dint of* hard and constant training had made himself 
 into a most useful oar, fit for any place in the middle of 
 the boat. In the two years of his residence he had pulled 
 down to Sandford every day except Sundays, and much 
 further whenever he could get anybody to accompany 
 hini. He was the most good-natured man in the world, 
 very badly dressed, very short-sighted, and called every- 
 body " old fellow." His name was simple Smith, gener- 
 ally known as Diogenes Smith, from an eccentric habit 
 
52 TOM BROWN AT. OXFORD. 
 
 which he had of making an easy-chair of his hip-bath. 
 Mattcious acquaintance declared that when Smith first came 
 up. and, having paid the valuation for the furniture in his 
 rooms, came to inspect the same, the tub in question had 
 been left by chance in the* sitting-room, and that Smith, 
 not having the faintest idea of its proper use, had by the 
 exercise of 2ns natural reason come to the conclusion that 
 it could only be meant for a man to sit in, and so had kept 
 it in his sitting-room, and taken to it as an arm-chair. 
 This I have reason to believe was a libel. Certain it is, 
 however, that in his first term he was discovered sitting 
 solemnly in his tub, by his fireside, with his spectacles on, 
 playing the flute — the only other recreation besides boat- 
 ing in which he indulged; and no amount of quizzing 
 could get him out of the habit. When alone, or with only 
 one or two friends in his room, he still occupied the tub ;' 
 and declared that it was the most perfect of seats hitherto 
 invented, and, above all, adapted for the recreation of a 
 boating-roan, to whom cushioned seats should be an abom- 
 ination. He was naturally a very hospitable man, and on 
 this night was particularly anxious to make his rooms 
 pleasant to all comers, as it was a sort of opening of the 
 boating season. This wine of his was a business matter, 
 in fact, to which Diogenes had invited officially, as treas- 
 urer of the boat-club, every man who had ever shown 
 the least tendency to pulling, — many with whom he had 
 scarcely a nod&ag acquaintance. For Miller, the cox- 
 swain, had come up at last. He had taken his B.A. de- 
 gree in the Michaelmas term, and been very near starting 
 for a tour in the East. Upon turning the matter over in 
 his mind, however, Miller had come to the conclusion that 
 Palestine, and Egypt, and Greece could not run away, but 
 that, unless he was there to keep matters going, the St. 
 Ambrose boat would lose the best chance it was ever 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFOED. 53 
 
 likely tc have of getting to the head of the river; so he 
 had patriotically resolved to reside till June, read divinity, 
 and coach the racing crew ; and had written to Diogenes 
 to call together the whole boating interest of the college, 
 that they might set to work at once in good earnest 
 Tom, and the three or four other freshmen present, were 
 duly presented to Miller as they came in, who looked 
 them over as the colonel of a crack regiment might loolr 
 over horses at Horncastle-fair, with a single eye to their 
 bone and muscle, and how much work might be gcf 
 out of them. They then gathered towards the lower end 
 of the long table, and surveyed the celebrities at the up- 
 per end with much respect. Miller, the coxswain, sat on 
 the host's right hand, — a slight, resolute, fiery little man f 
 with curly black hair. He was peculiarly qualified by 
 nature for the task which he had set himself; and it takes 
 no mean qualities to keep a boat's crew well together and 
 in order. Perhaps he erred a little on the side of over- 
 strictness and severity ; and he certainly would have beeir 
 more popular had his manner been a thought more cour? 
 teous ; but the men who rebelled most against his tyranny 
 grumblingly confessed that he was a firstrate coxswain. 
 A very different man was the captain of the boat, who 
 sat opposite to Miller ; altogether a noble specimen of a 
 very noble type of our countrymen. Tall and strong of 
 body; courageous and even-tempered; tolerant of all 
 men ; sparing of speech, but ready in action ; a thoroughly 
 well-balanced, modest, quiet Englishman ; — one of those 
 who do a good stroke of the work of the country without 
 getting much credit for it, or ever becoming aware of the 
 fact ; for the last thing such men understand is how to 
 blow their own trumpets. He was perhaps too easy for 
 the captain of St. Ambrose's boat-club ; at any rate, Mil- 
 ler was always telling him so ; but, if he were not strict 
 5* 
 
54: TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 enough with others, he never spared himself, and was as 
 good as three men in the boat at a pinch. 
 
 But if I venture on more introductions, my readers will 
 get bewildered ; so I must cltfse the list, much as I should 
 like to make them known to " fortis Gyas fortisque Cloar- 
 thus," who sat round the chiefs, laughing and consulting, 
 and speculating on the chances of the coming races. No ; 
 stay, there is one other man they must make room for. 
 Here he comes, rather late, in a very glossy hat, the only 
 man in the room not in cap and gown. He walks up and 
 takes his place by the side of the host as a matter of 
 course ; a handsome, pale man, with a dark, quick eye, 
 conscious that he draws attention wherever he goes, and 
 apparently of opinion that it is his right. 
 
 " Who is that who has just come in in beaver ? " said 
 Tom, touching the man next to him. 
 
 " Oh ! don't you know ? that's Blake ; he's the most 
 wonderful fellow in Oxford," answered his neighbor. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " said Tom. 
 
 * Why, he can do every thing better than almost any- 
 body, and without any trouble at alL Miller was obliged 
 to have him in the boat last year, though he never trained 
 a bit. Then he's in the eleven, and is a wonderful rider, 
 and tennis-player, and shot." 
 
 * Ay, and he's so awfully clever with it all," joined in 
 the man on the other side. " He'll be a safe first, though 
 I don't believe he reads more than you or I. He can 
 write songs, too, as fast as you can talk nearly, and sings 
 them wonderfully." 
 
 " Is he of our college, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course, or he couldn't have been in our boat 
 last year." 
 
 " But I don't think I ever saw him in chapel or hall." 
 
 * No ; I dare say not. He hardly ever goes to either, 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 55 
 
 and yet he manages never to get hauled up much, no one 
 knows how. lie never gets up now till the afternoon, and 
 sits up nearly all night playing cards with the fastest fel- 
 lows, or going round singing * glees at three or four in the 
 morning." 
 
 Tom sipped his port and looked with great interest 
 at the admirable Crichton of St. Ambrose's ; and, after 
 watching him a few minutes, said in a low voice to his 
 neighbor, — 
 
 " How wretched he looks ; I never saw a sadder face." 
 
 " Poor Blake ! one can't help calling him ' poor,' al- 
 though he himself would have winced at it more than at 
 any other name you could have called him. You might 
 have admired, feared, or wondered at him, and he would 
 have been pleased ; the object of his life was to raise such 
 feelings in his neighbors ; but pity was the last which 
 he would have liked to excite." 
 
 He was indeed a wonderfully gifted fellow, full of all 
 sorts of energy and talent, and power and tenderness ; 
 and yet, as his face told only too truly to any one who 
 watched him when he was exerting himself in society, 
 one of the most wretched men in the college. He had a 
 passion for success, — for beating everybody else in what- *s 
 ever he took in hand, and that, too, without seeming to 
 make any great effort himself. The doing a thing well 
 and thoroughly gave him no satisfaction unless he could 
 feel that he was doing it better and more easily than A, 
 B, or C, and that they felt and acknowledged this. .He 
 had had his full swing of success for two years, and now 
 the Nemesis was coming. 
 
 For, although not an extravagant man, many of the 
 pursuits in which he had eclipsed all rivals were far be- 
 yond the means of any but a rich one, and Blake was not 
 
66 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 rich. He had a fair allowance,- but by the end of his first 
 year was considerably in, debt, and, at the time we are 
 speaking of, the whole pack of Oxford tradesmen into 
 •whose books he had got (having smelt out the leanness of 
 his expectations), were upon him, besieging him for pay- 
 ment. This miserable and constant annoyance was wear- 
 ing his soul out. This was the reason why his oak was 
 sported, and he was never seen till the afternoons, and 
 turned night into day. He was too proud to come to any 
 understanding with his persecutors, even had it been pos- 
 sible ; and now, at his sorest need, Ins whole scheme of 
 life was failing him ; his love of success was turning into 
 ashes in his mouth ; he felt much more disgust than pleas- 
 ure at his triumphs over other men, and yet the habit of 
 striving for such successes, notwithstanding its irksome- 
 ness was too strong to be resisted. 
 
 Poor Blake ! he was living on from hand to mouth, 
 flashing out with all his old brilliancy and power, and 
 forcing himself to take the lead in whatever company he 
 might be ; but utterly lonely and depressed when by him- 
 self — reading feverishly in secret, in a desperate effort to . 
 retrieve all by high honors and a fellowship. As Tom 
 said to his neighbor, there was no sadder face than his to 
 be seen in Oxford. 
 
 And yet at this very wine party he was the life of 
 every thing, as he sat up there between Diogenes — whom 
 he kept in a constant sort of mild epileptic fit, from laugh- 
 ter, and wine going the wrong way (for whenever Di- 
 ogenes raised his glass Blake shot him with some joke) 
 — and the captain, who watched him with the most un- 
 disguised admiration. A singular contrast, the two men ! 
 Miller, though Blake was the torment of his life, relaxed 
 after the first quarter of an hour ; and our hero, by the 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 57 
 
 same time, gave himself credit for being a much greater 
 as>s than he was, for having ever thought Blake's face a 
 sad one. 
 
 When the room was quite full, and enough wine had 
 been drunk to open the hearts of the guests, Diogenes 
 rose on a signal from Miller, and opened the budget. 
 The financial statement was a satisfactory one ; the club 
 was almost free of debt ; and, comparing their positions 
 with that of other colleges, Diogenes advised that they 
 might fairly burden themselves a little more, and then, if 
 they would stand a whip of five shillings a man, they 
 might have a new boat, which he believed they all would 
 agree had become necessary. Miller supported the new 
 boat in a pungent little speech ; and the captain, when 
 appealed to, nodded and said he thought they must have 
 one. So the small supplies and the large addition to the 
 club debt were voted unanimously, and the captain, Mil- 
 ler, and Blake, who had many notions as to the flooring 
 lines and keel of a racing boat, were appointed to order 
 and superintend the building. 
 
 Soon afterwards, coffee came in and cigars were lighted ; 
 a large section of the party went off to play pool, others 
 to stroll about the streets, others to whist ; a few, let us 
 hope, to their own rooms to read ; but these latter were a 
 sadly small minority even in the quietest of ,St. Ambrose 
 parties. 
 
 Tom, who was fascinated by the heroes at the head of 
 the table, sat steadily on, sidling. up towards them as the 
 intermediate places became vacant, and at last attained 
 the next chair but one to the captain, where for the time 
 he sat in perfect bliss. Blake and Miller were telling 
 boating stories of the Henley and Thames regattas, the lat- 
 ter of which had lately been started with great eclat ; and 
 
58 TOM DROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 from these great yearly events, and the deeds of proAvesa 
 done thereat, the talk came gradually round to the next 
 races. 
 
 "Now, captain," said Miller suddenly, "have you 
 thought yet whom we are to try in the crew this year ?" 
 
 " No, 'pon my honor I haven't," said the captain ; " I'm 
 reading, and have no time to spaie. Besides, after all, 
 there's lots of time to think about it. Here, we're only 
 half through Lent term, and the races don't begin till the 
 end of Easter term." 
 
 * It wont do," said Miller ; " we must get the crew to- 
 gether this term." 
 
 '• Well, you and Smith put your heads together and 
 manage it," said the captain. " I will go down any day, 
 and as often as you like, at two o'clock." 
 
 " Let's see," said Miller to Smith, " how many of the 
 old crew have we left ?" 
 
 " Five, counting Blake," answered Diogenes. 
 
 " Counting me ! well, that's cool," laughed Blake ; 
 " you old tub-haunting flute-player, why am I not to be 
 counted ? " 
 
 " You never will train, you see," said Diogenes. 
 
 " Smith is quite right," said Miller ; " there's no count- 
 ing on you, Blake. Now be a good fellow and promise to 
 be regular this year." 
 
 " I'll promise to do my work in a race, which is more 
 than some of your best-trained men will do," said Blake, 
 rather piqued. 
 
 " Well, you know what I think on the subject," said 
 Miller ; " but whom have we got for the other thifes 
 places ? " 
 
 " There's Drysdale would do," said Diogenes ; " I 
 heard he was a capital oar at Eton ; and so, though I 
 don't know him, I managed to get him once down last 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 59 
 
 term. He would do famously for No. 2, or No. 3, if he 
 would pull." 
 
 " Do you think he will, Blake ? You know him, I sup- 
 pose," said Miller. 
 
 " Yes, I know him well enough," said Blake ; and, 
 shrugging his shoulders, added, " I don't think you will 
 get him to train much." 
 
 " Well, we must try," said Miller. " No\v r who else is 
 there?" 
 
 Smith went through with four or five names, at each of 
 which Miller shook his head. 
 
 " Any promising freshmen ? " said he, at last. 
 
 " None better than Brown here," said Smith ; " I think 
 he'll do well, if he will only work, and stand being 
 coached." 
 
 " Have you ever pulled much ? " said Miller. 
 
 "No," said Tom, "never till this last month — since 
 I've* been up here." 
 
 "All the better," said Miller; "now, captain, you 
 hear ; Ave may probably have to go in with three new 
 hands ; they must get into your stroke this term, or we 
 shall be nowhere." 
 
 " Very well," said the captain ; " I'll give from two till 
 five any days you like." 
 
 " And now let's go and have one pool," said Blake, 
 getting up. " Come, captain, just one little pool after ali 
 this business." 
 
 Diogenes insisted on staying to play his flute ; Miller 
 was engaged ; but the captain, with a little coaxing, was 
 led away by Blake, and good-naturedly asked Tom to ac- 
 company them, when he saw that he was looking as if he 
 would like it. So the three went off to the billiard- 
 rooms ; Tom in such spirits at the chance of his being 
 tried in the crew, that he hardly noticed the exceedingly 
 
60 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 bad exchange which he had involuntarily made of his new 
 cap and gown for a third-year cap with the board broken 
 into several pieces, and a fusty old gown which had been 
 about college probably for ten generations. I wonder 
 whether undergraduate morality has improved in this 
 matter of stealing caps and gowns as much as I believe it 
 has in other matters since my time. 
 
 They found the St. Ambrose pool-room full of the fast 
 set ; and Tom enjoyed his game much, though his three 
 lives were soon disposed of. The captain and Blake were 
 the last lives on the board, and divided the pool at Blake's 
 suggestion. He had scarcely the nerve for playing out 
 a single-handed match with such an iron-nerved, steady 
 piece of humanity as the captain, though he was the more 
 brilliant player of the two. The party then broke up, 
 and Tom returned to his rooms ; and, when he was by 
 himself again, his thoughts recurred to Hardy. How 
 odd, he thought, that they never mentioned him for the 
 boat ! Could he have done any thing to be ashamed of? 
 How was it that nobody seemed to know him, and he to 
 know nobody? 
 
 Most readers, I doubt not, will think our hero very 
 
 y^reen for being puzzled at so simple a matter ; and, no 
 doubt, the steps in the social scale in England are very 
 clearly marked out, and we all come to the appreciation 
 of the gradations sooner or later. But our hero's pr^r i- 
 ous education must be taken into consideration. He had 
 not been instructed at home to worship mere conven- 
 tional distinctions of rank or wealth, and had gone to a 
 school which was not frequented by persons of rank, and 
 where no one knew whether a boy was heir to a princi- 
 pality or would have to fight his own way in the world, 
 So he was rather taken by surprise at what he found to 
 be the state of things at St. Ambrose's, and didn't easily 
 realize it> 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HARDY, THE SERVITOR. 
 
 It was net long before Tom had effected his object in 
 put. That is to say, he had caught Hardy several times 
 in the quadrangle coming out of the Lecture, Hall, or 
 Chapel, and had fastened himself upon him ; often walk- 
 ing with him even up to the door of his rooms. But 
 there matters ended. Hardy was very civil and gentle- 
 manly; he even seemed pleased with the volunteered 
 companionship ; but there was undoubtedly a coolness 
 about him which Tom could not make out. But, as he only 
 liked Hardy more, the more he saw of him, he very soon 
 made up his mind to break ground himself, and to make 
 a dash at any rate for something more than a mere speak- 
 ing acquaintance. 
 
 One evening he had as usual walked .from hall with 
 Hardy up to his door, where they stopped a moment talk- 
 ing ; and then Hardy, half opening the door, said, " Well, 
 good-night ; perhaps we shall meet on the river to-mor- 
 row," and was going in, when Tom, looking him in the 
 f?.ce, blurted out, "I say, Hardy, I wish you'd let me 
 eome in and sit with you a bit." 
 
 " I never ask a man of our college into my rooms," 
 answered the other, " but come in by all means if you 
 like ;" and so they entered. 
 
 The room was the worst, both in situation and furni- 
 ture, which Tom had yet seen. It was on the ground 
 floor, with only one window, which looked out into a back 
 6 
 
62 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 yard, where were the offices of the college. All day, anJ 
 up to nine o'clock at night, the yard and offices were filled 
 with scouts ; boys cleaning boots and knives ; bed-makers 
 emptying slops and tattling scandal ; scullions peeling 
 potatoes and listening ; and the butchers' and green-gro- 
 cers' men who supplied the college, and loitered about 
 to gossip and get a taste of the college — all before going 
 about their business. The room was large, but low and 
 close, and the floor uneven. The furniture did not add 
 to the chssrfulncss of the apartment. It consisted of one 
 large table in the middle, covered with an old chequered 
 table-cloth, and an Oxford table near the window, on 
 which lay half a dozen books with writing materials. A 
 couple of plain Windsor chairs occupied the two sides of 
 the fireplace, and half a dozen common w r ooden chairs 
 stood against the opposite wall, three on each side of a 
 pretty-well-filled bookcase ; while an old rickety sofa, 
 covered with soiled chintz, leaned against the wall which 
 fronted the window, as if to rest its lame leg. The carpet 
 and rug were dingy, and decidedly the worse for wear ; 
 and the college had evidently neglected to paper the room 
 or whitewash the ceiling for several generations. On the 
 mantelpiece reposed a few long clay pipes and a brown 
 earthenware receptacle for tobacco, together with a ja- 
 panned tin case, shaped like a figure of eight, the use of 
 w r hich puzzled Tom exceedingly. One modestly framed 
 drawing of a ten-gun brig hung above, and at the side of 
 the fireplace a sword and belt. All this Tom had time to 
 remark by the light of the fire, which was burning brightly 
 while his host produced a couple of brass candlesticks from 
 his cupboard and lighted up, and drew the curtain before 
 his window. Then Tom instinctively left off taking notes, 
 for fear of hurting the other's feelings (just as he w r ould 
 have gone on doing so, and making remarks on every 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 63 
 
 thing, had the rooms been models of taste and comfort), 
 and throwing his cap and gown on the sofa, sat down on 
 one of the Windsor chairs. 
 
 " What a jolly chair," said he ; " where do you get 
 them ? I should like to buy one." 
 
 " Yes, they're comfortable enough," said Hardy, " but 
 the reason I have them is that they're the cheapest arm- 
 chairs one can get ; I like an arm-chair, and can't afford 
 to have any other than these." 
 
 Tom dropped the subject of the chairs at once, follow- 
 ing his instinct again, which sad to say, was already teach- 
 ing him that poverty is a disgrace to a Briton, and that, 
 until you know a man thoroughly, you must always seem 
 to assume that he is the owner of unlimited ready money. 
 Somehow or another he began to feel embarrassed, and 
 couldn't think of any thing to say, as his host took down 
 the pipes and tobacco from the mantelpiece, and placed 
 them on the table. However, any thing was better than 
 silence ; so he began again. 
 
 " Very good-sized rooms yours seem," said he taking up 
 a pipe mechanically. 
 
 " Big enough, for the matter of that," answered the 
 other, " but very dark and noisy in the daytime." 
 
 u So I should think," said Tom ; " do you know, I'd 
 sooner now have my freshman's rooms up in the garrets. 
 I wonder you don't change." 
 
 " I get these for nothing," said his host, putting his 
 long clay to the candle, and puffing out volumes of smoke. 
 Tom was stumped again, and felt more and more unequal 
 to the situation — so began filling his pipe in silence, 
 The first whiff made him cough, as he wasn't used to the 
 fragrant weed in this shape. 
 
 u I'm afraid you don't smoke tobacco," said his host 
 
64 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 from behind his own cloud ; " shall I go out and fetch you 
 a cigar? I don't smoke them myself; I can't afford it." 
 
 " No, thank you," said Tom, blushing for shame, as if 
 he had come there only to insult his host, and wishing 
 himself heartily out of it ; " I've got my case here ; and 
 the met is I will smoke a cigar if you'll allow me, for I'm 
 not up to pipes yet. I wish you'd take some," he went 
 on, emptying his cigars on the table. 
 
 " Thank'ee," replied his host, " I prefer a pipe. And 
 now what will you have to drink ? I don't keep wine, but 
 I can get a bottle of any thing you like from the common 
 rocm. That's one of our privileges," — he gave a grim 
 chuckle as he emphasized the word " our." 
 
 " "Who on earth are we ? " thought Tom ; " servitors, I 
 suppose," for he knew already that undergraduates in gen- 
 eral could not get wine from the college cellars. 
 
 " I don't care a straw about wine," said he, feeling very 
 hot about the ears : u a glass of beer, or any thing you 
 have here — or tea." 
 
 " Well, I can give you a pretty good glass of whiskey," 
 said his host, going to the cupboard, and producing a black 
 bottle, two tumblers of different sizes, some little wooden 
 toddy ladles, and sugar in an old cracked glass. 
 
 Tom vowed that, if there was one thing in the world 
 he liked more than another, it was whiskey ; and began 
 measuring out the liquor carefully into his tumbler, and 
 rolling it round between his eye and the candle, and smell- 
 ing it, to show what a treat it was to him ; while his host 
 put the kettle on the fire, to ascertain that it was quite 
 boiling, and then, as it spluttered and fizzed, filled up the 
 two tumblers, and restored it to its place on the hob. 
 
 Tom swallowed some of the mixture, which nearly 
 made him cough again — for, though it was very good, it 
 was also very potent ; however, by an effort he managed 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 65 
 
 to swallow his cough ; he would about as soon have lot a 
 little finger as let it out. Then, to his great relief, his 
 ho?t took the pipe from his lips and inquired, " How do 
 you like Oxford?" 
 
 " I hardly know yet," said Tom ; " the first few days I 
 was delighted with going about and seeing the buildings, 
 and finding out who had lived in each of the old colleges, 
 and pottering about in the Bodleian, and fancying I should 
 like to be a great scholar. Then I met several old 
 school-fellows going about, who are up at other colleges, 
 and went to their rooms and talked over old times. But 
 none of my very intimate friends are up yet, and unless 
 you care very much about a man already, you don't seem 
 to be likely to get intimate with him up here, unless he is 
 .it your own college." 
 
 He paused as if expecting an answer. 
 
 " I dare say not," said Hardy ; " but I never was at a 
 public school, unluckily, and so am no judge." 
 
 " Well, then, as to the college life," went on Tom, u it's 
 all very well as far as it goes. There's plenty of liberty, 
 and good food. And the men seem nice fellows — many 
 of them at least, as far as I can judge. But I can't say 
 that I like it as much as I liked our school life." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Hardy. " Why not ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I hardly know," said Tom, laughing ; " I don't 
 seem as if I had any thing to do here ; that's one reason, 
 I think. And then, you see, at Rugby I was rather a great 
 man. There one had a share in the ruling of three hun- )C 
 dred boys, and a good deal of responsibility. But here 
 one has only just to take care of one's self, and keep out of 
 scrapes ; and that's what I never could do. What do you 
 think a fellow ought to do now up here ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't see much difficulty in that," said his host, 
 smiling j " get up your lectures well, to begin with." 
 6* 
 
66 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 u B-it my lectures are a farce," said Tom ; " I've done 
 all the books over and over again. They don't take me 
 an hour a day to get up." 
 
 " Well, then, set to work reading something regularly 
 — reading for your degree, for instance." 
 
 "Oh, hang it! I can't look so far forward as that; I 
 sha'n't be going up for three years." 
 
 " You can't begin too early. You might go and talk to 
 your college-tutor about it." 
 
 " So I did," said Tom ; " at least I meant to do it. For 
 he asked me and two other freshmen to breakfast the other 
 morning, and I was going to open out to him. But when 
 I got there I was quite shut up. He never looked one of 
 us in the face, and talked in set sentences, and was cold, 
 and formal, and condescending. The only bit of advice he 
 gave us was to have nothing to do with boating — just the 
 one thing which I feel a real interest in. I couldn't get 
 out a word of what I wanted to say." 
 
 " It is unlucky, certainly, that our present tutors take 
 so little interest in anything which the men care about. 
 But it is more from shyness than any thing else, that man- 
 ner which you noticed. You may be sure that he was 
 more wretched and embarrassed than any of you." 
 
 " Well, but now I should really like to know what you 
 did yourself," said Tom ; " you are the only man of much 
 older standing than myself whom I know at all yet — I 
 mean I don't know anybody else well enough to talk 
 about this sort of thing to them. What did you do now, 
 besides learning to pull, in your first year ? " 
 
 " I had learnt to pull before I came up here," said 
 TTp.rdy. " I really hardly remember what I did besides 
 read. You see I came up with a definite purpose of 
 .reading. My father was very anxious that I should be a 
 gcod scholar. Then my position in the college and my 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 67 
 
 poverty naturally kept me out of many things which ether 
 men do." 
 
 Tom flushed again at the ugly word, but not so much 
 as at first. Hardy couldn't mind the subject, or he would 
 never be forcing it up at every turn, he thought. 
 
 " You wouldn't think it," he began again, harping on 
 the same string, " but I can hardly tell you how I miss 
 the sort of responsibility I was talking to you about. I 
 have no doubt I shall get the vacuum filled up before long, 
 but for the life of me I can't see how yet." 
 
 u You will be a very lucky fellow if you don't find it 
 quite as much as you can do to keep yourself in order up 
 here. It is about the toughest part of a man's life, I do 
 believe, the time he has to spend here. My university 
 life has been so different altogether from what yours will 
 be, that my experience isn't likely to benefit you." 
 
 " I wish you would try me, though," said Tom ; " you 
 don't know what a teachable sort of fellow I am, if any- 
 body will take me the right way. You taught me to scull, 
 you know ; or at least put me in the way to learn. But 
 sculling, and rowing, and cricket, and all the rest of it, 
 with such reading as I am likely to do, wont be enough. 
 I feel sure of that already." 
 
 " I don't think it will," said Hardy. " No amount of 
 physical or mental work will fill the vacuum you were 
 talking of just now. It is the empty house swept and 
 garnished, which the boy might have had glimpses of,. but 
 the man finds yawning within him, and which must be 
 filled somehow. It's a pretty good three years' work to 
 learn how to keep the devils out of it, more or less, by the 
 time you take your degree. At least I have found it so." 
 
 Hardy rose and took a turn or two up and down his 
 room. He was astonished at finding himself talking so 
 unreservedly to one of whom he knew so little, and half 
 
68 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 wished the words recalled. He lived much alone, anil 
 thought himself morbid and too self-conscious; why should 
 he be filling a youngster's head with puzzles ? How did 
 hs know that they were thinking of the same thing? 
 
 But the spoken word cannot be recalled; it must go on 
 its way for good or evil ; and this one set the hearer star- 
 ing into the ashes, and putting many things together in his 
 head. 
 
 It was some minutes before he broke silence, but at last 
 he gathered up his thoughts, and said, " Well, I hope I 
 sha'n't shirk when the time comes. You don't think a 
 fellow need shut himself up though ? I'm sure I shouldn't 
 be any the better for that." 
 
 " No, I don't think you would," said Hardy. 
 
 " Because, you see," Tom went on waxing bolder and 
 more confidential, " if I were to take to moping by my- 
 self, I shouldn't read as you or any sensible fellow would 
 do ; I know that well enough. I should just begin, sitting 
 with my legs up on the mantelpiece, and looking into my 
 cwn inside. I see you are laughing, but you know what 
 [\ mean ; don't you now ? " 
 
 " Yes ; staring into the vacuum you were talking of 
 just now ; it all comes back to that," said Hardy. 
 
 " Well, perhaps it does," said Tom ; " and I don't be- 
 lieve it does a fellow a bit of good to be thinking about 
 himself and his own doings." 
 
 " Only he can't help himself," said Hardy. " Let him 
 throw himself, as he will, into all that is going on up here, 
 a r ter all lie must be alone for a great part of his time — - 
 all night at any rate — and when he gets his oak sported, 
 it's all up with him. He must be looking more or less in- 
 to his own inside, as you call it." 
 
 " Then "I hope he wont find it as ugly a business as J 
 do. If he does, I'm sure he can't be worse employed." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 69 
 
 " 1 don't know that," said Hardy ; " lie can't learn any 
 thing worth learning in any other way." 
 
 " Oh, I like that ! " said Tom ; " it's worth learning how 
 to play tennis, and how to speak the truth. You can't 
 learn either by thinking about yourself ever so much." 
 
 " You must know the truth before you can speak it," 
 said Hardy. 
 
 " So you always do in plenty of time."" 
 
 " How ? " said Hardy. 
 
 " Oh! I don't know," said Tom ; " by a sort of instincv, 
 I suppose. I never, in my life, felt any doubt about what 
 I ought to say or do ; did you ? " 
 
 " Well, yours is a good, comfortable, working belief, at 
 any rate," said Hardy, smiling ; " and I should advise you 
 to hold on to it as long as you can." 
 
 " But you don't think I can for very long, eh?" 
 
 " No ; but men are very different. There's no saying. 
 If you were going to get out of the self-dissecting business 
 altogether though, why should you have brought the sub- 
 ject up at all to-night ? It looks awkward for you ; doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 Tom began to feel rather forlorn at this suggestion, and 
 probably betrayed it in his face, for Hardy changed Ihe 
 subject suddenly. 
 
 " How do you get on in the boat ? I saw you going 
 down to-day, and thought the time much better." 
 
 Tom felt greatly relieved, as he was beginning to find 
 himself in rather deep water : so he rushed into boating 
 with great zest, and the two chatted on very pleasantly on 
 that and other like matters, of little interest to the gen- 
 eral reader. 
 
 The college clock struck during a pause in their talk, 
 and Tom looked at his watch. 
 
 " Eight o'clock, I declare," he said ; " why I must have 
 
70 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 been here more than two hours. I'm afraid, now, you 
 have been wanting to work, and I have kept you from it 
 with my talk." 
 
 " No, it's Saturday night. Besides, I don't get much 
 society that I care about, and so I enjoy it all the more. 
 "Wont you stop and have some tea ? " 
 
 Tom gladly consented, and his host produced a some- 
 what dilapidated set of crockery, and proceeded to brew 
 the drink least appreciated at St. Ambrose's. Tom 
 watched him in silence, much exercised in his mind as to 
 what manner of man he had fallen upon; very much 
 astonished at himself for having opened out so freely, and 
 feeling a strange desire to know more of Hardy, not 
 unmixed with a sort of nervousness as to how he was to 
 accomplish it. 
 
 When Hardy sat down again and began pouring out 
 th3 tor., curiosity overcame, and he opened with — 
 
 " So you read most nights after hall ? " 
 
 " Yes, for two or three hours ; longer, when I am in a 
 good humor." 
 
 "What, all by yourself?" 
 
 " Generally ; but once or twice a week Grant comes in 
 to compare notes. Do you know him ? " 
 
 " No ; at least he hasn't called on me. I have just 
 sp«Ae r > to him." 
 
 " He is a very quiet fellow, and I dare say doesn't call 
 on any man unless he knew something of him before." 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 " Never," said Hardy, shortly ; and added after a short 
 p^use, " very few men would thank me if I did ; most 
 would think it impertinent, and I'm too proud to risk 
 
 too." 
 
 Tom was on the point of asking why ; but the uncom- 
 fortable feeling he had nearly lost came back on him. 
 
TOM &3.01TS AT OXFORD. 71 
 
 " I suppose one very soon gets tired of the wine-and- 
 t upper-party life, though I own I find it pleasant enough 
 now." 
 
 " I have never been tried," said Hardy ; " servitors are 
 not troubled with that kind of thing. If they were, I 
 wouldn't go unless I could return them, and that I can't 
 afford." 
 
 " There he goes again," thought Tom ; " why will he 
 be throwing that old story in my face over and over 
 again ? he can't think I care about his poverty ; I wont 
 change the subject this time, at any rate." And so he 
 said : — 
 
 " You don't mean to say that it makes any real differ- 
 ence to a man in society up here, whether he is poor or 
 rich ; I mean, of course, if he is a gentleman and a good 
 fellow?" 
 
 " Yes, it does — the very greatest possible. But don't 
 take my word for it. Keep your eyes open and judge for 
 yourself; I dare say I'm prejudiced on the subject." 
 
 " Well, I shan't believe it if I can help it," said Tom ; 
 " you know you said just now that you never called on 
 any one. Perhaps you don't give men a fair charce. 
 They might be glad to know you if you would let them, 
 and may think it's your fault that they don't." 
 
 " Very possibly," said Hardy ; " I tell you not to take 
 my word for it." 
 
 " It upsets all one's ideas so," went on Tom ; " why, Ox- 
 ford ought to be the place in England where money should 
 count for nothing. Surely, now, such a man as Jervis, 
 our captain, has more influence than all the rich men in 
 the college put together, and is more looked up to ? " 
 
 " He's one of a thousand," said Hardy ; " handsome, 
 strong, good-tempered, clever, and up to every thing. 
 Besides, he isn't a poor man ; and mind, I don't say that, 
 
72 TOM TEOTTIT AT OXFOKD. 
 
 if he were, he wouldn't b* where he is. I am speaking 
 of the rule, and not of the exceptions." 
 
 Here Hardy's scout came in to say that the dean 
 wanted to speak to him. So he put on his cap and gown, 
 and Tom rose also. 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry to turn you out," said Hardy, " and 
 I'm afraid I've been very surly and made jou very un- 
 comfortable. You wont come back again in a hurry." 
 
 " Indeed I will though, if you will let me," said Tom ; 
 " I have enjoyed my evening immensely." 
 
 " Then come whenever you like," said Hardy. 
 
 " But I am afraid of interfering with your reading," 
 said Tom. 
 
 " Oh ! you needn't mind that ; I have plenty of time on 
 my hands ; besides, one can't read all night, and from eight 
 to ten you'll find me generally idle." 
 
 " Then you'll see me often enough. But promise now 
 to turn me out whenever I am in the way." 
 
 " Very well," said Hardy, laughing ; and so they parted 
 for the time. 
 
 Some twenty minutes afterwards Hardy returned to 
 his room after hie interview with the dean, who merely 
 wanted to spe?Ak to hiis about some matter of college busi- 
 ness. He flung his cap and gown on to the sofa, and be- 
 gan to walk up and down Lis room, at first hurriedly, but 
 soon with his usual regular tramp. However expressive 
 a man's face may be, and however well you may know it, 
 it is simply nonsense to say that you can tell what he is 
 thinking about by looking at it, as many of us are apt t 
 boast. Still more absurd would it be to expect reader 
 to know what Hardy is- thinking about, when they have 
 never had the advantage of ceeing his face even in a pho- 
 tograph. "Wherefore, it 77culd seem that the author is 
 bound on such occasions t3 put hie readers on equal van- 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW DltTSDALE AND BLAKE WENT FISHING. 
 
 " Drysdale, what's a servitor ? " 
 
 " How the deuce should I know ? " 
 
 This short and pithy dialogue took place in Drysdale's 
 rooms one evening soon after the conversation recorded 
 in the last chapter. He and Tom were sitting alone there, 
 for a wonder, and so the latter seized the occasion to pro- 
 pound this question, which he had had on his mind for 
 some time. He was scarcely satisfied with the above 
 rejoinder, but while he was thinking how to come at the 
 subject by another road, Drysdale opened a morocco fly- 
 book, and poured its contents on the table, which was 
 already covered with flies of all sorts and patterns, hanks 
 of gut, delicate made-up casts, reels, minnows, and tackle 
 enough to kill all the fish in the four neighboring coun- 
 ties. Tom began turning them over and scrutinizing the 
 dressings of the flies. 
 
 " It has been so mild, the fish must be in season, don't 
 you think ? Besides, if they're not, it's a jolly drive to 
 Fairford, at any rate. You've never been behind my 
 team, Brown. You'd better come, now, to-morrow." 
 
 " I can't cut my two lectures." 
 
 " Bother your lectures ! Put on an ssger, then." 
 
 " No ! that doesn't suit my book, you know." 
 
 " I can't see why you should be so cursedly particular. 
 Well, if you wont, you wont ; I know that well enough. 
 But what cast should you fish with to-morrow?" 
 
76 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 a How many flies do you use ? " 
 
 " Sometimes two, sometimes three." 
 
 " Two's enough, I think ; all depends on the weather ; 
 but, if it's at all like to-day, you can't do better, I should 
 think, than the old March brown and a palmer to begin 
 with. . Then, for change, this hare's ear, and an alder fly, 
 perhaps; or, — let me see," and he began searching the 
 glittering heap to select a color to go with the dull hare's ear 
 
 " Isn't it early for the alder?" said Drysdale. 
 
 " Rather, perhaps ; but they can't resist it." 
 
 " These bang-tailed little sinners any good ? " said Drys« 
 dale, throwing some cock-a-bondies across the table. 
 
 " Yes ; I never like to be without them, and a governor 
 or two. Here, this is a well-tied lot," said Tom, picking 
 out half a dozen. " You never know when you may not 
 kill with either of them. But I don't know the Fairford 
 water ; so my opinion isn't worth much." 
 
 More talk of a like kind went on, not interesting to the 
 general reader. And you, O reader ! who are a fisherman, 
 to whom my heart warms as I pen these lines, do you not 
 know it all as well as I? The delight of sitting handling 
 tackle and talking fishing talk, though you mayn't get 
 three days' fishing a year ; the difficulty you have in ad- 
 vising any brother of the craft to leave a single well-tied 
 taking-looking fly out of his book, though you know, from 
 experience, that it Would be probably better for him if he 
 had only some four or five flies in the world. Well, after 
 thirty, or thereabouts, we must all, I suppose, lay our ac- 
 count to enjoying such things mostly in talk. It is a real 
 pleasure, though, to go on talking, and so enjoying by 
 anticipation splendid days of salmon-fishing and hunting, 
 though they never really arrive. 
 
 When the conversation flagged, Tom returned to the 
 old topic. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 77 
 
 i 
 
 " But now, Drysdale, you must know what a servitor 
 is?" 
 
 " Why should I ? Do you mean one of our college ser- 
 vitors ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh ! something in the upper-servant line. I should 
 put him above the porter, and below the cook and butler. 
 He does the dons' dirty work, and gets their broken vict- 
 uals ; and I believe he pays no college fees." 
 
 Tom rather drew into himself at this insolent and off- 
 hand definition. He was astonished and hurt at the tone 
 of his friend. However, presently, he resolved to go 
 through with it, and began again. 
 
 u But servitors are gentlemen, I suppose ? " 
 
 "A good deal of the cock-tail about them, I should 
 think. But I have not the honor of any acquaintance 
 amongst them." 
 
 " At any rate, they are undergraduates ; are not they 5 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And may take degrees, just like you or me ? " 
 
 " They may have all the degrees to themselves, for 
 any thing I care. I wish they would let one pay a servi- 
 tor for passing little-go for one. It would be deuced com- 
 fortable. I wonder it don't strike the dons, now ; they 
 might get clever beggars for servitors, and farm them, and 
 so make loads of tin." 
 
 "But, Drysdale, seriously, why should you talk like 
 that ? If they can take all the degrees we can, and are, 
 in fact, just what we are, undergraduates, I can't see why 
 they're not as likely to be gentlemen as we. It can surely 
 make no difference, their being poor men ? " 
 
 " It must make them devilish uncomfortable," said the 
 incorrigible payer of double fees, getting up to light hi* 
 cigar. 
 
 7* 
 
 y 
 
78 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " The name ought to carry respect here, at any rate. 
 The Black Prince was an Oxford man, and he thought 
 the noblest motto he could take was ' Ich dien,' I serve." 
 
 "If he were here now, he would change it for * Je 
 paye.' " 
 
 " I often wish you would tell me what you really and 
 truly think, Drysdale." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I'm telling you what I do really think. 
 "Whatever the Black Prince might be pleased to observe 
 if he were here, I stick to my motto. I tell you the thing 
 to be able to do here at Oxford is — to pay." 
 
 " I don't believe it." 
 
 " I knew you wouldn't." 
 
 " I don't believe you do, either." 
 
 " I do, though. But what makes you so curious about 
 servitors ? " 
 
 " "Why, I've made friends with Hardy, one of our servi- 
 tors. He is such a fine fellow ! " 
 
 I am sorry to relate that it cost Tom an effort to say 
 this to Drysdale ; but he despised himself that it was so. 
 
 * You should have told me so before you began to 
 pump me," said Drysdale. " However, I partly suspected 
 something of the sort. You've a good bit of a Quixote in 
 you. But really, Brown," he added, seeing Tom redden 
 and look angry, " I'm sorry if what I said pained you. I 
 dare say this friend of yours is a gentleman, and all you 
 say." 
 
 u He is more of a gentleman by a long way than most 
 of the—" 
 
 *"' Gentlemen -commoners/ you were going to say. 
 Don't crane at such a small fence on my account. I will 
 put it in another way for you. He can't be a greater snob 
 4han many of them." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 79 
 
 "Well, but why do you live with them so much, 
 then?" 
 
 " "Why ? Because they happen to do the things I like 
 doing, and live up here as I like to live. I like hunting 
 and driving, and drawing badgers and playing cards, and 
 good wines and cigars. They hunt and drive, and keep 
 dogs and good cellars, and will play unlimited loo or Van 
 John as long as I please." 
 
 " But I know you get very sick of all that often, for 
 I've heard you say as much half a dozen times in the little 
 time I've been here." 
 
 " Why, you don't want to deny me the Briton's privi- 
 lege of grumbling, do you ? " said Drysdale, as he flung 
 his legs up on the sofa, crossing one over the other as 
 he lounged on his back — his favorite attitude ; " but sup- 
 pose I am getting tired of it all — which I'm not — what 
 do you propose as a substitute ? " 
 
 "Take to boating. I know you could be in the first 
 boat if you liked ; I heard them say so at Smith's wine 
 the other night." 
 
 " But what's to prevent my getting just as tired of that? 
 Besides, it's such a grind. And then there's the bore of 
 changing all one's habits. " 
 
 " Yes, but it's such splendid hard work," said Tom, who 
 was bent on making a convert of his friend. 
 
 " Just so ; and that's just what I don't want ; the 
 " books, and work, and healthful play ' line don't suit my 
 complaint. No ; as my old uncle says, * a young fellow 
 must sow his wild oats,' and Oxford seems a place spe- 
 cially set apart by Providence for that operation." 
 
 In all the wide range of accepted British maxims there 
 is none, take it for all in all, more thoroughly abominable 
 than this one as to the sowing of wild oats. Look at it 
 on what side you will, and I will defy you to make any 
 
80 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 thing but a devil's maxim of it. What a man — be be 
 young, old, or middle-aged — sows, that, and nothing else, 
 shall he reap. The one only thing to do with wild oats, is 
 to put them carefully into the hottest part of the fire, and 
 get them burnt to dust, every seed of them. If you sow 
 them, no matter in what ground, up they will come, with 
 long, tough roots like couch-grass, and luxuriant stalks and 
 leaves, as sure as there is a sun in heaven — a crop which 
 it turns one's heart cold to think of. The DeviLtoo, whose 
 special crop they are, will see that they thrive, and you, 
 and nobody else, will have to reap them ; and no common 
 reaping will get them out of the soil, which must be dug 
 down deep again and again. Well for you if with all your 
 care you can make the ground sweet again by your dying 
 day. " Boys will be boys " is not much better, but that 
 lias a true side to it ; but this encouragement to the sowing 
 of wild oats is simply devilish, for it means that a young 
 man is to give way to the temptations and follow the lusts 
 of his age. What are we to do with the wild oats of man- 
 hood and old age — with ambition, over-reaching, the false 
 weights, hardness, suspicion, avarice — if the wild oats of 
 youth are to be sown and not burnt ? What possible dis- 
 tinction can we draw between them ? If we may sow the 
 one, why not the other ? However (as I have been re- 
 minded — perhaps not without reason, certainly in the 
 kindest manner — on several occasions), I a*m writing the., 
 story of a life, or rather of part of a life, and not sermons ; 
 and though I protest against the critical law, that a writer 
 of fiction ought to confine himself to trying to amuse, I 
 would much rather produce such truth as there is in me, 
 and such faith as I hold and desire to see spreading, by 
 means of the characters in my story, than in the shape of 
 comment in my own person. Only in trying to do so I 
 om often met by another critical law f which seems to me 
 I 
 
 i 
 
T05l BROWN AT OXFORD. 81 
 
 to be a higher and sounder one than the other ; \ iz., that 
 an author has no right to get behind his characters and 
 pour out of their mouths opinions and speculations on 
 deeply interesting questions in which he has just dabbled 
 enough to feel their attraction, without having ever come 
 on firm ground or made up hLs mind. I feel that the 
 critic is right in bringing me to book, and saying, Come 
 now, do you believe this or that ? 
 
 "What is a man to do, then, who has beliefs and writes 
 to bring them out? You will say doubtless, dear reader, 
 write essays, sermons, what you will, only not fiction. To 
 which I would reply, Gladly, O dear reader, would I 
 write essays or sermons, seeing that they take less out of 
 one than fiction — but would you read them? You know 
 ycu wouldn't. And so, if I sometimes stray into the pul- 
 pit, I do hope you wont be so ungenerous as to skip 
 my preachings. To drink all a fellow's sack up, and then 
 make faces at his poor pennyworth of bread, is altogether 
 unmanly and un-British ; and, if you should take to in- 
 dulging yourself in this manner, I shall begin to think that 
 you are capable of running away or crying out for peace 
 at any price when the French shall have landed at sev- 
 eral points on our coast simultaneously. 
 
 But to gfet back to our story. Tom went away from 
 Drysdale's rooms that night, after they had sorted all the 
 tackle which was to accompany the fishing expedition to 
 their satisfaction, in a disturbed state of mind. He was 
 , very much annoyed at Drysdale's way of talking, because 
 he was getting to like the man. He was surprised and 
 angry at being driven more and more to the conclusion 
 that the worship of the golden calf was verily and indeed 
 rampant in Oxford — side by side, no doubt, with much 
 that was manly and noble, but tainting mo r e or less the 
 whok life of the place. In fact, what annoyed him most, 
 
 i 
 
62 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 was the consciousness that he himself was becoming an 
 idolator ; for he couldn't help admitting that he felt much 
 more comfortable when standing in the quadrangles or 
 strolling in the High Street with Diysdale in his velvet 
 cap, and silk gown, and faultless get-up, than when doing 
 the same things with Hardy in his faded old gown, shabby 
 loose overcoat and well-worn trousers. He wouldn't have 
 had Hardy suspect the fact for all he was worth, and 
 hoped to get over the feeling soon ; but there it was un- 
 mistakably. He wondered whether Hardy had ever felt 
 any thing of the kind himself. 
 
 Nevertheless, these thoughts did not hinder him from 
 sleeping soundly, or from getting up an hour earlier than 
 usual to go and see Drysdale start on his expedition. 
 
 Accordingly, he was in Drysdale's rooms next morning 
 betimes, and assisted at the early breakfast which was 
 going on there. Blake was the only other man present. 
 He was going with Drysdale, and entrusted Tom with a 
 message to Miller and the captain, that he could not pull 
 in the boat that day, but would pay a waterman to take 
 his place. As soon as the gate opened, the three, accom- 
 panied by the faithful Jack, and followed by Drysdale's 
 scout, bearing over-coats, a splendid water-proof apron 
 lined with fur, and the rods and creels, sallied out of col- 
 lege, and sought the livery stables patronized by the men 
 of St. Ambrose. Here they found a dog-cart all ready in 
 the yard, with a strong Roman-nosed, vicious-looking, rat- 
 tailed horse in the shafts, called Satan, by Drysdale ; the 
 leader had been sent on to the first turnpike. The things 
 were packed, and Jack, the bull-dog, hoisted into the inte- 
 rior in a few minutes. Drysdale produced a long, straight 
 horn, which he called his yard of tin (probably because it 
 was made of brass), and after refreshing himsc/f with a 
 blast or two, handed it over to Blake, and ther mounted 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 83 
 
 the dog-cart, and took the reins. Blake seated himself by 
 his side ; the help who was to accompany them, got up be- 
 hind ; and Jack looked wisely out from his inside place 
 over the backboard. 
 
 " Are we all right ? " said Drysdale, catching his long 
 tandem whip into a knowing double thong. 
 
 " All right, sir," said the head ostler, touching his cap. 
 
 " You'd better have come, my boy," said Drysdale to 
 Tom, as they trotted off out of the yard ; and Tom couldn't 
 help envying them as he followed, and watched the dog- 
 cart lessening rapidly down the empty street, and heard 
 the notes of the yard of tin, which Blake managed to 
 make really musical, borne back on the soft western 
 breeze. It was such a stunning morning for fishing ! 
 
 However, it was too late to repent, had he wished it ; 
 and so he got back to chapel, and destroyed the whole 
 effect of the morning service on Miller's mind, by deliver- 
 in 2r Blake's message to that choleric coxswain as soon as 
 chapel was over. Miller vowed for the twentieth time 
 that Blake should be turned out of the boat, and went off 
 to the captain's rooms to torment him, and consult what 
 was to be done. 
 
 The weather continued magnificent — a soft, dull, gray 
 March day, with a steady wind ; and the thought of the 
 lucky fishermen, and visions of creels filled with huge 
 three-pounders, haunted Tom at lecture and throughout 
 the day. 
 
 At two o'clock he was down at the river. The college 
 eight was to go down for the first time in the season to the 
 reaches below Nuneham, for a good training pull, and he 
 had had notice, to his great joy, that he was to be tried in 
 the boat. But, great, no doubt, as was the glory the price 
 was a_ heavy one. This was the first time he had been 
 subjected to the tender mercies of Miller, the coxswain, or 
 
84 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 had pulled behind the captain ; and it did not take long to 
 convince him that it was a very different style of thing 
 from any thing he had as yet been accustomed to in the 
 freshmen's crew. The long, steady sweep of the so-called 
 paddle tried him almost as much as the breathless strain 
 of the spurt. 
 
 Miller, too, was in one of his most relentless moods. 
 He was angry at Blake's desertion, and seemed to think 
 that Tom had had something to do with it, though he had 
 simply delivered the message which had been entrusted 
 to him ; and so, though he distributed rebuke and objur- 
 gation to every man in the boat except the captain, he 
 seemed to our hero to take particular delight in working 
 him. There he stood in the stern, the fiery little cox- 
 swain, leaning forward with a tiller-rope in each hand, and 
 bending to every stroke, shouting his warnings and re- 
 bukes, and monitions to Tom, till he drove him to his wits' 
 end. By the time the boat came back to Hall's, his arms 
 were so numb that he could hardly tell whether his oar 
 was in or out of his hand ; his legs were stiff and aching, 
 and every muscle in his body felt as if it had been pulled 
 out an inch or two. As he walked up to college, he 
 felt as if his shoulders and legs had nothing to do with 
 one another ; in short he had had a very hard day's woii^, 
 and, after going fast asleep at a wine party, and trying in 
 vain to rouse himself by a stroll in the streets, fairly gave 
 in about ten o'clock, and went to bed without remember- 
 ing to sport his oak. 
 
 For some hours he slept the sleep of the dead, but at 
 last began to be conscious of voices, and the clinking of 
 glasses, and laughter, and scraps of songs ; and after turn- 
 ing himself once or twice in bed, to ascertain whether he 
 was awake or no, rubbed his eyes, sat up, and became 
 aware that something very entertaining to the parties con- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 85 
 
 cerned was going on in his sitting-room. After listening 
 for a minute, he jumped up, threw on his shooting-coat, 
 appeared at the door of his own sitting-room, where he 
 paused a moment to contemplate the scene which met 
 his astonished vision. His fire, recently replenished, was 
 burning brightly in the grate, and his candles on the table, 
 on which stood his whiskey bottle, and tumblers, and hot 
 water. On his sofa, which had been wheeled round be- 
 fore the fire, reclined Drysdale, on his back, in his pet 
 attitude, one leg crossed over the other, with a paper in 
 his hand, from which he was singing, and in the arm-chair 
 sat Blake, while Jack was coiled on the rug, turning him- 
 self every now and then in a sort of uneasy protest against 
 his master's untimely hilarity. At first, Tom felt inclined 
 to be angry, but the jolly shout of laughter with which 
 Drysdale received him, as he stepped out into the light in 
 night-shirt, shooting-coat, and dishevelled hair, took all 
 the rile out of him at once. 
 
 " Why, Brown, you don't mean to say you have been 
 in bed this last half-hour ? We looked into the bedroom, 
 and thought it was empty. Sit down, old fellow, and 
 make yourself at home. Have a glass of grog ; it's first- 
 rate whiskey." 
 
 . " Well, you're a couple of cool hands, I must say," said 
 Tom. " How did you get in ? " 
 
 " Through the door, like honest men," said Drysdale. 
 " You're the only good fellow in college to-night. When 
 we got back our fires were out, and we've been all round 
 college, and found all the oaks sported but yours. Never 
 sport your oak, old boy; it's a bad habit. You don't 
 know at what time in the morning you may entertain an- 
 gels unawares." 
 
 " You're a rum pair of angels, anyhow," said Tom, tak- 
 ing his seat on the sofa. " But what o'clock is it ? " 
 8 
 
86 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Oh ! about half-past one," said Drysdale. " We've had 
 a series of catastrophes. Never got irito college till near 
 one. I thought we should never have waked that besot- 
 ted little porter. However, here we are at last, you see, 
 all right." 
 
 " So it seems," said Tom ; "but how about the fishing?" 
 1 " Fishing ! we've never thrown a fly all day," said 
 Drysdale. 
 
 " He is so cursedly conceited about his knowledge of 
 the country," struck in Blake. " What with that, and his 
 awful twist, and incurable habit of gossiping, and his 
 blackguard dog, and his team of a devil and a young fe- 
 male — " 
 
 " Hold your scandalous tongue," shouted Drysdale. 
 " To hear you talking of my twist,'indeed ; you ate four 
 chops and a whole chicken to-day, at dinner, to your own 
 cheek, you know." 
 
 " That's quite another thing," said Blake. " I like to see 
 a fellow an honest grubber at breakfast and dinner ; but 
 you've always got your nose in the manger. That's how 
 we got all wrong to-day. Brown. You saw what a break- 
 fast he ate before starting ; well, nothing would satisfy 
 him but another at Whitney. There we fell in with a 
 bird in mahogany tops, and, as usual, Drysdale began 
 chumming with him. He knew all about the fishing of 
 the next three counties. I dare say he did. My private 
 belief is, that he is one of the Hungerford town council, 
 who let the fishing there ; at any rate, he swore it was no 
 use our going to Fairford; the only place where fish 
 would be in season was Hungerford. Of course, Drysdale 
 swallowed it all, and nothing would serve him but that we 
 should turn off for Hungerford at once. Now, I did go 
 once to Hungerford races, and I ventured to suggest that 
 we should never get near- the place. Not a bit of u.«e j 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 87 
 
 he knew every foot of the countiy. It was the.a about 
 nine ; he would guarantee that we should be there by 
 twelve, at latest." 
 
 " So we should have been, but for accidents," struck in 
 Drysdale. 
 
 " Well, at any rate, what we did was to drive into Far- 
 ringdon, instead of Hungerford, both horses dead done up, 
 at twelve o'clock, after missing our way about twenty 
 times." 
 
 " Because you would put in your oar," said Drysdale. 
 
 " Then grub again," went on Blake, " and an hour to 
 bait the horses. I knew we were as likely to get to Jer- 
 icho as to Hungerford. However, he would start ; but, 
 luckily, about two miles from Farringdon, old Satan 
 bowled quietly into a bank, broke a shaft, and deposited 
 us then and there. He wasn't such a fool as to be going 
 to Hungerford at that time of day ; the first time in his 
 wicked old life that I ever remember seeing him do any 
 thing that pleased me." 
 
 <8h Come now," said Drysdale, " do you mean to say you 
 ever sat behind a better wheeler, when he's in a decent 
 temper ? " 
 
 " Can't say," said Blake ; " never sat behind him in a 
 good temper, that I can remember." 
 
 ■"I'll trot him five miles out and home in a dog-cart, on 
 any road out of Oxford, against any horse you can bring, 
 •for a fiver." 
 
 " Done ! " said Blake. 
 
 " But were you upset?" said Tom. "How did you get 
 into the bank ? " 
 
 " Why, you see," said Drysdale, " Jessy — that's the 
 little blood-mare, my leader — is very young, arid as shy 
 and skittish as the rest of her sex. We turned a cornex 
 
88 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 sharp, and came right upon a gypsy encampment. Up she 
 went into the air in a moment, and then turned right 
 round and came head on at the cart. I gave her the 
 double thong across her face to send her back again, and 
 Satan, seizing the opportunity, rushed against the bank, 
 dragging her with him, and snapped the shaft." 
 
 " And so ended our day's fishing," said Blake. " And 
 next moment out jumps that brute, Jack, and pitches into 
 the gypsy's dog, who had come up very naturally to have 
 a look at what was going on. Down jumps Drysdale, to 
 see that his beast gets fair play, leaving me and the help 
 to look after the wreck, and keep his precious wheeler 
 from kicking the cart into little pieces." 
 
 " Come now," said Drysdale, " you must own we fell 
 on our own legs after all. Hadn't we a jolly afternoon ? 
 I'm thinking of turning tramp, Brown. We spent three 
 or four hours in that camp, and Blake got spooney on a 
 gypsy girl, and has written I don't know how many songs 
 on them. Didn't you hear us singing them just now ? " 
 
 "But how did you get the cart mended ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Oh ! the tinker patched up the shaft for us — a cun- 
 ning old beggar, the pere de famille of the encampment; 
 up to every move on the board. He wanted to have 
 a deal with me for Jessy. But, 'pon my honor, we had 
 a good time of it. There was the old tinker, mending 
 the shaft, in his fur cap, with a black pipe, one inch 
 long, sticking out of his mouth : and the old brown parch-* 
 ment of a mother, with her head in a red handkerchief, 
 smoking a ditto pipe to the tinker's, who told our fortunes, 
 and talked like a printed book. Then there -was his wife, 
 and the slip of a girl who bowled over Blake there, and 
 half a dozen ragged brats ; and a fellow on tramp, not a 
 gypsy — some runaway apprentice I take it, but a jolly 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 89 
 
 doGr — with no lugcracre but an old fiddle, on which ho 
 scraped away uncommonly well, and set Blake making 
 rhymes as we sat in the tent. You never heard any of 
 his songs. Here's one for each of us ; we're going to get 
 up the characters and sing them about the country ; now 
 for a rehearsal ; I'll be the tinker." 
 
 " No ; you must take the servant girl," said Blake. 
 
 " Well, we'll toss up for characters when the time comes. 
 You begin then ; here's the song ; " and he handed one 
 of the papers to Blake, who began singing : — 
 
 " Squat on a green plot, 
 
 We scorn a bench or settle, oh ! 
 
 Plying and trying, 
 
 A spice of every trade ; 
 
 Razors we grind, 
 
 Ring a pig. or mend a kettle, oh ! 
 
 Come, what d'ye lack ? 
 
 Speak it out, my pretty maid. 
 
 " I'll set your scissors, while 
 
 My granny tells you plainly, 
 Who stole your barley meal, 
 
 Your butter or your heart ; 
 Tell if your husband will 
 
 Be handsome or ungainly, . 
 Ride in a coach and four, or 
 
 Rough it in a cart." 
 
 " Enter Silly Sally ; that's I, for the present, you see, n 
 said Drysdale ; and he began — 
 
 "Oh, dear ! what can the matter je ? 
 Dear, dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 Oh, dear ! what can the matter be ! 
 All in a pucker be 1 ; 
 I'm growing uneasy about Billy Martin, 
 For love is a casualty desperV unsartin. 
 Law ! yonder's the gypsies as tells folks' fortin ; 
 I'm half in the mind for to try." 
 8* 
 
90 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Then you must be the old gypsy woman, Mother Pa- 
 trico ; here's your part, Brown." 
 
 " But what's the tune ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Oh! you can't miss it ; go ahead ; " and so Tom, who 
 was dropping into the humor of the thing, droned out from 
 the MS. handed to him — 
 
 " Chairs to mend, 
 Old chairs to mend, 
 Rush-bottom'd, cane bottom'd 
 Chairs to mend. 
 Maid, approach, 
 If thou wouldst know 
 What the stars 
 May deign to show." 
 
 " Now, tinker," said Drysdale. nodding at Blake, who 
 rattled on, — 
 
 " Chance feeds us, chance leads us 
 
 Round the land in jollity ; 
 Rag-dealing, nag-stealing, 
 
 Everywhere we roam ; 
 Brass mending, ass vending, 
 
 Happier than the quality ; 
 Swipes soaking, pipes smoking, 
 
 Ev'ry barn a home ; 
 Tink tink, a tink a tink, 
 
 Our life is full of fun, boys ; 
 Clink tink, a tink a tink, 
 
 Our busy hammers ring ; 
 Clink tink, a tink a tink, 
 
 Our job will soon be done, boys ; 
 Then tune we merrily 
 
 The bladder and the string." 
 
 Drysdale, as Silly Sally. 
 
 u Oh, dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 Dear, dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 Oh, dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 There's such a look in her eye. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 91 
 
 Oh, lawk ! I declare I be all of a tremble ; 
 My mind it misgives me about Sukey Wimble, 
 A splatter-filled wench neither civil nor nimble i 
 She'll bring Billy to beggary." 
 
 Tom, as Mother Patrico. 
 
 " Show your hand ; 
 Come, show your hand ! 
 "Would you know 
 What fate hath planned ? 
 Heaven forefend, 
 Ay, Heav'n forefend ! 
 What may these 
 Cross-lines portend?" 
 
 Blake, as the Tinker. 
 
 u Owl, pheasant, all's pleasant ; 
 
 Nothing comes amiss to us ; 
 Hare, rabbit, snare, nab it, 
 
 Cock, or hen, or kite ; 
 Tom-cat, with strong fat, 
 
 A dainty supper is to us ; 
 Hedge-hog and sedge-frog 
 
 To stew is our delight ; 
 Bow, wow, with angry bark 
 
 My lady's dog assails us ; 
 We sack him up, and clap 
 
 A stopper on his din. 
 Now, pop him in the pot ; 
 
 His store of meat avails us ; 
 Wife cooks him nice and hot, 
 
 And granny tans his skin." 
 
 Drysdale, as Silly Sally. 
 
 " Oh, lawk ! what a calamity ! 
 Oh, my ! what a calamity ! 
 Oh, dear! what a calamity! 
 Lost and forsaken be I. 
 Fm out of my senses, and naught will content me, 
 But pois'ning Poll Ady who helped circumvent me ; 
 
92 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Come, tell me the means, for no power shall prevent me ; 
 Oh, give me revenge, or I die. 5 ' 
 
 Tom, as Mother Patrico. 
 
 " Pause a -while ! 
 Anon, anon ! 
 Give me time 
 The stars to con. 
 True love's course 
 Shall yet run smooth ; 
 True shall prove 
 The favor'd youth." 
 
 Blake, as the Tinker. 
 
 " Tink tink, a tink a tink, 
 
 "We'll work and then get tipsy, oh ! 
 Clink tink, on each chink, 
 
 Our busy hammers ring. 
 Tink tink, a tink a tink, 
 
 How merry lives a gypsy, oh ! 
 Chanting and ranting; 
 
 As happy as a king." 
 
 Drysdale, as Silly Sally. 
 
 u Joy ! joy ! all will end happily ! 
 
 Joy ! joy ! all will end happily I 
 
 Joy ! joy ! all will end happily ! 
 
 Bill will be constant to I. 
 
 Oh, thankee, good dame, here's my purse and 
 
 my thimble ; 
 A fig for Poll Ady and fat Sukey Wimble, 
 I now could jump over the steeple so nimble ; 
 With joy I be ready to cry." 
 
 Tom, as Mother Patrico, 
 
 "William shall 
 Be rich and great ; 
 And shall prove 
 A constant mate. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 93 
 
 Thank not me, 
 But thank your fate, 
 On whose high 
 Decrees I wait." 
 
 "Well, wont that do? wont it bring the house down? 
 I'm going to send for dresses from London, and we'll start 
 next week." 
 
 " What, on the tramp, singing these songs ? " 
 
 " Yes ; we'll begin in some out-of-the-way place till we 
 get used to it." 
 
 " And end in the lock-up, I should say," said Tom ; 
 " it'll be a good lark, though. Now, you haven't told me 
 how you got home." 
 
 " Oh ! we left camp at about five — " 
 
 " The tinker having extracted a sovereign from Drys- 
 dale," interrupted Blake. 
 
 "What did you give to the little gypsy yourself?" re- 
 torted Drysdale ; " I saw your adieus under the thorn-bush. 
 — Well, we got on all right to old Murdoch's, at Kingston 
 Inn, by about seven, and there we had dinner ; and after 
 dinner the old boy came in ; he and I are great chums, 
 for I'm often there and always ask him in. But that beg- 
 gar Blake, \yho never saw him before, cut me clean out 
 in five minutes. Fancy his swearing he is Scotch, and 
 that an ancestor of his in the sixteenth century married a 
 Murdoch ! " 
 
 " Well, when you come to think what a lot of ancestors 
 one must have had at that time, it's probably true," said 
 Blake. 
 
 " At any rate, it took," went on Drysdale. " I thought 
 old Murdoch would have wept on his neck. As it was, 
 he scattered snuff enough to fill a pint pot over him out 
 of his mull, and began talking Gaelic. And Blake had 
 
94 TOM BIIOWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 the cheek to jabber a lot of gibberish back to him, as if 
 he understood every word." 
 
 " Gibberish ! it was the purest Gaelic," said Blake, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I heard a lot of Greek words myself," said Drysdale ; 
 " but old Murdoch was too pleased at hearing his own 
 clapper going, and too full of whiskey, to find him out." 
 
 " Let alone that I doubt whether he remembers more 
 than about five words of his native tongue himself," said 
 Blake. 
 
 " The old boy got so excited that he went up-stairs f~r 
 his plaid and dirk, and dressed himself up in them, apolo- 
 gizing that he could not appear in the full garb of old 
 Gaul, in honor of his new-found relative, as his daughter 
 had cut up his old kilt for ' trews for the bairnies ' during 
 his absence from home. Then they took to more toddy 
 and singing Scotch songs, till at eleven o'clock they were 
 standing on their chairs, right hands clasped, each with 
 one foot on the table, glasses in the other hands, the toddy 
 flying over the room as they swayed about, roaring like 
 maniacs, what was it ? — oh ! I have it. 
 
 " ' TFw#-an-toorey all agree, 
 
 " ' IFt^-an-toorey, wm^-an-toorey.' " 
 
 " He hasn't told you that he tried to join us, and tum- 
 bled over the back of his chair into the dirty-plate basket." 
 
 " A libel ! a libel ! " shouted Drysdale ; " the leg of my 
 chair broke, and I stepped down gracefully and safely, and 
 when I looked up and saw what a tottery performance it 
 was, I concluded to give them a wide berth. It would be 
 no joke to have old Murdoch topple over on to you. I 
 left them ' wug-an-tooreying,' and went out to look after 
 the trap, which was ordered to be at the door at half-past 
 ten. I found Murdock's ostler very drunk, but sober, 
 compa?ed with that rascally help whom we had been fools 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 95 
 
 enough to take with us. They had got the trap out and 
 the horses in, but that old rascal, Satan, was standing so 
 quiet that I suspected something wrong. Sure enough, 
 when I came to look, they had him up to the cheek on 
 one side of his mouth, and third bar on the other, his 
 belly-band buckled across his back, and no kicking strap. 
 The old brute w T as chuckling to himself what he would do" 
 with us as soon as we had started in that trim. It took 
 half an hour getting all right, as I was the only one able 
 to do any thing." 
 
 " Yes, you would have said so," said Blake, " if you 
 had seen him trying to put Jack up behind. He made 
 six shots with the old dog, and dropped him about on his 
 head and the broad of his back as if he had been a bundle 
 of eels." 
 
 " The fact is, that that rascally ostler had made poor old 
 Jack drunk too," explained Drysdale, " and he wouldn't 
 be lifted straight. However, we got off at last, and hadn't 
 gone a mile before the help (who was maundering away 
 some cursed sentimental ditty or other behind) lurched 
 more heavily than usual, and pitched off into the night, 
 somewhere. Blake looked for him for half an hour, and 
 couldn't find a hair of him." 
 
 " You don't mean to say the man tumbled off and you 
 never found him ? " said Tom, in horror. 
 
 " Well, that's about the fact," said Drysdale ; " but it 
 aint so bad as you think. "We had no lamps, and it was 
 an uncommon bad night for running by holloas." 
 
 " But a firstrate night for running by scent," broke in 
 Blake ; " the fellow leant against nte until he made his 
 exit, and I'd have backed myself to have hit the scent 
 again half a mile off, if the wind had only been right." 
 
 " He may have broken his neck," said* Tom. 
 
 " Can a fellow sing with a broken neck ? " said Drys- 
 
96 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 dale ; " hanged if I know ! But don't I tell you we heard 
 him maundering on somewhere or other? and, when 
 Blake shouted, he answered in endearing terms ; and, when 
 Blake swore, he rebuked him piously out of the pitch 
 darkness, and told him to go home and repent. I nearly 
 dropped off the box for laughing at them ; and then he 
 1 up-lifted his testimony/ as he called it, against me for 
 driving a horse called Satan. I believe he's a ranting 
 Methodist spouter." 
 
 " I tried hard to find him," said Blake, " for I should 
 dearly have liked to have kicked him safely into the 
 ditch." 
 
 "At last, Black Will himself couldn't have held Satan 
 another minute. So Blake scrambled up, and away we 
 came, and knocked into college at one for a finish : the 
 rest you know." 
 
 " Well, you've had a pretty good day of it," said Tom, 
 who had been hugely amused ; " but I should feel nervous 
 about the help, if I were you." 
 
 " Oh ! he'll come to no grief, I'll be bound," said Drys- 
 dale ; " but what o'clock is it ? " 
 
 " Three," said Blake, looking at his watch and getting 
 up ; " time to turn in." 
 
 " The first time I ever heard you say that," said Drys- 
 dale. 
 
 " Yes ; but you forgot we were up this morning before 
 the world was aired. Good-night, Brown." 
 1 And t off the two went, leaving Tom to sport his oak this 
 time and retire in wonder to bed. 
 
 Drysdale was adeep with Jack curled up on the foot 
 of the bed in ten minutes. Blake, by the help of wet 
 towels and a knotted piece of whipcord round his fore- 
 head, read Pindar till the chapel bell began to ring. 
 
CHAPTER VH. 
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 
 
 Our hero soon began to feel that lie was contracting 
 nis first serious college friendship. The great, strong, 
 badly dressed, badly appointed servitor, who seemed al- 
 most at the same time utterly reckless of and nervously 
 alive to the opinion of all around him, with his bursts of 
 womanly tenderness and Berserkir rage, alternating like 
 the storms and sunshine of a July day on a high moor- 
 land, his keen sense of humor and appreciation of all the 
 good things of this life, the use and enjoyment of which 
 he was so steadily denying himself from high principle, 
 had from the first seized powerfully on all Tom's sympa- 
 thies, and was daily gaining more hold upon him. 
 
 Blessed is the man who has the gift of making friends, 
 for it is one of God's best gifts. It involves many things, 
 but above all, I take it, the power of going out of one's 
 self, and seeing and appreciating whatever is noble and 
 living (in St. Paul's sense) in another man. 
 
 But even to him who has the gift, it is often a great 
 puzzle to find out whether a man is really a friend or 
 not. The following is recommended as a test in the case 
 of any man about whom you are not quite sure, especially 
 if he should happen to have more of this world's goods, 
 either in the shape of talent, rank, money, or what not, 
 than you : — 
 
 Fancy the man stripped stark naked of every thing in 
 the world except an old pair of trousers and a shirt, for 
 9 k 
 
98 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 decency's sake, without even a name to him, and dropped 
 down in the middle of Holborn or Piccadilly. Yv r ould 
 you go up to him then and there, and lead him out from 
 amongst the cabs and omnibuses, and take him to your 
 own home, and feed him, and clothe him, and stand by him 
 against all the world, to your last sovereign and your last 
 leg of mutton ? If you wouldn't do this, you have no 
 right to call him by the sacred name of friend. If you 
 would, the odds are that he would do the same by you, and 
 you may count yourself a rich man. For I reckon that, 
 were friendship expressible by, or convertible into, current 
 coin of the realm, one such friend would be worth to a 
 man at least £100,000. How many millionnaires are there 
 in England? I can't even guess; but more by a good 
 many, I fear, than there are men who have ten real 
 friends. But friendship is not so expressible or converti- 
 ble. It is more precious than wisdom ; and wisdom " can- 
 not be gotten for gold, nor shall rubies be mentioned in 
 comparison thereof." Not all the riches that ever came 
 out of earth and sea are worth thr> assurance of one such 
 real, abiding friendship in your heart of hearts. 
 
 But for the worth of a friendship, commonly so called 
 — meaning thereby a sentiment founded on the good din- 
 ners, good stories, opera stalls, and days! shooting you 
 have gotten or hope to get out of a man,;the snug things 
 in his gift, and his powers of procuring enjoyment of one 
 kind or another to your miserable body or intellect — why, 
 such a friendship as that is to be appraised easily enough 
 if you find it worth your while ; but you'll have to pay 
 your pound of flesh for it one way or another, you may 
 take your oath of that. If you follow my advice, you will 
 take a £10 note down, and retire to your crust of bread 
 and liberty. 
 
 So, as I was saying, Tom was rapidly falling into friend- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 93 
 
 ihip with Hardy. He was not bound hand and foot and 
 carried away captive till some months later ; but he was 
 already getting deeper in the toils. 
 
 One evening he found himself as usual at Hardy's door 
 about eight o'clock. The oak was open, but he got no 
 answer when he knocked at the inner door. Nevertheless, 
 lie entered, having quite got over all shyness or ceremony 
 by this time. The room was empty ; but two tumblers 
 ar.d the black bottle stood on the table, and the kettle was 
 hissing away on the hob. " Ah," thought Tom, " he ex- 
 pects me, I see." So he turned his back to the lire, and 
 made himself at home. A quarter of an hour passed, and 
 still Hardy did not return. " Never knew him out so long 
 before at this time of night," thought Tom. " Perhaps 
 he's at some party. I hope so. It would do him a deal 
 of good ; and I know he might go out if he liked. Next 
 term see if I wont make him more sociable. It's a stupid 
 custom that freshmen don't give parties in their first term, 
 or I'd do it at once. Why wont he be more sociable ? 
 No, after all, sociable isn't the word ; he's a very sociable 
 fellow at bottom. What in the world is it that he wants?" 
 And so Tom balanced himself on the two hind legs of onei 
 of the Windsor chairs, and betook himself to pondering 
 what it was exactly which ought to be added to Hardy to 
 make him an unexceptionable object of hero-worship ; 
 when the man himself came suddenly into the room, slam- 
 ming his oak behind him, and casting his cap and gown 
 fiercely on to the sofa, before he noticed our hero. 
 
 Tom jumped up at once. " Mf dear fellow, what's the 
 matter?" he said. "I'm sorry I came in. Shall I go?" 
 
 " No ; don't go. Sit down," said Hardy, abruptly ; and 
 then began to smoke fast without saying another word. 
 
 Tom waited a few minutes, watching him, and then 
 broke silence again. 
 
100 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " I am sure something is the matter, Hardy. You look 
 dreadfully put out ; what is it?" 
 
 "What is it?" said Hardy, bitterly; "oh! nothing at 
 all, nothing at all ; a gentle lesson to servitors as to the 
 duties of their position ; not pleasant, perhaps, for a young- 
 ster to swallow, but I ought to be used to such things at 
 any rate by this time. I beg your pardon for seeming 
 put out." 
 
 " Do tell me what it is," said Tom. " I'm sure I am 
 very sorry for any thing which annoys you." 
 
 " I believe you are," said Hardy, looking at him, " and 
 I'm much obliged to you for it. What do you think of 
 that fellow Chanter's offering Smith, the junior servitor, a 
 boy just come up, a bribe of ten pounds to prick him in at 
 chapel when he isn't there ? " 
 
 " The dirty blackguard," said Tom ; " by Jove he ought 
 to be cut. He will be cut, wont he ? You don't mean 
 that he really did offer him the money?" 
 
 " I do," said Hardy ; " and the poor little fellow came 
 here after hall to ask me what he should do, with tears in 
 his eyes." 
 
 " Chanter ought to be horsewhipped in quad," said Tom. 
 " I will go and call on Smith directly. What did you 
 do?" 
 
 " Why, as soon as I could master myself enough not 
 to lay hands on him," said Hardy, " I went across to his 
 rooms, where he was entertaining a select party, and just 
 gave him his choice between writing an abject apology 
 then and there, to my dictation, or having the whole busi- 
 ness laid before the principal to-morrow morning. He 
 chose the former alternative, and I made him write such 
 ft letter as I don't think he'will forget in a hurry " 
 
 " That's good " said Tom ; " but he ought to have beeu 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 101 
 
 horsewhipped, too. It makes one's fingers itch to think 
 of it. However, Smith's all right now." 
 
 " All right ! " said Hardy, bitterly. " I don't know what 
 you call ' all right.' Probably the boy's self-respect is 
 hurt for life. You can't salve over this sort of thing with 
 an apology plaster." 
 
 " Well, I hope it isn't so bad as that," said Tom. 
 
 " Wait till you've tried it yourself," said Hardy. " I'll 
 tell you what it is, one. or two tilings of this sort — and 
 I've seen many more than that in my time — sink down 
 into you, and leave marks like a red-hot iron." 
 
 "But, Hardy, now, really, did you ever know a bribe 
 offered before ? " said Tom. 
 
 Hardy thought for a moment. ~" No," he said, " I can't 
 say that I have ; but things as bad, or nearly as bad, 
 often." He paused a minute, and then went on : " I tell 
 you, if it were not for my dear old father, who would 
 break his heart over it, I would cut the whole concern 
 to-morrow. I've been near doing it twenty times, and 
 enlisting in a good regiment." 
 
 " Would it be any better there, though ? " said Tom, 
 gently, for he felt that he was in a magazine. 
 
 " Better ! yes, it must be better," said Hardy ; " at any 
 rate, the youngsters there are marchers and fighters ; be- 
 sides, one would be in the ranks and know one's place. 
 Here one is by way of being a gentleman — God save 
 the mark ! A young officer, be he never such a fop or 
 profligate, must take his ^urn at guard, and carry his life 
 in his hand all over the world, wherever he is sent, or he 
 has to leave the service. Service ! yes, that's the word ; 
 that's what makes every young red-coat respectable, though 
 he mayn't think it. He is serving his queen, his country 
 • — the Devil, too, perhaps — very likely^ — but still the 
 other in some sort. He is bound to it, sworn to it, must 
 9* 
 
102 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 do it, more or less. But a youngster up here, with health, 
 strength, and heaps of money, bound to no earthly ser- 
 vice, and choosing that of the Devil and his own lusts, be- 
 cause some service or other he must have — I want to 
 know where else under the sun you can see such a sight 
 as that?" 
 
 Tom mumbled something to the effect that it was by 
 no means necessary that men at Oxford, either rich or 
 poor, need embark in the service which he had alluded to ; 
 which remark, however, only seemed to add fuel to the 
 fire ; for Hardy now rose from his chair and began strid- 
 ing up and down the room, his right arm behind his back, 
 the hand gripping his left elbow, his left hand brought 
 round in front close to his body, and holding the bowl of 
 his pipe, from which he was blowing off clouds in puffs, 
 like an engine just starting with a heavy train. The at- 
 titude was one of a man painfully trying to curb himself. 
 His eyes burnt like coals under his deep brows. The man 
 altogether looked awful, and Tom felt particularly uncom- 
 fortable and puzzled. After a turn or two, Hardy burst 
 out again : — 
 
 " And who are they, I should like to know, these fel- 
 lows who dare to offer bribes to gentlemen? How do 
 they live ? What do they do for themselves or for this 
 university ? By Heaven ! they are ruining themselves 
 body and soul, and making this place, which was meant 
 for the training of learned and brave and righteous Eng- 
 lishmen, a lie and a snare. An$ who tries to stop them ? 
 Here and there a don is doing his work like a man ; the 
 rest are either washing their hands of the business, and 
 spending their time in looking after those who don't want 
 looking after, and cramming those who would be better 
 without the cramming, or else standing by, cap in hand, 
 and shouting, < O young men of large fortune and great 
 
TOM DROWN AT OXFORD. 103 
 
 connections ! you future dispensers of the good things of 
 this realm ! come to our colleges, and all shall be made 
 pleasant ! ' and the shout is taken up by undergraduates, 
 and tradesmen, and horse-dealers, and cricket-cads, and 
 dog-fanciers, ' Come to us, and us, and us, and we will be 
 your toadies ! ' Let them, let them toady and cringe to 
 their precious idols, till they bring this noble old place 
 down about their ears. Down it will come, down it must 
 come, for down it ought to come, if it can find nothing 
 better to worship than rank, money, and intellect. But 
 to live in the place and love it, too, and see all this going 
 on, and groan and writhe under it, and not be able — " 
 
 At this point in his speech, Hardy came to the turning- 
 point in his march at the further end of the room, just op- 
 posite his crockery cupboard ; but, instead of turning as 
 usual, he paused, let go the hold on his left elbow, poised 
 himself for a moment to get a purchase, and then dashed 
 his right fist full against one of the panels. Crash went 
 the slight deal boards, as if struck with a sledge-hammer, 
 and crash went glass and crockery behind. Tom jumped 
 to his feet ; in doubt whether an assault on him would not 
 follow ; but the fit was over, and Hardy looked round at 
 him, with a rueful and deprecating face. For a moment 
 Tom tried to look solemn and heroic, as befitted the occa- 
 sion ; but, somehow, the sudden contrast flashed on him, 
 and sent him off, before he could think about it, into a 
 roar of laughter, ending in a violent fit of coughing ; for 
 in his excitement he had swallowed a mouthful of smpVe. 
 Hardy, after holding out for a moment, gave in to the 
 humor of the thing, and the appealing look passed into a 
 smile, and the smile into a laugh, as he turned towards 
 his damaged cupboard, and began opening it carefully in 
 a legitimates manner. 
 
104 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "I say, old fellow,'' said Tom, coming up, "I shoa.d 
 think you must find it an expensive amusement ; do you 
 often walk into your cupboards like that ? " 
 
 " You see, Brown, I'm naturally a man of a very quick 
 temper." 
 
 "So it seems," said Tom ; " but doesn't it hurt your 
 knuckles? I should have something softer put up for me 
 if I were you ; your bolster, with a velvet cap on it, or a 
 doctor of divinity's gown now." 
 
 " You be hanged," said Hardy, as he disengaged the 
 last splinter, and gently opened the ill-used cupboard 
 door. " Oh, thunder and turf, look here !" he went on, as 
 the state of affairs inside disclosed itself to his view; 
 " how many times have I told that thief George never to 
 put any thing on this side of my cupboard ! Xwo tum- 
 blers smashed to bits, and I've only four in the world ! 
 Lucky we'd got those two out on the table." 
 
 " And here's a great piece out of the sugar basin, you 
 see," said Tom, holding up the broken article ; " and, let 
 me see, one cup, and three saucers gone to glory." 
 
 " Well, it's lucky it's no worse," said Hardy, peering 
 over his shoulder ; " I had a lot of odd saucers, and there's 
 enough left to last my time. Never mind the smash, let's 
 sit down again and be reasonable." 
 
 Tom sat down in high good-humor. He felt himself 
 more on an equality with his host than he had done be- 
 fore, and even thought he might venture on a little mild 
 expostulation or lecturing. But while he was considering 
 how to improve the occasion, Hardy began himself. 
 
 "I shouldn't get so furious, Brown, if I didn't care 
 about the place so much. I can't bear to think cf it as 
 a sort of learning machine in which I am to grind for 
 three yrars to get certain degrees which I want. No — « 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 105 
 
 this place, and Cambridge, and our great schools are the 
 heart of dear old England. Did you ever read Secre- 
 tary Cook's address to the vice-chancellor, doctors, etc., 
 in 163G — more critical times, perhaps, even than ours? 
 No ? Well listen, then ; " and he went to his bookcase, 
 took down a book, and read, " ' The very truth is, that all 
 wise princes respect the welfare of their estates, and con- 
 sider that schools and universities are (as in the body) 
 the noble and vital parts, which, being vigorous and sound, 
 send good blood and active spirits into the veins and ar- 
 teries, which cause health and strength ; or, if feeble or 
 ill-affected, corrupt all the vital parts ; whereupon grow 
 diseases, and in the end, death itself.' A low standard up 
 here for ten years may corrupt half the parishes in the 
 kingdom." 
 
 " That's true," said Tom, but — " 
 
 "Yes ; and so one has a right to be jealous for Oxford. 
 Every Englishman ought to be." 
 
 " But I really think, Hardy, that you're unreasonable," 
 said Tom, who had no mind to be done out of his chance 
 of lecturing his host. 
 
 "I'm very- quick-tempered," said Hardy, "as I told you 
 just now." 
 
 " But you're not fair on the fast set up here. They 
 can't help being rich men, after all." 
 
 "No; so one oughtn't to expect them to be going 
 through the eyes of needles, I suppose. But do you 
 mean to say you ever heard of a more dirty blackguard 
 business than this?" said Hardy; "he ought to be ex- 
 pelled the university." 
 
 " I admit that," said Tom ; " but it was only one of 
 them, you know. I don't believe there's another man in 
 the set who would have done it." 
 
106 TOM BROTVN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " "Well, I hope not," said Hardy ; " I may be hard on 
 them — as you say, they can't help being rich. But now, 
 I don't want you to think me a violent, one-sided fanatic ; 
 eliall I tell you some of my experiences up hei'e — some 
 passages from the life of a servitor ? " 
 
 " Do, " said Tom ; " I should like nothing so welL w 
 
109 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 hardy's history. 
 
 On the whole, I think it will put my readers in a bet* 
 ter position for understanding my story, if I take this 
 early opportunity of making them better acquainted with 
 Hardy. So I have put together at once a connected 
 sketch of his life, which Tom picked up bit by bit from 
 him, on the night of the broken cupboard and afterwards, 
 as their friendship went on ripening ; and as it is always 
 best to let a man speak for himself, Hardy shall tell fiis 
 own tale, without comment. So let us fancy ourselves in 
 the room described in Chapter V., sitting in a Windsor 
 chair, on the opposite side of the fire to Hardy, and bent 
 with our whole "wills on knowing, understanding, throw- 
 ing ourselves into the life of, and sympathizing with, the 
 strange granite block of humanity, who sits in the fellow 
 "Windsor chair, and speaks as follows : — 
 
 " My father is an old commander in the Royal Navy. 
 He was a second cousin of Nelson's Hardy, and that, 
 I believe, was what led him into the navy, for he had 
 no interest whatever of his own. It was a visit which 
 Nelson's Hardy, then a young lieutenant, paid to his 
 relative, my grandfather, w T hich decided my father, he has 
 told me ; but he always had a strong bent to the sea, 
 though he was a boy of very studious habits. 
 
 " However, those were times when brave men who 
 knew and loved their profession couldn't be overlooked, 
 and my dear old father fought his way up step by step — 
 
106 
 
 TOM DROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 not very fast certainly, but still fast enough to keep hiro 
 in heart about his chances in life. I could show you the 
 accounts of some of the affairs he was in in James' His- 
 tory, which you see up on my shelf there, or I could tell 
 them you myself; but I hope some day you will know 
 him, and then you will hear them in perfection. 
 
 "My father was made commander towards the end of 
 the war, and got a ship in which he sailed with a convoy 
 of merchantmen from Bristol. It was the last voyage 
 he ever made in active service ; but the admiralty were 
 so well satisfied with his conduct in it that they kept hi* 
 ship in commission two years after peace was declared. 
 And well they might be, for in the Spanish main he fought 
 an action which lasted, on and off, for two days, with a 
 French sloop-of-war, and a privateer, which he always 
 thought was an American, either of which ought to have 
 been a match for him. But he had been with Vincent 
 in the Arrow, and was not likely to think much of such 
 small odds as that. At any rate, he beat them off, and 
 not a prize could either of them make out of his convoy, 
 though I believe his ship was* never fit for any thing after- 
 wards, and was broken up as soon as she was out of com- 
 mission. We have got her compasses, and the old flag 
 which flew at the peak through the whole voyage, at home 
 now. It was my father's own flag, and his fancy to have 
 it always flying. More than half the men were killed, or 
 badly hit — the dear old father amongst the rest. A ball 
 took off part of his knee-cap, and he had to fight the last 
 six hours of the action sitting in a chair on the quarter- 
 deck ; but he says it made the men fight better than when 
 he was about among them, seeing him sitting there suck- 
 ing oranges. 
 
 " Well, he came home with a stiff leg. The Bristol 
 merchants gave him the freedom of the city in a gold box, 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 109 
 
 and a splendidly mounted sword with an inscription on 
 the blade, which hangs over the mantelpiece at home. 
 When I first left home, I asked him to give me his old 
 service sword, which used to hang by the other, and he 
 gave it me at once, though I was only a lad of seventeen, 
 as he would give me his right eye, dear old father, which 
 is the only one he has now ; the other he lost from a cut- 
 lass-wound in a boarding party. There it hangs,, and 
 those arc his epaulettes in the tin case. They used to 
 lie under my pillow before I had a room of my own, and 
 many a cowardly, down-hearted fit have they helped to 
 pull me through, Brown ; and many a mean act have 
 they helped to hinder me from doing. There they are 
 always ; and the sight of them brings home the dear old 
 man to me as nothing else does, hardly even his letters. 
 I must be a great scoundrel to go very wrong with such a 
 father. 
 
 " Let's see — where was I ? Oh, yes ! I remember. 
 Well, my father got his' box and sword, and some very 
 handsome letters from several great men. We have 
 them all in a book at home, and I know them by heart. 
 The ones he values most are from Collingwood, and 
 his old captain, Vincent, and from his cousin, Nelson's 
 Hardy, who didn't come off much better himself after the 
 war than my father ; for my poor old father never got 
 another ship. For some time he went up every year to 
 London, and was always, he says, very kindly received 
 by the people in power, and often dined with one and 
 another lord of the admiralty who had been an old 
 messmate. But he was longing for employment ; and it 
 used to prey on him while he was in his prime to feel 
 year after year slipping away, and he still without a ship. 
 But why should I abuse people, and think it hard when 
 he doesn't ? ' You see, Jack,' he said to me the last time 
 10 
 
110 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 we spoke about it, 'after all, I was a battered old hulk t 
 lame and half blind. So was Nelson, you'll say ; but 
 every man isn't a Nelson, iny boy. And though I might 
 think I could con or fight a ship as well as ever, I can't 
 say other folk who didn't know me were wrong for not 
 agreeing with me. "Would you now, Jack, appoint a lame 
 and blind man to command your ship, if you had one ? ' 
 But he left off applying for work soon after he was fifty 
 (I just remember the time), for he began to doubt 
 then whether he was quite so fit to command a small 
 vessel as a younger man ; and, though he had a much 
 better chance after that of getting a ship (for William IV. 
 came to the throne, who knew all about him), he never 
 went near the admiralty again. * God forbid,' he said, 
 * that his majesty should take me if there's a better man 
 to be had.' 
 
 " But I have forgotten to tell you how I came into the 
 world, and am telling you my father's story instead of my 
 own. You seem to like hearing about it though, and 
 you can't understand one without the other. However, 
 when my father was made commander, he married, and 
 bought, with his prize money and savings, a cottage and 
 piece of land, in a village on the south coast, where he 
 left his wife when he went on his last voyage. They had 
 waited some years, for neither of them had any money ; 
 but there never were two people who wanted it le§s, or 
 did more good without it to all who came near them. 
 They had a hard time of it, too, for my father had. 
 to go on half-pay ; and a commander's half-pay isn't \ 
 much to live upon and keep a family. For they had a 
 family ; three, besides me ; but they are all gone. And 
 my mother, too ; she died when I was quite a boy, and 
 left him and me alone'; and since then I have never 
 known what a woman's love is, for I have no near rela* 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. Ill 
 
 tions ; and a man with such prospects as mine had better 
 keep down all — however, there's no need to go into my 
 notions ; I wont wander any more if I can help it. 
 
 " I know my father was very poor when my mother 
 died, and I think (though he never told me so) that he 
 had mortgaged our cottage, and was very near having to 
 sell it at one time. The expenses of my mother's illness 
 had been very heavy ; I know a good deal of the best 
 furniture was sold — all, indeed, except a handsome arm- 
 chair, and a little work-table of my mother's. She used 
 to sit in the chair, in her last illness, on our lawn, and 
 watch the sunsets. And he sat by her, and watched her, 
 and sometimes read the Bible to her ; while I played 
 about with a big black dog we. had then, named Vincent, 
 after my father's old captain ; or with Burt, his old boat- 
 swain, who came with his wife to live with my father be- 
 fore I can recollect, and lives with us still. He did every 
 thing in the garden and about the house ; and in the 
 house, too, when his wife was ill, for he can turn his hand 
 to any thing, like. most old salts. It was he who rigged. 
 up the mast and weathercock on the lawn, and used to 
 let me run up the old flag on Sundays, and on my father's 
 wedding-day, and on the anniversary of his action, and 
 of Vincent's action in the Arrow. 
 
 " After my mother's death my father sent away all the 
 servants, for the boatswain and his wife are more like 
 friends. I was wrong to say that no woman has loved 
 me since my mother's death, for I believe dear old Nanny 
 loves me as if I were her own child. My father, after 
 this, used to sit silent for hours together, doing nothing 
 but look over the sea; but, except for that, was not 
 much changed. After a short time he took to teaching 
 me to read, and from that time I never was away from 
 him for an hour, except when I was asleep, until I went 
 out into the world. 
 
112 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " As I told you, my father was naturally fond of study. 
 He had kept up the little Latin he had learnt as a boy, 
 and had always been reading whatever he could lay his 
 hands on ; so that I couldn't have had a better tutor 
 They were no lessons to me, particularly the geography 
 ones ; for there was no part of the world's sea-coast that* 
 he did not know, and could tell me what it and the people 
 who lived there were like; and often when Burt hap- 
 pened to come in at such times, and heard what my father 
 was talking about, he would give us some of his adven- 
 tures and ideas of geography, which were very queer in- 
 deed. 
 
 " When I was nearly ten, a new vicar came. He was 
 about my father's age, and a widower, like him ; only he 
 had no child. Like him, too, he had no private fortune, 
 and the living is a very poor one. He soon became very 
 intimate with us, and made my father his church-warden ; 
 and, after being present at some of our lessons, volun- 
 teered to teach me Greek, which, he said, it was time I 
 should begin to learn. This was a great relief to my 
 father, who had bought a Greek grammar and dictionary, 
 and a delectus, some time before ; and I could see him 
 often, dear old father, With his glass in his eye, puzzling 
 away over them when I was playing or reading Cook's 
 voyages, for it had grown up to be the wish of his heart 
 that I should bo a scholar, and should go into orders. So 
 he was going to teach me Greek himself, for there was 
 no one in the parish except the vicar who knew a word 
 of any thing but English — so that he could not have got 
 me a tutor, and the thought of sending me to school had 
 never crossed his mind, even if he could have afforded to 
 do either. My father only sat by at the Greek lessons, 
 and took no part ; but first he began to put in a word here 
 and there, and then would repeat words and sentences 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 113 
 
 himself, and look over my book while I construed, and 
 .very soon waa just as regular a pupil of the vicar as I. 
 
 " The vicar was for the most part very proud of hia 
 pupils, and the kindest of masters ; but every now and 
 then he used to be hard on my father, which made me 
 furious, though he never seemed to mind it. I used to 
 make mistakes on purpose at those times to show that I 
 was worse than he, at any rate. But this only happened 
 after we had had a political discussion at dinner ; for we 
 dined at three, and took to our Greek afterwards, to suit 
 the vicar's time, who was generally a guest. My father 
 is a Tory, of course, as you may guess, and the vicar 
 was a Liberal, of a very, mild sort, as I have since 
 thought ; < a Whig of '88, ' he used to call himself. But 
 he was in favor of the Reform Bill, which was enough 
 for my father, who lectured him about loyalty, and open- 
 ing the floodgates to revolution ; and used to call up old 
 Burt from the kitchen, where he was smoking his pipe, 
 and ask him what he used to think of the Radicals on 
 board ship ; and Burt's regular reply was, — 
 
 " ' Skulks, yer honor, regular skulks. I wouldn't give 
 the twist of a fiddler's elbow for all the lot of 'em as ever 
 pretended to handle a swab, or hand a topsail.' 
 
 " The vicar always tried to argue, but, as Burt and 
 I were the only audience, my father was always trium- 
 phant*; only he took it out of us afterwards at the Greek. 
 Often I used to think, when they were reading history, 
 and talking about the characters, that my father w T as much 
 the most liberal of the two. 
 
 "About this time he bought a small, half-decked boat of 
 ten tons, for he and Burt agreed that I ought to learn to 
 handle a boat, although I was not to go to sea ; and when 
 they got the vicar in the boat on the summer evenings 
 (for he was always ready for a sail, though h a - was a very 
 10* 
 
114 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 bad sailor), I believe they used to steer as near the wind 
 as possible, and get into short chopping seas on ^purpose. 
 But I don't think he was ever frightened, though he used 
 sometimes to be very ill. 
 
 " And so I went on, learning all I could from my father, 
 and the vicar, and old Burt, till I was sixteen. By that 
 time I had begun to think for myself; and I had made 
 up my mind that it was ti^e I should do something. No 
 boy ever wanted to leave home less, I believe ; but I saw 
 that I must make a move if I avus ever to be what my father 
 wished me to be. So I spoke to the vicar, and he quite 
 agreed with me, and made inquiries amongst his acquaint- 
 ance ; and so, before I was seventeen, I was offered the 
 place of under-master in a commercial school, about 
 twenty miles from home. The vicar brought the offer, 
 and my father was very angry at first ; but we talked him 
 aver, and so I took the situation. 
 
 " And I am very glad I did, although there were many 
 drawbacks. The salary was £35 a year, and for that I 
 had to drill all the boys in English, and arithmetic, and 
 Latin, and to teach the Greek grammar to the five or six 
 who paid extra to learn it. Out of school I had to be al- 
 ways with them, and was responsible for the discipline. 
 It was weary work very often, and what seemed the worst 
 part of it, at the time, to me was the trade spirit which 
 leavened the whole of the establishment. The master 
 and owner of the school, who was a keen, vulgar man, 
 but always civil enough to me, thought of nothing but 
 what would pay. And this seemed to be what filled the 
 school. Fathers sent their boys, because the place was 
 so practical, and nothing was taught (except as extras), 
 which was not to be of so-called real use to the boys in 
 the world. "We had our work quite clearly laid down for 
 us ; and it was, not to put the boys in the way of getting 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 115 
 
 real knowledge or understanding, or any of the tilings 
 Solomon talks about ; but to put them in the way of get- 
 ting on. 
 
 " I spent three years at that school, and in that time, I 
 grounded myself pretty w r ell in Latin and Greek — bet- 
 ter, I believe, than I should have done if I had been at a 
 firstrate school myself; and I hope I did the boys some 
 good, and taught some of them ttoat cunning was not the 
 best quality to start in life with. And I was not often 
 very unhappy, for I could always look forward to my 
 holidays with my father. 
 
 " However, I own that I never was better pleased than 
 one Christmas, when the vicar came over to our cottage, 
 and brought with him a letter from the principal of St. 
 Ambrose College, Oxford, appointing me to a servitor- 
 ship. My father was even more delighted than I, and 
 that evening produced a bottle of old rum, which was part 
 of his ship's stock, and had gone all through his action, 
 and been in his cellar ever since. And we three in the 
 parlor, and old Burt and his wife in the kitchen, finished 
 it that night ; the boatswain, I must own, taking the lion's 
 share. The vicar took occasion, in the course of the 
 evening, to hint that it was only poor men who took these 
 places at the university ; and that I might find some in- 
 convenience, and suffer some annoyance, by not being 
 kexactly in the same position as other men. But my dear 
 Fold father would not hear of it ; I was now going to be 
 amongst the very pick of English gentlemen — what 
 could it matter whether I had money or not ? That was 
 the last thing which real gentlemen thought of. Besides, 
 why was I to be so very poor? he should be able to allow 
 me whatever would be necessary to make me comfortable. 
 * But, Jack,' he said, suddenly, later in the evening, ' one 
 meets low fellows everywhere. You have met them, I 
 
116 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 - know, oftefi at that confounded school, and will meet them 
 again. Never you be ashamed of your poverty, my boy.' 
 I promised readily enough, for I didn't think I could be 
 more tried in that way than I had been already. I had 
 lived for three years amongst people whose class notori- 
 ously measured all things by a money standard ; now that 
 was all over, I thought. It's easy making promises in the 
 dark. The vicar, howe^r, would not let the matter rest ; 
 so we resolved ourselves into a committee of ways and 
 means, and my father engaged to lay before us an exact 
 statement of his affairs next day. I went to the door 
 with the vicar, and he told me to come and see him in 
 the morning. 
 
 " I half guessed what he wanted to see me for. He 
 knew all my father's affairs perfectly well, and wished to 
 prepare me for what was to come in the evening. ' Your 
 father/ he said, ' is one of the most liberal men I have 
 ever met ; he is almost the only person who gives any- 
 thing to the schools and other charities in this parish, and 
 he gives to the utmost. You would not wish him, I know, 
 to cut off these gifts, which brjng the highest reward with 
 them, when they are made in the spirit in which he makes 
 them. Then he is getting old, and you would never like 
 him to deny himself the comforts (and few enough they 
 are) which he is used to. He has nothing but his half- _ 
 pay, £ — , a year to live on ; and out of that he pays £— m 
 a year for insurance ; for he has insured his life, that you ^ 
 may have something besides the cottage and land when 
 he dies. I only tell you this, that you ma}' know the facts 
 beforehand. I am sure you would never take a penny 
 from him if you could help it. But he wont be happy 
 unless he makes you some allowance ; and he can do it 
 without crippling himself. He has been paying off an 
 old mortgage on his' property here for many years, by in- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 117 
 
 gtalments of £40 a year, and the last waMsaid last 
 Michaelmas, so that it will not inconvenience him to 
 make you that allowance. Now you will not be able to 
 live properly upon that up at Oxford, even as a servitor. 
 I speak to you now, my dear Jack, as your oldest friend 
 (except Burt), and you must allow me the privilege of an 
 old friend. I have more than I want, and I propose to* 
 make up your allowance at Oxford to £80 a year, and upon 
 that I think you may manage to get on. Now, it will not 
 be quite candid, but I think, under the circumstances, we 
 shall be justified in representing to your father that £40 
 a year will be ample for him to allow you. You see 
 what I mean ? ' 
 
 " I remember almost word for word what the vicar said, 
 for it is not often in one's life that one meets with this 
 sort of friend. At first, I thanked him, but refused to take 
 any thing from him. I had saved enough, I said, to carry 
 me through Oxford. But he would not be put off; and 
 I found that his heart was as much set on making me an 
 allowance himself as on saving my father. So I agreed 
 to take £25 a year from him. 
 
 "When we met again in the evening to hear my father's 
 statement, it was as good as a play to see the dear old 
 man with his spectacles on, and his papers before him, 
 proving in some wonderful way, and without making the 
 least misstatement, that he could easily allow me at least 
 £80 or £100 a year. I believe it cost . the vicar some 
 twinges of conscience to persuade him that all I should 
 want would be £40 a year; and it was very hard work, 
 but at last we succeeded, and it was so settled. During 
 the next three weeks the preparations for my start occu- 
 pied us all. The vicar looked out all his old Classics, 
 which he insisted that I should take. There they stand 
 on that middle shelf — all well bound you see, and many 
 
118 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 of theni 0R. college prizes. My father made an expedi* 
 tion to the nearest town, and came back with a large new 
 portmanteau and hatbox, and the next day the leading 
 tailor came over to fit me out with new clothes. In fact, 
 if I had not resisted stoutly, I should have come to college 
 with half the contents of the cottage, and Burt as a valet, 
 for the old boatswain was as bad as the other two. But 
 I compromised the matter with him by accepting his 
 pocket compass, and the picture of the brig which hangs 
 there ; the two things, next to his old wife, which he val- 
 ues, I believe, most in the world. 
 
 " Well it is now two years last October since I came to 
 Oxford as a servitor ; so you see I have pretty nearly fin- 
 ished my time here. I was more than twenty then — 
 much older, as you know, than most freshmen. I dare 
 say it was partly owing to the difference in age, and partly 
 to the fact that I knew no one when 1 came up, but mostly 
 to my own bad management and odd temper, that I did 
 not get on better than I have done with the men here. 
 Sometimes I think that our college is a bad specimen, for 
 I have made several friends amongst our out-college 
 men. At any rate, the fact is, as you have no doubt found 
 out, — and I hope I haven't tried at all to conceal it, — 
 that I am out of the pale, as it were. In fact, with the 
 exception of one of the tutors, and one man who was a 
 freshman with me, I do not know a man in college except 
 as a mere speaking acquaintance. 
 
 " I had been rather thrown off my balance, I think, at 
 the change in my 'life, for at first I made a great fool of 
 myself. I had believed too readily what my father had 
 said, and thought that at Oxford I should see no more of 
 what I had been used to. Here I thought that the last 
 thing a man would be valued by would be the length of 
 his purse, and that no one would look down, upon me be- 
 
TOM BROWN j^T OXFORD. 119 
 
 cause I performed some services to the college, in return 
 for my keep, instead of paying for it in money. 
 
 " Yes, I made a great fool of myself, no doubt of that ; 
 and what is worse, I broke my promise to my father — I 
 often ivas ashamed of my poverty, and tried at first to hide 
 it, for somehow the spirit of the place carried me along 
 "with it. I couldn't help wishing to be thought of and 
 treated as an equal by the men. It's a very bitter thing 
 for a proud, shy, sensitive fellow, as I am by nature, to 
 have to bear the sort of assumption and insolence one 
 meets with. I furnished my rooms well, and dressed 
 well. Ah ! you may stare ; but this is not the furniture I 
 started with ; I sold it all when I came to my senses, and 
 put in this tumble-down second-hand stuff, and I have 
 worn out my fine clothes. I know I'm not well dressed 
 now. (Tom nodded ready acquiescence to this position.) 
 Yes, though I still wince a little now and then — a good 
 deal often er than I like — I don't carry any false colors. 
 I can't quite conquer the feeling of shame (for shame it is, 
 I am afraid), but at any rate, I don't try to hide my pov- 
 erty any longer, I haven't for these eighteen months. I 
 have a grim sort of pleasure in pushing it in everybody's 
 face. (Tom assented with a smile, remembering how ex- 
 cessively uncomfortable Hardy had made him by this lit^ 
 tie peculiarity the first time he was in his rooms.) The 
 first thing which opened my eyes a little was the conduct 
 of the tradesmen. My bills all came in within a week of 
 the delivery of the furniture and clothes ; some of them 
 wouldn't leave the things without payment. I was very 
 angry and vexed ; not at the bills, for I had my savings, 
 which were much more than enough to pay for every 
 thing. But I knew that these same tradesmen never 
 thought of asking for payment under a year, oftener two, 
 from other men. "Well, it was a lesson. Credit for gen- 
 
120 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 tlemen-commoners, ready-money dealings with servitors ! 
 I owe the Oxford tradesmen much for that lesson. If 
 they would only treat every man who comes up as a ser- 
 vitor, it would save a deal of misery. 
 
 " My cure was completed by much higher folk, though. 
 I can't go through the whole treatment, but will give you 
 a specimen or two of the doses, giving precedence (as is 
 the way here) to those administered by the highest in 
 rank. I got them from all sorts of people, but none did 
 me more good than the lords' pills. Amongst other ways 
 of getting on, I took to sparring, which was then very 
 much in vogue. I am a good hand at it, and very fond 
 of it, so that it wasn't altogether flunkeyism, I'm glad to 
 think. In my second term two or three fighting men 
 came down from London, and gave a benefit at the weirs. 
 I was there, and set to with one of them. We were well 
 matched, and both of us did our very best ; and when we 
 had had our turn we drew down the house, as they say. 
 Several young tufts and others of the faster men came up 
 to me afterwards and complimented me. They did the 
 same by the professional, but it didn't occur to me at the 
 time that they put us both in the same category. 
 
 " I am free to own that I was really pleased two days 
 rfifterwards, when a most elaborate flunkey brought a card 
 to my door inscribed, ' The Viscount Philippine, Ch. Ch., 
 at home to-night, eight o'clock — sparring.' Luckily, I 
 made a light' dinner, and went sharp to time into Christ 
 Church. The porter directed me to the noble viscount's 
 rooms; they were most splendid certainly — first-floor 
 rooms in Peckwater. I was shown into the large room, 
 which was magnificently furnished and lighted. A good 
 space was cleared in the centre ; there were all sorts of 
 bottles and glasses on the sideboard. There might have 
 been twelve or fourteen men present, almost all in tufts or 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 121 
 
 gentlemen-commoners' caps. One or two of out college 
 I recognized. The fighting-man was also there, stripped 
 for sparring, which none of the rest were. It was plain 
 that the sport had not begun ; I think he was doing some 
 trick of strength as I came in. My noble host came for- 
 ward with a nod, and asked me if I would take any thing, 
 and, when I declined, said, i Then will you put on the 
 gloves?' I looked at him rather surprised, and thought 
 it an odd way to treat the only stranger in his own rooms. 
 However, I stripped, put on the gloves, and one of the 
 others came forward to tie them for me. While he was 
 doing it I heard my host say to the man, ' A five-pound 
 note, mind, if you do it within the quarter of an hour.'* 
 * Only half-minute time then, my lord,' he answered. 
 The man who was tying my gloves said, in a low voice, 
 1 Be steady, don't give him a chance to knock you down.' 
 It flashed across me in a moment now why I was there ; 
 but it was too late to draw back, so we stood up and began 
 sparring. I played very steadily and light at first, to see 
 whether my suspicions were well founded, and in two 
 minutes I was satisfied. My opponent tried every dodge 
 to bring on a rally, and when he was foiled, I could see 
 that he was shifting his glove. I stopped and insisted 
 that his gloves should be tied, and then we went ong 
 again. 
 
 " I kept on the defensive. The man was in bad train- 
 ing, and luckily I had the advantage by an inch or so in 
 length of arm. Before five minutes were over, I had 
 caught enough of the bystanders' remarks to know that 
 my noble host had betted a pony that I should be knocked 
 down in a quarter of an hour. My one object now was 
 •to make him lose his money. My opponent did his ut- 
 most for his patron, and fairly winded himself in his efforts 
 to get at me. He had to call- time twice himself. I wsaid 
 11 
 
122 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 not a word ; my turn would come, I knew, if I could keep 
 on my legs, and of this I had little fear. I held myself 
 together, made no attack, and my length of arm gave me 
 the advantage in every counter. It was all I could do, 
 though, to keep clear of his rushes as the time drew on. 
 On he came, time after time, careless of guarding, and he 
 was full as good a man as I. ' Time's up ; it's past the 
 quarter.' ' No, by Jove, half a minute yet ; now's your 
 time,' said my noble host to his man, who answered by a 
 last rush. I met him as before, with a steady counter ; 
 but this time, by good luck, my blow got home under his 
 chin, and he staggered, lost his footing, and went fairly 
 over on to his back; 
 
 " Most of the bystanders seemed delighted, and some of 
 them hurried towards me. But I tore off the gloves, 
 flung them on the ground, and turned to my host. I 
 could hardly speak, but I made an effort, and said, quickly, 
 * You have brought a stranger to your rooms, and have 
 tried to make him fight for your amusement ; now I tell 
 you it is a blackguard act of yours — an act which no 
 gentleman would have done.' My noble host made no 
 remark. I threw on my coat and waistcoat, and then 
 turned to the rest and said, ' Gentlemen would not have 
 stood by and seen it done.' I went up to the sideboard, 
 ^uncorked a bottle of champagne, and half filled a tumbler 
 before a word was spoken. Then one of the visitors 
 stepped forward and said, ' Mr. Hardy, I hope you wont 
 go; there has been a mistake ; we did not know of this. I 
 am sure many of us are very sorry for what has occurred; 
 stay and look on, we will all of us spar.' I looked at him, 
 and then at my host, to see whether the latter joined in 
 the apology. % Not he ; he was doing the dignified sulky, . 
 and most of the rest seemed to me to be with him. ' "Will 
 any of you spar with me ? ' I said, tauntingly ; tossing off 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. VZ? 
 
 the champagne. ' Certainly/ the new speaker said di- 
 rectly, ' if you wish it, and are not too tired. I will spar 
 with you myself; you will, wont you, James?' and he 
 turned to one of the other men. If any of them had 
 backed him by a word I should probably have stayed. 
 Several of them, I learnt afterwards, would have liked to 
 have done so, but it was an awkward scene to interfere in. 
 I stopped a moment, and then said, with a sneer : ' You're 
 too small, and none of the other gentlemen seem inclined 
 to offer.' 
 
 " I saw that T had hurt him, and felt pleased at the mo- 
 ment that I had done so. I was now ready to start, and I 
 could not think of any thing more unpleasant to say at the 
 moment ; so I went up to my antagonist, who was stand- 
 ing with the gloves on still, not quite knowing what to be 
 at, and held out my hand. 'I can shake hands with you, 
 at any rate,' I said ; ' you only did what you were paid 
 for in the regular way of business, and you did your best.' 
 He looked rather sheepish, but held out his gloved hand, 
 which I shook. ' Now I have the honor to wish you all a 
 very good evening ;' and so I left the place and got home 
 to my own rooms, and sat down there with several new 
 ideas in my head. On the whole, the lesson was not a 
 very bitter one, for I felt that I had had the best of the 
 game. The only thing I really was sorry for, was my 
 own insolence to the man who had come forward as a 
 peacemaker. I had remarked his face before. I don't 
 know how it is with you, but I can never help looking at 
 a tuft — the gold tassel draws one's eyes somehow : and 
 then it's an awful position, after all, for mere boys to be 
 placed in. So .1 knew his face before that day, though I 
 had only seen him two or three times in the street. Now 
 it was much more clearly impressed on my mind ; and I 
 called it up and looked it over, Jialf hoping that I should 
 
121 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 detect something to justify me to myself, but without &uc* 
 cess. However, I got the whole affair pretty well out of 
 my head by bedtime. 
 
 "While I was at breakfast the next morning, my scout 
 came in with a face of the most ludicrous importance, and 
 quite a deferential manner. I declare I don't think he 
 has ever got back since that day to his original free-and- 
 easy swagger. He laid a card on my table, paused a 
 moment, and then said, ' His ludship is houtside waitin', 
 »r.' 
 
 " I had had enough of lords' cards ; and the scene of 
 yesterday rose painfully before me as I threw the card 
 into the fire without looking at it, and said, ' Tell him I am 
 engaged.'- 
 
 "My scout, with something like a shudder at my audac- 
 ity, replied, l His ludship told me to say, sir, as his bis'- 
 ness was very particular, so hif you was engaged he wouJd 
 call again in half an hour.' 
 
 " ' Tell him to come in, then, if he wont take a civil 
 hint.' I felt sure who it would be, but hardly knew 
 whether to be pleased or annoyed, when in another min- 
 ute the door opened, and in walked the peacemaker. I 
 don't know which of us was most embarrassed ; he walked 
 straight up to me without lifting his eyes, and held out 
 his hand, saying, 'I hope, Mr. Hardy, you will shake 
 hands with me now.' 
 
 " ' Certainly, my lord,' I said, taking his hand. * I am 
 sorry for what I said to you yesterday, when my blood 
 was up.' 
 
 " ' You said no more than we deserved,' he answered, 
 twirling his cap by the long gold tassel ; ' I could not be 
 comfortable without coming to assure you again myself, 
 that neither I, nor, I believe, half the men in Philippine^ 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 125 
 
 rooms yesterday, knew any thing of the bet. I really can- 
 not tell you how annoyed I have been about it/ 
 
 u I assured him that he might make himself quite easy, 
 and then remained standing, expecting him to go, and not 
 knowing exactly what to say further. But he begged me 
 to go on with my breakfast, and sat down, and then asked 
 me to give him a cup of tea, as he had not breakfasted 
 So in a few minutes we were sitting opposite one another^ 
 over tea and bread and butter, for he didn't ask for and I 
 didn't offer any thing else. It was rather a trying meal, 
 for each of us was doing all he could to make out the 
 other. I only hope I was as pleasant as he was. After 
 breakfast he went, and I thought the acquaintance was 
 probably at an end; he had done all that a gentleman 
 need have done, and had wellnigh healed a raw place in 
 my mental skin. 
 
 " But I was mistaken. Without intruding himself od 
 me, he managed somehow or another to keep on building 
 up the acquaintance little by little. For some time I 
 looked out very jealously for any patronizing airs, and 
 even after I was convinced that he had nothing of the 
 sort in him, avoided him as much as I could, though he 
 was the most pleasant and best-informed man I knew. 
 However, we became intimate, and I saw a good deal of 
 him, in a quiet way, at his own rooms. I wouldn't go to 
 his parties, and asked him not to come to me here, for my 
 horror of being thought a tuft hunter had become almost 
 a disease. He was not so old as I, but he was just leav- 
 ing the university, for he had come up early, and lords' 
 sons are allowed to go out in two years, — I suppose be- 
 cause the authorities think they will do less harm here in 
 two than in three years ; — but it is somewhat hard on 
 poor men, who have to earn their bread, to see such a 
 privilege given to those who want it least. When he left, 
 11* 
 
126 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 he made me promise to go and pay him a visit — - which 
 I did in the long vacation, at a splendid place up in the 
 north, and enjoyed myself more than I care to own. His 
 father, who is quite worthy of his son, and all his family, 
 were as kind as people could be. Well, amongst other 
 folk, I met there a young sprig of nobility, who was com- 
 ing up here the next term. He had been brought up 
 abroad, and I suppose knew very few men of his own age 
 in England. Well, he was not a bad style of boy, but 
 rather too demonstrative, and not strong headed. He took 
 to me wonderfully, was delighted to hear that I was up at 
 Oxford, and talked constantly of how much we should see 
 of one another. As it happened, I was almost the first 
 man he met when he got off the coach at the ' Angel,' at 
 the beginning of his first term. He almost embraced me, 
 and nothing would serve but I must dine with him at the 
 inn, and we spent the evening together, and parted deaf 
 friends. Two days afterwards we met in the street ; he 
 was with two other youngsters, and gave me a polished 
 and distant bow. In another week he passed me as if 
 we had never met. 
 
 * I don't blame him, poor boy. My only wonder is that 
 any of them ever got through this place without being 
 thoroughly spoilt. From vice-chancellor down to scout's 
 boy, the whole of Oxford seems to be in league to turn 
 their heads, even if they come up with them set on straight, 
 which toadying servants take care shall never happen if 
 they can hinder it. The only men who would do them 
 good up here, both dons and undergraduates, keep out of 
 their way, very naturally. Gentlemen-commoners have 
 a little better chance, though not much, and seem to me 
 to be worse than the tufts, and to furnish most of their 
 toadies. 
 
 " Well, are you tired of my railing ? I dare say I am 
 
TOM* BROWit AT OXFORD. 127 
 
 rabid about it all. Only it does go to my heart to thihk 
 what this place might be and what it is. I see I needn't 
 give you any more of my experience. 
 
 " You'll understand, now, some of the things that have 
 puzzled you about me. Oh ! I know they did. You 
 needn't look apologetic. I don't wonder, or blame you. I 
 am a very queer bird for the perch I have lit on ; I know 
 that as well as anybody. The only wonder is that you 
 ever took the trouble to try to lime me. Now have an- 
 other glass of toddy. Why ! it is near twelve. I must 
 have one pipe, and turn in. No Aristophanes to-night." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A BROWN BAIT. 
 
 Tom's little exaltation in his own eyes consequent on 
 the cupboard-smashing escapade of his friend was not to 
 last long. Not a week had elapsed before he himself 
 arrived suddenly in Hardy's room, in as furious a state 
 of mind as the other had so lately been in, allowing for 
 the difference of the men. Hardy looked up from his 
 books, and exclaimed, — 
 
 " What's the matter ? Where have you been to-night ? 
 You look fierce enough to sit for the portrait of Sanguin- 
 oso Volcanoni, the bandit." 
 
 " Been," said Tom, sitting down on the spare Windsor 
 chair which he usually occupied, so hard as to make it 
 crack again, — " been ! I've been to a wine party at Hen- 
 don's. Do you know any of that set ? " 
 
 "No; except Grey, who came into residence in the same 
 term with me. We have been reading for degree together. 
 You must have seen him here sometimes in the evenings." 
 
 " Yes, I remember ; the fellow with a stiff neck, who 
 wont look you in the face." 
 
 " Ay; but he is a sterling man at the bottom, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " Well, he wasn't there. You don't know any of the 
 rest ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 9 And never went to any of their parties ? " 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 129 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You've had no loss, I can tell you," said Tom, pleased 
 that the ground was clear for him ; " I never was amongst 
 Euch a set of waspish, dogmatical, overbearing fellows in 
 my life." 
 
 "Why, what in the name of fortune have they been 
 doing to you? How did you fall among such Philis- 
 tines?" 
 
 " I'm such an easy fool, you see," said Tom ; " I go off 
 directly with any fellow that asks me ; fast or slow, it's 
 all the same. I never think twice about the matter, and, 
 generally, I like all the fellows I meet, and enjoy every 
 thing ; but just catch me at another of their stuck-up 
 wines, that's all ! " 
 
 " But you wont tell me what's the matter." 
 
 " Well, I don't know why Hendon should have asked 
 me. He can't think me a likely card for a convert, I 
 should think. At any rate, he asked me to wine, and I 
 went as usual. Every thing was in capital style (it don't 
 seem to be any part of their creed, mind you, to drink 
 bad wine), and awfully gentlemanly and decorous." 
 
 " Yes, that's aggravating, I admit. It would have been 
 in better taste, of course, if they had been a little black- 
 guard and indecorous. No doubt, too, one has a right to 
 expect bad wine at Oxford. Well ? " 
 
 Hardy spoke so gravely, that Tom had to look across 
 at him for half a minute. Then he went on with a grin. 
 
 " There was a piano in one corner, and muslin curtains 
 ■ — I give you my word, muslin curtains, besides the stuff 
 ones." 
 
 " You don't say so ? " said Hardy ; " put up, no doubt, 
 to insult you. No wonder you looked so furious when 
 you came in. Any thing else ? " 
 
130 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Let me see — yes — I counted three sorts of scents on 
 the mantelpiece, besides eau de Cologne. But I could 
 have stood it all well enough if it hadn't been for their 
 talk. From one thing to another they got to cathedrals, 
 and one of them called St. Paul's ' a disgrace to a Christian 
 city.' I couldn't stand that, you know. I was always 
 bred to respect St. Paul's ; weren't you ? " 
 
 " My education in that line was neglected," said Hardy, 
 gravely; "and so you took up the cudgels for St. 
 Paul's?" 
 
 " Yes ; I plumped out that St. Paul's was the finest 
 cathedral in England. You'd have thought I had said 
 that lying was one of the cardinal virtues — one or two 
 just treated me to a sort of pitying sneer, but my neigh- 
 bors were down upon me with a vengeance. I stuck to 
 my text though, and they drove me into saying I liked 
 the Ratcliffe more than any building in Oxford ; which I 
 don't believe I do, now I come to think of it. So when 
 they couldn't get me to budge for their talk, they took to 
 telling me that everybody who knew any thing about 
 church architecture was against me — of course, meaning 
 that I knew nothing about it — for the matter of that, I 
 don't mean to say that I do " — Tom paused ; it had sud- 
 denly occurred to him that there might be some reason in 
 the rough handling he had got. 
 
 "But what did you say to the authorities?" said 
 Hardy, who was greatly amused. 
 
 " Said I didn't care a straw for them," said Tom ; " there 
 was no right or wrong in the matter, and I had as good a 
 right to my opinion as Pugin — or whatever his name is 
 — and the rest." 
 
 "What heresy!" said Hardy, laughing; "you caught 
 it for that, I suppose ? " 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 131 
 
 u Didn't I ! They made such a noise over it, that the 
 men at the other end of the table stopped talking (they 
 were all freshmen at our end), and when they found what 
 was up, one of the older ones took me in hand, and I got 
 a lecture about the middle ages, and the monks. I said 
 I thought England was well rid of the monks ; and then 
 we got on to Protestantism, and fasting, and apostolic suc- 
 cession, and passive obedience, and I don't know what all ! 
 I only know I was tired enough of it before coffee came ; 
 but I couldn't go, you know, with all of them on me at 
 once ; could I ? " 
 
 " Of course not ; you were like the six thousand uncon- 
 querable British infantry at Albuera. You held your 
 position by sheer fighting, suffering fearful loss." 
 
 "Well," said^om, laughing, for he had talked himself 
 into good hum« again, " I dare say I talked a deal of 
 nonsense ; and, when I come to think it over, a good deal 
 of what some of them said had something in it. I should 
 like to hear it again, quietly, but there were others sneer- 
 ing and giving themselves airs, and that puts a fellow's 
 back up." 
 
 " Yes," said Hardy ; " a good many of the weakest and 
 vainest men who come up take to this sort of thing now. 
 They can do nothing themselves, and get a sort of platform 
 by going in for the High Church business from which to 
 look down on their neighbors." 
 
 " Thate just what I thought," said Tom ; " they tried 
 to push mother Church, mother Church, down my throat 
 at every turn. I'm as fond of the Church as any of them, 
 but I don't want to be jumping up on her back every 
 minute, like a sickly chicken getting on the old hen's back 
 to warm his feet whenever the ground is cold, and fancy- 
 ing himself taller than all the rest of the brood." 
 
 f 
 
132 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "You were unlucky," said Hardy; "there are some 
 very line fellows amongst them." 
 
 " Well, I haven't seen much of them," said Tom,' " and 
 I don't want to see any more, for it seems to me all a 
 Gothic-mouldings and man-millinery business." 
 
 "You wont think so when you've been up a little 
 longer," said Hardy, getting up to make tea, which opera- 
 tion he had hardly commenced, when a knock came at 
 the door, and in answer to Hardy's " Come in," a slight, 
 shy man appeared, who hesitated, and seemed inclined to 
 go when he saw that Hardy was not alone. 
 
 "Oh! come in, and have a cup of tea, Grey. You 
 know Brown, I think ? " said Hardy, looking round from 
 the fire, where he was filling his teapot, to watch Tom's 
 reception of the new-comer. 
 
 Our hero took his feet down, drew™imself up, and 
 made a solemn bow, which Grey returned, and then sidled 
 nervously on to a chair, and looked very uncomfortable. 
 However, in another minute Hardy came to the rescue, 
 and began pouring out the tea. He was evidently tickled 
 at the idea of confronting Tom so soon with another of 
 his enemies. Tom saw this, and put on a cool and ma- 
 jestic manner in consequence, which evidently increased 
 the discomfort of Grey's seat, and kept Hardy on the edge 
 of an abyss of laughter. In fact, he had to ease himself 
 by talking of other indifferent matters, and laughing at 
 nothing. Tom had never seen him in this sort of humor 
 before, and couldn't help enjoying it, though he felt that it 
 was partly at his own expense. However, when Hardy once 
 just approached the subject of the wine party, Tom bristled 
 up so quickly, and Grey looked so meekly wretched, though 
 he knew nothing of what was coming, that Hardy sud- 
 denly changed the subject, and turning to Grey, said, — 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 133 
 
 M What have you been doing the last fortnight ? You 
 haven't been here once. I've been obliged to get on with 
 my Aristotle without you." 
 
 '• I'm very sorry, indeed ; but I haven't been able to 
 come," said Grey, looking sideways at Hardy, and then 
 at Tom, who sat regarding the wall, supremely indif- 
 ferent. 
 
 " Well, I've finished my ethics," said Hardy ; u cant 
 you come in to-morrow night to talk them over ? I sup- 
 pose you're through them, too ? " 
 
 " No, really," said Grey, " I haven't been able to look 
 at them since the last time I was here." 
 
 " You must take care," said Hardy ; " the new exam- 
 iners are all for science and history. It wont do for you 
 to go in trusting •your scholarship." 
 
 " I hope to m Me it up in the Easter vacation," said 
 Grey. 
 
 " You'll have enough to do, then," said Hardy. " But 
 how is it you've dropped astern so ? " 
 
 u Why, the fact is," said Grey, hesitatingly, " that the 
 curate of St. Peter's has set up some night-schools, and 
 wanted some help. So I have been doing what I could 
 to help him ; and really," looking at his watch, " I must 
 be going ; I only wanted to tell you how it was I didn't 
 come now." 
 
 Hardy looked at Tom, who was taken rather aback by 
 this announcement, and began to look less haughtily at 
 the wall. He even condescended to take a short glance 
 at his neighbor. 
 
 " It's unlucky," said Hardy ; " but do you teach every 
 night?" 
 
 " Yes," said Grey. " I used to do my science and his- 
 tory at night, you know ; but I find that teaching takes so 
 12 
 
134 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 much out of me, that I'm only fit for bed now. However, 
 I'm so glad I've told you. I have wanted to do it for 
 some time. And if you would let me come in for an 
 hour directly after hall, instead of later, I think I could 
 still manage that." 
 
 " Of course," said Hardy ; " come when you like. But 
 it's rather hard to take you away every night, so near the 
 examinations." 
 
 " It is my own wish," said Grey. " I should have been' 
 very glad if it hadn't happened just now ; but as it has, I 
 must do the best I can." 
 
 " Well, but I should like to help you. Can't I take a 
 night or two off your hands ? " 
 
 " No ! " said Tom, fired with a sudden enthusiasm ; " it 
 will be as bad for you, Hardy. It can^ want much schol- 
 arship to teach there. Let me go. Fll take two nights 
 a week, if you'll let me." 
 
 " Oh, "thank you," said Grey ; " but I don't know how 
 my friend might like it. That is— I mean," he said, get- 
 ting very red, " it's very kind of you, only I'm used to it ; 
 and — and they rely on me. But I really must go ; good- 
 night ; " and Grey went off in confusion. 
 
 As soon as the door had fairly closed, Hardy could 
 stand it no longer, and lay back in his chair laughing till 
 the tears ran down his cheeks. Tom, wholly unable to 
 appreciate the joke, sat looking at him with perfect grav- 
 ity. 
 
 " "What can the^e be in your look, Brown," said Hardy, 
 when he could speak again, " to frighten Grey so ? Did 
 you see what a fright he was in at once, at the idea of 
 turning you into the night-schools ? There must be some 
 lurking Protestantism in your face somewhere, which I 
 hadn't detected." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 135 
 
 " I don't believe he was frightened at me a bit, He 
 wouldn't have you either, remember," said Tom. 
 
 " Well, at any rate, that don't look as if it were all 
 mere Gothic mouldings and man millinery, does it ? " said 
 Hardy. 
 
 Tom sipped his tea and considered. 
 
 " One can't help admiring him, do you know, for it," 
 he said. " Do you think he is really thrown back now in 
 his own reading by this teaching ? " 
 
 " I'm sure of it. He is such a quiet fellow, that nothing 
 else is likely to draw him off reading ; and I can see that 
 he doesn't get on as he used, day by day. Unless he 
 makes it up somehow, he wont get his first." 
 
 " He don't seem to like the teaching work much," said 
 Tom. 
 
 " Quite the contrary as far as I can see." 
 
 " Then it is a very fine thing of him," said Tom. 
 
 " And you retract your man-millinery dictum, so far as 
 he is concerned ? " 
 
 " Yes, that I do, heartily ; but not as to the set in gen- 
 eral." 
 
 " Well, they don't suit me either ; but, on the whole, 
 they are wanted, at any rate, in this college. Even the 
 worst of them is making some sort of protest for self-de-i 
 nial and against self-indulgence, which is nowhere more 
 needed than here." 
 
 " A nice sort of protest — muslin curtains, a piano, 
 and thirty-four claret." 
 
 " Oh, you've no right to count Hendon among them ; he 
 has only a little hankering after mediaevalism, and thinks 
 the whole thing gentlemanly." 
 
 " I only know the whole clamjamfery of them were 
 there, and didn't seem to protest much." 
 
136 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "Brown you're a bigot. I should never have thought 
 you would have been so furious against any set of fellows. 
 I begin to smell Arnold." 
 
 " No, you don't. He never spoke to me against any- 
 body." 
 
 " Halloo ! It was the Rugby atmosphere, then, I sup- 
 pose. But I tell you they are the only men in this college 
 who are making that protest, whatever their motives may 
 be." 
 
 " What do you say to yourself, old fellow ?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! I never deny myself any pleasure that I 
 can afford, if it isn't wrong in itself, and doesn't hinder 
 any one else. I can tell you, I'm as fond of fine things 
 and good living as you." 
 
 " If it isn't wrong, and you can afford it, and don't hurt 
 anybody ! Just so. Well, then, mustn't it be right for 
 you to have ? You wouldn't have it put under your nose, 
 I suppose, just for you to smell at it, and let it alone ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I know all that. I've been over it all often 
 enough, and there's truth in it. But, mind you, it's rather 
 slippery ground, especially for a freshman. And there's 
 a great deal to be said on the other side — I mean, for de- 
 nying one's self just for the sake of the self-denial." 
 
 " Well, they don't deny themselves the pleasure of look- 
 ing at a fellow, as if he were a Turk because he likes St. 
 Paul's better than Westminster Abbey." 
 
 " How that snubbing you got at the ecclesiological wine 
 party seems to rankle — There, now ! don't bristle up 
 like a hedgehog. I'll never mention that unfortunate 
 wine again. I saw the eight come in to-day. You are 
 keeping much better time ; but there is a weak place 
 or two forward." 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, delighted to change the subject ; " I 
 
TOil BROWN AT OXFORD. 137 
 
 • 
 
 find it awfully hard to pull up to Jervis' stroke. Do you 
 think I shall ever get to it ? " 
 
 " Of course you will. Why, you have only been pull- 
 ing behind him a dozen times or so, and his is the most 
 trying stroke on the river. You quicken a little on it ; 
 but I didn't mean you. Two and five are the blots in the 
 boat." 
 
 " You think so?" said Tom, much relieved. *" So does 
 Miller, I can see. It's so provoking — Drysdale is to pull 
 two in the races next term, and Blake seven, and then 
 Diogenes will go to five. He's obliged to pull seven 
 now, because Blake wont come down this term ; no more 
 will Drysdale. They say there will be plenty of time 
 after Easter." 
 
 "It's a great pity," said Hardy. 
 
 u Isn't it ? " said Tom ; " and it makes Miller so savage. 
 He walks into us all as if it were our faults. Do you think 
 he's a, good coxswain ? " 
 
 "" Firstrate on most points, but rather too sharp-tongued. 
 You can't get a man's best out of him without a little 
 'praise." * 
 
 " Yes, that's just it ; he puts one's back up," said Tom. 
 " But the captain is a splendid fellow ; isn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but a little too easy, at least with men like 
 Blake and Drysdale. He ought to make them train or 
 turn them out." 
 
 " But whom could he get ? There's nobody else. If 
 you would pull, now — why shouldn't you ? I'm sure it 
 would make us all right." 
 
 " I don't subscribe to the club," said Hardy. " I wish I 
 had, for I should like to have pulled with you and behind 
 Jervis this year." 
 
 " Do let me tell the captain," said Tom ; " I'm sure he'd 
 manage it somehow." 
 12* 
 
188 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 • 
 
 " I'm afraid it's too late," said Hardy ; " I cut myielf off 
 from every thing of the sort two years ago, and I'm be- 
 ginning to think I was a fool for my pains." 
 
 Nothing more was said on the subject at the time, but 
 Tom went away in great spirits at having drawn this con- 
 fession out of Hardy — the more so, perhaps, because he 
 flattered himself that he had had something to say to the 
 change in his friend. From this time he set himself to 
 work on the problem of getting Hardy into the racing 
 boat of St. Ambrose's College. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 SUMMER TERM. 
 
 How many spots in life are there which will bear com- 
 parison with the beginning of our second term at the uni- 
 versity ? So far as external circumstances are concerned, 
 it seems hard to know what a man could find to ask for at 
 that period of his life, if a fairy godmother were to alight 
 in his rooms and offer him the usual three wishes. The 
 sailor who had asked for " all the grog in the world," and 
 " all the baccy in the world," was indeed driven to " a lit- 
 tle more baccy " as his third requisition ; but, at any rate, 
 his two first requisitions were to some extent grounded 
 on what he held to be substantial wants ; he felt himself 
 actually limited in the matters of grog and tobacco. The 
 condition which Jack would have been in as a wisher, if 
 he had been started on his quest with the assurance that 
 his utmost desires in the direction of alcohol and narcotics 
 were already provided for, and must be left out of the 
 question, is the only one affording a pretty exact parallel 
 to the case we are considering. In our second- term we 
 are no longer freshmen, and begin to feel ourselves at 
 home, while both " smalls " and " greats " are sufficiently 
 distant to be altogether ignored, if we are that way in- 
 clined, or to be looked forward to with confidence that the 
 game is in our own hands if we are reading men.' Our 
 financial position — unless we have exercised rare inge- 
 n uity in involving ourselres — is all that heart can de- 
 6i ^e ; we have ample allowances paid in quarterly to the 
 
140 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 university bankers without thought or trouble of ours, and 
 our credit is at its zenith. It is a part of our recognized 
 duty to repay the hospitality we have received as fresh- 
 men ; and all men will be sure to come to our first parties, 
 to see how wq do the thing ; it will be our own faults if 
 we do not keep them- in future. We have not had time 
 to injure our characters to any material extent with the 
 authorities of our own college, or of the university. Our 
 spirits are never likely to be higher, or our digestions bet- 
 ter. These, and many other comforts and advantages, en- 
 viron the fortunate youth returning to Oxford after his 
 first vacation ; thrice fortunate, however, if, as happened 
 in our hero's case, it is Easter term to which he is return- 
 ing; for that Easter term, with the four days' vacation, 
 and little Trinity term at the end of it, is surely the cream 
 of the Oxford year. Then, even in this, our stern north- 
 ern climate, the sun is beginning to have power, the days 
 have lengthened out, greatcoats are unnecessary at morn- 
 ing chapel, and the miseries of numbed hands and shiv- 
 ering skins no longer accompany every pull on the river 
 and canter on Bullingdon. In Christ Church meadows 
 and the college gardens the birds are making sweet music 
 in the tall elms ; you may almost hear the thick grass 
 growing, and the buds on tree and shrub are changing 
 from brown, red, or purple, to emerald green under your 
 eyes ; the glorious old city is putting on her best looks 
 and bursting out into laughter and song. In a few weeks 
 the races begin, and Cowley Marsh will be alive with 
 white tents and joyous cricketers. A quick ear, on the 
 towing-path by the Gut, may feast at one time on those 
 three sweet sounds,' the thud thud of the eight-oar, the 
 crack of the rifles at tha weirs, and the click of the bat 
 on the Magdalen ground. And then Commemoration 
 rises in the background with its clouds of fair visitors, and 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 141 
 
 visions of excursions to Woodstock and Nuneham in the 
 summer days ; of windows open on to the old quadrangles 
 ir. the long, still evenings, through which silver laughter 
 and strains of sweet music not made by man, steal out 
 and puzzle the old celibate jackdaws peering down from 
 the battlements with heads on one side. To crown all, 
 long vacation, beginning with the run to Henley regatta, 
 or up to town to see the match with Cambridge at Lord's 
 and taste some of the sweets of the season, before starting 
 on some pleasant tour or reading party, or dropping back 
 into the quiet pleasures of English country life ! Surely, 
 the lot of young Englishmen who frequent our universi- 
 ties is cast in pleasant places ; the country has a right to 
 expect something from those for whom she finds such a 
 life as this in the years when enjoyment is keenest. 
 # Tom was certainly alive to the advantages of the situa- 
 tion, and entered on his kingdom without any kind of 
 scruple. He was very glad to find things so pleasant, and 
 quite resolved to make the best he could of them. Then he 
 was in a particularly good-humor with himself; for, in def- 
 erence to the advice of Hardy, he had actually fixed on the 
 books which he should send in for his little-go examination 
 before going down for the Easter vacation, and had read 
 them through at home, devoting an hour or two almost 
 daily to this laudable occupation. So he felt himself enti- 
 tled to take things easily on his return. He had brought 
 back with him two large hampers of good sound wine, a 
 gift from his father who had a horror of letting his son 
 set before his friends the fire-water which is generally sold 
 to the undergraduate. Tom found that his father's notions 
 of tlie rate of consumption prevalent in the university were 
 wild in the extreme. " In his time," the squire said, 
 " eleven men came t^ his first wine party, and he had 
 opened nineteen bottles of port for them. He was very 
 
142 TOM BftOWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 glad to hear that the habits of the place had changed so 
 much for the better ; and as Tom wouldn't want nearly so 
 much wine, he should have it out of an older bin." Accord- 
 ingly, the port which Tom employed the first hour after 
 his return in stacking carefully away in his cellar had 
 been more than twelve years in bottle, and he thought 
 with unmixed satisfaction of the pleasing effect it would 
 have on Jervis and Miller, and the one or two other men 
 who knew good wine from bad, and guided public opinion 
 on the subject, and of the social importance which he would 
 soon attain to from the reputation of giving good wine. 
 
 The idea of entertaining, of being hospitable, is a pleas- 
 ant and fascinating one to most young men ; but the act 
 soon gets to be a bore to all but a few curiously constituted 
 individuals. With these hospitality becomes first a pas- 
 sion and then a faith — a faith the practice of which, in tjie 
 cases of some of its professors, reminds one strongly of the 
 hints on such subjects scattered about the New Testament. 
 Most of us, I fear, feel, when our friends leave us, a cer- 
 tain sort of satisfaction, not unlike that of paying a bill ; 
 they have been done for, and can't expect any thing more 
 for a long time. Such thoughts never occur to your really 
 hospitable man. Long years of narrow means cannot hin- 
 der him from keeping open house for whoever wants to 
 come to him, and setting the best of every thing before all 
 comers. He has no notion of giving you any thing but 
 the best he can command, if it be only fresh porter from 
 the nearest mews. He asks himself not, " Ought I to in- 
 vite A or B ? do I owe him any thing ? " but " Would A or 
 B like to come here ? " Give me these men's houses for 
 real enjoyment, though you never get any thing* very 
 choice there, — (how can a man produce old wine who 
 gives his oldest every day ? ) — seldom much elbow room 
 or orderly arrangement. The higharts of gastronomy and 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 143 
 
 scientific drinking, so much valued in our highly civilized 
 community, are wholly unheeded by him, are altogether 
 above him, are cultivated in fact by quite another set, who 
 have very little of the genuine spirit of hospitality in them ; 
 from whose tables, should one by chance happen upon 
 them, one rises certainly with a feeling of satisfaction and 
 expansion, chiefly physical, so far as I can judge, but en- 
 tirely without that expansion of heart which one gets at 
 the scramble of the hospitable man. So that we arc 
 driven to remark, even in such every-day matters as these, 
 that it is the invisible, the spiritual, which, after all, givep 
 value and reality even to dinners ; and, with Solomon, to 
 prefer to the most touching diner JRusse, the dinner of 
 herbs where love is, though I trust that neither we nor 
 Solomon should object to well-dressed cutlets with our 
 salad, if they happened to be going. 
 
 •Readers will scarcely need to be told that one of the 
 first things Tom did, after depositing his luggage and un- 
 packing his wine, was to call at Hardy's rooms, where he 
 found his friend deep as usual in his books, the hard-, 
 worked atlases and dictionaries of all sorts taking up more 
 space than ever. After the first hearty greetings, Tom 
 occupied his old place with much satisfaction. 
 
 " How long have you been up, old fellow?" he began ; 
 " you look quite settled." 
 
 " I only went home for a week. Well, what have you 
 been doing in the vacation ? " , 
 
 " Oh ! there was nothing much going on ; so amongst 
 other things, I've floored my little-go work." 
 
 P Bravo ! you'll find the comfort of it now. I hardly 
 thought you would take to the grind so easily." 
 
 " It's pleasant enough for a spurt," said Tom ; " but I 
 shall never manage a horrid perpetual grind like yours. 
 But what in the world have you been doing to your 
 walls?" 
 
144 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Tom might well ask, for the corners of Hardy's room 
 were covered with sheets of paper of different sizes, pasted 
 against the walls in groups. In the line of sight from 
 about the height of four to six feet, there was scarcely an 
 inch of the original paper visible, and round each centre 
 group there were outlying patches and streamers, stretch- 
 ing towards floor or ceiling, or away nearly to the book- 
 cases or fireplace. 
 
 " Well, don't you think it a great improvement on the old 
 paper ? " said Hardy. " I shall be out of rooms next term, 
 and it will be a hint to the college that the rooms want 
 papering. You're no judge of such matters, or I should 
 ask you whether you don't see great artistic taste in the 
 arrangement." 
 
 " Why, they're nothing but maps, and lists of names and 
 dates," said Tom, who had got up to examine the decora- 
 tions. " And what in the world are all these queer pins 
 for ? " he went on, pulling a strong pin with a large red 
 sealing-wax head out of the map nearest to him. 
 
 " Hallo ! take care there ; what are you about?*"" 
 shouted Hardy, getting up and hastening to the corner. 
 •* Why, you irreverent beggar, those pins are the famous 
 statesmen and warriors of Greece and Rome." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon ; JL didn't know I was in such 
 august company ; " saying which, Tom proceeded to stick 
 the red-headed pin back into the wall. 
 
 "Now, just look at that," said Hardy, taking the pin out 
 of the place where Tom had stuck it. " Pretty doings 
 there would be amongst them with your management. 
 This pin is Brasidas ; you've taken him away from Nau- 
 pactus, where he was watching the eleven Athenian gal- 
 leys anchored under the temple of Apollo, and struck him 
 down right in the middle of the Pnyx, where he will be 
 instantly torn in pieces by a ruthless and reckless Jaeo- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 145 
 
 bin mob. You call yourself a Tory indeed ! However, 
 'twas always the same with you Tories ; calculating, cruel, 
 and jealous. Use your leaders up, and throw them over 
 — that's the golden rule of aristocracies." 
 
 " Hang Brasidas," said Tom, laughing ; " stick him back 
 at Naupactus again. Here, which is Cleon ? The scoun- 
 drel ! give me hold of him, and I'll put him in a hot 
 berth." 
 
 " That's he with a yellow head. Let him alone, I tell 
 you, or all will be hopeless confusion when Grey comes 
 for his lecture. "We're only in the third year of the war." 
 
 " I like your chaff about Tories sacrificing their great 
 men," said Tom, putting his hands in his pockets to avoid 
 temptation. " How about your precious democracy, old 
 fellow ? Which is Socrates ? " 
 
 " Here, the dear old boy ! — this pin with the great gray 
 head, in the middle of Athens, you see. I pride myself 
 on my Athens. Here's the Piraeus and the long walls, 
 and the hill of Mars. Isn't it as good as a picture ? " 
 
 " Well, it is better than most maps, I think," said Tom. 
 "But you're not going to slip out so easily. I want to 
 know whether your pet democracy did or did not murder 
 Socrates." 
 
 " I'm not bound to defend democracies. But look at 
 my pins. It may be the natural fondness of a parent, but 
 I declare they seem to me to have a great deal of charac- 
 ter, considering the material. You'll guess them at once, 
 I'm sure, if you mark the color and shape of the wax. 
 This one, now, for instance, who is he ? " 
 
 " Alcibiades," answered Tom, doubtfully. 
 
 " Alcibiades ! " shouted Hardy ; " you fresh from Rugby, 
 and not know your Thucydides better than that ? There's 
 Alcibiades, that little purple-headed, foppish pin, by Soc- 
 13 
 
H6 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 rates.. This rusty-colored one is that respectable old slick* 
 in-the-mud, Nicias." 
 
 " Well, but you've made Alcibiades nearly the smallest 
 of the whole lot," said Tom. 
 
 " So he was, to my mind/' said Hardy; "just the sort 
 , of insolent young ruffian whom I should have liked to buy 
 at my price, and sell at his own. He must have been 
 very like some of our gentlemen-commoners, with the ad- 
 dition of brains." 
 
 " I should really think, though," said Tom, " it must be 
 a capital plan for making you remember the history." 
 
 " It is, I flatter myself. I've long had the idea, but 1 
 should never have worked it out and found the value of it 
 but for Grey. I invented it to coach him in his history 
 You see we are in the Grecian corner ; over there is the 
 Roman ; you'll find Livy and Tacitus worked out there, 
 just as Herodotus and Thucydides are here ; and the pins 
 are stuck for the Second Punic War, where we are just 
 notf. I shouldn't wonder if Grey got his first, after all, 
 he's picking up so quick in my corners ; and says he never 
 forgets any set of events when he has pricked them out 
 with the pins." 
 
 " Is he working at that school still ? " asked Tom. 
 
 " Yes, as hard as ever. He didn't go down for the va- 
 cation, and I really believe it was because the curate told 
 him the school would go wrong if he went away." 
 
 " It's very plucky of him, but I do think he's a great 
 fool not to knock it off now, till he has passed, don't 
 jou?" 
 
 " No," said Hardy; " he is getting more good there than 
 lie can ever get in the schools, though*! hope he'll do well 
 in them, too." 
 
 " Well, I hope so, for he deserves it. And now, Hardy, 
 to cl ange the subject, I'm going to give my first wir.o 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 147 
 
 next Thursday ; and here's the first card which has gone 
 out for it. You'll promise me to come, now, wont you ? " 
 
 " What a hurry you're in," said Hardy, taking the card, 
 which he put on his mantel-piece, after examining it. 
 
 u Bui you'll promise to come, now ? " 
 
 " I'm very hard at work, — I can't be sure." 
 
 u You needn't stay above half an hour. I've brought 
 back some famous wine from the governor's cellar ; and 
 I want so to get you and Jervis together. He is sure to 
 come." 
 
 " Why, that's the bell for chapel beginning already," 
 said Hardy ; " I had no notion it was so late. I must be 
 off, to put the new servitor up to his work.' Will you 
 come in after Hall ? " 
 
 "Yes, if you will come to me next Thursday." 
 
 " We'll talk about it. But mind you come to-night, for 
 you'll find me working Grey in the Punic Wars, and you'll 
 see how the pins act. I'm very proud of my show." 
 
 And so Hardy went off to chapel, and Tom to Drys- 
 dale's rooms, not at all satisfied that he had made Hardy 
 safe. He found Drysdale lolling on his sofa, as usual, and 
 fondling Jack. He had just arrived, and his servant and 
 the scout were unpacking his portmanteaus. He seemed 
 pleased to see Tom, but looked languid and used up. 
 
 "Where have you been this vacation?" said Tom. 
 " You look seedy." 
 
 " You may say that," said Drysdale. " Here, William, 
 get out a bottle of Schiedam. Have a taste of bitters ? 
 there's nothing like it to set one's digestion right." 
 
 " No, thankee," said Tom, rejecting the glass which 
 William proffered him ; ' " my appetite don't want improv- 
 ing." 
 
 " You're lucky, then," said DrysdaK "Ah, that's the 
 right stuff! I feel better already." 
 
148 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " But where have you been ? " 
 
 " Oh, in the little village. It's no use being in the 
 country at this time of year. I just went up to Limmer's, 
 and there I stuck, with two or three more, till to-day." 
 
 " I can't stand London for more than a week," saicl Tom. 
 " What did you do all day ? " 
 
 "We hadn't much to say to daylight," said Drysdale 
 " What with theatres, and sparring cribs, and the Coal- 
 hole, and cider-cellars, and a little play in St. James' 
 Street now and then, one wasn't up to early rising. How- 
 ever, I was better than the rest, for I had generally break- 
 fasted by two o'clock." 
 
 " No wonder you look seedy. You'd much better have 
 been in the country." 
 
 " I should have been more in pocket, at any rate," said 
 Drysdale. " By Jove, how it runs away with the ready ! 
 I'm fairly cleaned out ; and if I haven't luck at van John, 
 I'll be hanged if I know how I'm to get through term. 
 But, look here, here's a bundle of the newest songs — first- 
 rate, some of them." And he threw some papers across 
 to Tom, who glanced at them without being at all edi- 
 fied." 
 
 " You're going to pull regularly, I hope, this term, Drys- 
 dale ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so ; it's a cheap amusement, and I want 
 a little training, for a change." 
 
 " That's all right." 
 
 " I've brought down some dresses for our gypsy busi- 
 ness, by the way. I didn't forget that. Is Blake back ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Tom ; " but we sha'n't have time 
 before the races." 
 
 " Well, afterwards will do ; though the days oughtn't to 
 be too ;ong. I'm all foi a little darkness in masquerad- 
 ing " 
 
TOM. BRO.WN AT OXFORD. H9 
 
 u There's five o'clock striking. Are you going to dine 
 in Hall?" 
 
 " No ; I shall go to the Mitre, and get a broil." 
 
 " Then I'm off. Let's see, — will you come and wine 
 with me next Thursday ? " 
 
 " Yes ; only send us a card, ' to remind.' " 
 
 " All right ! " said Tom, and went off to Hall, feeling 
 dissatisfied and uncomfortable about his fast friend, for 
 whom he had a sincere regard. 
 
 After Hall, Tom made a short round amongst his ac- 
 quaintance, and then, giving himself up to the strongest 
 attraction, returned to Hardy's rooms, comforting himself 
 with the thought that it really must be an act of Christian 
 charity to take such a terrible reader off his books for 
 once in a way, when his conscience pricked him for in- 
 truding on Hardy during his hours of work. He found 
 Grey there, who was getting up his Roman history, under 
 Hardy's guidance ; and the two were working the pins 
 on the maps and lists in the Roman corner when Tom ar- 
 rived. He begged them not to stop, and very soon was 
 as much interested in what they were doing as if he also 
 were going into the schools in May ; for Hardy had a way 
 of throwing life into what he was talking about, and, like 
 many men with strong opinions and passionate natures, 
 either carried his hearers off their legs and away with 
 him altogether, or roused every spark of combativeness 
 in them. The latter was the effect which his lecture on 
 the Punic Wars had on Tom. He made several protests 
 as Hardy went on ; but Grey's anxious looks kept him 
 from going fairly into action, till Hardy stuck the black 
 pin, which represented Scipio, triumphantly in the middle 
 of Carthage, and, turning round, said, "And now for 
 some tea, Grey, before you have to turn oui." 
 
 Tom opened fire while the tea was brewing. 
 13* 
 
150 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " You couldn't say any tiling bad enough about aristoc- 
 racies this morning, Hardy, and now to-night you are 
 crowing over the success of the heaviest and crudest oli- 
 garchy that ever lived, and praising them up to the skies.'* 
 
 " Hullo ! here's a breeze ! " said Hardy, smiling ; " but 
 I rejoice, O Brown! in that they thrashed the Carthagin- 
 ians, and not, as you seem to think, in that they, being 
 aristocrats, thrashed the Carthaginians ; for oligarchs they 
 were not at this time." 
 
 " At any rate, they answer to the Spartans in the strug- 
 gle, and the Carthaginians to the Athenians ; and yet all 
 your sympathies are with the Romans to-night in the 
 Punic Wars, though they were with the Athenians before 
 dinner." 
 
 " I deny your position. The Carthaginians were noth- 
 ing but a great trading aristocracy — with a glorious 
 family or two, I grant you, like that of Hannibal, but, on 
 the whole, a dirty, bargain-driving, buy-cheap-and-sell-dear 
 aristocracy — of whom the world was well rid. They like 
 the Athenians indeed ! Why, just look what the two peo- 
 ple have left behind them — " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Tom, "but we only know the Car- 
 thaginians through the reports of their destroyers. Your 
 heroes trampled them out with hoofs of iron." 
 
 " Do you think the Roman hoof could have trampled 
 out their Homer if they ever had one?" said Hardy; 
 " the Romans conquered Greece, too, remember." 
 
 " But Greece was never so near beating them." 
 
 " True. But I hold to my point. Carthage was the 
 mother of all hucksters, compassing sea and land to sell 
 her" wares." 
 
 " And no bad line of life for a nation. At least, English- 
 men ought to think so." 
 
 " No, they ought not *, at least if < Punica fides ' is to be 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 151 
 
 the rule of trade. Selling any amount of Brummagem 
 wares never did nation or man much good and never will. 
 Eh, Grey?" 
 
 Grey winced at being appealed to, but remarked that 
 he hoped the Church would yet be able to save England 
 from sharing the fate of Tyre and Carthage, the great 
 trading nations of the old world : and then, swallowing his 
 tea, and looking as if he had been caught robbing a hen- 
 roost, he made a sudden exit, and hurried away out of 
 college to the night-school. 
 
 " What a pity he is so odd and shy," said Tom ; " I 
 should so like to know more of him." 
 
 " It is a pity. He is much better when he is alone with 
 me. I think he has heard from some of the set that you 
 are a furious Protestant, and sees an immense amount of 
 stiffneckedness in you." 
 
 " But about England and Carthage," said Tom, shirk- 
 ing the subject of his own peculiarities ; " you don't really 
 think us like them ? It gave me a turn to hear you trans- 
 lating ' Punica fides ' into Brummagem wares just now." 
 
 " I think that successful trade is our rock ahead. The 
 devil who holds new markets and twenty per cent profits 
 in his gift is the devil that England has most to fear from. 
 * Because of unrighteous dealings, and riches gotten by de- 
 ceit, the kingdom is translated from one people to another,' 
 said the wise man. Think of that opium war the other 
 day: I don't believe we can get over many more such 
 businesses as that. Grey falls back on the Church, you 
 see, to save the nation ; but the Church he dreams of will 
 never do it. Is there any that can ? There must be, 
 surely, Ur we have believed a lie. But this work of mak- 
 ing trade righteous, of Christianizing trade, looks like the 
 very hardest the Gospel has ever had to take in hand — 
 in England, at any rate." 
 
152 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Hardy spoke slowly and doubtfully, and paused as if 
 asking for Tom's opinion. 
 
 " I never heard it put in that way. I know very little 
 of politics or the state of England. But come, now ; the 
 putting down the slave trade and compensating our plant- 
 ers, that shows that we are not sold to the "trade devil yet, 
 surely." 
 
 "I don't think we are. No, thank God, there are 
 plenty of signs that we are likely to make a good fight of 
 it yet." 
 
 They talked together for another hour, drawing their 
 chairs round to the fire, and looking dreamily into the embers 
 as is the wont of men who are throwing out suggestions, and 
 helping one another to think, rather than arguing. At the 
 end of that time Tom left Hardy to his books, and went 
 away laden with several new ideas, one of the clearest of 
 which was that he was awfully ignorant of the contempo- 
 rary history of his own country, and that it was the thing 
 of all others which he ought to be best informed in, and 
 thinking most about. So, being of an impetuous turn of 
 mind, he went straight to his rooms to commence his new 
 study, where, after diligent hunting, the only food of the 
 kind he required which turned up was the last number of 
 Bell s Life from the pocket of his greatcoat. Upon this he 
 fell to work, in default of any thing better, and was soon 
 deep in the P.R. column, which was full of interesting spec- 
 ulations as to the chances of Bungaree in his forthcom- 
 ing campaign against the British middle-weights. By the 
 time he had skimmed through the well-known sheets, he 
 was satisfied that the columns of his old acquaintance were 
 not the place, except in the police reports, wheft much 
 could be learnt about the present state or future prospects 
 of England. Then, the first evening of term being a rest- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 153 
 
 less time, he wandered out again, and before long landed, 
 as his custom was, at Drysdale's door. 
 
 On entering the room he found Drysdale and Blake alone 
 together, the former looking more serious than Tom had 
 ever seen him before. As for Blake, the restless, haggard 
 expression sat more heavily than ever on his face, marring 
 its beauty, and almost making it impossible to look on with- 
 out a shudder. It was clear that they changed the subject 
 of their talk abruptly on his entrance ; so Tom looked any- 
 where except straight before him as he was greeting Blake. 
 He really felt very sorry for him at the moment. How- 
 ever, in another five minutes, he was in fits of laughter 
 over Blake's description of the conversation between him- 
 self and the coachman who had driven the Glo'ster day- 
 mail by which he had come up: in which conversation, 
 nevertheless, when Tom came to think it over and try to 
 repeat it afterwards, the most facetious parts seemed to be 
 the " sez he's " and " sez I's " with which Jehu larded his 
 stories ; so he gave up the attempt, wondering what he 
 could have found in it to laugh at. 
 
 " By the way, Blake," said Drysdale, " how about our 
 excursion into Berkshire masquerading this term ? Are 
 you game ? " 
 
 " Not exactly," said Blake ; " I really must make the 
 most of such time as I have left, if I'm to go into the 
 schools this term." 
 
 " If there's one thing which spoils Oxford, it is those 
 schools," said Drysdale ; " they get in the way of every 
 thing. I ought to be going up for smalls myself next term, 
 and I haven't opened a book yet, and don't mean. Follow 
 a good example, old fellow, you're cock-sure of your first, 
 everybody knows." 
 
 " I wish everybody would back his opinion and give me 
 
154 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 a shade of odds. Why, I have scarcely thought of my 
 history." 
 
 " Why the D — 1 should they make such a fuss about 
 history ? One knows perfectly well that those old black- 
 guard heathens were no better than they should be ; and 
 what good it can do to lumber one's head with who their 
 grandmothers were, and what they ate, and when and 
 where anil why they had their stupid brains knocked out, 
 I can't see for the life of me." 
 
 " Excellently well put. Where did you pick up such 
 sound views, Drysdale ? But you are not examiner yet, 
 and on the whole I must rub up my history somehow. I 
 wish I knew how to do it." 
 
 " Can't you put on a coach ? " said Drysdale. 
 
 "I have one on, but history is his weak point," said 
 Blake. 
 
 " I think I can help you," said Tom. " I've just been 
 hearing a lecture in Roman history, and one that wont 
 be so easy to forget as most ; " and he went on to explain 
 Hardy's plans, to which Blake listened eagerly. 
 
 " Capital ! " he said, when Tom had finished. " In 
 whose rooms did you say they are ? " 
 
 "In Hardy's, and he works at them every night with 
 Grey." 
 
 " That's the queer big servitor, his particular pal," put 
 in Drysdale ; " there's no accounting for tastes." 
 
 " You don't know him," retorted Tom ; " and the less 
 you say about him the better." 
 
 " I know he wears highlows and short flannels, and — " 
 
 " Would you mind asking Hardy to let me come to his 
 lectures?" interrupted Blake, averting the strong lan- 
 guage which was rising to Tom's lips. "I think they 
 seem just the things I want. I shouldn't like to offer to 
 pa\ him, unless you think — " 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 155 
 
 "I'm quite sure," interrupted Tom, "that lie wont take 
 any thing. I will ask him to-morrow whether he will let 
 you come, and he's such a kind, good fellow that I'm al- 
 most sure he will/' 
 
 "I should like to know your pal, too, Brown," said 
 Drysdale ; " you must introduce me, with Blake." 
 
 " No, I'll be hanged if I do," said Tom. 
 
 " Then I shall introduce myself," said Drysdale ; " see 
 if I don't sit next him now at your wine on Thursday." 
 
 Here Drysdale's scout entered, with two notes, and 
 wished to know if Mr. Drysdale would require any thing 
 more. Nothing but hot water; he could put the kettle 
 on, Drysdale said, and go ; and while the scout was ful- 
 filling his orders, he got up carelessly, whistling, and, 
 walking to the fire, read the notes by the light of one 
 of the candles which was burning on the mantel-piece. 
 Blake was watching him eagerly, and Tom saw this, and 
 made some awkward efforts to go on talking about the 
 advantages of Hardy's plan for learning history ; but he 
 was talking to deaf ears, and soon came to a standstill. 
 He saw Drysdale crumple up the notes in his hand and 
 shove them into his pocket. After standing for a few 
 seconds in the same position, with his back to them, he 
 turned round with a careless air, and "sauntered to the 
 table where they were sitting. 
 
 " Let's see, what were we saying ? " he began. " Oh, 
 about your eccentric pal, Brown." 
 
 "You've answers from both?" interrupted Blake. 
 Drysdale nodded, and was beginning to speak again to 
 Tom, when Blake got up and said, with white lips, " I 
 must see them." 
 
 "No, never mind, what does it matter?" 
 
 " Matter ! by Heaven, I must and will see them now." 
 
 Tom saw at once that he had better go, and so took up 
 
156 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 his cap, wished them good-night, and went off to his own 
 
 rooms. 
 
 He might have been sitting there for about twenty 
 
 minutes, when Drysdale entered. 
 
 "I couldn't help coming over, Brown," he said; "I 
 
 must talk to some one, and Blake has gone off raging. I 
 
 don't know what he'll do — I never was so bothered or 
 savage in my life." 
 
 " I'm very sorry," said Tom ; " he looked very bad in 
 your rooms. Can I do any thing ? " 
 
 " No, but I must talk to some one. You know — no 
 you don't, by the way — but, however, Blake got me out 
 of a tremendous scrape in my first term, and there's 
 nothing that I'm not bound to do for him, and wouldn't 
 do if I could. Yes, by George, whatever fellows say of 
 me, they shall never say I didn't stand by a man who 
 has stood by me. Well, he owes a dirty £300 or £400, 
 or something of the sort — nothing worth talking of I 
 know — to people in Oxford, and they've been leading 
 him a dog's life this year and more. Now, he's just 
 going up for his degree, and two or three of these credi- 
 tors — the most rascally, of course — are sueing him in 
 the Vice-Chancellor's Court, thinking now's the time to 
 put the screw on. He will be ruined if they are not 
 stopped somehow. Just after I saw you to-day, he came 
 to me about it. You never saw a fellow in such a state ; 
 I could see it was tearing him to pieces, telling it to me 
 even. However, I soon set him at ease as far as I was 
 concerned ; but, as the Devil will have it, I can't lend him 
 the money, though £G0 would get him over the exami- 
 nation, and then he can make terms. My guardian ad- 
 vanced me £200 beyond my allowance just before Easter, 
 and I haven't £20 left, and the bank here has given me 
 notice not to overdraw any more. However, I thought to 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 157 
 
 settle it easily enough ; so I told him to meet me at the 
 Mitre in half an hour for dinner, and when he was gone 
 I sat down and wrote two notes — the first to St. Cloud. 
 That fellow was with us on and off in town, and one night 
 he and I went partners at roulette, I finding ready money 
 for the time, gains and losses to be equally shared in the 
 end. I left the table to go and eat some supper, and he 
 lost £80, and paid it out of my money. I didn't much 
 care, and he cursed the luck, and acknowledged that he 
 owed me £40 at the time. Well, I just reminded him 
 of this £40 and said I should be glad of it (I know he has 
 plenty of money just now), but added, that it might stand 
 if he would join me and Blake in borrowing £60 ; I was 
 fool enough to add that Blake was in difficulties, and I 
 was most anxious to help him. As I thought that St. 
 Cloud would probably pay the £40 but do no more, I 
 wrote also to Chanter — Heaven knows why, except that 
 the beast rolls in money, and has fawned on me till I've 
 been nearly sick this year past — and asked him to lend 
 Blake £50 on our joint note of hand. Poor Blake ! when 
 I told him what I had done at the Mitre, I think I might 
 as well have stuck the carving-knife into him. TVe had 
 a wretched two hours ; then you came in, and I got my 
 two answers — here they are." 
 
 Tom took the proffered notes, and read : — 
 
 "Dear Drysdale, — Please explain the allusion in 
 yours to some mysterious £40. I remember perfectly 
 the occurrence to which you refer in another part of your 
 note. You were tired of sitting at the table, and went off 
 to supper, leaving me (not by my own desire) to play for 
 you with your money. I did so, and had aborainable 
 luck, as you will remember, for I handed you back a sadly 
 dwindled heap on your return to the table. I hope you 
 are in no row about that night ? I shall be quite ready 
 14 
 
158 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 to give evidence of what passed if it will help you in any 
 way. I am always yours very truly, 
 
 " A. St. Ci oud. 
 
 "P.S. I must decline the little joint operation for 
 Blake's benefit, which you propose." 
 
 The second answer ran : — 
 
 " Dear Drysdale, — I am sorry that I cannot accom- 
 modate Mr. Blake, as a friend of yours, but you. see his 
 acceptance is mere waste paper, and you cannot give 
 security until you are of age, so if you were to die the 
 money would be lost. Mr. Blake has always carried his 
 head as high as if he had £5,000 a year to spend ; per- 
 haps now he will turn less haughty to men who could 
 buy him up easy enough. I remain yours sincerely, 
 
 "Jabez Chanter." 
 
 Tom looked up, and met Drysdale's eyes, which had 
 more of purpose in them than he had ever seen before. 
 " Fancy poor Blake reading those two notes," he said, 
 " and 'twas I brought them on him. However, he shall 
 have the money somehow to-morrow, if I pawn my watch. 
 I'll be even with those two some day." The two re- 
 mained in conference for some time longer ; it is hardly 
 worth while to do more than relate the result. 
 
 At three o'clock the next day, Blake, Drysdale, and 
 Tom were in the back-parlor of a second-rate inn, in the 
 corn-market ; on the table were pens and ink, some cases 
 of eau-de-Cologne and jewellery, and behind it a fat man 
 of forbidding aspect, who spent a day or two in each term 
 at Oxford. He held in his thick red, damp hand, orna- 
 mented as to the fore-finger with a huge ring, a piece of 
 paper. 
 
 " Then I shall draw for a hundred-and-five ? " 
 
 a If you do, we wont sign," said Drysdale ; " now, be 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 159 
 
 quick, Ben" (the fat man's name was Benjamin), "you 
 infernal shark, we've been wrangling long enough over 
 it Draw for £100, at three months, or we are off." 
 
 " Then, Mr. Drysdale, you gents will take part in goods. 
 T wish to do all I can for gents as comes well introduced, 
 but money is very scarce just now." 
 
 " Not a stuffed bird, bottle of eau-de-Cologne, ring, or 
 cigar, will we have ; so now, no more nonsense, put clown 
 £75 on the table." 
 
 The money-lender, after another equally useless attempt 
 to move Drysdale, who was the only one of the party who 
 spoke, produced a roll of notes, and counted out £75, 
 thinking to himself that he would make this young spark 
 sing a different tune before very long. He then filled up 
 the piece of paper, muttering that the interest was nothing, 
 considering the risk, and he hoped they would help him 
 to something better with some of their friends. Drysdale 
 reminded him, in terms not too carefully chosen, that he 
 was getting cent per cent. The document was signed, — 
 Drysdale took the notes, and they went out. 
 
 "Well, that's well over," said Drysdale as they walked 
 towards High Street. " I'm proud of my tactics, I must 
 say ; one does much better for anybody than for one's self. 
 If I had been on my own hook that fellow would have 
 let me in for £20 worth of stuffed birds and bad jewellery. 
 Let's see, what do you want, Blake ? " 
 
 " Sixty will do," said Blake. 
 
 " You had better take £G5 ; there'll be some law costi 
 to pay." And Drysdale handed him the notes. 
 
 " Now, Brown, shall we divide the balance — a fiver 
 apiece ? " 
 
 " No, thank you," said Tom, " I don't want it ; and, as 
 you two are to hold me harmless, you must do what you 
 
160 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 like with the money." So Drysdale pocketed the £10, 
 after which they walked in silence to the gates of St. Am- 
 brose. The most reckless youngster doesn't begin this 
 sort of thing without reflections which are apt to keep 
 him silent. At the gates, Blake wrung both their hands. 
 " I don't say much, but I sha'n't forget it." He got out 
 the words with some difficulty, and went off to his rooms. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Within the next week or two several important events 
 had happened to one and another of our St. Ambrose 
 friends. Tom had introduced Blake to Hardy, after some 
 demur on the part of the latter. Blake was his senior by 
 a term ; might have called on him any time these three 
 years ; why should he want to make his acquaintance 
 now ? But when Tom explained to him that it would be 
 a kind thing to let Blake come and coach up history with 
 him, for that unless he took a high degree in the coming 
 examination, he would have to leave the college, and prob- 
 ably be ruined for life, Hardy at once consented. 
 
 Tom did not venture to inquire for a day or two how 
 the two hit it off together. "When he began cautiously to 
 approach the subject, he was glad to find that Hardy liked 
 Blake. " He is a gentleman, and very able," he said. 
 " It is curious to see how quickly he is overhauling Grey, 
 and yet how Grey takes to him. He has never looked 
 scared at him (as he still does at you, by the way) since 
 the first night they met. Blake has the talent of setting 
 people at their ease without saying any thing. I shouldn't 
 wonder if Grey thinks he has sound Church notions. It's 
 a dangerous talent, and may make a man very false if he 
 doesn't take care." Tom asked if Blake would be up in 
 his history in time. Hardy thought he might, perhaps ; 
 but he had great lee-way to make up. If capacity for 
 taking in cram would do it, he would be all right. He 
 14* 
 
1G2 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 had been well crammed in his science, and had put him 
 (Hardy) up to many dodges which might be useful in the 
 schools, and which you couldn't get without a private 
 tutor. 
 
 Then Tom's first wine had gone off most successfully. 
 Jervis and Miller had come early and stayed late, and 
 said all that was handsome of the port, so that he was 
 already a social hero with the boating set. Drysdale, of 
 course, had been there, rattling away to everybody in' his 
 reckless fashion, and setting a good example to the two 
 or three fast men whom Tom knew well enough to ask, 
 and who consequently behaved pretty well, and gave 
 themselves no airs, though, as they went away together, 
 they grumbled slightly that Brown didn't give claret. The 
 rest of the men had shaken together well, and seemed to 
 enjoy themselves. The only drawback to Tom had been 
 .that neither Hardy nor Grey had appeared. They ex- 
 cused themselves afterwards on the" score of reading, but 
 Tom felt aggrieved in Hardy's case ; he knew that it was 
 only an excuse. 
 
 Then the training had begun seriously. Miller had 
 come up specially for the first fortnight, to get them well 
 in hand, as he said. After they were once fairly started, 
 he would have to go down till just before the races ; but 
 he thought he might rely on the captain to keep them up 
 to their work in the interval. 
 
 So Miller, the coxswain, took to drawing the bow up 
 to the ear at once. At the very beginning of term, five 
 or six weeks before the races, the St. Ambrose beat was 
 to be seen every other day at Abingdon ; and early din- 
 ners, limitation of liquids and tobacco, and abstinence from 
 late supper parties, pastry, ice, and all manner of trash 
 likely, in Miller's opinion, to injure nerve or wind, were 
 banging over the crew, and already, in fact, to some ex- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 163 
 
 tent, enforced. The captain shrugged his shoulders, sub- 
 mitted to it all himself, and worked away with impertur- 
 bable temper, merely hinting to Miller, in private, that 
 he was going too fast, and that it would be impossible to 
 keep it up. Diogenes highly approved ; he would have 
 become the willing slave of any tyranny which should in- 
 sist that every adult male subject should pull twenty miles, 
 and never imbibe more than a pint of liquid in the twenty- 
 four hours. Tom was inclined to like it, as it helped him to 
 realize the proud fact that he was actually in the boat. The 
 rest of the crew were in all stages of mutiny, and were only 
 kept from breaking out by their fondness for the captain, 
 and the knowledge that Miller was going in a few days. 
 As it was, Blake was the only one who openly rebelled ; 
 once or twice he stayed away. Miller swore and grum- 
 bled, the captain shook his head, and the crew in general 
 rejoiced. 
 
 It is to one of these occasions to which we must now 
 turn. If the usual casual voyager of -novels had been 
 standing on Sandford lock at about four, on the afternoon 
 of April — th, 18 — , he might have beheld the St. Am- 
 brose eight-oar coming with a steady swing up the last 
 reach. If such voyager were in the least conversant with 
 the glorious mystery of rowing, he would have felt his 
 heart warm at the magnificent sweep and life of the 
 stroke, and would, on the whole, have been pleased with 
 the performance of the crew generally, considered as 
 a college crew in the early stages of training. They 
 came u hard all " up to the pool below the lock, the cox- 
 swain standing in the stern, with a tiller-rope in each 
 hand ; and then shipped oars ; the lock-gates opened, and 
 the boat entered, and in another minute or two was moored 
 to the bank above the lock, and the crew strolled into the 
 little inn which stands by the lock, and, after stopping in 
 
164. TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 the bar to lay hands on several pewters full of porter, 
 passed through the house into the quoit and skittle grounds 
 behind. These were already well filled with men of other 
 crews, playing in groups, or looking on at the players. 
 One of these groups, as they passed, seized on the cap- 
 tain, and Miller stopped with him ; the rest of the St. 
 Ambrose men, in no humor for skittles, quoits, or any re- 
 laxation except rest and grumbling, took possession of , 
 the first table and seats which offered, and came to an- 
 chor. Then followed a moment of intense enjoyment, of 
 a sort only appreciable by those who have had a twelve 
 miles' training pull with a coxswain as sharp as a needle 
 and in an awful temper. 
 
 " Ah," said Drysdale, taking a pewter down from hi3 
 lips, with a sigh, and handing it to Tom, who sat next 
 him, " by Jove, I feel better." 
 
 " It's almost worth while pulling ' hard all ' from Abing- 
 don, to get such a thirst," said another of the crew. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, though," said Drysdale, " to-day's 
 the last day you'll catch me in this blessed boat." 
 
 Tom had just finished his draught, but did not reply ; 
 it was by no means the first time that Drysdale had an- 
 nounced this resolve. The rest were silent also. 
 
 " It's bad enough to have to pull your heart out, with- 
 out getting abused all the way into the bargain. There 
 Miller stands in the stern — and a devilish easy thing it 
 is to stand there and walk into us — I can see him chuckle 
 as he comes to you and me, Brown — ' Now, 2, well for- 
 ward.' ' 3, don't jerk.' * Now, 2, throw your weight on 
 the oar ; come, now, you can get another pound on.' I 
 hang on like grim Death. Then it's, * Time, 2 ; now, 
 3—'" 
 
 " Well, it's a great compliment," broke in Tom, with a 
 la igh : " he thinks he can make something of us." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 1C5 
 
 " He'll make nothing of us first, I think," said Drys- 
 dale. " I've lost eight pounds in a fortnight. The cap- 
 tain ought to put me in every place in the boat, in turn, 
 to make it watertight. I've larded the bottom , boards un- 
 der my seat so that not a drop of water will ever come 
 through again." 
 
 " A very good thing for you, old fellow," said Diogenes ; 
 • you look ten times better than you did at the beginning 
 of term." 
 
 "I don't know wliat you call a good thing, you old 
 fluter. I'm obliged to sit on my hip-bones ; I can't go to 
 lecture ; all the tutors think I'm poking fun at them, and 
 put me on directly. I haven't been able to go to lecture 
 this ten days." 
 
 " So fond of lecture # as he is, too, poor fellow," put in 
 Tom. 
 
 " But they've stopped my commons for staying away," 
 6aid Drysdale ; " not that I care much for that, though." 
 
 " Well, Miller goes down to-morrow morning — I heard 
 him say so," said another. 
 
 " Then we'll memorialize the captain, and get out of 
 these Abingdon pulls. Life isn't worth having at this 
 rate." 
 
 " No other boat has been below Sandford, yet." 
 
 And so they sat on and plotted, and soon most of the 
 other crews started. And then they took their turn at 
 Bkittles, and almost forgot their grievances, which, in order 
 to be clear, I must now explain to those of my readers 
 who don't know the river at Oxford. 
 
 Tlie river runs along the south of the city, getting into 
 the university quarter after it passes under the bridge con- 
 necting Berks and Oxfordshire, over which is the road to 
 Abingdon. Just below this bridge are the boat-builders' 
 establishments, on both sides of the river, and then on the 
 
1C6 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Oxfordshire side is Christchurch Meadow, oppos.te which 
 is moored the university barge. Here is the goal of all 
 university races, or used to be in the times I am speaking 
 of; and the racecourse stretches away down the river for 
 a mile and a half, and a little below the starting-place of 
 the races in Iffley Lock. The next lock below Iffley is 
 the Sandford Lock (where we left our boat's crew playing 
 at skittles), which is about a mile and a half below Iffley. 
 Below Sandford there is no lock till you get to Abingdon, 
 a distance of six miles and more by the river. Now, in- 
 asmuch as the longest distance to be rowed in the races is 
 only the upper mile and a half from Iffley to the univer- 
 sity barge, of course, all the crews think themselves very 
 hardly treated if they are taken further than to Sandford. 
 Pulling " hard all " from Sandfor4 to Iffley, and then again 
 from Iffley over the regular course, ought to be enough in 
 all conscience to chorus the crews ; and most captains and 
 coxswains give in. But here and there some enemy of 
 his kind — some uncomfortable, worriting, energizing mor- 
 tal, like Miller — gets command of a boat, and then the 
 unfortunate crew are dragged, bemoaning their fate, down 
 below Sandford, where no friendly lock intervenes to break 
 .off the long, steady swing of the training-pull every two 
 miles ; and the result for the time is blisters and mutiny ; 
 though I am bound to add that it generally tells, and that 
 the crew which has been undergoing that peine forte et 
 dure is very apt to get the change out of it on the nights 
 of hard races. 
 
 So the St. Ambrose crew played out their skittles, and 
 settled to appeal to the captain in a body the next day, 
 after Miller's departure ; and then, being summoned to 
 the boat, they took to the water again, and paddled stead* 
 ily up home, arriving just in time for Hall for those who 
 liked to hurry. Drysdale never liked hurrying himself; 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 167 
 
 besides, he could not dine in Hall, as he was discommonsed 
 for persistent absence from lectures, and neglect to go to 
 the dean, when sent for to explain his absence. 
 
 " I say, Brown, hang Hall," he said to Tom, who wa3 
 throwing on his things ; " come and dine with me at the 
 Mitre. I'll give you a bottle of hock ; it's very good 
 there." 
 
 " Hock's about the worst thing you can drink in train- 
 ing," said Miller; "isn't it, Jervis?" 
 
 " It's no good, certainly," said the captain, as he put on 
 his cap and gown. " Come along, Miller." 
 
 " There, you hear ? " said Miller. " You can drink a 
 glass of sound sherry, if you want wine." And he fol- 
 lowed the captain. 
 
 Drysdale performed a defiant pantomime after the re- 
 tiring coxswain, and then easily carried his point with 
 Tom, except as to the hock. So they walked up to the 
 Mitre together, where Drysdale ordered dinner and a bot- 
 tle of hock in the coffee-room. 
 
 " Don't order hock, Drysdale ; I.sha'n't drink any." 
 
 " Then I shall have it all to my own cheek. If you be- 
 gin making a slave of yourself to that Miller, he'll very 
 soon cut you down to a glass of water a day, with a pinch 
 of rhubarb in it, and make you drink that standing on 
 your head." 
 
 " Gammon ; but I don't think it's fair on the rest of the 
 crew not to train as well as one can." 
 
 " You don't suppose drinking' a pint of hock to-night 
 will make me pull any the worse this day six weeks, when 
 the races begin, do you ? " 
 
 «No; but—" 
 
 " Hullo ! look here," said Drysdale, who was inspecting 
 a printed bill pinned up on the wall of the coffee-room ; 
 " Wombwell's menagerie is in the town, somewhere down 
 
168 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 by "Worcester. What fun ! We'll go there after din- 
 ner." 
 
 The food arrived with Drysdale's hock, which he seemed 
 to enjoy all the more from the assurance which every glass 
 gave him that he was defying the coxswain, and doing 
 just the thing he would most dislike. So he drank away, 
 and facetiously speculated how he could be such an idiot 
 as to go on pulling. Every day of his life he made good 
 resolutions in the reach above the Gut that it should be 
 his last performance, and always broke them next day. 
 He supposed the habit he had of breaking all good reso- 
 lutions was the way to account for it. 
 
 After dinner, they set off to find the wild beast show ; 
 and, as they will be at least a quarter of an hour reaching 
 it, for the pitch is in a part of the suburbs little known to 
 gownsmen, I propose to seize the opportunity of making 
 a few remarks to the patient reader. 
 
 Our' hero, on his first appearance in public, some years 
 since, was, without his own consent, at once patted on the 
 back by the good-natured critics, and enrolled for better 
 for worse in the brotherhood of muscular Christians, who 
 at that time were beginning to be recognized as an actual 
 and lusty portion of general British life. As his biogra- 
 pher, I am not about to take exceptions to his enrolment ; 
 for, after considering the persons up and down her maj- 
 esty's dominions to whom the new nickname has been 
 applied, the principles which they are supposed to hold, 
 and the sort of lives they are supposed to lead, I cannot 
 see where he could in these times have fallen upon a no- 
 bler brotherhood. I am speaking, of course, under cor- 
 rection, and with only a slight acquaintance with the faith 
 of muscular Christianity, -gathered almost entirely from 
 the witty expositions and comments of persons of a some- 
 what dyspeptic habit, who are not amongst the faithful 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 1G9 
 
 themselves. Indeed, I am not aware that any authorized 
 articles of belief have been sanctioned or published by 
 the sect, church, or whatever they may be. Moreover, at 
 the age at which our hero has arrived, and having regard 
 to his character, I should say that he has in all likelihood 
 thought very little on the subject of belief, and would 
 scarcely be able to give any formal account of his own, 
 beyond thai contained in the Church Catechism, which I, 
 for one, think may very well satisfy him for the present. 
 Nevertheless, had he been suddenly caught at the gate of 
 St. Ambrose's College, by one of the gentlemen who do 
 the classifying for the British public, and accosted with, 
 " Sir, you belong to a body whose creed is to love God, 
 and w r alk one thousand miles in one thousand hours," I be- 
 lieve he would have replied, " Do I, sir ? I'm very glad 
 to hear it. They must be a very good set of fellows ! how 
 many weeks' training do they allow ? " 
 
 But in the course of my inquiries on the subject of 
 muscular Christians, their works and ways, a fact has 
 forced itself on my attention, which for the sake of in- 
 genious youth, like my hero, ought not to be passed over. 
 I find then, that side by side with these muscular Chris- 
 tians, and apparently claiming some sort of connection 
 "with them (the same concern, as the pirates of trade- 
 marks say), have risen up another set of persons, against 
 whom I desire to caution my readers and my hero, and to 
 warn the latter that I do not mean on any pretence what- 
 ever to allow* him to connect himself with them, however 
 much he may be taken with their off-hand, " hail-brother 
 well-met " manner and dress, which may easily lead care- 
 less observers to take the counterfeit for the true article. 
 I must call the perso is in question "musclemen," as dis- 
 tinguished from muscular Christians ; the only point in 
 common between the two being, that both hold it to be a 
 15 
 
170 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 good tiling to have strong and well-exercised bodies, ready 
 to be put at the shortest notice to any work of which bodies 
 are capable, and to do it well. Here all likeness ends, for 
 the muscleman seems to have no belief whatever as to the 
 purposes for which his body has been given him, except 
 some lazy idea that it is to go up and down the world with 
 him, belaboring men and captivating women for his ben- 
 efit or pleasure, at once the servant and fermenter of 
 those fierce and brutal passions which he seems to think 
 it a necessity, and rather a fine thing than otherwise, to 
 indulge and obey. Whereas, so far as I know, the least 
 of the muscular Christians has hold of the old chivalrous 
 and Christian belief, that a man's body is given him to be 
 trained and brought into subjection, and th%n used for the 
 protection of the weak, the advancement of all righteous 
 causes, and the subduing of the earth which God has 
 given to the children of men. He does not hold that 
 mere strength or activity are in themselves worthy of any 
 respect or worship, or that one man is a bit better than 
 another because he can knock him down, or carry a big- 
 ger sack of potatoes than he. For mere power, whether 
 of body or intellect, he has (I hope and believe) no rev- 
 erence whatever, though, cceteris paribus, he would proba- 
 bly himself, as a matter of taste, prefer the man who can 
 lift a hundredweight round his head with his little finger, 
 to the man who can construct a string of perfect Sorites, 
 or expound the doctrine of " contradictory inconceiva- 
 bles." 
 
 The above remarks occur as our hero is marching in- 
 nocently down towards his first " town and gown " row, 
 and I should scarcely like to see him in the middle of it, 
 without protesting that it is i mistake. I know, that he, 
 and other youngsters of his kidney, will have fits of fight- 
 ing, or desiring to fight with their poorer brethren, just &3 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 171 
 
 children have the measles. But the shorter the fit the 
 better for the patient, for, like the measles, it is a great 
 mistake, and a most unsatisfactory complaint. If they t 
 can escape it altogether so much the better. But instead 
 of treating the fit as a disease, musclemen professors are 
 wont to represent it as a state of health, and to let their 
 disciples run about in middle age with the measles on 
 them as strong as ever. 'Now although our hero had the 
 measles on him at this particular time, and the passage of 
 arms which I am about shortly to describe led to results 
 of some importance in his history, and cannot therefore be 
 passed over, yet I wish at the same time to disclaim, both 
 in my sponsorial and individual character, all sympathy 
 with town and gown rows, and with all other class rows 
 and quarrels of every sort and kind, whether waged with 
 sword, pen, tongue, fist, or otherwise. Also to say that in 
 all such rows, so far as I have seen or read, from the 
 time when the Roman plebs marched out to Mons Sacer, 
 down to 1848, when the English chartists met on Ken- . 
 nington Common, the upper class are most to blame. It 
 may be that they are not the aggressors on any given occa- 
 sion : very possibly they may carry on the actual fighting 
 with more fairness (though this is by no means true as a 
 rule) ; nevertheless, the state of feeling which makes such 
 things possible, especially in England, where men in gen- 
 eral are only too ready to be led and taught by their supe- 
 riors in rank, may be fairly laid at their door. Even in 
 the case of strikes, which just now will of course be at 
 once thrown in my teeth, I say fearlessly, Let any man 
 take the trouble to study the question honestly, and he will 
 come to the conviction that all combinations of the men 
 for the purpose of influencing the labor market, whether 
 in the much and unjustly abused Trades' Societies, or in 
 other forms, have been defensive organizations, and that 
 
172 T03I BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 the masters might, as a body, over and over again Lava 
 taken the sting out of them if they would have acted 
 fairly, is many individuals amongst them have done: 
 whether it may not be too late now, is a tremendous 
 question for England, but one which time only can decide. 
 
 When Drysdale and Tom at last found the caravans, it 
 was just getting dark. Something of a crowd had col- 
 lected outside, and there was some hissing as they as- 
 cended the short flight of steps which led to the platform 
 in front of the show ; but they took no notice of it, paid 
 their money, and entered. 
 
 Inside they found an exciting scene. The place was 
 pretty well lighted, and the birds and beasts were all alive 
 in their several dens and cages, walking up and down, and 
 each uttering remonstrances after their own manner, the 
 shrill notes of birds mingling with the moan of the beasts 
 of prey and chatterings of the monkeys. Feeding time 
 had been put off till night to suit the undergraduates, and 
 the undergraduates were proving their appreciation of the 
 attention by playing off all manner of practical jokes on 
 birds and beasts, their keepers, and such of the public as 
 had been rash enough to venture in. At the further end 
 was the keeper, who did the showman, vainly endeavoring 
 to go through his usual jog-trot description. His mono- 
 tone was drowned every minute by the chorus of voices, 
 each shouting out some new fact in natural history touch- 
 ing the biped or quadruped whom the keeper was attempt- 
 ing to describe. At that day a great deal of this sort of 
 chaff was current, so that the most dunderheaded boy had 
 plenty on the tip of his tongue. A small and indignant 
 knot of townspeople, headed by a stout and severe mid- 
 dle-aged woman, with two big boys, her sons, followed the 
 keeper, endeavoring by caustic remarks and withering 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 178 
 
 glances to stop the flood of chaff, and restore legitimate 
 authority and the reign of keeper and natural history. 
 
 At another point was a long Irishman in cap and gown, 
 who had clearly had as much wine as he could carry, close 
 to the bars of the panther's den, through which he was 
 earnestly endeavoring, with the help of a crooked stick, 
 to draw the tail of whichever of the beasts stopped for a 
 moment in its uneasy walk. On the other side were a 
 set of men bent on burning the wretched monkeys' fingers 
 with the lighted ends of their cigars, in which they seemed 
 successful enough, to judge by the angry chatterings and 
 shriekings of their victims. 
 
 The two new-comers paused for a moment on the plat- 
 form inside the curtain ; and then Drysdale, rubbing his 
 hands, and in high glee at the sight of so much misrule in 
 so small a place, led the way down on the floor deep in 
 sawdust, exclaiming, " Well, this is a lark ! "We're just in 
 for all the fun of the fair." 
 
 Tom followed his friend, who made straight for the 
 showman, and planted himself at his side, just as that 
 worthy, pointing with his pole, was proceeding — 
 
 " This is the jackal, from — " 
 
 " The Caribee Hielands, of which I am a native my- 
 sel', " shouted a gownsman. 
 
 " This is the jackal, or lion's provider," began again the 
 much-enduring keeper. 
 
 " Who always goes before the lion to purwide his pur- 
 wisions, purwiding there's any thing to purwide," put in 
 Drysdale. 
 
 " — really I do think it's scandalous not to let the 
 keeper tell about the beasteses," said the unfortunate ma- 
 tron, with a half turn towards the persecutors, and grasp* 
 5ng her bag. 
 
 " My dear madam," said Drysdale, in his softest voice, 
 15* 
 
174 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " I assure you he knows nothing about the beasteses. "We 
 are Doctor Buckland's favorite pupils, are also well known 
 to the great Panjandrum, and have eaten more beasteses 
 than the keeper has ever seen." 
 
 " I don't know who you are, young man, but you don't 
 know how to behave yourselves," rejoined the outraged fe- 
 male ; and the keeper, giving up the jackal as a bad job, 
 pointing with his pole, proceeded — 
 
 " The little hanimal, in the upper cage is the hopossum, 
 of North America — " 
 
 " The misguided offspring of the raccoon and the gum- 
 tree," put in one of his tormentors. 
 
 Here a frightful roaring and struggling at a little dis- 
 tance, mingled with shouts of laughter, and " Hold on, 
 Pat!" "Go it, panther !" interrupted the lecture, and 
 caused a rush to the other side, where the long Irishman, 
 Donovan by name, with one foot against the bars, was 
 holding on to the tail of one of the panthers, which he had 
 at length managed to catch hold of. The next moment he 
 was flat on his back in the sawdust, and his victim was 
 bounding wildly about the cage. The keeper hurried 
 away to look after the outraged panther ; and Drysdale, 
 at once installing himself as showman, began at the next 
 cage — 
 
 " This is the wild man of the woods, or whangee tangee, 
 the most untamable — good heavens, ma'am, take care ! " 
 and he seized hold of the unfortunate woman and pulled 
 her away from the bars. 
 
 " Oh, goodness ! " she screamed, " it's got my tippet ; O, 
 Bill, Peter, catch hold ! " Bill and Peter proved unequal 
 to the occasion, but a gownsman seized the vanishing tip- 
 pet, and after a moment's struggle with the great ape, re- 
 stored a meagre half to the proper owner, while Jacko 
 Bat grinning over the other half, and picking it to pieces. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 175 
 
 The poor woman had now had enough of it, and she 
 hurried off with her two boys, followed by a few towns- 
 people who were still in the show, to lay her case directry , 
 before the mayor, as she informed the delinquents from 
 the platform before disappearing. Her wrongs were 
 likely to be more speedily avenged, to judge by the angry 
 murmurs whirh arose outside immediately after her exit. 
 
 But still the high jinks went on, Donovan leading all 
 mischief, until the master of the menagerie appeared in- 
 side and remonstrated with the men. He must send for 
 a police, he said, if they would not leave the beasts alone. 
 He had put off the feeding in order to suit them ; would 
 they let his keepers feed the beasts quietly ? The threat 
 of the police was received with shouts of defiance by some 
 of the men, though the greater part seemed of the opinion 
 that matters were getting serious. 
 
 The proposal for feeding, however, was welcomed by all 
 and comparative quiet ensued for some ten minutes, while 
 the baskets of joints, bread, stale fish, and potatoes were 
 brought in, and the contents distributed to the famishing 
 occupants of the cages. In the interval of peace the 
 showman-keeper, on a hint from his master, again began 
 his round. But the spirit of mischief was abroad, and it 
 only needed this to make it break out again. In another 
 two minutes the beasts, from the lion to the smallest 
 monkey, were struggling for their suppers with one or 
 more undergraduates ; the elephant had torn the gown off 
 Donovan's back, having only just missed his arm; and the 
 manager, in a confusion worthy of the tower of Babel, sent 
 off a keeper for the city police, and turned the gas out. 
 
 The audience, after the first moment of surprise and 
 indignation, grouped their way towards the steps and 
 mounted the platform, where they held a council of war. 
 Should they stay where they were or make a sally at once, 
 
176 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 break through the crowd and get back to their collegC3. 
 It was curious to see how in that short minute individual 
 character came out, and the coward, the cautious man, the 
 resolute, prompt Englishman, each were there, and more 
 than one species of each. 
 
 Donovan was one of the last up the steps, and as he 
 stumbled up caught something of the question before the 
 house. He shouted loudly at once for descending, and of- 
 fering battle. " But, boys," he added, " first wait till I ad- 
 dress the meeting," and he made for the opening in the 
 canvas through which the outside platform was reached. 
 Stump oratory and a free fight was just the two temp- 
 tations which Donovan was wholly unable to resist ; and 
 it was with a face radiant with devil-may-care delight 
 that he burst through the opening, followed by all the rest 
 (who felt that the matter was out of their hands, and must 
 go its own way after the Irishman), and rolling to the front 
 of the outside platform rested one hand on the rail, and 
 waved the other gracefully towards the crowd. This was 
 the signal for a burst of defiant shouts and hissing. Don- 
 ovan stood blandly waving his hand for silence. Drys- 
 dale, running his eye over the mob, turned to the rest and 
 said, " There's nothing to stop us, not twenty grown men in 
 the whole lot." Then one of the men, lighting upon the 
 drum-sticks, which the usual man in corduroys had hidden 
 away, began beating the big drum furiously. One of the 
 unaccountable whims which influence crowds seized on the 
 mob, and there was almost perfect silence. This seemed 
 to take Donovan by surprise ; the open air was having the 
 common effect on him ; and he was getting unsteady on 
 his legs, and his brains were wandering. " Now's your 
 time, Donovan, my boy, begin." 
 
 " Ah, yes, to be sure, what'll I say ? let's see," said 
 Donovan, putting his head on one side — 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 177 
 
 u Friends, Romans, countrymen," suggested some wag. 
 
 " To be sure," cried Donovan ; " Friends, Romans, 
 countrymen, lend me your ears." 
 
 " Bravo, Pat, well begun ; pull their ears well when 
 you've got 'em." 
 
 " Bad luck to it ! where was I ? you divels — I mean 
 ladies and gentlemen of Oxford city as I was saying, the 
 poets — " 
 
 Then the storm of shouting and hissing arose again, and 
 Donovan, after an ineffectual attempt or two to go on, leaned 
 forward and shook his fist generally at the mob. Luckily 
 for him, there were no stones about ; but one of the crowd, 
 catching the first missile at hand, which happened to be a 
 cabbage stalk, sent it with true aim at the enraged orator. 
 He jerked his head on one side to avoid it ; the motion 
 unsteadied his cap ; he threw up his hand, which, instead 
 of catching the falling cap, as it w r as meant to do, sent it 
 spinning among the crowd below. The owner, without a 
 moment's hesitation, clapped both hands on the bar be- 
 fore him and followed his property, vaulting over on to the 
 heads of those nearest the platform, amongst whom he fell, 
 scattering them right and left. 
 
 " Come on, gown, or he'll be murdered," sang out one ' 
 of Donovan's friends. Tom was one of the first down the 
 steps ; they rushed to the spot in another moment, and 
 the Irishman rose, plastered with dirt, but otherwise none 
 the worse for his feat ; his cap, covered w T ith mud, was 
 proudly stuck on, hind part before. He was, of course, 
 thirsting for battle, but not quite so- much master of his 
 strength as usual ; so his two friends, who were luckily 
 Btrong and big men, seized him, one to each arm. 
 
 "Come along, keep together," was the word; "thfre's 
 no time to lose. Push for the corn-market." 
 
 The cry of " Town ! town ! " now rose on all sidca. 
 
178 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 The gownsmen in a compact body, with Donovan in the 
 middle, pushed rapidly across the open space in which 
 the caravans were set up and gained the street. Here 
 they were comparatively safe : they were followed close, 
 but could not be surrounded by the mob. And now again 
 a bystander might have amused himself by noting the 
 men's characters. Three or four pushed rapidly on, and 
 were out of sight ahead in no time. The greater part, 
 without showing any actual signs of fear, kept steadily on, 
 at a good pace : close behind these, Donovan struggled 
 violently with his two conductors, and shouted defiance to 
 the town ; while a small and silent rear-guard, amongst 
 whom were Tom and Drysdale, walked slowly and, to all 
 appearance, carelessly behind, within a few yards of the 
 crowd of shouting boys who headed the advancing town. 
 Tom himself felt his heart beating quick, and I don't think 
 had any particular desire for the fighting to begin, with 
 such Long odds on the town side ; but he was resolved to 
 be in it as soon as any one if there was to be any. Thua 
 they marched through one or two streets without any 
 thing more serious than "an occasional stone passing their 
 ears. Another turn would have brought them into the 
 open parts of the town, within hearing of the colleges, 
 when suddenly Donovan broke loose from his supporters, 
 and rushing with a shout on the advanced guard of the 
 town, drove them back in confusion for some yards. The 
 only thing to do was to back him up ; so the rear-guard, 
 shouting " Gown ! gown ! " charged after him. The effect 
 of the onset was like that of Blount at Flodden, when he 
 saw Marmion's banner go down, — a wide space was 
 cleared for a moment, the town driven back, on to the 
 pavements and up the middle of the street, and the rescued 
 Donavan caught, set on his legs, and dragged away again 
 6ome paces toward* college. But the charging body was 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 179 
 
 ioo few in number to improve the first success, or even to 
 insure its own retreat. " Darkly closed the war around." 
 The town lapped on them from the pavements, and 
 poured on them down the middle of the street, before 
 they had time to rally and stand together again. "What 
 happened to the rest — who was down, who up, who 
 fought, who fled, — Tom had no time to inquire ; for he 
 found himself suddenly the centre of a yelling circle of 
 enemies. So he set his teeth and buckled to his work ; 
 and the thought of splendid single combat, and glory such 
 as he had read of in college stories, and tradition handing 
 him down as the hero of that great night, flashed into his 
 head as he cast his eye round for foemen worthy of his 
 steel. None such appeared ; so, selecting the one most of 
 his own size, he squared and advanced on him. But the 
 challenged one declined the combat, and kept retreating ; 
 while from behind, and the sides, one after another of the 
 " town " rushing out dealt Tom a blow and vanished again 
 into the crowd. 
 
 For a moment or two he kept his head and temper ; 
 the assailants, individually, were too insignificant to put 
 out his strength upon ; but head and temper were rapidly 
 going ; he was like a bull in the arena, with the picadores 
 sticking their little javelins in him. A smart blow on 
 the nose, which set a myriad of stars dancing before hia 
 eyes, finished the 'business, and he rushed after the last 
 assailant, dealing blows to right and left, on small and 
 great. The mob closed in on him, still avoiding attacks 
 in front, but on flank and rear they hung on him, and bat- 
 tered at him. He had to turn sharply round after every 
 step to shake himself clear, and at each turn the press 
 thickened, the shouts waxed louder and fiercer ; lie began 
 to get unsteady ; tottered, swayed, and, stumbling over a 
 prostrate youth, at last went down full length on to the 
 
1^0 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 pavement, carrying a couple of his assailants with him, 
 And now it would have fared hard with him, and he 
 would scarcely have reached college with sound bones, — 
 for 1 am sorry to say an Oxford town mob is a cruel and 
 brutal one, and a man who is down has no chance with 
 them, — but that for one moment he and his prostrate 
 foes were so jumbled together that the town could not 
 get at him, and the next, the cry of " Gown ! gown ! " rose 
 high above the din ; the town were swept back again by 
 the rush of a reinforcement of gownsmen, the leader of 
 whom seized him by the shoulders and put him on his 
 legs again ; while his late antagonists crawled away to the 
 side of the road. 
 
 " Why, Brown ! " said his rescuer, — Jervis, the cap- 
 tain, — " this you ? Not hurt, eh ? " 
 
 " Not a bit," said Tom. 
 
 " Good ; come on, then ; stick to me." 
 
 In three steps they joined the rest of the gown, now 
 numbering some twenty men. The mob was close before 
 them, gathering for another rush. Tom felt a cruel, wild 
 devil beginning to rise in him : he had never felt the like 
 before. This time he longed for the next crash, which, 
 happily for him, was fated never to come off. 
 
 " Your names and colleges, gentlemen," said a voice 
 close behind them, at this critical moment. The " town " 
 set up a derisive shout, and, turning round, the gownsmen 
 found the velvet sleeves of one of the proctors at their el- 
 bow, and his satellites, vulgarly called bulldogs, taking 
 notes of them. They were completely caught, and so 
 quietly gave the required information. 
 
 " You will go to your colleges* at once," said the proctor, 
 " and remain within gates. You will see these gentlemen 
 to the High Street," he added . to his marshal, and then 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 181 
 
 strode on after the crowd, which was vanishing down the 
 street. 
 
 The men turned and strode towards the High Street, 
 the marshal keeping, in a deferential but wide-awake man- 
 ner, pretty close to them, but without making any show 
 of watching them. "When they reached the High Street, 
 he touched his hat, and said, civilly, " I hope you will go 
 home now, gentlemen ; the senior proctor, is very strict." 
 
 " All right, marshal ; good-night," said the good-natured 
 ones. 
 
 a D — his impudence," growled one or two of the rest, and 
 the marshal bustled away after his master. The men looked 
 at one another for a moment or two. They were of dif- 
 ferent colleges, and strangers. The High Street was 
 quiet : so, without the exchange of a word, after the man- 
 ner of British youth, they broke up into twos and threes, 
 and parted. Jervis, Tom, and Drysdale, who turned up 
 quite undamaged, sauntered together towards St. Am- 
 brose's. • 
 
 " I say, where are we going ? " said Drysdale. 
 
 " Not to college, I vote," said Tom. 
 
 " No ; there may be some more Tun." 
 
 " Mighty poor fun, I should say, you'll find it," said Jer- 
 vis ; " however, if you will stay, I suppose I must. I 
 can't leave you two boys by yourselves." 
 
 " Come along, then, down here." So they turned down 
 one of the courts leading out of the High Street, and so, 
 by back streets, bore up again for the disturbed districts. 
 
 " Mind and keep a sharp look-out for the proctors," said 
 Jervis ; " as much row as you please, but we mustn't be 
 caught again." 
 
 " Well, only let's keep together, if we have to bolt." 
 
 They promenaded in lonely dignity for some five min- 
 utes, keeping eyes and ears on full strain. 
 16 
 
182 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " I tell you what," said Diysdale, at last, " it isn't fair, 
 these enemies in the camp ; what with * the town ' and their 
 stones and fists, and the proctors with their 'name and col- 
 lege/ we've got the wrong end of the stick." 
 
 - " Both wrong ends, I can tell you," said Jervis. " Hol- 
 loa, Brown, your nose is bleeding." 
 
 " Is it ? " said Tom, drawing his hand across his face ; 
 " 'twas that confounded little fellow, then, who ran up to 
 my side while I was squaring at the long party. I felt a 
 sharp crack, and the little rascal bolted into the crowd be- 
 fore I could turn at him." 
 
 " Cut and come again," said Drysdale, laughing. 
 
 " Ay, that's the regular thing in these blackguard street 
 squabbles. Here they come, then," said Jervis. " Steady, 
 ftll." 
 
 They turned round to face the town, which came shout- 
 ing down the street behind them, M pursuit of one gowns- 
 man, a little, harmless, quiet fellow, who had fallen in' 
 with them on his way back to his college from a tea with 
 his tutor, and, like a wise man, was giving them leg-bail 
 as hard as he could foot it. But the little man was of a 
 courageous, though prudent, soul, and turned, panting and 
 gasping, on his foes the moment he found himself amongst 
 friends again. 
 
 " Now, then, stick together ; don't let them get around 
 us," said Jervis. 
 
 They walked steadily down the street, which was luck- 
 ily a narrow one, so that three of them could keep the 
 whole of it, halting and showing front every few yards, 
 when the crowd pressed too much. " Down with them ! 
 Town, town ! That's two as was in the show." " Mark 
 the velvet-capped chap. Town, town ! " shouted the 
 hinder part of the mob ; but it was a rabble of boys, as 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 183 
 
 before, and the front rank took very good care of itself, 
 and forbore from close quarters. 
 
 The small gownsman had now got his wind again, and, 
 smarting under the ignominy of his recent flight, was al- 
 ways a pace or two nearer the crowd than the other three, 
 ruffling up like a little bantam, and shouting defiance be- 
 tween the catchings of his breaih. 
 
 " You vagabonds ! you cowards ! Come on now, I say ! 
 Gown, gown ! " And at last, emboldened by the repeated 
 halts of the mob, and thirsting for revenge, he made a dash 
 at one of the nearest of the enemy. The suddenness of 
 the attack took both sides by surprise, then came a rush 
 by two or three of the town to the rescue. 
 
 " No, no ! stand back — one at a time," shouted the cap- 
 tain, throwing himself between the combatants and the 
 mob. " Go it, little 'un ; serve him out. Keep the rest 
 back, boys ; steady ! "• Tom and Drysdale faced, towards 
 the crowd, while the little gownsman and his antagonist — 
 who defended himself vigorously enough now — came to 
 close quarters, in the rear of the gown line ; too close to 
 hurt one another, but what with hugging and cuffing, the 
 townsman in another half-minute was sitting quietly on 
 the pavement with his back against the wall, his enemy 
 squaring in front of him, and daring him to renew the com- 
 bat. " Get up, you coward ; get up, I say, you coward ! 
 He wont get up," said the little man, eagerly turning to 
 the captain. " Shall I give him a kick ? " 
 
 " No, let the cur alone " replied Jervis. " Now, do any 
 more of you want to fight ? Come on, like men, one at a 
 time. I'll fight any man in the crowd." 
 
 Whether the challenge would have been answered must 
 rest uncertain ; for now the crowd began to look back, and 
 a cry arose, " Here they are, proctors ! now 7 they'll run." 
 
184 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " So we must, by Jove, Brown," said tiie captain. 
 u What's your college ? " to the little hero. 
 
 " Pembroke." 
 
 " Cut away, then ; you're close at home." 
 
 « Very well, if I must ; good-night," and away went the 
 small man as fast as he had come ; and I have never 
 heard that he came to further grief or performed other 
 feats that night not here set down. 
 
 " Hang it, don't let's run," said Drysdale. 
 
 " Is it the proctors ? " said Tom. "I can't see them." 
 
 "Mark the bloody-faced one ; kick him over," sang out 
 a voice in the crowd. 
 
 " Thankee," said Tom, savagely. " Let's have one rush 
 at them." 
 
 " Look ! there's the proctor's cap just through them ; 
 come along, boys — well, stay if you like, and be rusticated, 
 I'm off; " and away went Jervis, and the next moment 
 Tom and Drysdale followed the good example, and as they 
 had to run, made the best use of their legs, and in two 
 minutes were well ahead of their pursuers. They turned 
 a corner ; " Here, Brown ! a light in this public, cut in 
 and it's all right." Next moment they were in the dark 
 passage of a quiet little inn, and heard with a chuckle part 
 of the crowd scurry by the door in pursuit, while they 
 themselves suddenly appeared in the neat little bar, to the 
 no small astonishment of its occupants. These were 
 a stout, elderly woman in spectacles, who was stitching 
 away at plain work in an arm-chair on one side of the fire ; 
 the foreman of one of the great boat-builders, who sat oppo- 
 site her, smoking his pipe, with a long glass of clear ale at 
 his elbow ; and a bright-eyed, neat-handed barmaid, who 
 was leaning against the table, and talking to the others as 
 they entered. 
 
CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 the; captain's notions. 
 
 The old lady dropped her work, the barmaid turned 
 round with a start and little ejaculation, and the foreman 
 stared with all his eyes for a moment, and then, jumping 
 up, exclaimed, — 
 
 "Bless us, if it isn't Muster Drysdale and Muster 
 Brown, of Ambrose's. Why, what's the matter, sir? 
 Muster Brown, you be all covered wi' blood, sir." 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! poor young gentleman ! " cried the host- 
 ess. " Here } Patty, run and tell Dick to go for the doctor, 
 and get the best room ! " 
 
 " No, please don't ; it's nothing at all," interrupted Tom, 
 laughing. " A basin of cold water and a towel, if you 
 please, Miss Patty, and I shall be quite presentable in a 
 minute. I'm very sorry to have frightened you all." 
 
 Drysdale joined in assurances that it was nothing but a 
 little of his friend's " claret," which he would be all the 
 better for losing, and watched with an envious eye the in- 
 terest depicted in Patty's pretty face, as she hurried in 
 with a basin of fresh pumped water, and held the towel 
 while Tom bathed his face, and very soon was as respect- 
 able a member of society as usual, save for a slight swell- 
 ing on one side of his nose. 
 
 Drysdale, meantime, seated on the table, had been ex- 
 plaining the circumstances to the landlady and the foreman, 
 whose reflections on the occasion I shall not trouble my 
 readers with, though they were full of wisdom. "And 
 16* 
 
186 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 now, ma'am," said he, as Tom joined them and seated 
 himself on a vacant chair, " I'm sure you must draw fa- 
 mous ale." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I think Dick — that's my ostler, sir — r is 
 as good a brewer as is in the town. We always brews at 
 home, sir, and I hope always shall." 
 
 " Quite right, ma'am, quite right," said Drysdale ; " and 
 I don't think we can do better than follow Jem, here. Let 
 us have a jug of the same ale as he is drinking. And you'll 
 take a glass with us, Jem ? or will you have spirits ? " 
 
 Jem was for another glass of ale, and bore witness to 
 its being the best in Oxford, and Patty drew the ale, and 
 supplied two more long glasses. Drysdale, with apologies, 
 produced Ins cigar-case ; and Jem, under the influence of 
 the ale and a firstrate Havana (for which he deserted his 
 pipe, though he did not enjoy it half as much), volunteered 
 to go and rouse the yard and conduct them safely back to 
 college. This offer was, of course, politely declined, and 
 then, Jem's hour for bed having come, he, being a me- 
 thodical man, as became- his position, departed, and left 
 our two young friends in sole possession of the bar. Noth- 
 ing could have suited the two young gentlemen better, and 
 they set to work to make themselves agreeable. They 
 listened with lively interest to the landlady's statement of 
 the difficulties of a widow woman in a house like hers, 
 and to her praises of her factotum Dick and her niece 
 Patty. They applauded her resolution of not bringing 
 up her two boys' in the publican line, though they could 
 offer no very available advice in answer to her appeals 
 for advice as to what trade they should be put to ; all 
 trades were so full, and things were not as they used to 
 *>e. The one thing, apparently, which was wanting to the 
 happiness of Drysdale at Oxford, -was the discovery of such 
 beer as he had at last found at " The Choughs." Dick 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 187 
 
 was to come up to St. Ambrose's the first thing in the 
 morning and carry off his barrel, which would never con- 
 tain in future any other liquid. At last that worthy ap- 
 peared in the bar to know when he was to shut up, and 
 ■was sent out by his mistress to see that the street was clear, 
 for wlfrich service he received a shilling, though his offer 
 of escort was declined. And so, after paying in a splen- 
 did manner for their entertainment, they found themselves 
 in the street, and set off for college, agreeing on the way 
 that " The Choughs " was a great find, the old lady the 
 best old soul in the world, and Patty the prettiest girl 
 in Oxford. They found the streets quiet, and walking 
 quickly along them, knocked at the college gates at half- 
 past eleven. The stout porter received them with a long 
 face. 
 
 " Senior proctor's sent down here an hour back, gentle-. 
 men, to find whether you was in college." 
 
 "You don't mean that, porter? How kind of him ! 
 What did you say ? " 
 
 " Said I didn't know, sir ; but the marshal said, if you 
 come in after that you was to go to the senior proctor's at 
 half-past nine to-morrow." 
 
 " Send my compliments to the senior proctor," said Drys- 
 dale, " and say I've a very particular engagement to-mor- 
 row morning, which will prevent my having the pleasure 
 of calling on him." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said the porter, giving a little dry 
 chuckle, and tapping the keys against his leg ; " only per- 
 haps you wouldn't mind writing him a note, sir, as he'i 
 rather a particular gentleman." 
 
 " Didn't he send after any one else ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Mr. Jervis, sir." 
 
 u Well, and what about him ? " 
 
183 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " O sir, Mr. Jervis ! an old hand, sir. He'd been in 
 gates a long time, sir, when the marshal came." 
 
 " The sly old beggar ! " said Drysdale. " Good-night 
 porter. Mind you send my message to the proctor. If 
 he is set on seeing me to-morrow, you can say that hell 
 find a broiled chicken and a hand at picquet in my uooms, 
 if he likes to drop in to lunch." 
 
 The porter looked after them for a moment, and then 
 retired to his deep old chair in the lodge, pulled his night- 
 cap over his ears, put up his feet before the fire on a high 
 stool, and folded his hand on his lap. " The most impi- 
 dentest thing on the face of the earth is a genTman-com- 
 moner in his first year," soliloquized the little man. 
 " 'Twould ha' done that one a sight of good, now, if he'd 
 got a good hiding in the street, to-night. But he's better 
 than most on 'em, too," he went on ; " uncommon free 
 with his tongue, but just as free with his half-sovereigns. 
 "Well, I'm not going to peach, if the proctor don't send 
 again in the morning. That sort's good for the college ; 
 makes things brisk ; has his wind from town, and don't 
 keep no keys. I wonder, now, if my Peter's been out. 
 fighting. He's pretty nigh as hard to manage, is that boy, 
 as if he was at college hisself." 
 
 And so, muttering over his domestic and professionaJ 
 grievances, the small janitor composed himself to a nap. 
 I may add, parenthetically, that his hopeful Peter, a pre- 
 cocious youth of seventeen, "scout's boy on No. 3 Staircase 
 of St. Ambrose's College, was represented in the boot- 
 cleaning and errand line by a substitute for some days ; 
 and when he returned to duty was minus a front tooth. 
 
 " What fools we were not to stick to the captain. ] 
 wonder what we shall get," said Tom, who was troubled 
 in his mind at the proctor's message, and not gifted natu- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 189 
 
 rally with the recklessness and contempt of authority which 
 in Drysdale's case approached the sublime. 
 
 " Who cares ? I'll be bound now the old fox camo 
 straight home to earth. Let's go and knock him up." 
 
 Tom assented, for he was anxious to consult Jervis as 
 to his proceedings in the morning ; so they soon found 
 themselves drumming at his oak, which was opened shortly 
 by the stroke in an old boating-jacket. They followed 
 him in. At one end of his table stood his tea-service and 
 the remains of his commons, which the scout had not 
 cleared away ; at the other, open books, note-books, and 
 maps showed that the captain read, as he rowed, " hard 
 all." 
 
 " Well, are you two only just in ? " 
 
 " Only just, my captain," answered Drysdale. 
 
 " Have you been well thrashed, then ? You don't look 
 much damaged." 
 
 " We are innocent of fight since your sudden departure 
 —-flight, shall I call it ? — my captain." 
 
 " Where have you been, then ? " 
 
 " Where ! why in the paragon of all pothouses ; snug 
 little bar with red curtains ; stout old benevolent female 
 in spectacles ; barmaid a houri ; and for malt, the most 
 touching tap in Oxford — home-brewed, too, wasn't it, - 
 Brown ? " 
 
 " Yes, the beer was undeniable," said Tom. 
 
 '• Well, and you dawdled there till now ? " said Jervis. 
 
 " Even so. What with mobs that wouldn't fight fair, 
 and captains who would run away, and proctors and mar- 
 shals who would interfere, we were ' perfectly disgusted 
 with the whole proceeding,' as the Scotchman said when 
 he was sentenced to be hanged." 
 
 1 Well, Heaven, they say, protects children, sailors,-and 
 
190 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 drunken men ; and whatever answers to Heaven in the 
 academical system protects freshmen," remarked Jervis. 
 
 " Not us, at any rate," said Tom, " for we are to go to 
 the proctor to-morrow morning." 
 
 " What, did he catch you in your famous public ? " 
 
 " No ; the marshal came round to the porter's lodge, 
 asked if we were in, and left word that, if we were not, we 
 were to go to him in the morning. The porter told us just 
 now as we came in." 
 
 "Pshaw," said the captain, with disgust; "now you'll 
 both be gated probably, and the whole crew will be 
 thrown out of gear. Why couldn't you have come home 
 when I did?" 
 
 " We do not propose to attend the levee of that excel- 
 lent person in office to-morrow morning," said Drysdale. 
 " He will forget all about it. Old Copas wont say a word 
 — catch him. He gets too much out of me for that." 
 
 " Well, you'll see ; I'll back the proctor's memory." 
 
 " But, captain, what are you going to stand ? " 
 
 " Stand ! nothing, unless you like a cup of cold tea. 
 You'll get no wine or spirits here at this time of night, and 
 the buttery is shut. Besides, you've had quite as much 
 beer as is good for you at your paragon public." 
 
 " Come, now, captain, just two glasses of sherry, and 
 I'll promise to go to bed." 
 
 " Not a thimbleful." 
 
 " You old tyrant ! " said Drysdale, hopping off his perch 
 on the elbow of the sofa. " Come along, Brown, let's go 
 and draw for some supper and a hand at Van John. 
 There's sure to be some going up my staircase ; or at any 
 rate, there's a cool bottle of claret in my rooms." 
 
 " Stop and have a talk, Brown," said the captain, and 
 prevailed against Drysdale, who, after another attempt to 
 draw Tom off, departed on his quest for drink and cards. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 191 
 
 " He'll never do for the boat, I'm afraid," said the cap- 
 tain ; " with his rascally late hours, and drinking, and eat- 
 ing all sorts of trash one atop of the other. It's a pity, 
 too, for he's a pretty oar for his weight." 
 
 " He is such uncommon good company, too," said Tom. 
 
 "Yes; but I'll tell you what. He's just a leetle too 
 good company for you and me, or any fellows who mean to 
 take a degree. Let's see, this is only his third term ? I'll 
 give him, perhaps, two more to make the place too hot to 
 hold him. Take my word for it, he'll never get to his 
 little go." 
 
 " It will be a great pity, then," said Tom. 
 
 " So it will. But after all, you see, what does it matter 
 to him ? He gets rusticated ; takes his name off with a 
 flourish of trumpets — what then? He falls' back on 
 £5,000 a year in land, and a good accumulation in con- 
 sols ; runs abroad, or lives in town for a year. Takes the 
 hounds when he comes of age, or is singled out by some 
 discerning constituency, and sent to make laws for his 
 country, having spent the whole of his life hitherto in 
 breaking all the laws he ever came under. You and I, 
 perhaps, go fooling about with him, and get rusticated. 
 We make our friends miserable. We can't take our 
 names off, but have to come cringing back at the end of 
 our year, marked men. Keep our tails between our legs 
 for the rest of our time. Lose a year at our professions, 
 and most likely have the slip casting up against us in one 
 way or another for the next twenty years. It's like the 
 old story of the giant and the dwarf, or like fighting a 
 sweep, or any other one-sided business." 
 
 " But I'd sooner have to fight my own way in the world 
 after all ; wouldn't you ? " said Tom. 
 
 " II — m — m ! " said the captain, throwing himself back 
 in his chair, and smiling ; " can't answer offhand. I'm a 
 
192 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 third-year man, and begin to see the other side rather 
 clearer than I did when I was a freshman like you. Three 
 years at Oxford, my boy, will teach you something of what 
 rank and money count for, if they teach you nothing else." 
 
 " Why, here's the captain singing the same song as 
 Hardy," thought Tom. 
 
 " So you two have to go to the proctor to-morrow ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Shall you go ? Drysdale wont." 
 
 " Of course I shall. It seems to me childish not to go , 
 as if I were back in the lower school again. To tell you 
 the truth, the being sent for isn't pleasant ; but the other 
 I couldn't stand." 
 
 " Well, I don't feel any thing of that sort. But I think 
 you're right on the whole. The chances are that he'll re- 
 member your name, and send for you again, if you don't 
 go ; and then you'll be worse off." 
 
 " You don't think he'll rusticate us, or any thing of that 
 sort ? " said Tom, who had felt horrible twinges at the cap- 
 tain's picture of the effects of rustication on ordinary mor- 
 tals. 
 
 " No ; not unless he's in a very bad humor. I was 
 caught three times in one night in my freshman's term, and 
 only got an imposition." 
 
 " Then I don't care," said Tom. " But it's a bore to 
 have been caught in so seedy an affair ; if it had been a 
 real good row, one wouldn't have minded so much." 
 
 " Why, what did you expect ? It was neither better 
 nor worse than the common run of such things." 
 
 " Well, but three parts of the crowd were boys." 
 
 " Sd they are always — or nine times out of ten, at any 
 rate." 
 
 " But there was no real fighting : at least, I only know 
 I got none." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 193 
 
 * There isn't any real fighting as you call it, nine times 
 out of ten." 
 
 "What is there then?" 
 
 " Why something of this sort. Five shopboys or scouts' 
 boys, full of sauciness, loitering at an out-of-the-way street 
 corner. Enter two freshmen, full of dignity and bad 
 wine. Explosion of inflammable material. Freshmen 
 mobbed into High Street or Broad Street, where the tables 
 are turned by the gathering of many more freshmen, and 
 the mob of town boys quietly subsides, puts its hands m its 
 pockets, and ceases to shout ' Town, town ! ' The trium- 
 phant freshmen march up and down for perhaps half an 
 hour, shouting ' Gown, gown,' and looking furious, but not 
 half sorry that the mob vanishes like mist at their ap- 
 proach. Then come the proctors, who hunt down, and 
 break up the gown in some half-hour or hour. The ' town ' 
 again marches about in the ascendant, and mobs the scat- 
 tered freshmen, wherever they can be caught, in very 
 small numbers." 
 
 " But with all your chaff about freshmen, captain, you 
 were in it yourself to-night ; come, now." 
 
 " Of course, I had to look after you two boys." 
 
 " But you didn't know we were in it when you came 
 up." 
 
 " I was sure to find some of you. Besides, I'll admit 
 one don't like to go in while there's any chance of a real 
 row, as you call it, and so gets proctorized in one's old 
 age for one's patriotism." 
 
 " Were you ever in a real row ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Yes, once, about a year ago. The fighting numbers 
 were about equal, and the town all grown men, laborers 
 and mechanics. It was desperate hard work, none of your 
 shouting and promenading. That Hardy, one of our Bible 
 clerks, fought like a Paladin ; I know I shifted a fellow in 
 17 
 
194 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 corduroys on to him, whom I had found an uncommon 
 tough customer, and never felt better pleased in my life 
 than when I saw the light glance on his hobnails as he 
 went over into the gutter two minutes afterwards. It 
 lasted, perhaps, ten minutes, and both sides were ve*ry glad 
 to draw off." 
 
 " But of course you licked them ? " 
 
 " We said we did." 
 
 ""Well, I believe that a gentleman will always lick in a 
 fair fight." 
 
 " Of course you do ; it's the orthodox belief." 
 
 "But don't you?" 
 
 " Yes, if he is as big and strong, and knows how to fight 
 as well as the other. The odds are that he cares a little 
 more for giving in, and that- will pull him through." 
 
 " That isn't saying much, though." 
 
 " No, but it's quite as much as is true. I'll tell you 
 what it is, I think just this, that we are generally better 
 in the fighting way than shopkeepers, clerks, flunkies, and 
 all fellows who don't work hard with their bodies all day. 
 But the moment you come to the real hard-fisted fellow, 
 used to nine or ten hours' work a day, he's a cruel hard 
 customer. Take seventy or eighty of them at haphazard, 
 the first you meet, and turn them into St. Ambrose any 
 morning — by night I take it they would be lords of this 
 venerable establishment, if we had to fight for the posses- 
 sion : except, perhaps, for that Hardy ; he's one of a thou- 
 sand, and was born for a fighting man ; perhaps he might 
 pull us through." 
 
 " Why don't you try him in the boat ? " 
 
 " Miller manages all that. I spoke to him about it aftei 
 that row, but he said that Hardy had refused to subscribe 
 to the club, said he couldn't afford it, or something of the 
 
TOM BftOWN AT OXFORD. 195 
 
 loit. I don't see why that need matter, myself, but I sup- 
 pose, as we have rules, we ought to stick to them." 
 
 " It's a great pity, though. I know Hardy well, and * 
 you can't think what a fine fellow he is." 
 
 " I'm sure of that. I tried to know him, and we don't 
 get on badly as speaking acquaintance. But he seems a 
 queer, solitary bird." 
 
 Twelve o'clock struck ; so Tom wished the captain good- 
 night and departed, meditating much on what he had heard 
 and seen, but not yet quite persuaded to give up his ro- 
 mantic beliefs as to town and gown rows. 
 
 The reader, too, will be outraged, no doubt, and will 
 demur to the prosaic, not to say vulgar, sketch here sub- 
 mitted to him. He will resent the absence of terrific sin- 
 gle combats, in which the descendant of a hundred earls 
 polishes off the huge representative of the masses in the 
 most finished style, without a scratch on his own aristo- 
 cratic features. 
 
 Well, well ! a man can only describe what he has seen 
 with his own eyes and known in his own heart — *at least, 
 if he is a true man. 
 
 At any rate, Tom went to bed that night fairly sickened 
 with his experience of a town and gown row, and with a 
 nasty taste in his mouth. But he felt much pleased at 
 having drawn out the captain so completely ; for the stroke 
 was in general a man of marvellous few words, having 
 many better uses than talking to put his breath to. 
 
 Next morning Tom attended at the proctor's rooms at 
 the appointed time, not without some feeling of shame at 
 having to do so ; which, however, wore off when he found 
 some dozen men of other colleges waiting about on the 
 same errand as himself. In his turn, he was ushered in, 
 and, as he stood by the door, had time to look the great 
 man over as he sat making a note of the case he had just 
 
196 TOM BROWN AT OXFOK0. 
 
 disposed of. The inspection was re-assuring. The proc- 
 tor was a gentlemanly, straightforward-looking man of 
 about thirty, not at all donnish, and his address answered 
 to his appearance. 
 
 " Mr. Brown, of St. Ambrose's, I think," he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " I sent you to your college yesterday evening ; did you 
 go straight home ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " How was that, Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 Tom made no answer, and the proctor looked at him 
 steadily for a few seconds, and then repeated, — 
 
 "How was that?" 
 
 " Well, sir," said Tom, " I don't mean to say I was 
 going straight to college, but I should have been in long 
 before you sent, only I fell in with the mob again, and 
 then there was a cry that you were coming. And so — " 
 He paused. 
 
 " Well," said the proctor, with a grim sort of curl about 
 the corners of his mouth. 
 
 " Why, I ran away, and turned into the first place which 
 was open, and stopped till the streets were quiet." 
 
 " A public house, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; the < Choughs.' " 
 
 The proctor considered a minute, and again scrutinized 
 Tom's look and manner, which certainly were straightfor- 
 ward and without any tinge of cringing or insolence. 
 
 " How long have you been up ? " 
 
 " This is my second term, sir." 
 
 " You have never been sent to me before, I think ? " 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " Well, I can't overlook this, as you yourself confess to 
 a direct act of disobedience. You must write me out two 
 hundred lines of Virgil. And now, Mr. Brown, let me 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD 197 
 
 advise you to keep out of these disreputable street quar- 
 rels in future. Good-morning." 
 
 Tom hurried away, wondering what it would feel like 
 to be writing out Virgil again as a punishment at his time 
 of life, but glad above measure that the proctor had asked 
 him no questions about his companion. That hero was, 
 of course, mightily tickled at the result, and seized the 
 occasion to lecture Tom on his future conduct, holding 
 himself up as a living example of the benefits which were 
 sure to accrue to a man who never did any thing he was 
 told to do. The soundness of his reasoning, however, was 
 somewhat shaken by the dean, who, on that same after- 
 noon, managed to catch him in quad ; and, carrying him 
 off, discoursed with him concerning his various and sys- 
 tematic breaches of discipline, pointed out to him that he 
 had already made such good use of his time that if he 
 were to be discommonsed for three days more he would 
 lose his term ; and then took off his cross, gave him a book 
 of Virgil to write out, and gated him for a fortnight after 
 hall. Drysdale sent out his scout to order his punishment 
 as he might have ordered a waistcoat, presented old Copas 
 with a half-sovereign, and then dismissed punishment and 
 gating from his mind at once. He cultivated with great 
 success the science of mental gymnastics, or throwing 
 every thing the least unpleasant off his mind at once. 
 And I cannot but allow that it is a science worthy of all 
 cultivation, if one desires to lead a comfortable life. It 
 gets harder, however, as the years roll over us, to attain 
 to any satisfactory proficiency in it ; so that it should be 
 mastered as early in life as may be. 
 
 The town and gown row was the talk of the college for 
 
 the next week. Tom, of course, talked much about it, 
 
 like his neighbors, and confided to one and another the 
 
 captain's heresies. They were all incredulous ; for no one 
 
 17* 
 
V 
 
 198 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 had ever heard him talk as much in a term as Tom im- 
 ported him to have done on this one evening. 
 
 So it was resolved that he should be taken to task on 
 the subject on the first opportunity, and as nobody was 
 afraid of him, there was no difficulty in finding the man to 
 bell the cat. Accordingly, at the next wine of the boating 
 set, the captain had scarcely entered when he was assailed 
 by the host with — 
 
 " Jervis, Brown says you don't believe a gentlemen can 
 lick a cad, unless he is the biggest and strongest of the 
 two." 
 
 The captain who hated coming out with his beliefs, 
 shrugged his shoulders, sipped his wine, and tried to turn 
 the subject. But, seeing that they were all bent on draw- 
 ing him out, he was not the man to run from his guns ; 
 and so said, quietly, — 
 
 " No more I do." * 
 
 Notwithstanding the reverence in which he was held, 
 this saying could not be allowed to pass, and a dozen 
 voices were instantly raised, and a dozen authentic stories 
 told to confute him. He listened patiently and then, see- 
 ing that he was in for it, said, — 
 
 "Never mind fighting. Trjr something else; cricket, 
 for instance. The players generally beat the gentlemen ; 
 don't they ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but they are professionals." 
 
 " Well, and we don't often get a university crew which 
 can beat the watermen." 
 
 " Professionals again." 
 
 " I believe the markers are the best tennis-players, aint 
 they?" persevered the captain; "and I generally find 
 keepers and huntsmen shooting and riding better than 
 their masters ; don't you ? " 
 
 " But that's not fair. All the cases you put are those 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 199 
 
 of men who have nothing else to do, who live by the 
 things which gentlemen only take up for pleasure." 
 
 " I only say that the cads, as you call them, manage 
 somehow or another, to do them best," said the captain. 
 
 • " How about the army and navy ? The officers alway3 
 lead." 
 
 " Well, there they're all professionals, at any rate," said 
 the captain. u I admit the officers lead ; but the men fol- 
 low pretty close. And in a forlorn hope there are fifty 
 men to one officer, after all." 
 
 " But they must be led. The men will never go with- 
 out an officer to lead." 
 
 " It's the officers' business to lead, I know ; and they do 
 it. But you wont find the best judges talking as if the 
 men wanted much leading. Read Napier : the finest story 
 in his book is of the sergeant who gave his life for his boy 
 officer's — your namesake, Brown at the Coa." 
 
 " Well, I never thought to hear you crying down gen- 
 tlemen." 
 
 " I'm not crying down gentlemen," said the captain. " I 
 only say that a gentleman's flesh and blood and brains 
 are just the same, and no better, than another man's. He 
 has all the chances on his side in the way of training, and 
 pretty near all the prizes ; so it would be hard if he didn't 
 do most things better than poor men. But give them the 
 chance of training, and they will tread on his heels soon 
 enough. That's all I say." 
 
 That was all, certainly, that the captain said, and then 
 relapsed into his usual good-tempered, monosyllabic state ; 
 from which all the eager talk of the dozen men, who took 
 up the cudgels naturally enough for their own class, 
 and talked themselves, before the wine broke up, into a 
 renewed consciousness of their natural superiority, failed 
 *gain to rouse him. 
 
200 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 This was, in fact, the captain's weak point, if he had 
 one. He had strong beliefs himself; one of the strongest 
 of which was, that nobody could be taught any thing ex- 
 cept by his own experience ; so he never, or very rarely, 
 exercised his own personal influence, but just quietly went 
 his own way, and let men go theirs. Another of his beliefs 
 was, that there was no man or thing in the world too bad 
 to be tolerated ; faithfully acting up to which belief, the 
 captain himself tolerated persons and things intolerable. 
 
 Bearing which facts in mind, the reader will easily 
 guess the result of the application which the crew duly 
 made to him the day after Miller's back was turned. He 
 simply said that the training they proposed would not be 
 enough, and that he himself should take all who chose to 
 go down to Abingdon twice a week. From that time 
 there were many defaulters ; and the spirit of Diogenes 
 groaned within him, as day after day the crew had to be 
 filled up from the torpid or by watermen. Drysdale 
 would ride down to Sanford, meeting the boat on its way 
 up, and then take his place for the pull up to Oxford, 
 while his groom rode his horse up to Folly bridge to meet 
 him ; there he would mount again, and ride off to BuJling- 
 don, or to the Isis, or Quentin, or other social meeting 
 equally inimical to good training. Blake often absented 
 himself three days in a week, and other men once or 
 twice. 
 
 From considering which facts, Tom came to understand 
 the difference between his two heroes ; their strong like- 
 ness in many points he had seen from the first. They 
 were alike in truthfulness, bravery, bodily strength, and m 
 most of their opinions. But Jervis worried himself about 
 nothing, and let all men and things alone, in the belief 
 that the world was not going so very wrong, or would 
 right itself somehow without him. Hardy, on the other 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 201 
 
 hand, was consuming his heart over every thing that 
 seemed to him to be going wrong in himself and round 
 about him — in the college, in Oxford, in England, in the 
 ends of the earth, and never letting slip a chance of trying 
 to set right, here a thread, and there a thread ; a self-ques- 
 tioning, much-enduring man ; a slayer of dragons himself, 
 and one with whom you could not live much without get- 
 ting uncomfortably aware of the dragons which you also 
 had to slay. 
 
 What wonder that, apart altogether from the difference 
 in their social position, the one man was ever becoming 
 more and more popular, while the other was left more and 
 more to himself. There are few of us, I believe, at Ox- 
 ford, or elsewhere, who do not like to see a man living a 
 brave and righteous life, so long as he keeps clear of them, 
 and still fewer who do like to be in constant contact with 
 one who, not content with so living himself, is always com- 
 ing across them, and laying bare to them their own faint- 
 heartedness and sloth and meanness. The latter, I ad- 
 mit, inspires the deeper feeling, and lays hold with a 
 firmer grip of the men he does lay hold . of, but they are 
 few. For men can't keep always up to high pressure 
 till they have found firm ground to build upon, altogether 
 outside of themselves ; and it is hard to be thankful and 
 fair to those who are showing us time after time that our 
 foothold is nothing but shifting sand. 
 
 The contrast between Jervis and Hardy now began to 
 force itself daily more and more on our hero's attention. 
 From the night of the town and gown row, " The Choughs " 
 became a regular haunt of the St. Ambrose crew, who 
 were taken there under the guidance of Tom and Drys- 
 dale the next day. Not content with calling there on his 
 way from the boats, there was seldom a evening now that 
 Tom did not manage to drop in and spend an hour there. 
 
202 . TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "When one is very much bent on doing a thing, it is gen 
 erally easy enough to find very good reasons, or excuses 
 at any rate, for it; and whenever any doubts crossed 
 Tom's mind, he silenced them by the reflection that the 
 time he spent at " The Choughs " would otherwise have 
 been devoted to wine parties or billiards ; and it was not 
 difficult to persuade himself that his present occupation 
 was the more wholesome of the two. He could not, how- 
 ever, feel satisfied till he had mentioned his change in life 
 to Hardy. This he found a much more embarrassing mat- 
 ter than he had fancied it would be. But after one or 
 two false starts, he managed to get out, that he had found 
 the best glass of ale in Oxford, at a quiet little public on 
 the way to the boats, kept by the most perfect of old wid- 
 ows, with a factotum of an ostler, who was a regular char- 
 acter, and that he went there most evenings for a hour or 
 so. Wouldn't Hardy come some night? 
 
 No, Hardy couldn't spare the time. 
 
 Tom felt rather relieved at this answer, but, neverthe- 
 less, went on to urge the excellence of the ale as a furthei 
 inducement. 
 
 " I don't believe it's half so good as our college beer, 
 and I'll be bound it's half as dear again." 
 
 " Only a penny a pint dearer," said Tom ; " that wont 
 ruin you. All the crew go there." 
 
 " If I were the captain," said Hardy, " I wouldn't let 
 you run about drinking ale at night after wine parties. 
 Does he know about it ? " 
 
 " Yes, and goes there himself often on his way from the 
 boats," said Tom. 
 
 ft And at night, too ? " said Hardy. 
 
 " No," said Tom ; " but I don't go there after drinking 
 wine ; I haven't been to a wine this ten days, at least, not 
 for more than five minutes." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. . 203 
 
 " Well, sound ale is better than Oxford wine," said 
 Hardy, "if you must drink something." And so the 
 subject dropped. 
 
 And Tom went away, satisfied that Hardy had not dis- 
 approved of his new habit. It certainly occurred to him 
 that he had omitted all mention of the pretty barmaid hi 
 his enumeration of the attractions of " The Choughs," but 
 this he set down to. mere accident; it was a slip which he 
 would set right in their next talk. But that talk never 
 camz, and the subject was not again mentioned between 
 them. In fact, to tell the truth, Tom's visits to his friend's 
 room in the evenings became shorter and less frequent as 
 u The Choughs " absorbed more and more of his time. He 
 made excuses to himself that Hardy must be glad of more 
 time, and would be only bored if he kept dropping in 
 every night, now that the examination for degree was so 
 near ; that he was sure he drove Grey away, who would 
 be of much more use to Hardy just now. These, and 
 many other plausible reasons suggested themselves when- 
 ever his conscience smote him for his neglect, as it did not 
 seldom ; and he always managed to satisfy himself some- 
 how, without admitting the real fact, that these visits were 
 no longer what they had been to him, that a gulf had 
 sprung up and was widening day by day between him and 
 the only friend who would have had the courage and hon- 
 esty to tell him the truth about his new pursuit. Mean- 
 time, Hardy was much pained at the change in his friend, 
 which he saw quickly enough, and often thought over it 
 with a sigh as he sat at his solitary tea, and set it down to 
 his own dulness, to the number of new friends whom such 
 a sociable fellow as Tom was sure to make, and who, of 
 course, would take up more and more of his time ; and, 
 if he felt a little jealousy every now and then, put it res* 
 
204 • TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 olutely back, struggling to think no evil, or if there were 
 any, to lay it on his own shoulders. 
 
 Cribbage is a most virtuous and respectable game, and 
 yet scarcely, one would think, possessing in itself sufficient 
 attractions to keep a young gentleman in his twentieth year 
 tied to the board, and going through the quaint calcula- 
 tion night after night of " fifteen two, fifteen four, two for 
 his nob, and one for his heels." The landlady of " The 
 Choughs " liked nothing so much as her game of cribbage 
 in the evenings, and the board lay ready on the little table 
 by her elbow in the cozy bar, a sure stepping-stone to her 
 good graces. Tom somehow became an enthusiast in 
 cribbage, and would always loiter behind his companions 
 for his quiet game ; chatting pleasantly while the old lady 
 cut and shuffled the dirty pack,—striving keenly for the 
 nightly stake of sixpence, which he seldom failed to lose, 
 and laughingly wrangling with her over the last points in 
 the game, which decided the transfer of the two sixpences 
 (duly posted in the snuffer-tray beside the cribbage-board) 
 into his waistcoat pocket or her bag, until she would take 
 off her spectacles to wipe them, and sink back in her chair 
 exhausted with the pleasing excitement. 
 
 Such on odd taste as it seemed, too, a bystander might 
 reasonably have thought, when he might have been em- 
 ploying his time so much more pleasantly in the very 
 room. For, flitting in and out of the bar during the game, 
 and every now and then stooping over the old lady's shoul- 
 der to examine her hand and exchange knowing looks 
 with her, was the lithe little figure of Miss Patty, with 
 her oval face, and merry eyes, and bright brown hair, and 
 jaunty little cap, with fresh blue ribbons of the shade of 
 the St. Ambrose colors. However, there is no accounting 
 for tastes, and it is fortunate that some like apples and 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 205 
 
 6ome onions. It may possibly be, too, that Miss Patty did 
 not feel herself neglected, or did not care about attention. 
 Perhaps she may not have been altogether unconscious 
 that every least motion and word of hers was noticed, even 
 when the game was at its keenest. At any rate, it was 
 clear enough that she and Tom were on the best terms, 
 though she always took her aunt's part vehemently in any 
 little dispute which arose, and sometimes even came to 
 the rescue at the end, and recaptured the vanished six- 
 pences out of the wrongful grasp which he generally laid 
 on them the moment the old lady held out her hand and 
 pronounced the word " game." One knows that size has 
 little to do with strength, or one might have wondered that 
 her little hands should have been able to open his fingers 
 so surely one by one, though he seemed to do all he could 
 to keep them shut. But, after all, if he really thought he 
 had a right to the money, he had always time to put it in 
 his pocket at once, instead of keeping his clenched hand 
 on the table, and arguing about till she had time to get up 
 to the succor of her aunt. 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE FIRST BUMP. 
 
 " What's the time, Smith ? " 
 
 " Half-past three, old fellow," answered Diogenes, look- 
 ing at his watch. 
 
 " I never knew a day go so slowly," said Tom ; " isn't 
 it lime to go down to the boats? " 
 
 " Not by two hours and more, old fellow. Can't you 
 take a book, or something, to keep you quiet ? You wont 
 be fit for any thing by six o'clock, if you go on worrying 
 like this." And so Diogenes turned himself to his flute, 
 and blew away, to all appearances as composedly as if it 
 had been the first week of term, though, if the truth must 
 be told, it was all he could do not to get up and wander 
 about in a feverish and distracted state, for Tom's restless- 
 ness infected him. 
 
 Diogenes' whole heart was in the college boat : and so, 
 though he had pulled dozens of races in his time, he was 
 almost as nervous as a freshman on this the first day of the 
 races. Tom, all unconscious of the secret discomposure 
 of the other, threw himself into a chair, and looked at him 
 with wonder and envy. The flute went " toot, toot, toot," 
 till he could stand it no longer ; so he got up and went to 
 the window, and, leaning out, looked up and down the 
 street for some minutes in a purposeless sort of fashion, 
 staring hard at everybody and every thing, but unconscious 
 all the time that he was doing so. He would not have 
 been able, in fact, to answer Diogenes a word, had that 
 
I TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 207 
 
 worthy inquired of him what he had seen, when he pres- 
 ently drew in his head and returned to his fidgety rara- 
 blings about the room. 
 
 " How hot the sun is ! but there's a stiff breeze from the 
 south-east. I hope it will go down before the evening ; 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; this wind will make it very rough below the Gut. 
 Mind you feather high now at starting." 
 
 " I hope to goodness I sha'n't catch a crab," said Tom. 
 
 "Don't think about it, old fellow; that's your best 
 plan." 
 
 " But I can't think of any thing else," said Tom. 
 " What the deuce is the good of telling a fellow not to 
 think about it?" 
 
 Diogenes, apparently, had nothing particular to reply, 
 for lie put his flute.to his mouth again ; and at the sound 
 of the " toot, toot," Tom caught up his gown and fled away 
 into the quadrangle. 
 
 The crew had had their early dinner of steaks and 
 chops, stale bread, and a glass and a half of old beer 
 Hpiece, at two o'clock, in the captain's rooms. The current 
 theory of training at that time was — as much meat as 
 you could eat, the more underdone the better, and the 
 smallest amount of drink upon which you could manage 
 to live. Two pints in the twenty-four hours was all that 
 most boats' crews that pretended to train at all were al- 
 lowed, and for the last fortnight it had been the nominal 
 allowance of the St. Ambrose crew. The discomfort of 
 such a diet in the hot summer months, when you were at 
 the .same time taking regular and violent exercise, was 
 something very serious. Outraged human nature rebelled 
 ngainst it ; and, I take it, though they did not admit it in 
 public, there were very few men who did not rush to their 
 water-bottles for relief, more or less often, according to the 
 
208 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 development of their bumps of conscientiousness and ob* 
 stinacy. To keep to the diet at all strictly, involved a very 
 respectable amount of physical endurance. I am thankful 
 to hear that our successors have found out the unwisdom 
 of this, as of other old superstitions, and that in order to 
 get a man into training for a boat-race now-a-days, it is 
 not thought of the first importance to keep him in a con- 
 stant state of consuming thirst, and the restlessness of 
 body and sharpness of temper which thirst generally in- 
 duces. 
 
 • Tom appreciated the honor of being in the boat in his 
 first year so keenly, that he had almost managed to keep 
 to his training allowance, and consequently, now that the 
 eventful day had arrived, was in a most uncomfortable 
 state of bod} r and disagreeable frame of mind. 
 
 He fled away from Diogenes' flute f but found no rest. 
 He tried Drysdale. That hero was lying on his back on 
 his sofa playing with Jack, and only increased Tom's thirst 
 and soured his temper by the viciousness of his remarks 
 on boating, and every thing and person connected there- 
 with ; above all, on Miller, who had just come up, had 
 steered them the day before, and pronounced the crew 
 generally, and Drysdale in particular, " not half trained." 
 
 Blake's oak was sported, as usual. Tom looked in at 
 the captain's door, but found him hard at work reading; 
 and so carried himself off; and, after a vain hunt after 
 others of the crew, and even trying to sit down and read, 
 first a novel, then a play of Shakspeare, with no success 
 whatever, wandered away out of the college, and found 
 himself in five minutes, by a natural and irresistible at- 
 traction, on the university barge. 
 
 There were half a dozen men or so reading the papers, 
 and a group or two discussing the coming races. Amongst 
 other things, the chances of St. Ambrose's making a bump 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 203 
 
 the iirst night were weighed. Every one joined in prais- 
 ing the stroke, but there were great doubts whether the 
 crew could live up to it. Tom carried himself on to the 
 top of the barge to get out of hearing, for listening made 
 his heart beat and his throat dryer than ever. He stood on 
 the top and looked right away down to the Gut, the strong 
 wind blowing his gown about. Not even a pair oar was 
 to be seen ; the great event of the evening made the river 
 a solitude at this time of day. Only one or two skiiFs 
 were coming home, impelled by reading men, who took 
 their constitutionals on the water, and were coming in to 
 be in time for afternoon chapel. The fastest and best of 
 these soon came near enough for Tom to recognize Hardy's 
 stroke : so he left the barge and went down to meet the 
 servitor at his landing, and accompanied him to the St. 
 Ambrose dressing-room. 
 
 " Well, how do you feel for the race to-night ? " said 
 Hardy, as he dried his neck and face, which he had been 
 sluicing with cold water, looking as hard and bright as a 
 racer on Derby day. 
 
 " Oh, wretched ! I'm afraid I shall break down," said 
 Tom, and poured out some of his doubts and miseries. 
 Hardy soon comforted him greatly ; and by ihe time they 
 were half across Christchurch Meadow he was quite in 
 heart again, for he knew how well Hardy understood row- 
 ing, and what a sound judge he was, and it was therefore 
 cheering to hear that he thought they were certainly the 
 second best, if not the best, boat on the river, and that they 
 would be sure to make some bumps unless they had acci- 
 dents. 
 
 "But that's just what I fear so," said Tom. "I'm 
 afraid I shall make some awful blunder." 
 
 " Not you ! " said Hardy ; " only remember ; don't you 
 fancy you can pull the boat by yourself, and go trying to 
 18* 
 
210 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 do it. That's where young oars fail. If you keep thor' 
 ough good time you'll be pretty sure to be doing your 
 share of work. Time is every thing, almost." 
 
 " I'll be sure to think of that," said Tom. And they 
 entered St. Ambrose just as the chapel "bell was going 
 down, and he went to chapel and then to hall, sitting by 
 and talking for companionship while the rest dined. 
 
 And so at last the time slipped away, and the captain 
 and Miller mustered them at the gates and walked off to 
 the boats. . A dozen other crews were making their way 
 in the same direction, and half the undergraduates of Ox- 
 ford streamed along with them. The banks of the river 
 were crowded ; and the punts plied rapidly backwards and 
 forwards, carrying loads of men over to the Berkshire 
 side. The University barge, and all the other barges, 
 were decked with flags, and the band was playing lively 
 airs as the St. Ambrose crew reached the scene of ac- 
 tion. 
 
 No time was lost in the dressing-room, and in two min- 
 utes they were all standing in flannel trousers and silk 
 jerseys at the landing-place. 
 
 " You had better keep your jackets on," said the cap* 
 tain ; " we sha'n't be off yet." 
 
 " There goes Brazen-nose." 
 
 " They look like work ; don't they ? " 
 
 "The black and yellow seems to slip along so fast. 
 They've no end of good colors. I wish our new boat was 
 black." 
 
 " Hang her colors, if she's only stiff in the back, and 
 don't dip." 
 
 " Well, she didn't dip yesterday. At least, the men on 
 the bank said so." 
 
 " There go Balliol and Oriel and University." 
 
 " By Jove, we shall be late ! W here's Miller ? " 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 211 
 
 rt In the shed getting the boat out. Look, here's Exe- 
 tor." 
 
 The talk of the crew was silenced for the moment a3 
 every man looked eagerly at the Exeter boat. The cap- 
 tain nodded to Jervis with a grim smile as they paddled 
 gently by. 
 
 Then the talk began again. 
 
 " How do you think she goes ? " 
 
 " Not so badly. They're very strong in the middle of 
 the boat." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ; it's all lumber." 
 
 " You'll see. They're better trained than we are. They 
 look as fine as stars." 
 
 " So they ought. They've pulled seven miles to our 
 five for the last month, I'm sure." 
 
 " Then we sha'n't bump them." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Don't you know that the value of products consists in 
 the quantity of labor which goes to produce them ? Prod 
 uct, pace over course from Iffiey up. Labor expended, 
 Exeter, 7 ; St. Ambrose, 5. You see it is not in the na- 
 ture of things that we should bump them. — Q.E.D." 
 
 u "What moonshine ! as if ten miles behind their stroke 
 are worth two behind Jervis ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow, it isn't my moonshine ; you must set- 
 tle the matter with the philosophers. I only apply a uni- 
 versal law to a particular case." 
 
 Tom, unconscious of the pearls of economic lore which 
 were being poured out for the benefit of the crew, was 
 watching the Exeter eight as it glided away towards the 
 Cherwell. He thought they seemed to keep horribly good 
 time. 
 
 " Holloa, Drysdale ! look ; there's Jack going across in 
 one of the punts." 
 
212 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Of course he is. You don't suppose he wouldn't go 
 down to see the race." 
 
 " Why wont Miller let us start ? Almost all the boats 
 are off." 
 
 " There's plenty of time. We may just as well be up 
 here as dawdling about the bank at Iffley." 
 
 " We sha'n't go down till the last ; . Miller never lets U3 
 get out down below." 
 
 " Well, come ; here's the boat, at last." 
 
 The new boat now emerged from its shed, guided steadily 
 to where they were standing by Miller and a waterman. 
 Then the coxswain got out and called for bow, who stepped 
 forward. 
 
 " Mind how you step, now ; there are no bottom boards, 
 remember," said Miller. 
 
 " Shall I take my jacket ? " 
 
 " Yes ; you had better all go down in jackets in this 
 wind. I've sent a man down to bring them back. Now, 
 two." 
 
 " Aye, aye ! " said Drysdale, stepping forward. Then 
 came Tom's turn, and soon the boat was manned. 
 
 "Now," said Miller, taking his place, "are all your 
 stretchers right ? " 
 
 " I should like a little more greese for my rollocks." 
 
 " I'm taking some down ; we'll put it on down below. 
 Are you all right ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then push her off — gently." 
 
 The St. Ambrose boat was almost the last, so there 
 were no punts in the way, or other obstructions ; and they 
 swung steadily down past the University barge, the top of 
 which was already covered with spectators. Every man 
 in the boat felt as if the eyes of Europe were on him, 
 and pulled in his very best form. Small groups of gowns- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 213 
 
 men were scattered along the bank in Christchurdi 
 meadow, chiefly dons, who were realty interested in the 
 races, but, at that time of day, seldom liked to display en- 
 thusiasm enough to cross the water and go down to the 
 starting-place. These sombre groups were lightened up 
 here and there by the dresses of a few ladies, who were 
 walking up anc^ down, and watching the boats. At the 
 mouth of the Cherwell were moored two punts, in which 
 reclined at their ease some dozen young gentlemen, smok- 
 ing ; several of these were friends of Drysdale, and hailed 
 him as the boat passed them. 
 
 " What a fool I am to be here ! " he grumbled, in an 
 undertone, casting an envious glance at the punts in their 
 comfortable berth, up under the banks, and out of the 
 wind. " I say, Brown, don't you wish we were well past 
 this on the way up ? " 
 
 " Silence in the bows ! " shouted Miller. 
 
 " You devil, how I hate you ! " growled Drysdale, half 
 in jest and half in earnest, as they sped along under the 
 willows. 
 
 Tom got more comfortable at every stroke, and by the 
 time they reached the Gut began to hope that he should 
 not have a fit, or lose all his strength just at the start, or 
 cut a crab, or come to some other unutterable grief, the 
 fear of which had been haunting him all day. 
 
 " Here they are at last ! — come along now — keep up 
 with them," said Hardy to Grey, as the boat neared the 
 Gut ; and the two who had been waiting on the bank, 
 trotted along downwards, Hardy watching the crew, and 
 Grey watching him. 
 
 " Hardy, how eager you look ! " 
 
 " I'd give twenty pounds to be going to pull in the 
 race." 
 
 Grey shambled on in silence by the side of his big friend, 
 
214 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 and wished he could understand what it was that moved 
 him so. 
 
 As the boat shot into the Gut from under the cover of 
 the Oxfordshire bank, the wind caught the bows. 
 
 " Feather high, now," shouted Miller ; and then added 
 in a low voice to the captain, " It will be ticklish work 
 starting in this wind." • 
 
 " Just as bad for all the other boats," answered the sap- 
 tain. 
 
 '•Well said, old philosopher!" said Miller. "It's a 
 comfort to steer you ; you never make a fellow nervous. 
 I wonder if you ever felt nervous yourself, now?" 
 
 " Can't say," said the captain. " Here's our post ; we 
 may as well turn." 
 
 " Easy, bow side — now, two and four, pull her round- 
 back water, seven and five ! " shouted the coxswain ; and 
 the boat's head swung round, and two or three strokes took 
 into the bank. 
 
 Jack instantly made a convulsive attempt to board, but 
 was sternly repulsed, and tumbled backwards into the 
 water. 
 
 Hark ! — the first gun. The report sent Tom's heart 
 into his mouth again. Several of the boats pushed- oft' at 
 once into the stream ; and the crowds of men on the bank 
 began to be agitated, as it were, by the shadow of the com- 
 ing excitement. The St. Ambrose fingered their oars, put 
 a last dash of grease on their rollocks, and settled their 
 feet against the stretchers. 
 
 " Shall we push her off? " asked bow. 
 
 " No ; I can give you another minute," said Miller, who 
 was sitting, watch in hand, in the stern ; " only be smart 
 when I give the word." 
 
 The captain turned on his seat, and looked up the boat. 
 His face was quiet, but full of confidence, which seemed to 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 215 
 
 pass from him into the crew. Tom felt calmer and 
 stronger, as he met his eye. "Now mind, boys, don't 
 quicken," he said, cheerily ; " four short strokes to get way 
 on her, and then steady. Here, pass up the lemon." 
 
 .And he took a sliced lemon out of his pocket, put a 
 small piece in his own mouth, and then handed it to Blake, 
 who followed his example, and passed it on. Each man 
 took a piece ; and just as bow had secured the end, Miller 
 called out, — 
 
 "Now, jackets off, and get her head out steadily." 
 
 The jackets were thrown on shore, and gathered up by 
 the boatman in attendance. The crew poised their oars, 
 No. 2 pushing out her head, and the captain doing the 
 same for the stern. Miller took the starting-rope in his 
 hand. 
 
 " How the wind catches her stern," he said ; " here, pay 
 out the rope one of you. No, not you — some fellow with 
 a strong hand. Yes, you'll do," he went on, as Hardy 
 stepped down the bank and took hold of the rope ; " let 
 me have it foot by foot as I want it. Not too quick ; 
 make .the most of it — that'll do. Two and three, just dip 
 your oars in to give her way." 
 
 The rope paid out steadily, and the boat settled to her 
 place. But now the wind rose again, and the stern drifted 
 in towards the bank. 
 
 " You must back her a bit, Miller, and keep her a little 
 further out or our oars on stroke side will catch the bank." 
 
 " So I see ; curse the wind. Back her, one stroke alL 
 Back her, I say ! " shouted Miller. 
 
 It is no easy matter to get a crew to back her an inch 
 just now, particularly as there are in her two men who 
 have never rowed a race before, except in the torpids, and 
 one who has never rowed a race in his life. 
 
 However, back she comes ; the starting rope slackens 
 
216 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 in Miller's left hand, and the stroke, unshipping his oar, 
 pushes the stern gently out again. 
 
 There goes the second gun ! one short minute more, 
 and we are off. Short minute, indeed ! you wouldn't say 
 .so if you were in the boat, with your heart in your mouth 
 and trembling all over like a man with the palsy. Those 
 sixty seconds before the starting gun in your first race — 
 why, they are a little lifetime. 
 
 u By Jove, we are drifting in again," said Miller, in hor- 
 ror. The captain looked grim but said nothing ; it was 
 too late now for him to be unshipping again. " Here, 
 catch hold of the long boat-hook, and fend her off." 
 
 Hardy, to whom this was addressed, seized the boat- 
 hook, and, standing with one foot in the water, pressed the 
 end of the boat-hook against the gunwale, at the full stretch 
 of his arm, and so, by main force, kept the stern out. 
 There was just room for stroke oars to dip, and that was 
 all. The starting rope was as taut as a harp-string ; will 
 Miller's left hand hold out? 
 
 It is an awful moment. But the coxswain, though al- 
 most dragged backwards off his seat, is equal to the occa- 
 sion. He holds his watch in his right hand with the til- 
 ler rope. 
 
 "Eight seconds more only. Look out for the flash. 
 Remember, all eyes in the boat." 
 
 There it comes, at last — the flash of the starting gun. 
 Long before the sound of the report can roll up the river, 
 the whole pent-up life and energy which has been held in 
 leash, as it were, for the last six minutes, is loose, and 
 breaks away with a bound and a dash which he who has 
 felt it will remember for his life, but the like of which, will 
 he ever feel again ? The starting ropes drop from the 
 coxswain's hands, the oars flash into the water, and gleam 
 on the feather, the spray flies from them, and the boats 
 leap forward. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 217 
 
 The crowds on the bank scatter, and rush alung, each 
 keeping as near as may be to its own boat. Some of the 
 men on the towing-path, some on the very edge of, often 
 in, the water ; some slightly in advance, as if they could 
 help to drag their boat forward ; some behind, where they 
 can' see the pulling better; but all at full speed, in wild 
 excitement, and shouting at the top of their voices to those 
 on whom the honor of the College is laid. 
 
 "Well pulled, all!" "Pick her up there, five!" 
 " You're gaining every stroke ! " " Time in the bows ! " 
 "Bravo, St. Ambrose!" 
 
 On they rush by the side of the boats, jostling one 
 another, stumbling, struggling, and panting along. 
 
 For a quarter of a mile along the bank the glorious, 
 maddening hurly-burly extends, and rolls up the side of 
 the stream. 
 
 For the first ten strokes, Tom was in too great fear of 
 making a mistake to feel or hear or see. His whole soul 
 was glued to the back of the man before him, his one 
 thought to keep time and get his strength into the stroke. 
 But as the crew settled down into the well-known long 
 sweep, what we may call consciousness .returned; and, 
 while every muscle in his body was straining, and his 
 chest heaved, and his heart leapt, every nerve seemed to 
 be gathering new life, and his senses to wake into un- 
 wonted acuteness. He caught the scent of wild thyme in 
 the air, and found room in his brain to wonder how it 
 could have got there, as he had never seen the plant near 
 the river, or smelt it before. Though his eye never wan- 
 dered from the back of Diogenes, he seemed to see all 
 things at once. The boat behind, which seemed to be 
 gaining ; — it. was all he could do to prevent himself from 
 quickening on the stroke as he fancied that; — the eager 
 face of Miller, with his compressed lips, and eyes fixed so 
 19 
 
218 TOM BROWN A.T OXFORD. 
 
 earnestly ahead that Tom could almost feel the glance 
 passing over his right shoulder ; the flying banks and the 
 shouting crowd ; see them with his bodily eyes he could 
 not, but he knew, nevertheless, that Grey had been upset 
 and nearly rolled down the bank into the water in the 
 first hundred } 7 ards, that Jack was bounding and scram- 
 bling and barking along by the very edge of the stream ; 
 above all, he was just as well* aware as if he had been 
 looking at it, of a stalwart form in cap and gown, bound 
 ing along, brandishing the long boat-hook, and always 
 keeping just opposite the boat ; and amid all the Babel of 
 voices, and the dash and pulse of the stroke, and the la- 
 boring of his own breathing, he heard Hardy's voice com- 
 ing to him arain and a<rain, and clear as if there had been 
 no other sound in the air, " Steady, two ! steady ! well 
 pulled ! steady, steady." The voice seemed to give him 
 strength and keep him to his work. And what work it 
 was ! he had had many a hard pull in the last six weeks, 
 but never aught like this. 
 
 But it can't last forever ; men's muscles are not steel, 
 or their lungs bulls' hide, and hearts can't go on pumping 
 a hundred miles an hour long, without bursting. The St. 
 Ambrose boat is well away from the boat behind, there is 
 a great gap between the accompanying crowds ; and now, 
 as they near the Gut, she hangs for a moment or two in 
 hand, though the roar from the bank grows louder and 
 louder, and Tom is already aware that the St. Ambrose 
 crowd is melting into the one ahead of them. 
 
 " We must be close to Exeter ! " The thought flashes 
 into him, and, it would seem, into the rest of the crew at 
 the same moment ; for, all at once, the strain seems taken 
 off their arms again ; there is no more drag ; she springs 
 to the stroke as she did at the start ; and Miller's face, 
 which had darkened for a few seconds, lightens up again. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 219 
 
 Millers face and attitude are a stud}'. Coiled up into 
 the smallest possible space, his chin almost resting on his 
 knees, his hands close to his sides, firmly but lightly feel* 
 ing the rudder, as a good horseman handles the mouth of 
 a free-going hunter ; if a coxswain could make a bump by 
 his own exertions, surely, he will do it. No sudden jerks 
 of the St. Ambrose rudder will you see, watch as you will 
 from the bank ; the boat never hangs through fault of his, 
 but easily and gracefully rounds every point. " You're 
 gaining ! you're gaining ! " he now and then mutters to 
 the captain, who responds with a wink, keeping his breath 
 for other matters. Isn't he grand, the captain, as he comes 
 forward like lightning, stroke after stroke, his back flat, 
 his teeth set, his whole frame working from the hips with 
 the regularity of a machine ? As the space still narrows, 
 the eyes of the fiery little coxswain flash with excitement, 
 but he is far too good a judge to hurry the final effort be- 
 fore the victory is safe in his grasp. 
 
 The two crowds are mingled now, and no mistake ; and 
 the shouts come all in a heap over the water. " Now, St. 
 Ambrose, six strokes more." " Now, Exeter, you're gain- 
 ing ; pick her up." " Mind the Gut, Exeter." " Bravo, 
 St. Ambrose ! " The water rushes by, still eddying from 
 the strokes of the boat ahead. Tom fancies now he can 
 hear their oars and the workings of their rudder, and the 
 voice of their coxswain. In another moment both boats 
 are in the Gut, and a perfect storm of shouts reaches them 
 from the crowd, as it rushes madly off to the left to the 
 foot-bridge, amidst which " Oh, well steered, well steered, 
 St. Ambrose ! " is the prevailing cry. Then Miller, mo- 
 tionless as a statue till now, lifts his right hand and whirls 
 the tassel round his head. " Give it her now, boys ; six 
 strokes and we're into them." Old Jervis lays down 
 that grea* broad back, and lashes his oar through the 
 
220 TOM! BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 water with the might of a giant, the crew cf*tch him up in 
 another stroke, the tight new boat answers to the spurt, 
 and Tom feels a little shock behind him, and then a grat- 
 ing sound, as Miller shouts, " Unship oars, bow and three!" 
 and the nose of the St. Ambrose boat glides quietly up 
 the side of the Exeter, till it touches their stroke oar. 
 
 " Take care where you're coming to." It is the cox- 
 swain -of the bumped boat who speaks. 
 
 Tom finds himself within a foot or two of him when he 
 looks round ; and, being utterly unable to contain his joy, 
 and yet unwilling to exhibit it before the eyes of a gallant 
 rival, turns away towards the shore, and begins telegraph- 
 ing to Hardy. 
 
 " Now, then, what are you at there in the bows ? Cast 
 her off, quick. Come, look alive ! Push across at once 
 out of the way of the other boats." 
 
 " I congratulate you, Jervis," says the Exeter stroke, as 
 the St. Ambrose boat shoots past him. " Do it again next 
 race and I sha'n't care." 
 
 "We were within three lengths of Brazen-nose when we 
 bumped," says the all-observant Miller, in a low voice. 
 
 " All right," answers the captain ; " Brazen-nose isn't 
 so strong as usual. We sha'n't have much trouble there, 
 but a tough job up above, I take it." 
 
 " Brazen-nose was better steered than Exeter." 
 
 " They muffed it in the Gut, eh ? " said the captain. " I 
 thought so by the shouts." 
 
 " Yes, we were pressing them a little down below, and 
 their coxswain kept looking over his shoulder. He was 
 in the Gut before he knew it, and had to pull his left 
 hand hard, or they would have fouled the Oxfordshire 
 corner. That stopped their way, and in we w T ent." 
 
 " Bravo ! and how well we started too." 
 
 " Yes, thanks to that Hardy. It was touch and go 
 
TOU BROWN Al OXFORD. 221 
 
 though; I couldn't have held the rope t.vo seconds 
 more." 
 
 " How did our fellows work ? She dragged a good deal 
 below the Gut." 
 
 Miller looked somewhat serious, but even he cannot be 
 finding fault just now ; for the first step is gained, the first 
 victory won ; and, as Homer sometimes nods, so Miller 
 relaxes the sternness of his rule. The crew, as soon 
 as they have found their voices again, laugh and talk and 
 answer the congratulations of their friends, as the boat 
 slips along close to the towing-path on the Berks side, 
 "easy all," almost keeping pace, nevertheless, with the 
 lower boats, which are racing up under the willows on the 
 Oxfordshire side. Jack, after one or two feints, makes a 
 frantic bound into the water, and is hauled dripping into 
 the boat by Drysdale, unchid by Miller, but to the intense 
 disgust of Diogenes, whose pantaloons and principles are 
 alike outraged by the proceeding. He — the Cato of the 
 oar — scorns to relax the strictness of his code, even after 
 victory won. Neither word nor look does he cast to the 
 exulting St. Ambrosians on the bank ; a twinkle . in his 
 eye, and a subdued chuckle or two, alone betray that though 
 an oarsman he is mortal. Already he revolves in his mind 
 the project of an early walk under a few pea-coats, not 
 being quite satisfied (conscientious old boy !) that he tried 
 his stretcher enough in that final spurt, and thinking that 
 there must be an extra pound of flesh on him somewhere 
 or other which did the mischief. 
 
 " I say, Brown," said Drysdale, " how do you feel ? " 
 " All right," said Tom ; " I never felt jollier in my life." 
 " By Jove, though, it was an awful grind ; didn't you 
 wish yourself well out of it below the Gut?" 
 " No, r or you either/' 
 19* 
 
222 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Didn't I though ! I was awfully baked, my throat is 
 like a lime-kiln yet. What did you think about ? " 
 
 " Well, about keeping time, I think," said Tom, laugh- 
 ing, " but I can't remember much." 
 
 " I only kept on by thinking how I hated those devils 
 in the Exeter boat, and how done up they must be, and 
 hoping their Number 2 felt like having a fit." 
 
 At this moment they came opposite the Cherwell. The 
 leading boat was just passing the winding-post, off the 
 University barge, and the band struck up the " Conquer- 
 ing Hero," with a crash. And while a mighty sound of 
 shouts, murmurs, and music went up into the evening sky, 
 Miller shook the tiller-ropes again, the captain shouted, 
 "Now then, pick her up," and the St. Ambrose boat shot 
 up between the swarming banks at racing pace to her 
 la«ding-place, the lion of the evening. ■ 
 
 Dear readers of the gentler sex ! you, I know, will par- 
 dcn the enthusiasm which stirs our pulses, now in sober 
 middle age, as we call up again the memories of this the 
 most exciting sport of our boyhood (for we were but boys, 
 then, after all). You will pardon, though I fear hope- 
 Jeisly unable to understand the above sketch ; your sons 
 and brothers will tell you it could not have been made less 
 technical. 
 
 For you, male readers, who have never handled an oar, 
 — what shall I say to you ? You, at least, I hope, in some 
 way — in other contests of one kind or another — have 
 felt as we felt, and have striven as we strove. You ought 
 to understand and sympathize with us in all our boating 
 memories. Oh, how fresh and sweet they are ! Above 
 all that one of the gay little Henley town, the carriage- 
 crowded bridge, the noble river reach, the giant poplars, 
 which mark the critical point of the course — the roaring 
 
"* TOM! BROWN AT OXFORD. 223 
 
 column of " undergrades," light blue and dark purple, Can- 
 tab and Oxonian, alike and yet how different, — hurling 
 along together, and hiding the towing-path — the clang 
 of Henley church-bells — the cheering, the waving of em- 
 broidered handkerchiefs, and glancing of bright eyes, the 
 ill-concealed pride of fathers, the open delight and exulta* 
 tion of mothers and sisters — the levee in the town-hall 
 when the race was rowed, the great cup full of champagne 
 (inn-champagne, but we were not critical) — the chops, the 
 steaks, the bitter beer — but we run into anti-climax — 
 remember, we were boys then, and bear with us if you 
 cannot sympathize. 
 
 And you, old companions, Qpavirai, benchers (of the gal- 
 lant eight-oar), now seldom met, but never-forgotten, 
 lairds, squires, soldiers, merchants, lawyers, grave J.P.'s, 
 graver clergymen, gravest bishops (for of two bishops at 
 least does our brotherhood boast), I turn for a moment 
 from my task, to reach to you the right hand of fellowship 
 from these pages, and empty this solemn pewter — trophy 
 of hard-won victory — to your health and happiness. 
 
 Surely, none the worse- Christians and citizens are ye 
 for your involuntary failing of muscularity I 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A CHANGE IN THE CREW, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 It was on a Saturday that the St. Ambrose boat mado 
 the first bump, described in our last chapter. On the next 
 Saturday, the day-week after the first success, at nine 
 o'clock in the evening, our hero was at the door of Hardy's 
 rooms. He just stopped for one moment outside, with 
 his hand on the lock, looking a little puzzled, but withal 
 pleased, and then opened the door and entered. The little 
 estrangement which there had been between them for 
 some weeks, had passed away since the races had begun. 
 Hardy had thrown himself into the spirit of them so 
 thoroughly, that he had not only regained all his hold on 
 Tom, but had warmed up the whole crew in his favor, 
 and had mollified the martinet Miller himself. It was he 
 who had managed the starting rope in every race, and 
 his voice from the towing path had come to be looked 
 upon as a safe guide for clapping on or rowing steady. 
 Even Miller, autocrat as he was, had come to listen for it, 
 in confirmation of his own judgment, before calling on 
 the crew for the final effort. 
 
 So Tom had recovered his old footing in the servitor's 
 rooms ; and, when he entered on the night in question, 
 did so with the bearing of an intimate friend. Hardy's 
 tea commons were on one end of the table as usual, and 
 he was sitting at the other poring over a book. Tom 
 marched straight up to him, and leant over his shoulder. 
 
 " What, here you are at the perpetual grind," he said. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 225 
 
 " Come, shut up, and give me some tea ; I want to talk to 
 you." 
 
 Hardy looked up with a grim smile. 
 
 " Are you up to a cup of tea ? • he said ; " look here, I 
 was just reminded of you fellows. Shall I construe for 
 you?" 
 
 He pointed with his finger to the open page of the book 
 he was reading. It was the Knights of Aristophanes, and 
 Tom, leaning over his shoulder, read, — 
 
 " Kara Kadl^ov fialantig tva fir} Tpi(3rjC Tyv fa Salaiuvi" etc. ! 
 
 After meditating a moment, he burst out, " You hard- 
 hearted old ruffian ! I come here for sympathy, and the 
 first thing you do is to poke fun at me out of your wretched 
 classics ! I've a good mind to clear out, and not do my 
 errand." 
 
 " What's a man to do ? " said Hardy. " I hold that it's 
 always better to laugh at fortune. What's the use of 
 repining ? You have done famously, and second is a capi- 
 tal place on the river." 
 
 "Second be hanged!" said Tom. ."We mean to be 
 first." 
 
 " Well, I hope we may ? " said Hardy. " I can tell you 
 nobody felt it more than I — not even old Diogenes — 
 when you didn't make your bump to-night." 
 
 " Now you talk like a man, and a Saint Ambrosian," 
 said Tom. "But what do you think? Shall we ever 
 catch them?" and, so saying, he retired to a chair oppo- 
 site the tea-things. 
 
 " No," said Hardy ; " I "don't think we ever shall. I'm 
 very sorry to say it, but they are an uncommonly strong 
 lot, and we have a weak place or two in our crew. I don't 
 think we can do more than we did to-night — at least with 
 the present crew." 
 
226 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "But if we could get a little more strength we 
 might?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so. Jervis' stroke is worth two of theirs. 
 A very little more powder would do it." 
 
 " Then we must have a little more powder." 
 
 " Ay, but how are we to get it ? Who can you put 
 in?" 
 
 " You ! " said Tom, sitting up. " There, now, that's 
 just what I am oirae about. Drysdale is to go out. Will 
 you pull next race ? They all want you to row." 
 
 " Do they ? " said Hardy, quietly (but Tom could see- 
 that his eyes sparkled at the notion, though he was too 
 proud to show how much he was pleased) ; " then they had 
 better come and ask me themselves." 
 
 " Well, you cantankerous old party, they're coming, I 
 can tell you ! " said Tom, in great delight. " The captain 
 just sent me on to break ground, and will be here directly 
 himself. I say now, Hardy," he went on, " don't you say 
 no. I've set my heart upon it. I'm sure we shall bump 
 them if you pull." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Hardy, getting up, and begin- 
 ning to make tea, to conceal the excitement he was in at 
 the idea of rowing ; ls you see I'm not in training." 
 
 " Gammon," said Tom, " you're, always in training, and 
 you know it." 
 
 " Well," said Hardy, " I can't be in worse than Drys- 
 dale. He has been of no use above the Gut this last 
 three nights." 
 
 " That's just what Miller says," said Tom, " and here 
 comes the captain." There "was a knock at the door 
 while he spoke, and Jervis and Miller entered. 
 
 Tom was in a dreadful fidget for the next twenty min- 
 utes, and may best be compared to an enthusiastic envoy 
 negotiating a commercial treaty, and suddenly finding his 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 227 
 
 action impeded by the arrival of bis principals. Miller 
 was very civil, but not pressing ; be seemed to bave come 
 more with a view of talking over the present state of 
 things, and consulting upon them, than of enlisting a re- 
 cruit. Hardy met him more than half-way, and specu- 
 lated on all sorts of possible issues, without a bint of vol- 
 unteering himself. But presently Jervis, who did not 
 understand finessing, broke in, and asked Hardy, point- 
 blank, to pull in the next race ; and when he pleaded 
 want of training, overruled him at once, by saying that 
 there was no better training than sculling. So in half an 
 hour all was settled. Hardy was to pull five in the next 
 race, Diogenes was to take Blake's place at No. 7, and 
 Blake to take Drysdale's oar at No. 2. The whole crew 
 were to go for a long training walk the next day, Sunday, 
 in the afternoon ; to go down to Abingdon on Monday, just 
 to get into swing in their new places, and then on Tues- 
 day to abide the fate of war. They had half an hour's 
 pleasant talk over Hardy's tea, and then separated. 
 
 " I always told you he was our man," said the captain 
 to Miller, as they walked together to the gates ; " we want 
 strength, and he is as strong as a horse. You must have 
 seen him sculling yourself. There isn't his match on the 
 river to my mind." 
 
 " Yes, I think he'll do," replied Miller ; " at any rate, he 
 can't be worse than Drysdale." 
 
 As for Tom and Hardy, it may safely be said that no 
 two men in Oxford went to bed in better spirits that Satur- 
 day night than they two. 
 
 And now to explain how it came about that Hardy was 
 wanted. Fortune had smiled upon the St. Ambrosians in 
 the two races which succeeded the one in which they had 
 bumped Exeter. They had risen two more places with- 
 out any very great trouble. Of course, the constituencies 
 
228 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 on the bank, magnified their powers and doings. Ther$ 
 never was such a crew, they were quite safe to be head of 
 the river, nothing could live against their pace. So the 
 young oars in the boat swallowed all they heard, thought 
 themselves the finest fellows going, took less and less pains 
 to keep up their condition, and when they got out of ear- 
 shot of Jervis and Diogenes, were ready to bet two to one 
 that they would bump Oriel the next night, and keep 
 easily head of the river for the rest of the races. 
 
 Saturday night came, and brought with it a most useful 
 though unpalatable lesson to the St. Ambrosians. The 
 Oriel boat was manned chiefly by old oars, seasoned in 
 many a race, and not liable to panic when hard pressed. 
 They had a fair though not a firstrate stroke, and a good 
 coxswain ; experts remarked that they were rather too 
 heavy for their boat, and that she dipped a little when they 
 put on any thing like a severe spurt; but on the whole 
 they were by no means the sort of crew you could just 
 run into hand over hand. So Miller and Diogenes 
 preached, and so the Ambrosians found out to their cost. 
 
 They had the pace of the other boat, and gained as 
 usual a boat's length before the Gut ; but, first those two 
 fatal corners were passed, and then other well-remem- 
 bered spots where former bumps had been made, and still 
 Miller made no sign ; on the contrary, he looked gloomy 
 and savage. The St. Ambrosian shouts from the shore, 
 loo, changed from the usual exultant peals into something 
 like a quaver of consternation, while the air was rent with 
 the name and laudations of " little Oriel." 
 
 Long before the Cherwell Drysdale was completely 
 baked (he had played truant the day before and dined at 
 the Weirs, where he had imbibed much dubious hock), 
 but he from old habit managed to keep time. Tom and 
 the other young oars got flurried, and quickened; the 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 229 
 
 boat dragged, there was no life left in her, and, though 
 they managed just to hold their first advantage, could not 
 put hei a foot nearer the stern of the Oriel boat, whicll 
 glided past the winning-post a clear boat's length ahead 
 of her pursuers, and with a crew much less distressed. 
 
 Such races must tell on strokes ; and even Jervis, who 
 had pulled magnificently throughout, was very much done 
 at the close, and leant over his oar with a swimming in 
 his head, and an approach to faintness, and was scarcely 
 able to see for a minute or so. Miller's indignation knew 
 no bounds, but he bottled it up till he had manoeuvred 
 the crew into their dressing-room by themselves, Jervis 
 having stopped below. Then he let out, and did not 
 spare them. " They would kill their captain, whose little 
 finger was worth the whole of them ; they were disgrac- 
 ing the college ; three or four of them had neither heart, 
 head, nor pluck." They all felt that this was unjust, for 
 after all had they not brought the boat up to the second 
 place? Poor Diogenes sat in a corner and groaned; 
 he forgot to prefix " old fellow " to the few observations 
 he made. Blake had great difficulty in adjusting his 
 necktie before the glass ; he merely remarked in a pause 
 of the objurgation, " In faith, coxswain, these be very bit- 
 ter words." Tom and most of the others were too much 
 out of heart to resist ; but at last Drysdale fired up — 
 
 " You've no right to be so savage that I can see," he 
 said, stopping the low whistle suddenly in which he was 
 indulging, as he sat on the corner of the table ; " you seem 
 to think No. 2 the weakest out of several weak places in 
 the boat." 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Miller. 
 
 " Then this honorable member," said Drysdale, getting 
 off the table, " seeing that his humble t fforts are unap- 
 20 
 
£30 TOM BROTVN AT OXFORD. 
 
 preciated, thinks it best for the public service to place Lia 
 resignation in the hands of your coxswainship." 
 
 " Which my coxswainship is graciously pleased to ac- 
 cept," replied Miller. 
 
 "Hurrah for a roomy punt and a soft cushion next 
 racing night — it's almost worth while to have been row- 
 ing all this time, to realize the sensations I shall feel when 
 I see you fellows passing the Cherwell on Tuesday." 
 
 "Suave est, it's what I'm partial to, mari magno, in the 
 .last reach, a terra, from the towing-path, alterius mag- 
 num spectare laborem, to witness the tortures of you 
 wretched beggars in . the boat. I'm obliged to translate 
 for Drysdale, who never learned Latin," said Blake, fin- 
 ishing his tie, and turning to the company. There was 
 an awkward silence. Miller was chafing inwardly and 
 running over in his mind what was to be done; and no- 
 body else seemed quite to know what ought to happen 
 next, when the door opened and Jervis came in. 
 
 " Congratulate me, my captain," said Drysdale ; " I'm 
 well out of it at last." 
 
 Jervis " pished and pshaw'd " a little at hearing what 
 had happened, but his presence acted like oil on the 
 waters. The moment that the resignation was named, 
 Tom's thoughts had turned to Hardy. Now was the 
 time — he had such confidence in the man, that the idea 
 of getting him in for next race entirely changed the as- 
 pect of affairs to him, and made him feel as "bumptious" 
 again as he had done in the morning. So with this idea 
 in his head, he hung about till the captain had made his 
 toilet, and joined himself to him and Miller as they 
 walked up. 
 
 " Well, what are we to do now ? " said the captain. 
 
 "That's just what you have to settle," said Miller; 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 231 
 
 "you have been up all the term, and know the men's pull- 
 ing better than I." 
 
 " I suppose we must press somebody from the torpid — 
 let me see, there's Burton." 
 
 " He rolls like a porpoise," interrupted Miller posi- 
 tively ; " impossible." 
 
 " Stewart might do then." 
 
 "Never kept time for three strokes in his life," said 
 Miller. 
 
 " Well, there are no better men," said the Captain. 
 
 " Then we may lay our account to stopping where we 
 *re, if we don't even lose a place," said Miller. 
 
 " Dust unto dust, what must be, must ; 
 If you can't get crumb, you'd best eat crust," 
 
 said the captain. 
 
 " It's all very well talking coolly now," said Miller, 
 " but you'll kill yourself trying to bump, and there are 
 three more nights." 
 
 " Hardy would row if you asked him, I'm sure," said 
 Tom. 
 
 The captain looked at Miller, who shook his head. 
 " I don't think it," he said ; " I take him to be a shy bird 
 that wont come to everybody's whistle. We might have 
 had him two years ago, I believe — I wish we had." 
 
 " I always told you so," said Jervis ; " at any rate, let's 
 Iry him. He can but say no, and I don't think he will, 
 for you see he has been at the starting-pface every night, 
 And as keen as a freshman all the time." 
 
 " I'm sure he wont," said Tom ; " I know he would give 
 nny thing to pull." 
 
 " You had better go to his rooms and sound him," said 
 the captain ; " Miller and I will follow in half an hour/' 
 We have already heard how Tom's mission prospered. 
 
 The next day, at a few minutes before two o'clock, the 
 
232 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 St. Ambrose crew, including Hardy, with Miller (who 
 was a desperate and indefatigable pedestrian) for leader, 
 crossed Magdalen Bridge. At five they returned to col- 
 lege, having done a little over fifteen miles, fair heel and 
 toe walking, in the interval. The afternoon had been 
 very hot, and Miller chuckled to the captain, " I don't 
 think there will be much trash left in any of them after 
 that. That fellow Hardy is as fine as a race-horse, and, 
 did you see, he never turned a hair all the way." 
 
 The crew dispersed to their, rooms, delighted with the 
 performance now that it was over, and feeling that they 
 were much the better for it, though they all declared it 
 had been harder work than any race they had yet pulled. 
 It would have done a trainer's heart good to have seen 
 them, some twenty minutes afterwards, dropping into Hall 
 (where they were allowed tp dine on Sundays, on the 
 joint), fresh from cold baths, and looking ruddy and 
 clear, and hard enough for any thing. 
 
 Again on Monday, not a chance was lost. The St, 
 Ambrose boat started soon after one o'clock for Abingdon. 
 They swung steadily down the whole way, and back 
 again to Sandford without a single spurt ; Miller gener- 
 ally standing in the stern, and preaching above all things 
 steadiness and time. From Sandford up, they were ac- 
 companied by half a dozen men or so, who ran up the 
 bank watching them. The struggle for the first place on 
 the river was cheating great excitement in the rowing 
 world, and these were some of the most keen connois- 
 seurs, who, having heard that St. Ambrose had changed a 
 man, were on the look-out to satisfy themselves as to how 
 it would work. The general opinion was veering round 
 in favor of Oriel ; changes so late in the races, and at 
 Buch a critical moment,-were looked upon as very damag- 
 ing. 
 
TOM BItOWN AT OXFORD. 23$ 
 
 Foremost amongst the runners on the bank was a wiry 
 dark man, with sanguine complexion, who went with a 
 peculiar long, low stride, keeping his keen eye well on 
 the boat. Just above Kennington Island, Jervis, noticing 
 this particular spectator for the first time, called on the 
 crew, and, quickening his stroke, took them up the reach 
 at racing pace. As they lay in IfHey lock the dark man 
 appeared above them, and exchanged a few words, and a 
 good deal of dumb show, with the captain and Miller, and 
 tl.en disappeared. 
 
 From Iffley up they went steadily again. On the 
 whole, Miller seemed to be in very good spirits in the 
 dressing-room ; he thought the boat trimmed better, and 
 went better than she had ever done before, and compli- 
 jnented Blake particularly for the ease with which he had 
 changed sides. They all went up in high spirits, calling 
 on their way at "The Choughs" for one glass* of old ale 
 round, which Miller was graciously pleased to allow. Tom 
 never remembered till after they were out again, that 
 Hardy had never been there before, and felt embarrassed 
 for a moment, but it soon passed off. A moderate dinner 
 and early to bed finished the day, and Miller was justified 
 in his parting remark to the captain, " Well, if we don't 
 win, we can comfort ourselves that we hav'n't dropped a 
 stitch this last two days, at any rate." 
 
 Then the eventful day arose which Tom and many 
 another man felt was to make or mar St. Ambrose. It 
 was a glorious early summer day, without a cloud, scarcely 
 a breath of air stirring. " "We shall have a fair start, at 
 any rate," was the general feeling. We have already 
 seen what a throat-drying, nervous business, the morning 
 and afternoon of a race-day is, and must not go over the 
 same ground more than we can help ; so we will imagine 
 20* 
 
234 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 the St. Ambrose boat down at the starting- place, lying 
 close to the towing-path, just before the first gun. 
 
 There is a much greater crowd than usual opposite the 
 two first boats. By this time most of the other boats 
 have found their places, for there is not much chance of 
 any thing very exciting down below ; so, besides the men of 
 Oriel and St. Ambrose (who muster to-night of all sorts, 
 the fastest of the fast and slowest of the slow having been 
 by this time shamed into something like enthusiasm), many 
 of other colleges, whose boats have no chance of bumping 
 or being bumped, flock to the point of attraction. 
 
 " Do you make out what the change is ? " says a backer 
 of Oriel to his friend in the like predicament. 
 
 " Yes ; they've got a new No. 5 ; don't you see ? and, by 
 George, I don't like his looks," answered his friend ; " aw- 
 fully long and strong in the arm, and well ribbed up. A 
 devilish awkward customer. I shall go and try to get a 
 hedge." 
 
 " Pooh," says the other, " did you ever know one man 
 win a race ? " 
 
 " Ay, that I have," says his friend, and walks off towards 
 the Oriel crowd to take five to four on Oriel in half sov- 
 ereigns, if he can get it. 
 
 Now their dark friend of yesterday comes up at a trot, 
 and pulls up close to the captain, with whom he is evi- 
 dently dear friends. He is worth looking at, being cox- 
 swain of the O. U. B., the best steerer, runner, and swim- 
 mer, in Oxford ; amphibious himself, and sprung from an 
 amphibious race. His own boat is in no danger, so he has 
 left her to take care of herself. He is on the look-out for 
 recruits for the University crew, and no recruiting ser- 
 geant has a sharper eye for the sort of stuff he requires. 
 
 " What's his name ? " he says in a low tone to Jervis, 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 235 
 
 giving a jerk with his head towards Hardy. " Where 
 did you get him ? " 
 
 " Hardy," answers the captain in the same tone ; " it's 
 his first night in the boat." 
 
 " I know that," replies the coxswain ; " I never saw him 
 row before yesterday. He's the fellow who sculls in that 
 brown skiff; isn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I think he'll do ; keep your eye on him." 
 
 The coxswain nods as if he were pretty much of the 
 same mind, and examines Hardy with the eye of a con- 
 noisseur, pretty much as the judge at an agricultural show 
 looks at the prize bull. Hardy is tightening the strap of 
 his stretcher, and all-unconscious of the compliments 
 which are being paid him. The great authority seems 
 satisfied with his inspection, grins, rubs his hands, and 
 trots off to the Oriel boat to make comparisons. 
 
 Just as the first gun is heard, Gray sidles nervously to 
 the front of the crowd as if he were doing something very 
 audacious, and draws Hardy's attention, exchanging sym- 
 pathizing nods with him, but saying nothing, for he knows 
 not what to say, and then disappearing again in the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Hallo, Drysdale, is that you ? " says Blake, as they 
 push off from the shore. " I thought you were going to 
 take it easy in a punt." 
 
 " So I thought," said Drysdale ; " but I couldn't keep 
 away, and here I am. I shall run up ; and mind, if I see 
 you within ten feet, and cocksure to win, I'll give a view 
 holloa. I'll be bound you shall hear it." 
 
 " May it come speedily," said Blake, and then settled 
 himself in his seat. 
 
 " Eyes in the boat — mind now, steady all, watch tho 
 Btroke and don't quicken." 
 
 These are Miller's last words ; every faculty of himself 
 
236 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 and the crew being now devoted to getting a good stark 
 This is no difficult matter, as the water is like glass, and 
 the boat lies lightly on it, obeying the slightest dip of the 
 oars of bow and two, who just feel the water twice or 
 thrice in the last minute. Then, after a few moments of 
 breathless hush on the bank, the last gun is fired and they 
 are off. 
 
 The same scene of mad excitement ensues, only ten- 
 fold more intense, as almost the whole interest of the races 
 is to-night concentrated on the two head boats and their 
 fate. At every gate there is a jam, and the weaker ves- 
 sels are shoved into the ditches, upset, and left unnoticed. 
 The most active men, including the 0. U. B. coxswain, 
 shun the gates altogether, and take the big ditches in their 
 stride, making for the long bridges, that they may get 
 quietly over these and be safe for the best part of the race. 
 They know that the critical point of the struggle will be 
 near the finish. 
 
 Both boats make a beautiful start, and again as before 
 in the first dash the St. Ambrose pace tells, and they gain 
 their boat's length before first winds fail ; then they settle 
 down for a long, steady effort. Both crews are rowing 
 comparatively steady, reserving themselves for the tug of 
 war up above. Thus they pass the Gut, and so those two 
 treacherous corners, the scene of countless bumps, into 
 the wider water beyond, up under the willows. 
 
 Miller's face is decidedly hopeful ; he shows no sign, 
 indeed, but you can see that he is not the same man as he 
 was at this place in the last race. He feels that to-day 
 the boat is full of life, and that he can call on his crew 
 with hopes of an answer. His well-trained eye also de- 
 tects that, while both crews are at full stretch, his own, 
 instead of losing, as it did on the last night, is now gain- 
 ing inch by inch on Oriel. The gain is scarcely perceptj- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 237 
 
 lie to liim even ; from the bank it is quite impel eeptible ; 
 but there it is ; he is surer and surer of it, as one after 
 another the willows are left behind. 
 
 And now comes the pinch. The Oriel captain is begin- 
 ning to be conscious of the fact which has been dawning 
 on Miller, but will not acknowledge it to himself, and as 
 his coxswain turns the boat's head gently across the stream, 
 and makes for the Berkshire side and the goal, now full 
 in view, he smiles grimly as he quickens his stroke ; he 
 will shake off these light-heeled gentry yet, as he did 
 before. 
 
 Miller sees the move in a moment, and signals hi3 
 captain, and the next stroke St. Ambrose has quickened 
 also ; and now there is no mistake about it, St. Ambrose 
 is creeping up slowly but surely. The boat's length les- 
 sens to forty feet, thirty feet ; surely and steadily lessens. 
 But the race is not lost yet ; thirty feet is a short space 
 enough to look at on the water, but a good bit to pick up 
 foot by foot in the last two hundred yards of a desperate 
 struggle. They are over under the Berkshire side now, 
 and there stands up the winning-post, close ahead, all but 
 won. The distance lessens and lessens still, but the Oriel 
 crew stick steadily and gallantly to their work, and will 
 fight every inch of distance to the last. The Orielites on 
 the bank, who are rushing along, sometimes in the water, 
 sometimes out, hoarse, furious, madly alternating between 
 hope and despair, have no reason to be ashamed of a man 
 in the crew. Off the mouth of the Cherwell there is still 
 twenty feet between them. Another minute, and it will 
 be over one way or another. Every man in both crews 
 is now doing his best, and no mistake : tell me which boat 
 holds the most men who can do better than their best at 
 a pinch, who will risk a broken bloodvessel, and I will 
 ;ell you how it will end. " Hard pounding, gentlemen, 
 
238 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 let's see who will pound longest," the duke is reported to 
 have said at "Waterloo, and won. " Now, Tummy, lad, 
 'tis thou or I," Big Ben said as he came up to the last 
 round of his hardest fight, and won. Is there a man of 
 that temper in either crevi. to-night? If so, now's his 
 time. For both coxswains have called on their men for 
 the last effort ; Miller is whirling the tassel of his right- 
 hand tiller rope round his head, like a wiiy little lunatic ; 
 from the towing-path, from Christchurch Meadow, from 
 the rows of punts, from the clustered tops of the barges, 
 comes a roar of encouragement and applause, and the 
 band, unable to resist the impulse, breaks with a crash 
 into the " Jolly Young Waterman," playing two bars to 
 the second. A bump in the Gut is nothing — a few parti- 
 sans on the towing-path to cheer you, already out of 
 breath ; but up here at the very finish, with all Oxford 
 looking on, when the prize is the headship of the river ; 
 once in a generation only do men get such a chance. 
 
 Who ever saw Jervis not up to his work ? The St. 
 Ambrose stroke is glorious. Tom had an atom of go still 
 left in the very back of his head, and at this moment he 
 heard Drysdale's view holloa above all the din ; it seemed 
 to give him a lift, and other men besides in the boat, for 
 in another six strokes the gap is lessened and St. Am- 
 brose has crept up to ten feet, and now to five from the 
 stern of Oriel. Weeks afterwards Hardy confided to 
 Tom that when he heard that view halloa he seemed to 
 feel the muscles of his arms and legs turn into steel, and 
 did more work in the last twenty strokes than in any 
 other forty in the earlier part of the race. 
 
 Another fifty yards and Oriel is safe, but the look on 
 the captain's face is so ominous that their coxswain 
 glances over his shoulder. The bow of St. Ambrose ia 
 within two feet of their rudder. It is a moment for de.» 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 239 
 
 perate expedients. He pulls his left tiller rope suddenly, 
 thereby carrying the stern of his own boat out of the line 
 of the St. Ambrose, and calls on his crew once more; 
 they respond gallantly yet f but the rudder is against them 
 for a moment, and the boajt drags. St. Ambrose over- 
 laps. " A bump, a bump," shout tho St. Ambrosians on 
 shore. " Row on, row on," screams Miller. He has not 
 yet felt the electric shock, and knows he will miss his 
 bump if the young ones slacken for a moment. A young 
 coxswain would have gone on making shots at the stern 
 of the Oriel boat, and so have lost. 
 
 A bump now and no mistake ; the bow of the St. Am- 
 brose boat jams the oar of the Oriel stroke, and the two 
 boats pass the winning-post with the way that was on 
 them when the bump was made. So near a shave was it. 
 
 To describe the scene on the bank is beyond me. It 
 was a hurly-burly of delirious joy, in the midst of which 
 took place a terrific combat between Jack and the Oriel 
 dog — a noble black bull terrier belonging to the college 
 in general, and no one in particular — who always at- 
 tended the races and felt the misfortune keenly. Luckily, 
 they were parted without worse things happening; for 
 though the Oriel men were savage, and not disinclined 
 for a jostle, the milk of human kindness was too strong 
 for the moment in their adversaries, and they extricated 
 themselves from the crowd, carrying off Crib their dog, 
 and looking straight before them into vacancy. 
 
 " Well rowed, boys," says Jervis, turning round to his 
 crew as they lay panting on their oars. 
 
 " Well rowed, five," says Miller, who even in the hour 
 of such a triumph is not inclined to be general in lauda- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well rowed, five," is echoed from the bank ; it is that 
 cunning man, the recruiting-sergeant. " Fatally well 
 
240 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 # 
 
 rowed," he adds to a comrade, with whom he gets into 
 one of the punts to cross to Christchurch Meadow ; " we 
 must have him in the University crew." 
 
 " I don't think you'll get him -to row, from what I hear," 
 answers the other. 
 
 "Then he must be handcuffed and carried into the 
 boat by force," says the coxswain O. U. B. ; " why is not 
 the pressgang an institution in this university ? " 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A STORM BREWS AND BREAKS. 
 
 Cer tainly Drysdale's character . came out well thai 
 night. He did not seem the least jealous of the success 
 which had been achieved through his dismissal. On the 
 contrary, there was no man in the college who showed 
 more interest in the race, or joy at the result, than he. 
 Perhaps the pleasure of being out of it himself may have 
 reckoned for something with him. In any case, there he 
 was at the door with Jack, to meet the crew as they 
 landed after the race, with a large pewter foaming with 
 shandygaff, in each hand, for their recreation. Draco 
 himself could not have forbidden them to drink at that 
 moment ; so, amidst shaking of hands and clappings on 
 the back, the pewters travelled round from stroke to bow, 
 and then the crew went off to their dressing-room, accom- 
 panied by Drysdale and others. 
 
 " Bravo ! it was the finest race that has been seen on 
 the river this six years ; everybody says so. You fel- 
 lows have deserved well of your country. I've sent up 
 to college to have supper in my rooms, and you must all 
 come. Hang training ! there are only two more nights, 
 and you're safe to keep your place. What do you say, 
 captain ? eh, Miller ? Now be good-natured for once." 
 
 " Miller, what do you say ? " said the captain. 
 
 " "Well, we don't get head of the river every night," 
 said Miller. " I don't object if you'll all turn out and go 
 to bed at eleven." 
 21 
 
242 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " That's all right," said Drysdale ; " and now let's go to 
 the old ' Choughs' and have a glass of ale while supper 
 is getting ready. Eh, Brown ? " and he hooked his arm 
 into Tom's and led the way into the town. 
 
 " I'm so sorry you were not in it for the finish," said 
 Tom, who was quite touched by his friend's good-humor. 
 
 " Are you ? " said Drysdale ; " it's more than I am then, 
 I can tell you. If you could have seen yourself under 
 the willows, you wouldn't have thought yourself much of 
 an object of envy. Jack and I were quite satisfied with 
 our share of work and glory on the bank. "Weren't we, 
 old fellow ? " at which salutation Jack reared himself on 
 his hind legs and licked his master's hand. 
 
 " "Well, you're a real good fellow for taking it as you 
 do. I don't think I could have come near the river if I 
 had been you." 
 
 " I take every thing as it comes," said Drysdale. " The 
 next race is on Derby day, and I couldn't have gone if I 
 hadn't been turned out of the boat ; that's a compensation, 
 yo-j see. Here we are ; I wonder if Miss Patty has heard 
 of the victory?" 
 
 They turned down the little passage-entrance of the 
 Choughs" as he spoke, followed by most of the crew, and 
 by a tail of younger St. Ambrosians, their admirers, and 
 the bar was crowded the next moment. Patty was there, 
 of course, and her services were in great requisition ; for 
 though each of the crew only took a small glass of the 
 old ale, they made as much fuss about it with the pretty 
 barmaid as if they were drinking hogsheads. In fact, it 
 had become clearly the correct thing with the St. Ambro- 
 sians to make much of Patty ; and, considering the cir- 
 cumstances, it was only a wonder that she was not more 
 spoilt than seemed to be the case. Indeed, as Hardy 
 stood up in the corner opposite to the landlady's chair, a 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 243 
 
 fcilent on-looker at the scene, he couldn't help admitting to 
 himself that the girl held her own well, without doing or 
 saying any thing unbecoming a modest woman. And it 
 *was a hard thing for him to be fair to her, for what he 
 saw now in a few minutes confirmed the impression which 
 his former visit had left on his mind — that his friend 
 was safe in her toils ; how deeply, of course, he could not 
 judge, but that there was more between them than he 
 could approve was now clear enough to him, and he stood 
 silent, leaning against the wall in that furthest corner, in 
 the shadow of a projecting cupboard, much distressed in 
 mind, and pondering over what it behoved him to do un- 
 der the circumstances. With the exception of a evil 
 sentence or two to the old landlady, who sat opposite mm 
 knitting, and casting rather uneasy looks from time to 
 time towards the front of the bar, he spoke to no one. In 
 fact, nobody came near that end of the room, and £ eir 
 existence seemed to have been forgotten by the rest. 
 
 Tom had been a little uncomfortable for the first 
 minute ; but after seeing Hardy take his glass of ale, and 
 then missing him, he forgot all about him, and was too 
 busy with his own affairs to trouble himself further. He 
 had become a sort of drawer or barman at the " Choughs," 
 and presided, under Patty, over the distribution of the 
 ale, giving an eye to his chief to see that she was not put 
 upon. 
 
 Drysdale and Jack left after a short stay, to see that 
 the supper was being properly prepared. Soon after- 
 wards Patty went off out of the bar in answer to some 
 bell which called her to another part of the house ; and 
 the" St. Ambrosians voted that it was time to go off to col- 
 lege to supper, and cleared out into the street. 
 
 Tom went out with the last batch of them, but lingered 
 a moment in the passage outside. He knew the house 
 
244 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 and its ways well enough by this time. The nest mo- 
 ment Patty appeared from a side door, which led to 
 another part of the house. 
 
 " So you're not going to stay to play a game witlf 
 aunt," she said ; " what makes you in such a hurry ? " 
 
 " I must go up to college ; there's a supper to celebrate 
 our getting head of the river." Patty looked down and 
 pouted a little. Tom took her hand, and said, sentimen- 
 tally, " Don't be cross now ; you know that I would 
 eooner stay here ; don't you ? " 
 
 She tossed her head, and pulled away her hand, and 
 then changing the subject, said, — 
 
 " Who's that ugly old fellow who was here again to- 
 night?" 
 
 " There was no one older than Miller, and he is rather 
 an admirer of yours. I shall tell him you called him 
 ugly." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean Mr. Miller ; you know that well 
 enough," she answered. " I mean him in the old rough 
 coat, who don't talk to any one." 
 
 "Ugly old fellow, Patty? Why, you mean Hardy. 
 He's a great friend of mine, and you must like him for 
 my sake." 
 
 " I'm sure I wont. I don't like him a bit ; he looks so 
 cross at me." 
 
 " It's all your fancy. There now, good-night." 
 
 " You sha'n't go, however, till you've given me that 
 handkerchief. You promised it me if you got head of the 
 river." 
 
 " O you little story-teller. Why, they are my college 
 colors. I wouldn't part with them for worlds. I'll give 
 you a lock of my hair, and the prettiest handkerchief you 
 can "find in Oxford ; but not this." 
 
 "But 1 will have it, and you did promise me it," she 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 2-15 
 
 paid, and put up her hands suddenly, and untie il the how 
 of Tom's neck-handkerchief. He caught her wrists in 
 his hands, and looked down into her eyes, in which, if he 
 saw a little pique at his going, he saw other things which 
 stirred in him strange feelings of triumph and tenderness. 
 
 " "Well, then, you shall pay for it, anyhow," he said, — 
 Why need I tell what followed ? — There was a little 
 struggle ; a " Go along, do, Mr. Brown ; " and the next 
 minute Tom, minus his handkerchief, was hurrying after 
 his companions ; and Patty was watching him from the 
 door, and setting her cap to rights. Then she turned and 
 went back into the bar, and started, and turned red, as 
 she saw Hardy there, still standing in the further corner, 
 opposite her aunt. He finished his glass of ale as she 
 came in, and then passed out, wishing them " Good-night." 
 
 " Why, aunt," she said, " I thought they were all gone. 
 Who was that sour-looking man ? " 
 
 " He seems a nice quiet gentleman, my dear," said the 
 old lady looking up. " I'm sure he's much better than 
 those ones as makes so much racket in the bar. But 
 where have you been, Patty ? " 
 
 " Oh, to the commercial room, aunt. Wont you have 
 a game at cribbage ? " and Patty took up the cards and set 
 the board out, the old lady looking at her doubtfully all 
 the time through her spectacles. She was beginning to 
 wish that the college gentlemen wouldn't come so much 
 to the house, though they were very good customers. 
 
 Tom, minus his handkerchief, hurried after his com- 
 rades, and caught them up before they got to college. 
 They were all there but Hardy, whose absence vexed our 
 hero for a moment ; he had hoped that Hardy, now that 
 he was in the boat, would have shaken off all his reserve 
 towards the other men, and blamed him because he had 
 not done so at once. There could be no reason for it but 
 21* 
 
246 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 his own oddness, he thought, for every one was full of his 
 praises as they strolled on talking of the race. Miller 
 praised his style and time and pluck. " Didn't you feel 
 how the boat sprung when I called on you at the Cher- 
 well ? " he said to the captain. " Drysdale was always 
 dead beat at the Gut, and just a log in the boat ; pretty 
 much like some of the rest of you." 
 
 " He's in such good training, too," said Diogenes ; " I 
 shall find out how he diets himself." 
 
 " We've pretty well done with that, I should hope," said 
 Number 6. " There are only two more nights, and noth- 
 ing can touch us now." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that," said Miller. " Mind now, 
 all of you, don't let us have any nonsense till the races 
 are over and we are all safe." 
 
 And so they talked on till they reached college, and 
 then dispersed to their rooms to wash and dress, and met 
 again in Drysdale's rooms, where supper was awaiting 
 them. 
 
 Again Hardy did not appear. Drysdale sent a scout 
 to his rooms, who brought back word that he could not 
 find him ; so Drysdale set to work to do the honors of his 
 table, and enjoyed the pleasure of tempting the crew with 
 all sorts of forbidden hot liquors, which he and the rest 
 of the non-professionals imbibed freely. But with Mil- 
 ler's eye on them, and the example of Diogenes and the 
 captain before them, the rest of the crew exercised an 
 abstemiousness which would have been admirable, had it 
 not been in a great measure compulsory. 
 
 It was a great success, this supper at Drysdale's, al- 
 though knocked up at an hour's notice. The triumph 
 of their boat had, for the time, the effect of warming up 
 and drawing out the feeling of fellowship, which is the 
 «oul of college life. Though only a few men besides the 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 247 
 
 crew sat down to supper, long before it was cleared away 
 men of every set in the college came in, in the highest 
 spirits, and soon the room was crowded. For Drysdale 
 sent round to every man in the college with whom he had 
 a speaking acquaintance, and they flocked in and sat 
 where they could, and men talked and laughed with 
 neighbors, with whom, perhaps, they had never exchanged 
 a word since the time when they were freshmen together. 
 
 Of course, there were speeches cheered to the echo, and 
 songs, of which the choruses might have been heard in 
 the High Street. At a little before eleven, nevertheless, 
 despite the protestations of Drysdale, and the passive re- 
 sistance of several of their number, Miller carried off the 
 crew, and many of the other guests went at the same 
 time, leaving their host and a small circle to make a night 
 of it. 
 
 Tom went to his rooms in high spirits, humming the 
 air of one of the songs he had just heard ; but he had 
 scarcely thrown his gown on a chair when a thought 
 struck him, and he ran down-stairs again and across to 
 Hardy's rooms. 
 
 Hardy was sitting with some cold tea poured out, but 
 untasted, before him, and no books open — a very unusual 
 thing with him at night. But Tom either did not or 
 would not notice that there was any thing unusual. 
 
 He seated himself and began gossiping away as fast as 
 he could, without looking much at the other. He began 
 by recounting all the complimentary things which had 
 been said by Miller and others of Hardy's pulling. Then 
 he went on to the supper party ; what a jolly evening 
 they had had ; he did not remember any thing so pleasant 
 since he had been up, and he retailed the speeches and 
 named the best songs. " You really ought to have been 
 there ; why didn't you come ? Drysdale sent over for 
 
248 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 you. I'm sure every one wished you Lad been there; 
 Didn't you get his message ? " 
 
 " I didn't feel up to going," said Hardy. 
 
 " There's nothing the matter, eh ? " said Tom, as the 
 thought crossed his mind that perhaps Hardy had hurt 
 himself in the race, as he had not been regularly training. 
 
 " No, nothing," answered the other. 
 
 Tom tried to make play again, but soon came to an end 
 of his talk. It was impossible to make head against that 
 cold silence. At last he stopped, looked at Hardy for a 
 minute, who was staring abstractedly at the sword over his 
 mantle-piece, and then said, — 
 
 " There m something the matter, though. Don't sit 
 glowering as if you had swallowed a furze bush. Why, 
 you haven't been smoking, old boy ? " he added, getting 
 up and putting his hand on the other's shoulder. " I see 
 that's it. Here, take one of my weeds, they're mild. 
 Miller allows two of these a day." 
 
 "No, thank'ee," said Hardy, rousing himself; "Miller 
 hasn't interfered with my smoking, and I will have a 
 pipe, for I think I want it." 
 
 " Well, I don't see that it does you any good," said 
 Tom, after watching him fill, and light, and smoke for 
 some minutes without saying a word. " Here, I've man- 
 aged the one thing I had at heart. You are in the crew, 
 and we are head of the river, and everybody is praising 
 your rowing up to the skies, and saying that the bump 
 was all your doing. And here I come to tell you, and 
 not a word can I get out of you. Aint you pleased ? Do 
 you think we shall keep our place ? " He paused a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Hang it all, I say," he added, losing all patience ; 
 *» swear a little if you can't do any thing else. Let's hear 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 249 
 
 your voice ; it isn't such a tender one that you need keep 
 it all shut up." 
 
 "Well," said Hardy, making a great effort; "the real 
 fact is I have something, and something very serious, to 
 say to you." 
 
 " Then I'm not going to listen to it," broke in Tom ; 
 " I'm not serious, and I wont be serious, and no one shall 
 make me serious to-night. It's no use, so don't look 
 glum. But isn't the ale at 'The Choughs ' good ? and 
 isn't it a dear little place ? " 
 
 " It's that place I want to talk to you about," said 
 Hardy, turning to him at last with a deep fetching of his 
 breath. " Now, Brown, we haven't known one another 
 long, but I think I understand you, and I know I like 
 you, and I hope you like me." 
 
 " Well, well, well," broke in Tom, " of course I like 
 you, old fellow, or else I shouldn't come poking after you, 
 and wasting so much of your time, and sitting on your 
 cursed hard chairs in the middle of the races. What has 
 liking to do with < The Choughs/ or * The Choughs ' with 
 long faces ? You ought to have had another glass of ale 
 there." 
 
 " I wish you had never had a glass of ale there," said 
 Hardy, bolting out his words as if they were red-hot. 
 " Brown, you have no right to go to that place." 
 
 " Why ? " said Tom, sitting up in his chair, and begin- 
 ning to be nettled. 
 
 " You know why," said Hardy, looking him full in the 
 face, and puffing out huge volumes of smoke. In spite 
 of the bluntness of the attack, there was a yearning look 
 which spread over the rugged brow, and shone out of the 
 deep-set eyes of the speaker, which almost conquered 
 Tom. But first pride, and then the consciousness of what 
 
250 TOM BEOWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 was coming next, which began to dawn on him, rose in 
 his heart. It was all he could do to meet that look full, 
 but he managed it, though he flushed to the roots of hi3 
 hair, as he simply repeated through his set teeth, " Why ? " 
 
 " I say again," said Hardy, " you know why." 
 
 " I see what you mean," said Tom, slowly ; " as you 
 Bay, we have not known one another long ; long enough 
 though, I should have thought, for you to have been more 
 charitable. Why am I not to go to ' The Choughs,' be- 
 cause there happens to be a pretty barmaid there ? All 
 our crew go, and twenty other men besides." 
 
 " Yes ; but do any of them go in the sort of way you 
 do ? Does she look at any one of them as she does at 
 you?" 
 
 " How do I know ? " 
 
 " That's not fair, or true, or like you, Brown," said 
 Hardy, getting up, and beginning to walk up and down 
 the room. " You do know that that girl doesn't care a 
 straw for the other men who go there. You do know that 
 she is beginning to care for you." 
 
 " You seem to know a great deal about it," said Tom ; 
 " I don't believe you were ever there before two days 
 ago." 
 
 " No, I never was." 
 
 " Then I think you needn't be quite so quick at finding 
 fault. If there were any thing I didn't wish you to see, 
 do you think I should have taken you there ? I tell you 
 she is quite able to take care of herself." 
 
 " So I believe," said Hardy ; " if she were a mere 
 giddy, light girl, setting her cap at every man who came 
 in, it wouldn't matter so much — for her, at any rate. 
 She can take care of herself well enough so far as the 
 rest are concerned, but you know it isn't so with you. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 251 
 
 You know il now, Brown; tell the* truth; any one with 
 half an eye can see it." 
 
 " You seem to have made pretty good use of your eyes 
 in those two nights, anyhow," said Tom. 
 
 u I don't mind your sneers, Brown," said Hardy, as he 
 tramped up and down with his arms locked behind him ; 
 <5 I have taken on myself to speak to you about this ; I 
 6hould be no true friend if I shirked it. I'm four years 
 older than you, and have seen more of the world and of 
 this place than you. You sha'n't go on with this folly, 
 this sin, for want of warning." 
 
 " So it seems," said Tom, doggedly. " Now I think I've 
 had warning enough ; suppose we drop the subject." 
 
 Hardy stopped in his walk, and turned on Tom with a 
 look of anger. " Not yet," he said, firmly ; " you know 
 best how and why you have done it, but you know that 
 somehow or other you have made that girl like you." 
 
 " Suppose I have, what then ; whose business is that 
 but mine and hers ? " 
 
 " It's the business of every one who wont stand by and 
 see the Devil's game played under his nose if he can 
 hinder it." 
 
 " What right have you to talk about the Devil's game 
 to me ? " said Tom. " I'll tell you what, if you and I are 
 to keep friends, we had better drop this subject." 
 
 " If we are to keep friends we must go to the bottom 
 of it. There are only two endings to this sort of business, 
 and you know it as well as I." 
 
 " A right and a wrong one, eh ? and because you call 
 me your friend you assume that my end will be the wrong 
 one." 
 
 " I do call you my friend, and I say the end must be tho 
 wrong one here. There's no right end. Think of your 
 
252 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 family. You don't mean to say — you dare* not tell me, 
 that you will marry her ! " 
 
 " I dare not tell you ! " said Tom, starting up in his 
 turn ; " I dare tell you or any man any thing I please. 
 But I wont tell you or any man any thing on compul- 
 sion." 
 
 " I repeat," went on Hardy, " you dare not say you 
 mean to marry her. You don't mean it — and, as you 
 don't, to kiss her as you did to-night, — " 
 
 " So you were sneaking behind to watch me," burst out 
 Tom, chafing with rage, and glad to find any handle for a 
 quarrel. The two men stood fronting one another, the 
 younger writhing with the sense of shame and outraged 
 pride, and longing for a fierce answer, a blow, any thing 
 to give vent to the furies which were tearing him. 
 
 But at the end of a few seconds the elder answered, 
 calmly and slowly, — 
 
 " I will not take those words from any man ; you had 
 better leave my rooms." 
 
 " If I do I shall not come back till you have altered 
 your opinions." 
 
 " You need not come back till you have altered yours." 
 
 The next moment Tom was in the passage ; the next, 
 striding up and down the side of the inner quadrangle in 
 the pale moonlight. 
 
 Poor fellow ! it was no pleasant walking-ground for 
 him. Is it worth our while to follow him up and down 
 in his tramp? We have most of us walked the like 
 marches, I suppose, at one time or another of our lives. 
 The memory of them is by no means one which we can 
 dwell on with pleasure. Times they were of blinding 
 and driving storm, and howling winds, out of which 
 voices, as of evil spirits, spoke close in our ears — taunt- 
 ingly, temptingly, whispering to the mischievous wild 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 253 
 
 beast which lurks in the bottom of all our hearts, now, 
 " Rouse up ! art thou a man and darest not do this thing ? " 
 now, " Rise, kill and eat — It is thine, wilt thou not take 
 it? shall the flimsy scruples of this teacher, or the sanc- 
 tified cant of that, bar thy way, and baulk thee of thine 
 own ? Thou hast strength to brave them — to brave all 
 things in earth, or heaven, or hell ; put out thy strength 
 and be a man ! " 
 
 Then did not the wild beast within us shake itself, and 
 feel its power, sweeping away all the " Thou shalt not's " 
 which the law wrote up before us in letters of fire, with 
 the "I will" of hardy, godless self-assertion? And all 
 the while — which alone made the storm really dreadful 
 to us — was there not the still small voice — never to be 
 altogether silenced by the roarings of the tempest of 
 passion, by the evil voices, by our own violent attempts 
 to stifle it — the still small voice appealing to the man, 
 the true man, within us, which is made in the image of 
 God — calling on him to assert his dominion over the 
 wild beast — to obey, and conquer, and live ? Ay ! and 
 though we may have followed the other voices, have we 
 not, while-following them, confessed in our hearts, that all 
 true strength and nobleness and manliness, was to be 
 found in the other path ? Do I say that most of us have 
 had to tread the path, and fight this battle? Surely, 
 I might have said all of us; all at least who have passed 
 the bright days of their boyhood. The clear and keen 
 intellect no less than the dull and heavy ; the weak, the 
 cold, the nervous, no less than the strong and passionate 
 of body. The arms and the field have been divers ; can 
 have been the same, I suppose, to no two men, but the 
 battle must have been the same, to all. One here and 
 there may have had a foretaste of it as a boy ; but it is 
 the young man's battle and not the boy'. 2 , thank God for 
 22 
 
25 4 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 \t ! That most hateful and fearful of all realities, call it 
 by what name we will — self, the natural man, the old 
 Adam — must have risen up before each of us in early 
 manhood,, if not sooner, challenging the true man within 
 us, to which the spirit of God is speaking, to a struggle 
 for life or death. 
 
 Gird yourself, then, for the fight, my young brother, 
 and take up the pledge which was made for you when 
 you were a helpless child. This world, and all others, 
 time and eternity, for you hang upon the issue. This 
 enemy must be met and vanquished — not finally, for no 
 man while on earth, I suppose, can say that he is slain ; 
 but, when once known and recognized, met and vanquished 
 he must be, by God's help, in this and that encounter, be- 
 fore you can be truly called a man ; before you can i ally 
 enjoy any one even of this world's good things. 
 
 The strife was no light one for our hero on the night in 
 his life at which we have arrived. The quiet sky over- 
 head, the quiet, solemn old buildings, under the shadow 
 of which he stood, brought him no peace. He fled from 
 them into his own rooms ; he lighted his candles and tried 
 to re\d, and force the whole matter from his thoughts; 
 but it was useless : back it came again and again. The 
 more impatient of its presence he became, the less could 
 he shake it off. Some decision he must make ; what 
 should it be ? He could have no peace till it was taken. 
 The veil had been drawn aside thoroughly, and once for 
 all. Twice he was on the point of returning to Hardy's 
 rooms to thank him, confess, and consult ; but the tide 
 rolled back again. As the truth of the warning sank 
 deeper and deeper into him, his irritation against him who 
 had uttered it grew also. He could not and would not 
 be fair yet. It is no easy thing for any one of us to 
 put the whole burden of any folly or sin on our own 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 255 
 
 backs all at once. " If he had done it in any other way," 
 thought Tom, " I might have thanked him." 
 
 Another effort to shake off the whole question. Down 
 into the quadrangle again ; lights in Drysdale's rooms. 
 He goes up, and finds the remains of the supper, tank- 
 ards full of egg-flip and cardinal, and a party playing at 
 vingt-un. He drinks freely, careless of training or boat- 
 racing, anxious only to drown thought. He sits down to 
 play. The boisterous talk of some, the eager, keen looks 
 of others, jar on him equally. One minute he is absent, 
 the next boisterous, then irritable, then moody. A college 
 card-party is no place to-night for him. He loses his 
 money, is disgusted at last, and gets to his own rooms by 
 midnight ; goes to bed feverish, dissatisfied with himself, 
 with all the world. The inexorable question pursues him 
 even into the strange, helpless land of dreams, demanding 
 a decision, when he has no longer power of will to choose 
 either good or evil. 
 
 But how fared it all this time with the physician ? 
 Alas! little better than with his patient. His was the 
 deeper and more sensitive nature. Keenly conscious of 
 his own position, he had always avoided any but the most 
 formal intercourse with the men in his college whom he 
 would have liked most to live with. This was the first 
 friendship he had made amongst them, and he valued it 
 accordingly ; and now it seemed to lie at his feet in hope- 
 less fragments, and cast down, too, by his own hand. Bit- 
 terly he blamed himself over and over again, as he re- 
 called every word that had passed — not for having 
 6poken, — that he felt had been a sacred duty, — but for 
 the harshness and suddenness with which he had done it. 
 
 " One touch of gentleness or sympathy, and I might 
 have won him. As it was, how could he have met me 
 otherwise than lie did — hard word for hard word, hasty 
 

 256 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 answer for proud reproof? Can I go to him and recall it 
 all ? No ; I can't trust myself ; I shall only make mat- 
 ters worse. Besides, he may think that the servitor — 
 Ah ! am I there again ? The old sore, self, self, self ! I 
 nurse my own pride; I value it more than my friend; 
 and yet — no, no, I cannot go, though I think I could die 
 for him. The sin, if sin there must be, be on my head. 
 Would to God I could bear the sting of it ! But there 
 will be none — how can I fear ? he is too true, too manly. 
 Rough and brutal as my words have been, they have 
 shown him the gulf. He will, he must escape it. But 
 will he ever come back to me ? I care not, so he escape." 
 
 How can my poor words follow the strong, loving man 
 in the wrestlings of his spirit, till far on in the quiet 
 night he laid the whole before the Lord and slept ! Yes, 
 my brother, even so, the old, old story ; but start not at 
 the phrase, though you may never have found its mean- 
 ing. He laid the whole before the Lord, in prayer, for 
 his friend, for himself, for the whole world. 
 
 And you, too, if ever you are tried as he was, — a3 
 every man must be in one way or another, — must learn 
 to do the like with every burden on your soul, if you 
 would not have it hanging round you heavily, and ever 
 more heavily, and dragging you down lower and lower 
 till your dying day. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE STORM RAGES. 
 
 Hardy was early in the chapel the next morning. It 
 was his week for pricking in. Every man that entered — 
 from the early men who strolled in quietly while the bell 
 was still ringing, to the hurrying, half-dressed loiterers 
 who crushed in as the porter was closing the doors, and 
 disturbed the congregation in the middle of the confes- 
 sion, — gave him a turn (as the expressive phrase is), 
 and every turn only ended in disappointment. He put 
 by his list at last, when the doors were fairly shut, with a 
 sigh. He had half expected to see Tom come into morn- 
 ing chapel with a face from which he might have gathered 
 hope that his friend had taken the right path, and then 
 he would have little care as to how he felt towards him- 
 self; that would all come right in time. But Tom did 
 not come at all, and Hardy felt it was a bad sign. 
 
 They did not meet till the evening, at "the river, when 
 the boat went down for a steady pull, and then Hardy 
 saw at once that all was going wrong. Neither spoke to 
 or looked at the other. Hardy expected some one to re- 
 mark it, but nobody did. After the pull they walked up, 
 and Tom as usual led the way, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, into " The Choughs." Hardy paused for a moment, 
 and then went in too. For the. first time he stayed till 
 the rest of the crew left. Tom deliberately stayed after 
 them all. Hardy turned for a moment as he was leaving 
 J.he bar, and saw him settling himself down in his chair 
 22* 
 
"258 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 with an air of defiance, meant evidently for him. which 
 would have made most men angry. Hardy was irritated 
 for a moment, and then was filled with ruth for the poor 
 wrong-headed youngster who was heaping up coals of fire 
 for his own head. In his momentary anger Hardy said 
 to himself, " Well, I have done what I can ; now he must 
 go his own way ; " but such a thought was soon kicked in 
 disgrace from his noble and well-disciplined mind. He 
 resolved, that, let it cost what it might in the shape of 
 loss of time and trial of temper, he would leave no stone 
 unturned, and spare no pains, to -deliver his friend of yes- 
 terday from the slough into which he was plunging. How 
 he might best work for this end occupied his thoughts as 
 he walked towards college. 
 
 Tom sat on at "The Choughs," glorifying himself in the 
 thought that now, ajt any rate, he had shown Hardy that 
 he wasn't to be dragooned into doing or not doing any 
 thing. He had had a bad time of it all day, and his good 
 angel had fought hard for victory ; but self-will was too 
 strong for the time. When he stayed behind the rest, it 
 was more out of bravado than from any defined purpose 
 of pursuing what he tried to persuade himself was an in- 
 nocent flirtation. When he left the house some hours af- 
 terwards he was deeper in the toils than ever, and clouds 
 were gathering over his heart. From that time he was 
 an altered man, and altering as rapidly for the worse in 
 body as in mind. Hardy saw the change in both, and 
 groaned over it in secret. Miller's quick eye detected the 
 bodily change. After the next race he drew Tom aside, 
 and said, — 
 
 "Why, Brown, what's the matter? What have you 
 been about ? You're breaking down. Hold on, man ; 
 there's only one more night." 
 
 " Never fear," said Tom, proudly, " I shall last it out." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 250 
 
 And in the last race he did his work again, though it 
 cost him more than all the preceding ones put together; 
 and when he got out of the boat he could scarcely walk 
 or see. He felt a fierce kind of joy in his own distress, 
 and wished that there were more races to come. But 
 Miller, as he walked up arm in arm with the captain, took 
 a different view of the subject. 
 
 " Well, it's all right, you see," said the captain ; " but 
 we're not a boat's length better than Oriel over the course 
 after all. How was it we bumped them ? If any thing, 
 they drew a little on us to-night." 
 
 " Ay, half a boat's length, I should say," answered 
 Miller. " I'm uncommonly glad it's over ; Brown is going 
 all to pieces ; he wouldn't stand another race, and we 
 haven't a man to put in his place." 
 
 " It's odd, too," said the captain ; " I put him down as 
 a laster, and he has trained well. Perhaps he has over- 
 done it a little. However, it don't matter now." 
 
 So the racei were over ; and that night a great supper 
 was held in St Ambrose Hall, to which were bidden, and 
 came, the crews of all the boats from Exeter upwards. 
 The de?n, with many misgivings and cautions, had al- 
 lowed the hall to be used on pressure from Miller and 
 Jervis. Miller was a bachelor and had taken a good de- 
 gree, and Jervis bore a high character and was expected 
 to do well in the schools. So the poor dean gave in to 
 them, extracting many promises in exchange for his per- 
 mission : and flitted uneasily about all the evening in his 
 cap and gown, instead of working on at his edition of the 
 Fathers, which occupied every minute of his leisure, and 
 was making an old man of him before his time. 
 
 From eight to eleven the fine old pointed windows of St. 
 Ambrose Hall blazed with light, and the choruses of songs, 
 «n 1 the cheers, which followed the short intervals of si 
 
200 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 lenee which the speeches made, rang out over the quad* 
 rangles, and made the poor dean amble about in a state 
 of nervous bewilderment. Inside there was hearty feast- 
 ing, such as had not been seen there, for aught I know, 
 since the day when the king came back to " enjoy his 
 own again." The one old cup, relic of the Middle Ages, 
 which had survived the civil wars, — St. Ambrose's had 
 been a right loyal college, and the plate had gone without 
 a murmur into Charles the First's war-chest, — went 
 round and round ; and rival crews pledged one another 
 out of it, and the massive tankards of a later day, in all 
 good faith and good fellowship. Mailed knights, grave 
 bishops, royal persons of either sex, and " other our bene- 
 factors," looked down on the scene from their heavy-gilded 
 frames, and, let us hope, not unkindly. All passed off 
 well and quietly ; the out-college men were gone, the 
 lights were out, and the butler had locked the hall-door 
 by a quarter past eleven, and the dean returned in peace 
 to his own rooms. 
 
 Had Tom been told a week before that he would not 
 have enjoyed that night, that it would not have been 
 amongst the happiest and proudest of his life, he would 
 have set his informer down as a madman. As it was, he 
 never once rose to the spirit of the feast, and wished it 
 all over a dozen times. He deserved not to enjoy it ; 
 but not so Hardy, who was, nevertheless, almost as much 
 out of tune as Tom ; though the University coxswain had 
 singled him out, named him in his speech, sat by him and 
 talked to him for a quarter of an hour, and asked him 
 to go to the Henley and Thames regattas in the Oxford 
 crew. 
 
 The next evening, as usual, Tom found himself at 
 " The Choughs " with a half a dozen others. Patty wag 
 in the bar by herself, looking prettier than ever. One by 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFOKD. 2C1 
 
 one the rest of the men dropped off, the last saying, " Are 
 you coming, Brown ?" and being answered in the negative. 
 
 He sat still, watching Patty as she flitted about, wash- 
 ing up the ale glasses and putting them on their shelves, 
 and getting out her work-basket ; and then she came and 
 sat down in her aunt's chair opposite him, and began 
 stitching away demurely at an apron she was making. 
 Then he broke silence, — 
 
 " Where's your aunt to-night, Patty ? " 
 
 " Oh, she has gone away for a few days for a visit to 
 some friends." 
 
 "You and I will keep house, then, together; you shall 
 teach me all the tricks of the trade. I shall make a fa- 
 mous barman, don't you think ? " 
 
 " You must learn to behave better, then. But I prom- 
 ised aunt to shut up at nine; so you must go when it 
 strikes.' Now promise me you will go." 
 
 " Go at nine ! what, in half an hour ? the first evening 
 I have ever had a chance of spending alone with you ; do 
 you think it likely ? " and he looked into her eyes. She 
 turned away with a slight shiver, and a deep blush. 
 
 His nervous system had been so unusually excited in 
 the last few days, that he seemed to know every thing 
 that was passing in her mind. He took her hand. "Why, 
 Patty, you're not afraid of me, surely?" he said, gently. 
 
 "No, not when you're like you are now. But you 
 frightened me just this minute. I never saw you look so 
 before. Has any thing happened you ? " 
 
 " No, nothing. Now, then, we're going to have a jolly 
 evening, and play Darby and Joan together," he said, 
 turning away, and going to the bar window ; " shall I 
 shut up, Patty?" 
 
 " No, it isn't nine yet ; somebody may come in." 
 
 " That's just why I mean to put the shutters up ; I 
 dr^n't want anybody." 
 
262 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Ye?, but I do though. Now, I declare, Mr. Brown, 
 if you go on shutting up, I'll run into the kitchen and sit 
 with Dick." 
 
 " "Why will you call me Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 " Why, what should I call you ? " 
 
 " Tom, of course." 
 
 " Oh, I never ! one would think you was my brother," 
 said Patty, looking up with a pretty pertness which she 
 had a most bewitching way of putting on. Tom's re- 
 joinder, and the little squabble which they had afterwards 
 about where her work-table should stand, and other such 
 matters may be passed over. At last he was brought to 
 reason, and to anchor opposite his enchantress, the work- 
 table between them ; and he sat leaning back in his chair, 
 and watching her, as she stitched away without ever lift- 
 ing her eyes. He was in no hurry to break the silence. 
 The position was particularly fascinating to him, for he 
 had scarcely ever yet had a good look at her before, 
 without fear of attracting attention, or being interrupted. 
 At last he roused himself. 
 
 " Any of our men been here to-day, Patty ? " he said, 
 sitting up. 
 
 " There now, I've won," she laughed ; " I said to my- 
 self, I wouldn't speak first, and I haven't. What a time 
 you were ! I thought you would never begin." 
 
 "You're a little goose! Now I begin then; who've 
 been here to-day ? " 
 
 " Of your college? let me see;" and she looked away 
 across to the bar window, pricking her needle into the 
 table. " There was Mr. Drysdale and some others called 
 for a glass of ale as they passed, going out driving. Then 
 there was Mr. Smith and them from the boats about four: 
 and that ugly one — I can't mind his name — " 
 
 " What, Hardy ? " 
 
TOM BROTVN AT OXFORD. 263 
 
 u Yes, that's it ; he was here about half-past six, and — * 
 
 " What, Hardy here after hall ? " interrupted Tom, ut- 
 terly astonished. 
 
 " Yes, after your dinner up at college. He's been here 
 two or three times lately." 
 
 " The deuce he has." 
 
 " Yes, and he talks so pleasant to aunt too. I*m sure 
 he is a very nice gentleman, after all. "He sat and talked 
 to-night for half an hour, I should think." 
 
 " What did he talk about ? " said Tom, with a sneer. 
 
 " Oh, he asked me whether I had a mother, and where 
 I came from, and all about my bringing up, and made me 
 feel quite pleasant. He is so nice and quiet and respect- 
 ful, not like most of you. I'm going to like him very 
 much, as you told me." 
 
 " I don't tell you so now." 
 
 " But you did say he was your great friend." 
 
 " Well, he isn't that now." 
 
 " What, have you quarrelled ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Dear, dear ; how odd you gentlemen are ! " 
 
 " Why, it isn't a very odd thing for men to quarrel ; 
 is it?" 
 
 " No, not in the public room. They're always quar- 
 relling there, over their drink and the bagatelle-board ; 
 and Dick has to turn them out. But gentlemen ought to 
 know better." 
 
 " They don't, you see, Patty." 
 
 " But what did you quarrel about ? " 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 " How can I guess? What was it about ? " 
 
 " About you." 
 
 " About me ! " she said, looking up from her work in 
 wonder. " How could you quarrel about me ? " 
 
264 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you ; lie said I had no right to come 
 here. You wont like him after that, will you, Patty ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," said Patty, going on with hei 
 work and looking troubled. 
 
 They sat still for some minutes. Evil thoughts crowded 
 into Tom's head. He was in the humor for thinking evil 
 thoughts, and, putting the worst construction on Hardy's 
 visits, fancied he came there as his rival. He did not 
 trust himself to speak till he had mastered his precious 
 discovery, and put it away in the back of his heart, and 
 weighted it down there with a good covering of hatred 
 and revenge, to be brought out as occasion should serve. 
 He was plunging down rapidly enough now •> but he had 
 new motives for making the most of his time, and never 
 played his cards better, or made more progress. When 
 a man sits down to such a game, the Devil will take good 
 care that he sha'n't want cunning or strength. It was ten 
 o'clock instead of nine before he left, which he did with a 
 feeling of triumph. Poor Patty remained behind, and 
 shut up the bar, while Dick was locking the front door, her 
 heart in a flutter, and her hands shaking. She hardly 
 knew whether to laugh or cry ; she felt the change which 
 had come over him, and was half fascinated and half re- 
 pelled by it. 
 
 Tom walked quickly back to college, in a mood which 
 I do not care to describe. The only one of his thoughts 
 which my readers may be troubled with, put itself into 
 some such words as these in his head : — " So, it's Abing- 
 don fair next Thursday, and she has half promised to go 
 with me. I know I can make it certain. Who'll be 
 going besides ? Drysdale, I'll be bound. I'll go and see 
 him." 
 
 On entering college, he went straight to Drysdale's 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 265 
 
 rooms, and drank deeply, and played high into th3 short 
 hours of the night, but found no opportunity of speaking. 
 
 Deeper and deeper yet for the next few days. Down- 
 wards and ever faster downwards he plunged, the light 
 getting fainter and ever fainter above his head. Little 
 good can come of dwelling on those days. He left off 
 pulling, shunned his old friends, and lived with the very 
 worst men he knew in college, w T ho were ready enough to 
 let him share all their brutal orgies. 
 
 Drysdale, who was often present, wondered at the 
 change, which he saw plainly enough. He was sorry for 
 It in his way, but it was no business of his. He began to 
 think that Brown was a good enough fellow before, but 
 would make a devilish disagreeable one if he was going 
 to turn fast man. 
 
 At " The Choughs " all went on as if the downward 
 path knew how to make , itself smooth. Now that the 
 races were over, and so many other attractions going on 
 in Oxford, very few men came in to interfere with him. 
 He was scarcely ever away from Patty's side in the even- 
 ings while her aunt was absent, and gained more and more 
 power over her. He might have had some compassion, but 
 that he was spurred on by hearing how Hardy haunted 
 the place now, at times when he could not be there. He 
 felt that there was an influence struggling with his in the 
 girl's mind ; he laid it to Hardy's door, and imputed it 
 still, more and more, to motives as base as his own. But 
 Abingdon fair was coming on Thursday. When he left 
 f The Choughs " on Tuesday night, he had extracted a 
 promise from Patty to accompany him there, and had ar- 
 ranged their place of meeting. 
 
 All that remained to be done was to see if Drysdale 
 was going. Somehow he felt a disinclination to go alone 
 23 
 
 
266 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 with Patty. Drysdale was the only man of those he was 
 now living with to whom he felt the least attraction. In 
 a vague way he clung to him ; and though he never faced 
 the thought of what he was about fairly, yet it passed 
 through his mind that even in Drysdale's company he 
 would be safer than if alone. It was all pitiless', blind, 
 wild work, without rudder or compass ; the wish that 
 nothing very bad might come out of it all, however, came 
 up in spite of him now and again, and he looked to Drys- 
 dale, and longed to become even as he. 
 
 Drysdale was going. He was very reserved on the 
 subject, but at last confessed that he was not going alone. 
 Tom persisted. Drysdale was too lazy and careless to 
 keep any thing from a man who was bent on knowing it. 
 In the end, it was arranged that he should drive Tom out 
 the next afternoon. He did so. They stopped at a small 
 public house some two miles out of Oxford. The cart 
 was put up, and after carefully scanning the neighbor- 
 hood they walked quickly to the door of a pretty retired 
 cottage.. As they entered, Drysdale said, — 
 
 " By Jove, I thought I caught a glimpse of your friend 
 Hardy at that turn.' , 
 
 " Friend ! he's no friend of mine." 
 
 " But didn't you see him ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 They reached college again between ten and eleven, 
 and parted, each to his own rooms. 
 
 To his surprise, Tom found a candle burning on I113 
 table. Round the candle was tied a piece of string, at 
 the end of which hung a note. Whoever had put it 
 there had clearly been anxious that he should in no case 
 miss it when he came in. He took it up and saw that it 
 was in Hardy's hand. He paused, and trembled as he 
 Btood. Then with an effort he broke the seal and read — 
 
TO?.I BROWN AT OXFORD. 267 
 
 a I must speak once more. To-morrow it may le too 
 late. If you go to Abingdon fair with her in the company 
 of Drysdale and his mistress, or, I believe, in any com- 
 pany, you will return a scoundrel, and she — ; in the name 
 of the honor of your mother and sister, in the name of God, 
 I warn you. May He help you through it. John 
 Hardy." 
 
 Here we will drop the curtain for the next hour. At 
 the end of that time, Tom staggered out of his room, 
 down the staircase, across the quadrangle, up Drysdale's 
 staircase. He paused at the door to gather some strength, 
 ran his hands through his hair, and arranged his coat ; 
 notwithstanding, when he entered, Drysdale started to his 
 feet, upsetting Jack from his comfortable coil on the sofa. 
 
 " Why, Brown, you're ill ; have some brandy," he caid, 
 and went to his cupboard for the bottle. 
 
 Tom leant his arm on the fireplace ; his head on it. 
 The other hand hung down by his sideband Jack licked it, 
 and he loved the dog as he felt the caress. Then Drysdale 
 came to his side with a glass of brandy, which he took 
 and tossed off as though it had been water. " Thank 
 you," he said, and as Drysdale went back with the bottle, 
 reached a large arm-chair and sat himself down in it. 
 
 " Drysdale, I sha'n't go with you to Abingdon fair to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Hullo ! what, has the lovely Patty thrown you over ? " 
 said Drysdale, turning from the cupboard, and resuming 
 his lounge on the sofa. 
 
 " No : " he sank back into the chair, on the xa*ms cf 
 which his elbows rested, and put his hands up before hio 
 face, pressing them against his burning temples. Drys- 
 dale looked at him hard, but said nothing ; and there was 
 a dead silence of a minute or so, broken only by Tom's 
 heavy breathing, which he was laboring in vain to control 
 
2G3 TOM BROWN AT OXFORE. 
 
 " No," he repeated at last, and the remaining words 
 came out slowly as if they were trying to steady them- 
 selves, "but, by God, Drysdale, I can't take her with you, 
 and that — "a dead pause. 
 
 " The young lady you met to-night, eh? " 
 
 Tom nodded, but said nothing. 
 
 " Well, old fellow," said Drysdale, " now you've made 
 up yDur mind, I tell you, I'm devilish glad of it! I'm no 
 saint, as you know, but I think it would have been a 
 d d shume if you had taken her with us." 
 
 " Thank you," said Tom, and pressed his fingers tighter 
 on his forehead ; and he did feel thankful for the words, 
 though, coming from the man they did, they went into 
 him like coals of fire. 
 
 Again there was a long pause, Tom sitting as before. 
 Drysdale got up, and strolled up and down his room, with 
 his hands in the pockets of his silk-lined lounging coat, 
 taking at each turn a steady look at the other. Pres- 
 ently, he stopped, and took his cigar out of his mouth. 
 " I say, Brown," he said, after another minute's contempla- 
 tion of the figure before him, which bore such an unmis- 
 takable impress of wretchedness, that it made him quite 
 uncomfortable, " why don't you cut that concern ? " 
 
 " How do you mean ? " said Tom. 
 
 "Why that ' Choughs' business — I'll be hanged if it 
 wont kill you, or make a devil of you before long, if you 
 go on with it." 
 
 " It's not far from that now." 
 
 " So I see — and I'll tell you what, you're not the sort 
 of fellow to go in for this kind of thing. You'd better 
 leave it to cold-blooded brutes, like some we know — I 
 needn't mention names." 
 
 "I'm awfully wretched, Drysdale; I've been a brute 
 myself to you and e 7erybody of late." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 269 
 
 " Well, I own I don't like the new side of you. Now 
 make up your mind to cut the whole concern, old fellow/' 
 he said, coming up good-naturedly, and putting his hand 
 on Tom's shoulder ; " it's hard to do, I dare say, but you 
 had better make the plunge and get it over. There's 
 wickedness enough going about without your helping to 
 shove another one into it." 
 
 Tom groaned as he listened, but he felt that the man 
 was trying to help him in his own way, and according to 
 his light, as Drysdale went on expounding his own curi- 
 ous code of morality. When it was ended he shook 
 Diysdale's hand, and, wishing him good-night, went back 
 to his own rooms. The first step upwards towards the 
 light had been made, for he felt thoroughly humbled be- 
 fore the man on whom he had expended in his own mind 
 so much patronizing pity for the last half-year — whom 
 he had been fancying he was influencing for good. 
 
 During the long hours of the night the scenes of the 
 last few hours, of the last few days, came back to him 
 and burnt into his soul. The gulf yawned before him 
 now plain enough, open at his feet — black, ghastly. He 
 shuddered at it, wondered if he should even yet fall in, 
 felt wildly about for strength to stand firm, to retrace his 
 steps ; but found it not. He found not yet the strength 
 he was in search of, but in the gray morning he wrote a 
 short note. 
 
 " I shall not be able to take you to Abingdon fair to- 
 day. You will not see me perhaps for some days. I am 
 not well. I am very sorry. Don't think that I am 
 changed. Don't be unhappy, or I don't know what I may 
 do." There was no address and no signature to the note. 
 
 When the gates opened he hurried out of the college, 
 and, having left it and a shilling with Dick (whom he 
 23* 
 
270 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 found clearing the yard, and much astonished at his ap- 
 pearance, and who promised to deliver it to Patty with 
 his own hands before eight o'clock), he got back again to 
 his own rooms, went to bed, worn out in mind and body, 
 and slept till midday. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 NEW GROUND, 
 
 Ml readers have now been steadily at Oxford for six 
 months without moving. Most people find such a spell of 
 the place, without a change, quite as much as they care to 
 take ; moreover it may do our hero good to let him alone for 
 a number, that he may have time to look steadily into the 
 pit which he has been so near falling into, which is still 
 yawning awkwardly in his path ; moreover, the exigencies 
 of a story-teller must lead him away from home now and 
 then. Like the rest of us, his family must have change of 
 air, or he has to go off to see a friend properly married, 
 or a connection buried ; to wear white or black gloves with 
 or for some one, carrying such sympathy as he can with 
 him, that so he may come back from every journey, how- 
 ever short, with a wider horizon. Yes; to come back 
 home after every stage of life's journeying with a wider 
 horizon, more in sympathy with men and nature, know- 
 ing ever more of the righteous and eternal laws which 
 govern them, and of the righteous and loving will which 
 is above all, and around -all, and beneath all, this must be 
 the end and aim of all of us, or we shall be wandering 
 about blindfold, and spending time and labor and journey- 
 money on that which profiteth nothing. So now I must 
 ask my readers to forget the old buildings and quadran- 
 gles of the fairest of England's cities, the caps and the 
 gowns, the reading and rowing, for a short space, and take 
 a flight with me to other scenes and pastures new. 
 
 The nights are pleasant in May, short and pleasant for 
 
272 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 travel. "We will leave the ancient city asleep, and do our 
 flight in the night to save time. Trust yourselves, then, to 
 the story-teller's aerial machine. It is but a rough affair, 
 I own — rough and humble, unfitted for high or great flights, 
 with no gilded panels cr dainty cushions, or C-springs,— 
 not that we shall care about springs, by the way, until we 
 alight on terra firma again, — still, there is much to be 
 learned in a third-class carriage if we will only not look 
 for the cushions and line panels and forty miles an hour 
 travelling in it, and will not be shocked at our fellow-pas- 
 sengers for being weak in their h's and smelling of fustian. 
 Mount in it, then, you who will after this warning ; the 
 fares are holiday fares, the tickets return tickets. Take 
 with you nothing but the poet's luggage — 
 
 " A smile for Hope, a tear for Pain, 
 
 A breath to swell the voice of Prayer." 
 
 and may you hafve a pleasant journey, for it is time that 
 the stoker should be looking to his going gear ! 
 
 So now we rise slowly in the moonlight from St. Am- 
 brose's quadrangle, and, when we are clear of the clock- 
 tower, steer away southwards, over Oxford city and all its 
 sleeping wisdom and folly, over street and past spire, over 
 Christ Church and the canons' houses, and the fountain in 
 Tom quad ; over St. Aldate's and the river, along which 
 the moonbeams lie in a pathway of twinkling silver, over 
 the railway sheds — no, there was then no railway, but 
 only the quiet fields and footpaths of Hincksey hamlet. 
 "Well, no matter ; at any rate, the hills beyond and Bagley 
 Wood were there then as now : and over hills and wood 
 we rise, catching the purr of the night-jar, the trill of the 
 nightingale, and the first crow of the earliest cock pheasant, 
 as he stretchesdiis jewelled wings, conscious of his strength 
 and his beauty, heedless of the fellows of St. John's, who 
 slumber within sight of his perch, on whose hospitablo 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 273 
 
 board lie shall one clay lie prone on Lis back, with fair 
 larded breast turned upwards for the carving knife, having 
 crowed his last crow. He knows it not ; what matters it 
 to him ? If he knew it, could a Bagley Woodcock pheas- 
 ant desire a better ending ? 
 
 "We pass over the vale beyond ; hall and hamlet, church 
 and meadow, and copse folded in mist and shadow below 
 us, each hamlet holding in its bosom the materials of 
 threo-volumed novels by the dozen, if we could only pull 
 off the roofs of the houses and look steadily into the inte- 
 riors ; but our destination is further yet. The faint white 
 streak behind the distant Chilterns reminds us that we 
 have no time for gossip by the way ; May nights are short, 
 and the sun will be up by four. No matter ; our journey 
 will now be soon over, for the broad vale is crossed, and 
 the chalk hills and downs beyond. Larks quiver up by 
 us, " higher, ever higher," hastening up to get a first 
 glimpse of the coming monarch, careless of food, flooding 
 the fresh air with song. Steady plodding rooks labor 
 along below us, and lively starlings rush by on the look- 
 out for the early worm ; lark and swallow, rook and star- 
 ling, each on his appointed round. The sun arises, and 
 they get them to it ; he is up now, and these breezy up- 
 lancj* ever which we hang are swimming in the light of 
 horizontal rays, though the shadows and mists still lie on 
 the wooded dells which slope away southwards. 
 
 Here let us bring to, over the village of Englebourn, 
 and try to get acquainted with the outside of the place 
 before the good folk are about aad we have to go down 
 among them, and their sayings and doings. 
 
 The village lies on the southern slopes of the Berkshire 
 hills, on the opposite side to that under which our hero 
 was born. Another soil altogether is here, we remark in 
 the first place. This is nobu chalk, this high knoll which 
 
274 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 rises above — one may almost say hangs over — the vil« 
 lage, crowned with Scotch firs, its sides tufted with gorse 
 and heather. It is the Hawk's Lynch, the favorite resort 
 of Englebourn folk, who come up — for the view, for the 
 air, because their fathers and mothers came up before 
 them ; because they came up themselves as children — 
 from an instinct which moves them all in leisure hours 
 and Sunday evenings, when the sun shines and the birds 
 sing, whether they care for view or air or not. Some- 
 thing guides all their feet hitherward ; the children, to 
 play hide-and-seek and look for nests in the gorse-bushes ; 
 young men and maidens, to saunter and look and talk, as 
 they will till the world's end, — or as long, at any rate, as 
 the Hawk's Lynch and Englebourn last, — and to cut their 
 initials, enclosed in a true lover's knot, on the short rabbit's 
 turf; steady married couples, to plod along together con- 
 sulting on hard times and growing families; even old 
 tottering men, who love to sit at the feet of the firs, with 
 chins leaning on their sticks, prattling of days long past 
 to any one who will listen, or looking silently with dim 
 eyes into the summer air, feeling, perhaps, in their spirits 
 after a wider, and more peaceful view which will soon 
 open for them. A common knoll, open to all, up in the 
 silent air, well away from every-day Englebourn life, with 
 the Hampshire range and the distant Beacon Hill lying 
 soft on the horizon, and nothing higher between you and 
 the southern sea, what a blessing the Hawk's Lynch is 
 to the village folk, one and all! May Heaven and a 
 thankless soil long preserve it and them from an enclosure 
 under the Act ! 
 
 There is much temptation lying about, though, for the 
 enclosers of the world. The rough common land, you see, 
 stretches over the whole of the knoll, and down to its base, 
 and away along the hills behind, of which the Hawk's 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 275 
 
 Lynch is an outlying ppur. Rough common land, broken 
 only by pine woods of a few acres each in extent, an oc- 
 casional woodman's or squatter's cottage and little patch 
 of attempted garden. But immediately below, and on 
 each flank of the .spur, and half-way up the slopes, come 
 small farm enclosures breaking here and there the belt of 
 woodlands, which generally lies between the rough, wild 
 upland and the cultivated country below. As you stand 
 on the knoll you can see the common land just below you 
 at its foot narrow into a mere road, with a border of waste 
 on each side, which runs into Englebourn Street. At 
 the end of the straggling village stands the church with its 
 square tower, a lofty gray stone building, with bits of fine 
 decorated architecture about it, but much of churchwarden 
 Gothic supervening. The churchyard is large, and the 
 graves, as you can see plainly, even from this distance, are 
 all crowded on the southern side. The rector's sheep are 
 feeding in the northern part nearest to us, and a small 
 gate at one corner opens into his garden. The rectory 
 looks large and comfortable, and its grounds well cared for 
 and extensive, with a rookery of elms at the lawn's end. 
 It is the chief house of the place, for there is no resident 
 squire. The principal street contains a few shops, some 
 dozen, perhaps, in all ; and several farmhouses lie a little 
 back from it, with gardens in front, and yards and barns 
 and orchards behind ; and there are- two public houses. 
 The other dwellings are mere cottages, and very bad ones 
 for the most part, with floors below the level of the street. 
 Almost every house in the village is thatched, which adds 
 to the beauty, though not to the comfort, of the place. The 
 rest of the population who do not live in the street are 
 dotted about the neighboring lanes, chiefly towards the 
 west, on our right as we look down from the Hawk's 
 Lynch. On this side the country is more open, and here 
 
276 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 most of the farmers live, as we may see by the number of 
 homesteads. And there is a small brook on that side, too, 
 which with careful damming is made to turn a mill, there 
 where you see the clump of poplars. On our left as Ave 
 look down, the country to the east of the village, is thickly 
 wooded ; but we can see that there is a village green on 
 that side, and a few scattered cottages, the furthest of 
 which stands looking out like a little white eye, from the 
 end of a dense copse. 
 
 Beyond it there is no sign of habitation for some two 
 miles; then you can see the tall chimneys of a great 
 house, and a well-timbered park round it. The Grange 
 is not inEnglebourn parish — happily for that parish, one 
 is sorry to remark. It must be a very bad squire who 
 does not do more good than harm by living in a country 
 village. But there are very bad squires, and the owner 
 of the Grange is one of them. He is, however, for the 
 most part, an absentee, so that we are little concerned with 
 him, and in fact, have only to notice this one of his bad 
 habits, that he keeps that long belt of woodlands, which 
 runs into Englebourn parish, and comes almost up to the 
 village, full of hares and pheasants. He has only suc- 
 ceeded to the property some three or four years, and yet 
 the head of game on the estate, and above all in the woods, 
 has trebled or quadrupled. Pheasants by hundreds are 
 reared under hens, from eggs bought in London, and run 
 about the keepers' houses as tame as barn-door fowls all 
 the summer. When the first party comes down for the 
 first lattue, early in October, it is often as much as the 
 beaters can do to persuade these pampered fowls that they 
 are wild game, whose duty it is to get up and fly away 
 and be shot at. However, they soon learn more of the 
 world, — such of them, at least, as are not slain, — and are 
 anmistakable wild birds in a few days. Then they take 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 277 
 
 to roosting farther from their old haunts, more in the out- 
 skirts of the woods, and the time comes for others besides 
 the squire's guests to take their education in hand, and 
 teach pheasants at least that they are no native British 
 birds. These are a wild set, living scattered about the 
 wild country ; turf-cutters, broom-makers, squatters, with 
 indefinite occupations and nameless habits, a race hated 
 of keepers and constables. These have increased and 
 flourished of late years ; and, notwithstanding the impris- 
 onments and transportations which deprive them periodi- 
 cally of the most enterprising members of their community, 
 one and all give thanks for the day when the owner of 
 the Grange took to pheasant breeding. If the demorali- 
 zation stopped with them, little harm might come of it, 
 as they would steal fowls in the homesteads if there 
 were no pheasants in the woods — which latter are 
 less dangerous to get, and worth more when gotten. 
 But, unhappily, this method of earning a livelihood has 
 strong attractions, and is catching ; and the cases of farm 
 laborers who .get into trouble about game are more fre- 
 quent, season by season, in the neighboring parishes, and 
 Englebouun is no better than the rest. And the men are 
 not likely to be much discouraged from these practices, or 
 taught better by the farmers ; for, if there is one thing 
 more than another that drives that sturdy set of men, the 
 Englebourn yeomen, into a frenzy, it is talk of the game 
 in the Grange covers. Not that they dislike sport ; they 
 like it too well, and, moreover, have been used to their 
 fair share of it. For the late squire left the game entirely 
 in their hands. " You know best how much game your 
 land will carry without serious damage to the crops," he 
 used to say. " I like to show my friends a fair day's sport 
 when they are with me, and to have enough game to sup- 
 ply the house and make a few presents. Beyond that it 
 24 
 
278 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 is no affair of mine. You can course whenever you like ; 
 and let me know when you want a day's shooting, andy^u 
 shall have it." Under this system the yeomen became 
 keen sportsmen ; they and all their laborers took an inter- 
 est in preserving, and the whole district would have risen 
 on a poacher. The keeper's place became a sinecure, and 
 the squire had as much game as he wanted without ex- 
 pense, and was, moreover, the most popular man in the 
 county. Even after the new man came, and all was 
 changed, that mere revocation of their sporting liberties, 
 and the increase of game, unpopular as these things were, 
 would not alone have made, the farmers so bitter, and have 
 raised that sense of outraged justice in them. But with 
 these changes came in a custom new in the country — the 
 custom of selling the game/ At first the report was not 
 believed ; but soon it became notorious that no head of 
 game from the Grange estates was ever given away, that 
 not only did the tenants never get a brace of birds or a 
 hare, or the laborers a rabbit, but not one.of the gentle- 
 men who helped to kill the game ever found any of the 
 bag in his dog-cart after the day's shooting. Nay, so 
 shameless had the system become, and so highly was the 
 art of turning the game to account cultivated at the Grange, 
 that the keepers sold powder and shot to any of the guests 
 who had emptied their own belts or flasks at something 
 over the market retail price. The light cart drove to the 
 market-town twice a week in* the season, loaded heavily 
 with game, but more heavily with the hatred and scorn of 
 the farmers ; and, if deep and bitter curses could break 
 patent axles or necks, the new squire and his game-cart 
 would not long have vexed the country side. As it was, 
 not a man but his own tenants would salute him in the 
 market-place ; and these repaid themselves for the unwill- 
 ing courtesy by bitter reflections on a squire who was 
 
TOM BEOWN AT OXFORD. 279 
 
 mean enough to pay his butcher's and poulterer s bill out 
 of their pockets. 
 
 Alas, that the manly instinct of sport which is so strong 
 in all of us Englishmen — which sends Oswell's single- 
 Landed against the mightiest beasts that walk the earth, 
 and takes the poor cockney journeyman out a ten miles' 
 walk almost before daylight on the rare summer holiday 
 mornings, to angle with rude tackle in reservoir or canal — 
 6hould be dragged through such mire as this in many an 
 English shire in our day. If English landlords want to 
 go on shooting game much longer, they must give up sell- 
 ing it. For if selling game becomes the rule, and not the 
 exception (as it seems likely to do before long), good-by 
 to sport in England. Every man who loves his country 
 more than his pleasures or his pocket — and, thank God, 
 that includes the great majority of us yet, however much 
 we may delight in gun and rod, let Mr. Bright and every 
 demagogue in the land say what they please — will cry, 
 " Down with it," and lend a hand to put it down forever. 
 
 But to return to our perch on the Hawk's Lynch above 
 Englebourn village. As I was saying just now, when the 
 sight of the distant Grange and its woods interrupted me, 
 there is no squire living here. The rector is the fourth 
 of his race who holds the family living — a kind, easy- 
 going, gentlemanly old man, a Doctor of Divinity, as 
 becomes his position, though he only went into orders 
 because there was the living ready for him. In his day 
 he had been a good magistrate and neighbor, living with, 
 and much in the same way as, the squires round about ! 
 But his contemporaries had dropped off one by one ; his 
 own health had long been failing ; his wife was dead ; and 
 the young generation did not seek him. His work and 
 the parish had no real hold on him ; so he had nothing to 
 fall back on, and had become a confirmed invalid, seldom 
 
280 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 leaving the house and garden even to go to church, and 
 thinking more of his dinner and his health than of all 
 other things in earth or heaven. 
 
 The only child who remained at home with him was a 
 daughter, a girl of nineteen or thereabouts, whose acquaint- 
 ance we shall make presently, and who was doing all that 
 a good heart and sound head prompted in nursing an old 
 hypochondriac and filling his place in the parish. But 
 though the old man was weak and selfish, he was kind in 
 his way, and ready to give freely, or to do any thing which 
 his daughter suggested for the good of his people, provided 
 the trouble were taken off his shoulders. In the year 
 before our tale opens he had allowed some thirty acres of 
 his glebe to be parcelled out in allotments amongst the 
 poor ; and his daughter spent almost what she pleased in 
 clothing-clubs, and sick-clubs, and the school, without a 
 word from him. Whenever he did remonstrate, she man- 
 aged to get what she wanted out of the house-money, or 
 her own allowance. 
 
 We must make acquaintance with such other of the 
 inhabitants as it concerns us to know in the course of the 
 story ; for it is broad daylight, and the villagers will be 
 astir directly. Folk who go to bed before nine, after a 
 hard day's work, get into the habit of turning out soon 
 after the sun calls them. 80 now, descending from the 
 Hawk's Lynch, we will alight at the east .end of Engle- 
 bourn, opposite the little white cottage which looks out at 
 the end of the great wood, near the village green. 
 
 Soon after five on that bright Sunday morning, Harry 
 Winburn unbolted the door of his mother's cottage, and 
 stepped out in his shirt-sleeves on to the little walk in 
 front, paved with pebbles. Perhaps some of my readers 
 will recognize the name of an old acquaintance, and wonder 
 how he got here ; so I shall explain at once. Soon after 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 281 
 
 our hero went to school, Harry's father had dind of a 
 fever. He had been a journeyman blacksmith, and in the 
 receipt, consequently, of rather better wages than gener- 
 ally fall to the lot of the peasantry, but not enough to leave 
 much of a margin over current expenditure. Moreover, 
 the "Winburns had always been open-handed with what- 
 ever money they had ; so that all he left for his widow 
 and child, of worldly goods, was their " few sticks " of 
 furniture, £5 in the Savings-bank, and the money from 
 his burial-club, which was not more than enough to give 
 him a creditable funeral — that object of honorable am- 
 bition to all the independent poor. He left, however, an- 
 other inheritance to them, which is, in price, above rubies, 
 neither shall silver be named in comparison thereof, — the 
 inheritance of an honest name, of which his widow was 
 proud, and which was not likely to suffer in her hands. 
 
 After the funeral, she removed to Englebourn, her own 
 native village, and kept her old father's house, till his 
 death. He was one of the woodmen to the Grange, and 
 lived in the cottage at the corner of the wood in which his 
 work lay. "When he, too, died, hard times came on Widow 
 "Winburn. The steward allowed her to keep on the 
 cottage. The rent was a sore burden to her, but she 
 would sooner have starved than leave it. Parish relief 
 was out of the question for her father's child and her 
 husband's widow ; so she turned her hand to every odd 
 job whfch offered, and went to work in the fields when 
 nothing else could be had. Whenever there was sickness 
 in the place, she was an untiring nurse ; and at one time, 
 for some nine months, she took the office of postman, and 
 walked daily some nine miles through a severe* winter. 
 The fatigue and exposure had broken down her health, 
 and made her an old woman before her time. At last, in 
 a lucky hour, the doctor came to hear of her praise- 
 24* 
 
282 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 worthy struggles, and gave her the rectory washing, which 
 had made her life a comparatively easy one again. 
 
 During all this time her poor neighbors* had stood by 
 her as the poor do stand by one another, helping her in 
 numberless small ways, so that she had been able to real- 
 ize the great object of her life, and keep Harry at school 
 till he was nearly fourteen. By this time he had learned 
 all that the village pedagogue could teach, and had, in fact, 
 become an object of mingled pride and jealousy to that 
 worthy man, who had his misgivings lest Harry's fame 
 as a scholar should eclipse his own before many years 
 were over. 
 
 Mrs. Winburn's character was so good, that no sooner 
 was her son ready for a place than a place was ready for 
 him ; he stepped at once into the dignity of carter's boy, 
 and his earnings, when added to his mother's, made them 
 comfortable enough. Of course, she was wrapped up in 
 him, and believed that there was no such boy in the 
 parish. And indeed she was nearer the truth than most 
 mothers, for he soon grew into a famous specimen of a 
 countryman ; tall and lithe, full of nervous strength, and 
 not yet bowed down or stiffened by the constant toil of a 
 laborer's daily life. In these matters, however, he had 
 rivals in the village ; but in intellectual accomplishments 
 ne was unrivalled. He was full of learning according to 
 the village standard, could write and cipher well, \vas fond 
 of reading such books as came in his way, and spoke his 
 native English almost without an accent. He is one-and- 
 twenty at the time when our story takes him up, a 
 thoroughly skilled laborer, the best hedger and ditcher in 
 the parish ; and when his blood is up, he can shear twenty 
 sheep in a day without razing the skin, or mow for sixteen 
 hours at a stretch, with rests of half an hour for meals 
 twice in the day. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 283 
 
 Harry shaded his eyes with his hand for a minute, as 
 he stood outside the cottage drinking in the fresh pure air, 
 laden with the scent of the honeysuckle which he had 
 trained over the porch, and listening to the chorus of lin- 
 nets and finches from the copse at the back of the house, 
 and then set about the household duties, which he always 
 made it a point of honor to attend to himself on Sundays. 
 First he unshuttered the little lattice-window of the room 
 on the ground-floor ; a simple operation enough, for the 
 shutter was a mere wooden flap, which was closed over 
 the window at night, and bolted with a wooden bolt on the 
 outside, and thrown back against the wall in the daytime. 
 Any one who would could have opened it at any moment 
 of the night; but the poor sleep sound without bolts. 
 Then he took the one old bucket of the establishment, and 
 strode away to the well on the village-green, and filled it 
 with clear cold water, doing the same kind office for the 
 vessels of two or three rosy little damsels and, boys, of 
 ages varying from ten to fourteen, who were already astir, 
 and to whom the winding-up of the parish chain and bucket 
 would have been a work of difficulty. Returning to the 
 cottage, he proceeded to fill his mother's kettle, sweep the 
 hearth, strike a light, and make up the fire with a faggot 
 from the little stack in the corner of the garden. Then 
 he hauled the three-legged round table before the fire, 
 and dusted it carefully over, and laid out the black japan 
 tea-tray with two delf cups and saucers of gorgeous pat- 
 tern, and diminutive plates to match, and placed the sugar 
 and slop basins, the big loaf and small piece of salt butter, 
 in their accustomed places, and the little black teapot on 
 the hob to get properly warm. There was little more to 
 be done indoors, for the furniture was scanty enough ; but 
 every thing in turn received its fair share of attention, 
 »wd the little room, with its sunken tiled floor and yellow- 
 
284 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 washed walls, looked cheerful and homely. Then Harry 
 turned his attention to the shed of his own contriving 
 which stood beside the faggot-stack, and from which ex- 
 postulatory and plaintive grunts had been issuing ever 
 since his first appearance at the door, telling of a faithful 
 and useful friend who was sharp set on Sunday mornings, 
 and desired his poor breakfast, and to be dismissed for the 
 day to pick up the rest of his livelihood with his brethren 
 porkers of the village on the green and in the lanes. 
 Harry served out to the porker the poor mess which the 
 wash of the cottage and the odds and ends of the little 
 garden afforded; which that virtuous animal forthwith 
 began to discuss with both fore-feet in the trough, — by 
 way, I suppose, of adding to the flavor, — while his master 
 scratched him gently between the ears and on the back 
 with a short stick till the repast was concluded. Then he 
 opened the door of the sty, and the grateful animal 
 rushed out into the lane, and away to the green with a 
 joyful squeal and flirt of his hind quarters in the air ; and 
 Harry, after picking a bunch - of wall-flowers, and pansies, 
 and hyacinths, a line of which flowers skirted the narrow 
 garden walk, and putting them in a long-necked glass 
 which he took from the mantlepiece, proceeded to his 
 morning ablutions, ample materials for which remained at 
 the bottom of the family bucket, which he had put down 
 on a little bench by the side of the porch. These finished, 
 he retired indoors to shave and dress himself. 
 
. CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ENGLEBOURN VILLAGE. 
 
 Dame Winburn was not long after her son, and they 
 Bat down together to breakfast, in their best Sunday 
 clothes — she, in plain large white cap, which covered all 
 but a line of gray hair, a black stuff gown reaching to 
 neck and wrists, and small silk neckerchief put on like a 
 shawl ; a thin, almost gaunt, old woman, whom the years 
 had not used tenderly, and who showed marks of their 
 usage — but a resolute, high-couraged soul, who had met 
 hard times in the face, and could meet them again if need 
 were. She spoke in broad Berkshire, and was otherwise 
 a homely body, but self-possessed and without a shade of 
 real vulgarity in her composition. 
 
 The widow looked with some anxiety at Harry as he 
 took his seat. Although something of a rustic dandy, of 
 late he had not been so careful in this matter as usual ; 
 but, in consequence of her reproaches, on this Sunday 
 there was nothing to complain of. His black velveteen 
 shooting-coat and cotton plush waistcoat, his brown cordu- 
 roy knee breeches and gaiters sat on him well, and gave 
 the world assurance of a well-to-do man, for few of the 
 Englebourn laborers rose above smock-frocks and fustian 
 trousers. He wore a blue bird's-eye handkerchief round 
 his neck, and his shirt, though coarse in texture, was as 
 white as the sun and the best laundress in Englebourn 
 could manage to bleach it. There was nothing to find 
 fault with in his dress therefore, but still his mother did 
 
286 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 not feel quite comfortable as she took stealthy glances at 
 him. Harry was naturally rather a reserved fellow, and 
 did not make much conversation himself, and his mother 
 felt a little embarrassed on this particular morning. 
 
 It was not, therefore, until Dame Winburn had finished 
 her first slice of bread and butter, and had sipped the 
 greater part of her second dish of tea out of her saucer, 
 that she broke silence. 
 
 " I minded thy business last night, Harry, when I wur 
 up at the rectory about the washin'. It's my belief as 
 thou'lt get t'other 'lotment next quarter-day. The doctor 
 spoke very kind about it, and said as how he heerd a3 
 high a character o' thee, young as thee bist, as of are' a 
 man in the parish, and as how he wur set on lettin' the 
 lots to they as'd do best by 'em ; only he said as the farm- 
 ers went agin givin' more nor an acre to any man as 
 worked for them, and the doctor, you see, he don't like to 
 go altogether agin the vestry folk." 
 
 " What business is it o' theirs," said Harry, " so long as 
 they get their own work done ? There's scarce one on 
 f em as hasn't more land already nor he can keep as should 
 be, and for all that they want to snap up every bit as falls, 
 vacant, so as no poor man shall get it." 
 
 " 'Tis mostly so with them as has," said his mother, with 
 a half-puzzled look; "Scriptur says as to them shall be 
 given, and they shall have more abundant." Dame Win- 
 burn spoke hesitatingly, and looked doubtfully at Harry, 
 as a person who has shot with a strange gun, and knows 
 not what effect the bolt may have. Harry was brought 
 up all standing by this unexpected quotation of his moth- 
 er ; but, after thinking for a few moments while he cut 
 himself a slice of bread, replied, — 
 
 " It don't say as those shall have more that can't use 
 what they've got already. 'Tis a deal more like Naboth's 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 287 
 
 vineyard for aught as I can see. But 'tis little odds to 
 me which way it goes." 
 
 " How canst talk so, Harry ? " said his mother, reproach- 
 fully ; " thou knows't thou wast set on it last fall, like a 
 wapse en sugar. Why, scarce a day passed but thou wast up 
 to the rectory, to see the doctor about it ; and now thou'rt 
 like to get it, thou'lt not go against 'un." 
 
 Harry looked out at the open door, without answering. 
 It was quite true that, in the last autumn, he ha*d been 
 very anxious to get as large an allotment as he. could into 
 his own hands, and that he had been forever up towards 
 the rectory, but perhaps not always on the allotment busi- 
 ness. He was naturally a self-reliant, shrewd fellow, and 
 felt that if he could put his hand on three or four acres of 
 land, he could soon make himself independent of the farm- 
 ers. He knew that at harvest-times, and whenever there 
 was a pinch for good laborers, they would be glad enough 
 to have him ; while at other times, with a few acres of his 
 own, he would be his own master, and could do much 
 better for himself. So he had put his name down first on 
 the doctor's list, taken the largest lot he could get, and 
 worked it so well, that his crops, amongst others, had been 
 a sort of village-show last harvest-time. Many of the 
 neighboring allotments stood out in sad contrast to those of 
 Harry and the more energetic of the peasantry, and lay 
 by the side of these latter, only half worked and full of 
 weeds, and the rent was never ready. It was worse than 
 useless to let matters go on thus, and the question arose, 
 what was to be done with the neglected lots. Harry, and 
 all the men like him, applied at once for them ; and their 
 eagerness to get them had roused some natural jealousy 
 amongst the farmers, who began to foresee that the new 
 system might shortly leave them with none but the worst 
 laborers. So the vestry had pressed on the doctor, as 
 
288 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Dame Winburn said, not to let any man have more than 
 an acre, or an acre and a half; and the well-meaning, easy- 
 going, invalid old man couldn't make up his mind what to 
 do. So here was May come again, and the neglected lots 
 were still in the nominal occupation of the idlers. The 
 doctor got no rent, and was annoyed at the partial failure 
 of a scheme which he had not indeed originated, but for 
 which he had taken much credit to himself. The negli- 
 gent occupiers grumbled that they were not allowed a 
 drawback for manure, and that no pigstys were put up 
 for them. " 'Twas allers understood so," they maintained, 
 " and they'd never ha' took to the lots but for that." The 
 good men grumbled that it would be too late now for them 
 to do more than clean the lots of weeds this year. The 
 farmers grumbled that it was always understood no man 
 should have more than one lot. The poor rector had led 
 his flock into a miry place with a vengeance. People who 
 cannot make up their minds breed trouble in other places 
 besides country villages. However quiet and out of the 
 way the place may be, there is always some quasi public 
 topic which stands, to the rural Englishman, in the place 
 of treaty, or budget, or reform-bill. So the great allotment 
 question, for the time, was that which exercised the minds 
 of the inhabitants of Englebourn ; and until lately no one 
 nad taken a keener interest in it than Harry Winburn. 
 But that interest had now much abated, and so Harry 
 looked through the cottage-door, instead of answering his 
 mother. 
 
 " 'Tis my belief as you med amost hev it for the axin'," 
 Dame "Winburn began again, when she found that he 
 would not re-open the subject himself. " The young missus 
 said as much to me herself last night. Ah ! to be sure, 
 things -d go better if she had the guidin' on 'em.". 
 
 " I'm not going after it any more, mother. We can 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 289 
 
 keep the bits o' sticks here together without it while you 
 be alive ; and if any thing was to happen to you, I don't 
 think I should stay in these parts. But it don't matter 
 what becomes o' me ; I can earn a livelihood anywhere." 
 
 Dame Winburn paused a moment, before answering, to 
 subdue her vexation, and then said, "How can 'ee let 
 hankcrin' arter a lass take the heart out o' thee so ? Hold 
 up thy head, and act a bit measterful. The more thou 
 makest o* thyself, the more like thou art to win." 
 
 " Did you hear aught of her, mother, last night ? " re- 
 plied Harry, taking advantage of this ungracious opening 
 to speak of the subject which was uppermost in his mind. 
 
 "I heerd she wur going on well," said his mother. 
 
 " No likelihood of her comin' home ? " 
 
 " Not as I could make out. "Why, she hevn't been gone 
 not four months. Now, do'ee pluck up a bit, Harry ; and 
 be more like thyself." 
 
 "Why, mother, I've not missed a day's work since 
 Christmas ; so there aint much to find fault with." 
 
 " Nay, Harry, 'tisn't thy work. Thou wert always good 
 at thy work, praise God. Thou'rt thy father's own son 
 for that. But thou dostn't keep about like, and take thy 
 place wi' the lave on 'em since Christmas. Thou look'st 
 haggad at times, and folk'll see it, and talk about thee 
 afore long." 
 
 " Let 'em talk. I mind their talk no more than last 
 year's wind," said Harry, abruptly. 
 
 " But thy old mother does," she said, looking at him 
 with eyes full of pride and love ; and so Harry, who was a 
 right good son, began to inquire what it was which was 
 specially weighing on his mother's mind, determined to do 
 any thing in reason to replace her on the little harmless 
 social pinnacle from which she was wont to look down on 
 all the other mothers and sons of the parish. He soon 
 25 
 
290 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 found out that her present grievance arose from his having 
 neglected his place as ringer of the heavy bell in the 
 village peal on the two preceding Sundays ; and, as this 
 post was in some sort corresponding to stroke of the boat 
 at Oxford, her anxiety was reasonable enough. So Harry 
 promised to go to ringing in good time that morning, and 
 then set about little odds and ends of jobs till it would be 
 time to start. Dame Winburn went to her cooking and 
 other household duties, which were pretty well got under 
 when her son took his hat and started for the belfry. She 
 stood at the door with a half-peeled potato in one hand, 
 shading her eyes with the other, as she watched him strid- 
 ing along the raised footpath under the elms, when the 
 sound of light footsteps and pleasant voices coming up from 
 the other direction made her turn round, and drop a cour- 
 tesy as the rector's daughter and another young lady 
 stopped at her door. 
 
 " Good morning, Betty," said the former; "here's a 
 bright Sunday morning at last ; isn't it?" 
 
 "'Tis, indeed, miss; but where hev'ee been to?" 
 
 " Oh, we've only been for a little walk before school- 
 time. This is my cousin, Betty. She hasn't been at 
 Englebourn since she was quite a child ; so I've been 
 taking her to the Hawk's Lynch to see our view." 
 
 "And you can't think how I have enjoyed it," said her 
 cousin ; "it is so still and beautiful." 
 
 "I've heerd say as there aint no such a place for 
 thretty mile round," said Betty, proudly. " But do *ee 
 come in, tho', and sit'ee down a bit," she added, bustling 
 insids her door, and beginning to rub down a chair with 
 her apron ; " 'tis a smart step for gentlefolk to walk afore 
 church." Betty's notions of the walking powers of gentle- 
 folk were very limited. 
 
 u No, thank you, we must be getting on," said Misa 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 2t? t 
 
 Winter ; "but how lovely your flowers are. Look, Mary, 
 did you ever see such double pansies ? We've nothing 
 like them at the rectory." 
 
 "Do'ee take some," said Betty, emerging again, and 
 beginning to pluck a handful of her finest flowers ; " 'tis 
 all our Harry's doing ; he's 'mazin partickler about seeds." 
 
 " He seems to make every thing thrive, Betty. There, 
 that's plenty, thank you. We wont take many, for fear 
 they should fade before church is over." 
 
 " Oh, dont'ee be afeard, there's plenty more ; and you 
 be as welcome as the day." 
 
 Betty never said a truer word ; she was one of the real 
 open-handed sort, who are found mostly amongst those 
 who have the least to give. They or any one else were 
 welcome to the best she had. 
 
 So the young ladies took the flowers, and passed on 
 towards the Sunday school. 
 
 (The rector's daughter might have been a year or so 
 older than her companion ; she looked more. Her position 
 in the village had been one of much anxiety, and she was 
 fast getting an old head on young shoulders. The other 
 young lady was a slip of a girl just coming out; in fact, 
 this was the first visit which she had ever paid out of 
 leading strings. She had lived in a happy home, where 
 she had always been trusted and loved, and perhaps a 
 thought too much petted. 
 
 There are some natures which attract petting ; you can't 
 help doing your best to spoil them in this way, and it is 
 satisfactory therefore to know (as the fact is) that they 
 arc just the ones which cannot be so spoilt. 
 
 Miss Mary was one of these. Trustful, for she had 
 never been tricked ; fearless, for she . had never been 
 cowed ; pure and bright as the Englebourn brook at fifty 
 yards from its parent spring in the chalk, for she had a 
 
292 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 pure and bright nature, and had come in contact as yet 
 with nothing which could soil or cast a shadow ! What 
 wonder that her life gave forth light and music as it 
 glided on, and that ever}' one Avho knew her was eager to 
 have her with them, to warm themselves in the light and 
 rejoice in the music. 
 
 Besides all her other attractions, or in consequence of 
 *hem for any thing I know, she was one of the merriest 
 young women in the world, always ready to bubble over 
 and break out into clear laughter on the slightest provoca- 
 tion. And provocation had not been wanting during the 
 last two days which she had spent with her cousin. As 
 usual, she had brought sunshine with her, and the old. 
 doctor had half forgotten his numerous complaints and 
 grievances for the time. So the cloud, which generally 
 hung over the house, had- been partially lifted, and Mary, 
 knowing and suspecting nothing of the dark side of life at 
 Englebourn rectory, rallied her cousin on her gravity, 
 and laughed till she cried at the queer ways and talk of 
 the people about the place. 
 
 As soon as they were out of hearing of Dame Winburn, 
 Mary began, — 
 
 " Well, Katie, I can't say that you have mended your 
 case at all." 
 
 " Surely, you can't deny that there is a great deal of 
 character in Betty's face ? " said Miss Winter. 
 
 " Oh, plenty of character ; all your people, as soon as 
 they begin to stiffen a little and get wrinkles, seem to be 
 full of character, and I enjoy it much more than beauty ; 
 but we were talking about beauty, you know." 
 
 " Betty's son is the handsomest young man in the 
 parish," said Miss Winter ; " and I must say I don't think 
 you could find a better-looking one anywhere." 
 
 " Then I can't have seen him." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 293 
 
 i: Indeed you have ; I pointed him out to you at the post- 
 office yesterday. Don't you remember ? he was waiting 
 for a letter." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! now I remember. "Well, he was better than 
 most. But the faces of your young people, in general, 
 are not interesting, — I don't mean the children, but the 
 young men and women, — and they are awkward and 
 clownish in their manners, without the quaintness of the 
 eider generation, who are the funniest old dears in the 
 world." 
 
 " They will all be quaint enough as they get older. 
 You must remember the sort of life they lead. They get 
 their notions very slowly, and they must have notions in 
 their heads before they can show them on their faces." 
 
 " Well, your Betty's son looked as if he had a notion of 
 hanging himself yesterday." 
 
 " It's no laughing matter, Mary. I hear he is desper- 
 ately in love." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! that makes a difference, of course. I 
 hope he wont carry out his notion. Who is it ? do you 
 know ? Do tell me all about it." 
 
 "Our gardener's daughter, I believe. Of course, I never 
 meddle with these matters, but one can't help hearing the 
 servants' gossip. I think it likely to be true, for he was 
 about our premises at all sorts of times until lately, and I 
 never see him now that she is away." 
 
 " Is she pretty ? " said Mary, who was getting inter- 
 ested. 
 
 " Yes, she is our belle. In fact, they are the two beau- 
 ties of the parish." 
 
 " Fancy that cross-grainecf old Simon having a pretty 
 daughter. Oh, Katie, look here, who is this figure of 
 fun ? " 
 
 . The figure of fun was a middle-aged man of small stat* 
 25* 
 
294 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 ure, and very bandy-legged, dressed in a blue coat anj 
 brass buttons, and carrying a great bass-viol bigger than 
 himself, in a rough baize cover. He came out of a foot- 
 path into the road just before them, and on seeing them 
 touched his hat to Miss Winter, and then fidgeted along 
 with his load, and jerked his head in a deprecatory man- 
 ner away from them as he walked on, with the sort of look 
 and action which a favorite terrier uses when his master 
 holds out a lighted cigar to his nose. He was the village 
 tailor and constable, also the principal performer in the 
 church-music which obtained in Englebourn. In the lat- 
 ter capacity he had of late come into collision with Miss 
 Winter. For this was another of the questions which 
 divided the parish — the great church-music question. 
 From time immemorial, at least ever since the gallery at 
 the west end had been built, the village psalmody had 
 been in the hands of the occupiers of that Protestant 
 structure. In the middle of the front row sat the musi- 
 cians, three in number, who played respectively a bass- 
 viol, a fiddle, and a clarionet. On one side of them were 
 two or three young women, who sang treble — shrill, ear- 
 piercing treble, — with a strong nasal Berkshire drawl in 
 it. On the other side of the musicians sat the blacksmith, 
 the wheelwright, and other tradesmen of the place. 
 Tradesman means in that part of the country what we 
 mean by artisan, and these were naturally allied more 
 with the laborers, and consorted with them. So far as 
 church-going was concerned, they formed a sort of inde- 
 pendent opposition, sitting in the gallery, instead of in the 
 nave, where the farmers and the two or three principal 
 shopkeepers — the great landed and commercial inter- 
 ests — regularly sat and slept, and where the two publicans 
 occupied pews, but seldom made even the pretence of 
 worshipping. 
 
TOU BROWN AT OXFORD. 295 
 
 The rest of the gallery was filled by the able-bodied 
 male peasantry. The old worn-out men generally sat 
 below in the free seats ; the women also, and some few 
 boys. But the hearts of these latter were in the gallery, — 
 a seat on the back benches of which was a sign that they 
 had indued the toga virilis, and were thenceforth free from 
 maternal and pastoral tutelage in the matter of church- 
 going. The gallery thus constituted had gradually usurped 
 the psalmody as their particular and special portion of the 
 service ; they left the clerk and the school children, aided 
 by such of the aristocracy below as cared to join, to do 
 the responses ; but, when singing time came, they reigned 
 supreme. The slate on which the Psalms were announced 
 was hung out from before the centre of the gallery, and 
 the clerk, leaving his place under the reading desk, 
 marched up there to give them out. He took this method 
 of preserving his constitutional connection with the sing- 
 ing, knowing that otherwise he could not have maintained 
 the rightful position of his office in this matter. So mat- 
 ters had stood until shortly before the time of our story. 
 
 The present curate, however, backed by Miss Winter, 
 had tried a reform. He was a quiet man, with a wife and 
 several children, and small means. He had served in the 
 diocese ever since he had been ordained, in a hum-drum 
 sort of way, going where he was sent for, and performing 
 his routine duties reasonably well, but without showing 
 any great aptitude for his work. He had little interest, 
 and had almost given up expecting promotion, which he 
 certainly had done nothing particular to merit. But there 
 was one point on which he was always ready to go out of 
 his way, and take a little trouble. He was a good musi- 
 cian, and had formed choirs at all his former curacies. 
 
 Soon after his arrival, therefore, he, in concert with 
 Miss Winter, had begun to train the children in church- 
 
296 TOM BROWN AT OXFOUD. 
 
 music. A small organ, which had stood in a passage in 
 the rectory for many years, had been repaired, and ap- 
 peared first at the schoolroom, and at length under the 
 gallery of the church ; and it was announced one week to 
 the party in possession, that, on the next Sunday, the 
 constituted authorities would take the church-music into 
 their own hands. Then arose a strife, the end of which 
 had nearly been to send the gallery off in a body, headed 
 by the offended bass-viol, to the small red-brick little 
 Bethel at the other end of the village. Fortunately, the 
 curate had too much good sense to drive matters to ex- 
 tremities, and so alienate the parish constable, and a large 
 part of his flock, though he had not tact or energy enough 
 to bring them round to his own views. So a compromise 
 was come to ; and the curate's choir were allowed to chant 
 the Psalms and Canticles, which had always been read 
 before, while* the gallery remained triumphant masters of 
 the regular Psalms. 
 
 My readers will now understand why Miss Winter's 
 salutation to the musical constable was not so cordial a3 
 it was to the other villagers whom they had come across 
 previously. 
 
 Indeed, Miss Winter, though she acknowledged the 
 constable's salutation, did not seem inclined to encourage 
 him to accompany them, and talk his mind out, although 
 he was going the same way with them ; and instead of 
 drawing him out, as was her wont in such cases, went on 
 talking herself to her cousin. 
 
 The little man walked out in the road, evidently in 
 trouble of mind. He did not like to drop behind or go 
 ahead without some further remark from Miss Winter 
 and yet could not screw up his courage to the point 
 of opening the conversation himself. So he ambled on 
 alongside the footpath on which they were walking, show- 
 
T03I BROWN AT OXFORD. 297 
 
 ing his discomfort by a twist of his neck ever.? few 
 seconds (as though he were nodding at them with the side 
 of his head) and perpetual shiftings of his bass-viol, and 
 hunching up of one shoulder. 
 
 The conversation of the young ladies under these r\v- 
 cumstances was of course forced; and Miss Mary, thornr*' 
 infinitely delighted at the meeting, soon began to pity then 
 involuntary companion. She was full of the sensitive 
 instinct which the best sort of women have to such a 
 marvellous extent, and which tells them at once and infal 
 libly if any one in their company has even a creased rose- 
 leaf next their moral skin. 
 
 Before they had walked a hundred yards she was 
 interceding for the rebellious constable. 
 
 " Katie," she said softly, in French, " do speak to him. 
 The poor man is frightfully uncomfortable." 
 
 " It serves him right," answered Miss Winter, in the 
 same language ; " you don't know how impertinent he was 
 the other day to Mr. Walker. And he wont give way on 
 the least point, and leads the rest of the old singers, and 
 makes them as stubborn as himself." 
 
 " But do look how he is winking and jerking his head 
 at you. You really mustn't be so cruel to him, Katie. I 
 shall have to begin talking to him if you don't." 
 
 Thus urged, Miss Winter opened r the conversation by 
 asking after his wife, and, when she had ascertained " that 
 his missus wur pretty middlin'," made some other common- 
 place remark, and relapsed into silence. By the help of 
 Mary, however, a sort of disjointed dialogue was kept up till 
 they came to the gate which led up to the school, into 
 which the children were trooping by two's and three's. 
 Here the ladies turned in, and were going up the walk, 
 towards the school door, when the constable summoned 
 up courage to speak on the matter which was troubling 
 
298 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 nim, and, resting the bass-viol carefully on his right foot| 
 called after them, — . 
 
 " Oh, please, marra ! Miss Winter ! " 
 
 " Well," she said, quietly, turning round, " what do you 
 wish to say ? " 
 
 " Wy, please, marm, I hopes as you don't think I be any 
 ways linked, 'bout this here quire-singin', as they calls it 
 — I'm sartin you knows as there aint a'inost nothing I 
 wouldn't do to please ee." 
 
 " Well, you know how to do it very easily," she said 
 when he paused. " I don't ask you even to give up your 
 music and try to work with us, though I think you might 
 have done that. I only ask you to use some psalms and 
 tunes which are fit to be used in a church." 
 
 " To be sure us ool. 'Taint we as wants no new-fangled 
 tunes ; them as we sings be aal owld ones as ha' been used 
 in our church ever since I can mind. But you only choose 
 thaay as you likes out o' the book, and we be ready to kep 
 to they." 
 
 " I think Mr. Walker made a selection for you some 
 weeks ago," said Miss Winter ; " did not he ? " 
 
 "'Ees, but 'tis narra mossel o' use for we to try his 
 'goriums and sich like. I hopes you wunt be offended wi* 
 me, miss, for I be telling naught but truth." He spoke 
 louder as they got nearer to the school door, and, as they 
 ■were opening it, shouted his last shot after them, " "l*is na 
 good to try thaay tunes o' his'n, miss. When us praises 
 God, us likes to praise un joyful." 
 
 " There, you hear that, Mary," said Miss Winter. 
 u You'll soon begin to see why I look grave. There never 
 was such a hard parish to manage. Nobody will do what 
 they ought. I never can get them to do any thing. Per- 
 haps we may manage to teach the children better, that's 
 my only comfort." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 2 l J9 
 
 " But, Katie dear, what do the poor things sing ? 
 Psalms, I hope." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but they choose all the odd ones on purpose, 
 I believe. Which class will you take ?" 
 
 And so the young ladies settled to their teaching, and 
 the children in her class all fell in love with Mary before 
 church-time. 
 
 The bass-viol proceeded to the church and did the usual 
 rehearsals, and gossiped with the sexton, to whom, he 
 confided the fact that the young missus was terrible vexed. 
 The bells soon began to ring, and Widow Winburn's 
 heart was glad as she listened to the full peal, and thought 
 to herself that it was her Harry who was making so much 
 noise in the world, and speaking to all the neighborhood. 
 Then the peal ceased as church-time drew near, and the 
 single bell began, and the congregation came flocking in 
 from all sides. The farmers, letting their wives and 
 children enter, gathered round the chief porch and com- 
 pared notes in a ponderous manner on crops and markets. 
 The laborers collected near the door by which the gallery 
 was reached. All the men of the parish seemed to like 
 standing about before church, though poor Walker, the 
 curate, did not appear. He came up with the school 
 children and the young ladies, and in due course the bell 
 stopped and the service began. There was a very good 
 congregation still at Englebourn; the adult generation 
 had been bred up in times when every decent person in 
 the parish went to church, and the custom was still strong, 
 notwithstanding the rector's bad example. He scarcely 
 ever came to church himself in the mornings, though his 
 wheel-chair might be seen going up and down on the 
 gravel before his house or on the lawn on warm days ; 
 and this was one of his daughter's greatest troubles. 
 
 The little choir of children sang admirably, led by the 
 
300 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 schoolmistress, and Miss "Winter and the curate exchanged 
 approving glances. They performed the liveliest chant in 
 their collection, that the opposition might have no cause 
 to complain of their want of joyfulness. And in turn Miss 
 Wheeler was in hopes that out of deference to her, the 
 usual rule of selection in the gallery might have been 
 modified. It was with no small annoyance, therefore, that, 
 after the litany was over and the tuning finished, she 
 heard the clerk give out that they would praise God by 
 singing part of the ninety-first Psalm. Mary, who was on 
 the tiptoe of expectation as to what was coming, saw the 
 curate give a slight shrug with his shoulders and lift of 
 his eyebrows as he left the reading-desk, and in another 
 minute it became a painful effort for her to keep from 
 laughing as she slyly watched her cousin's face ; while the 
 gallery sang with vigor worthy of any cause or occa- 
 sion, — 
 
 " On the old lion He shall go, 
 The adder fell and long ; 
 On the young lion tread also, 
 With dragons stout and strong." 
 
 The trebles took up the last line, and repeated, — 
 " With dragons stout and strong ; " 
 
 and then the whole strength of the gallery chorused again, 
 
 " With dra-gons stout and strong," 
 
 and the bass-viol seemed to her to prolong the notes and 
 to gloat over them as he droned them out, looking trium- 
 phantly at the distant curate. Mary was thankful to kneel 
 down to compose her face. The first trial was the severe 
 one, and she got through the second psalm much better ; 
 and by the time Mr. Walker had plunged fairly into his 
 sermon she was a model of propriety and sedateness again. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 301 
 
 But it was to be a Sunday of adventures. The sermon 
 had scarcely begun when there was a stir down by the 
 door at the west end, and people began to look round and 
 whisper. Presently a man came softly up and said some- 
 thing to the clerk ; the clerk jumped up and whispered to 
 the curate, who paused for a moment with a puzzled look, 
 and, instead of finishing his sentence, said in a loud voice, 
 " Farmer Grove's house is on fire ! " 
 
 The curate probably anticipated the effect of his words ; 
 in a minute he was the only person left in the church ex- 
 cept the clerk and one or two very infirm old folk. He 
 shut up and pocketed his sermon, and followed his flock. 
 
 It proved luckily to be only Farmer Grove's chimney 
 and not his house which was on fire. The farmhouse was 
 only two fields from the village, and the congregation 
 rushed across there, Harry Winburn and two or three of 
 the most active young men and boys leading. As they 
 entered the yard the flames were rushing out of the chim- 
 ney, and any moment the thatch might take fire. Here 
 was the real danger. A ladder had just been reared 
 against the chimney, and, while a frightened farm-girl and 
 a carter-boy held it at the bottom, a man was going up it 
 carrying a bucket of water. It shook with his weight, 
 and the top was slipping gradually along the face of the 
 chimney, and in another moment would rest against noth- 
 ing. Harry and his companions saw the danger at a 
 glance, and shouted to the man to stand still till they could 
 get to the ladder. They rushed towards him with the 
 rush which men can only make under strong excitement ; 
 but the foremost of them caught a spoke with one hand, 
 .and, before he could steady it, the top slipped clear of the 
 chimney, and ladder, man, and bucket, came heavily to the 
 ground. 
 
 Then cam 3 a scene of bewildering confusion, as women 
 26 
 
302 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 and children trooped into the yard — "Who was it?" 
 "Was he dead?" "The fire was catching the thatch." 
 " The stables were on fire." " Who done it?" — all sorts 
 of cries, and all sorts of acts except the right ones. For- 
 tunately, two or three of the men, with heads on their 
 shoulders, soon organized a line for handing buckets ; the 
 flue was stopped below, and Harry Winburn, standing 
 nearly at the top of the ladder, which was now safely 
 planted, was deluging the thatch round the chimney from 
 the buckets handed up to him. In a few minutes he was 
 able to pour water down the chimney itself, and soon 
 afterwards the whole affair was at an end. The farmer's 
 dinner was spoilt, but otherwise no damage had been done, 
 except to the clothes of the foremost men ; and the only 
 accident was that first fall from the ladder. 
 
 The man had been carried out of the yard while the 
 fire was still burning ; so that it was hardly known wl^o it 
 was. Now, in answer to their inquiries, it proved to be 
 old Simon, the rector's gardener and head man, who had 
 seen the fire, and sent the news to the church, while 
 he himself went to the spot, with such result as we have 
 seen. 
 
 The surgeon had not yet seen him. Some declared he 
 was dead ; others, that he was sitting up at home, and 
 quite well. Little by little the crowd dispersed to Sun- 
 day's dinners ; and, when they met again before the after- 
 noon's service, it was ascertained that Simon was certainly 
 not dead, but all else was still nothing more than rumor. 
 Public opinion was much divided, some holding that it 
 would go hard with a man of his age and heft ; but the 
 common belief seemed to be that he was of that sort " as'd 
 take a deal o' killin', " and that he would be none the 
 worse for such a fall asnhat. 
 
 The two young ladies had been much shocked at the 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 303 
 
 accident, and had accompanied the hurdle on which old 
 Simon was carried to his cottage door; after afternoon 
 service they went round by the cottage to inquire. The 
 two girls knocked at the door, which was opened by his 
 wife, who dropped a courtesy and smoothed down her Sun- 
 day apron when she found who were her visitors. 
 
 She seemed at first a little unwilling to let them in ; but 
 Miss Winter pressed so kindly to see her husband, and 
 Mary made such sympathizing eyes at her, that the old 
 woman gave in, and conducted her through the front room 
 into that beyond, where the patient lay. 
 
 " I hope as you'll excuse it, miss, for I knows the place 
 do smell terrible bad of baccer; only my old man he said 
 as how — " 
 
 " Oh, never mind ; we don't care at all about the smell- 
 Poor Simon! I'm sure if it does him any good, or 
 soothes the pain, I shall be glad to buy him some tobacco 
 myself." 
 
 The old man was lying on the bed with his coat and 
 boots off, and a worsted nightcap of his wife's knitting 
 pulled on to his head. She had tried hard to get him to 
 go to bed at once, and take some physic, and his present 
 costume and position was the compromise. His back was 
 turned to them as they entered, and he was evidently in 
 pain, for he drew his breath heavily and with difficulty, 
 and gave a sort of groan at every respiration. He did 
 not seem to notice their entrance ; so his wife touched 
 him on the shoulder, and said, " Simon, here's the young 
 ladies come to see how you be." 
 
 Simon turned himself round, and winced and groaned 
 as he pulled off his nightcap in token of respect. 
 
 " We didn't like to go home without coming to see how 
 you were, Simon. Has the doctor been ? " 
 
504 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " Oh, yes, thank'ee, miss. He've a been and feel'd un 
 all over, and listened at the chest on un," said his wife. 
 
 "And what did he say?" 
 
 "A zem'd to zay as there wur no bwones bruk — ugh, 
 ugh," put in Simon, who spoke his native tongue with a 
 buzz, imported from further west, "but a couldn't zay 
 wether or no there warn't some infarnal injury — " 
 
 " Etarnal, Simon, etarnal ! " interrupted his wife ; " how 
 canst use such words afore the young ladies?" 
 
 " I tell'ee, wife, as 'twur infarnal — ugh, ugh," retorted 
 the gardener. 
 
 " Internal injury ? " suggested Miss Winter. "I'm very 
 sorry to hear it." 
 
 " Zummat inside o' me like, as wur got out o' place," 
 explained Simon ; " and I thenks a must be near about 
 the mark, for I feels mortal bad here when I tries to 
 move ; " and he put his hand on his side. " Hows'm'ever, 
 as there's no bwones bruk, I hopes to be about to-morrow 
 mornin', please the Lord — ugh, ugh ! " 
 
 " You mustn't think of it, Simon," said Miss Winter. 
 " You must be quite quiet for a week, at least, till you get 
 rid of this pain." 
 
 " So I tells un, Miss Winter," put in the wife. " You 
 hear what the young missus says, Simon ? " 
 
 " And wut's to happen Tiny ? " said the contumacious 
 Simon, scornfully. " Her'll cast her calf, and me not by. 
 Her's calving may be this minut. Tiny's time wur up, 
 miss, two days back, and her's never no gurt while arter 
 her time." 
 
 " She will do very well, I dare say," said Miss Winter. 
 " One of the men can look after her." 
 
 The notion of any one else attending Tiny in her inter- 
 esting situation seemed to excite Simon beyond bearing: 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD 305 
 
 for lie raised himself on one elbow, and was about to make 
 a demonstration with his other hand, when the pain seized 
 him again, and he sank back groaning. 
 
 „" There you see, Simon, you can't move without pain. 
 You must be quiet till you have seen the doctor again." 
 
 " There's the red spider out along the south wall — ugh, 
 ugh," persisted Simon, without seeming to hear her ; " and 
 your new g'raniums a'most covered wi' blight. I wur a 
 tacklin', one on 'em just afore you come in." 
 
 Following the direction indicated by his nod, the girls 
 became aware of a plant by his bedside, which he had 
 been fumigating, for his pipe was leaning against the 
 flower-pot in which it stood. 
 
 " He wouldn't lie still nohow, miss," explained his wife, 
 " till I went and fetched un in a pipe and one o' thaay 
 plants from the greenhouse." 
 
 "It was very thoughtful of you, Simon," said Miss 
 "Winter ; " you know how much I prize these new plants ; 
 but we will manage them ; and you mustn't think of these 
 things now. You have had a wonderful escape to-day for 
 a man of your age. I hope we shall find that there is 
 nothing much the matter with you after a few days, but 
 you might have been killed, you know. You ought to be 
 very thankful to God that you were not killed in that 
 fall." 
 
 " So I be, miss, weriy thankful to un — ugh, ugh; and 
 if it plaase the Lord to spare my life till to-morrow 
 morn in', — ugh, ugh, — we'll smoke them cussed insects." 
 
 This last retort of the incorrigible Simon on her cousin's 
 attempt, as the rector's daughter, to improve the occasion, 
 was too much for Miss Mary, and she slipped out of the 
 room lest she should bring disgrace on herself by an 
 explosion of laughter. She was joined by her cousin in 
 26* 
 
806 TOJI BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 another minute, and the two walked together towards the 
 rectory. 
 
 " I hope you were not faint, dear, with that close room, 
 smelling of smoke ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ; to tell you the truth, I was only afraid 
 of laughing at your quaint old patient. "What a rugged 
 old dear it is. I hope he isn't much hurt." 
 
 " I hope not, indeed ; for he is the most honest, faithful 
 old servant in the world, but so obstinate. He never will 
 go to church on Sunday mornings ; and, when I speak to 
 him about it, he says papa doesn't go, which is very wrong 
 and impertinent of him." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A PROMISE OF FAIRER WEATHER. 
 
 All dwellers in and about London are, alas, too well 
 acquainted with that never-to-be-enough-hated change 
 which we have to undergo once at least in every spring 
 As each succeeding winter wears away, the same thing 
 happens to us. 
 
 For some time we do not trust the fair, lengthening days, 
 and cannot believe that the dirty pair of sparrows who live 
 opposite our window are really making love and going to 
 build, notwithstanding all their twittering. But morning 
 after morning rises fre'sh and gentle ; there is no longer 
 any vice in the air ; we drop our overcoats ; we rejoice in 
 the green shoots which the privet hedge is making in the 
 square garden, and hail the returning tender-pointed leaves 
 of the plane trees as friends ; we go out of our way to walk 
 througji Covent Garden market to see the ever-brighten- 
 ing show of flowers from the happy country. 
 
 This state of things goes on sometimes for a few days 
 only, sometimes for weeks, till we make sure that we are 
 safe for this spring, at any rate. Don't we wish we may 
 get it ! Sooner or later, but sure — sure as Christmas 
 bills, or the income-tax, or any thing, if there be any 
 thing, surer than these — comes the morning when we are 
 suddenly conscious as soon as we rise that there is some- 
 thing the matter. We do not feel comfortable in our 
 clothes ; nothing tastes quite as it should at breakfast ; 
 though the day looks bright enough, there is a fierce, dusty 
 
808 TOM BEOWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 taint about it, as we look out through window?, which no 
 instinct now prompts us to throw open, as it has done every 
 day for the last month. 
 
 But it is only when we open our doors and issue into 
 the street, that the hateful reality comes right home to us. 
 All moisture, and softness, and pleasantness has gone clean 
 out of the air since last night; we seem to inhale yards of 
 horsehair instead of satin ; our skins dry up ; our eyes, and 
 hair, and whiskers, and clothes are soon filled with loath- 
 some dust, and our nostrils with the reek of the great city. 
 "We glance at the weathercock on the nearest steeple and 
 see that it points N.E. And so long as the change lasts 
 wo carry about with us a feeling of anger and impatience 
 as though we personally were being ill-treated. We could 
 have borne with it well enough in November; it would 
 have been natural, and all in the day's work, in March ; 
 but now, when Rottenrow is beginning to be crowded, 
 when long lines of pleasure-vans are leaving town on Mon- 
 day mornings for Hampton Court, or the poor remains of 
 dear Epping Forest, when the exhibitions are open or 
 about to open, when the religious public is up, or on its 
 way up, for May meetings, when the Thames is already 
 sending up faint warnings of what we may expect, as soon 
 as his dirty old life's blood shall have been thoroughly 
 warmed up, and the Ship, and Trafalgar, and Star and 
 Garter are in full swing at the antagonist poles of the 
 cockney system, we do feel that this blight which has come 
 over us and every thing is an insult, and that while it lasts, 
 as there is nobody who can be made particularly responsi- 
 ble for it, we are justified in going about in general dis- 
 gust, and ready to quarrel with anybody we may meet on 
 the smallest pretext. 
 
 This sort of east-windy state is perhaps the best physi- 
 cal aralogy for that mental one in which our hero now 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. S09 
 
 foand himself. The real crisis was over ; he had managed 
 to pass through the eye of the storm, and drift for the 
 present at least into the skirts of it, where he lav rolling 
 under bare poles, comparatively safe, but without any 
 power as yet, to get the ship well in hand, and make her 
 obey her helm. The storm might break over him again 
 at any minute, and would find him almost as helpless a 
 eTer. 
 
 For he could not follow Drysdale's advice at once, and 
 break off his visits to " The Choughs " altogether. He 
 wont back again after a day or two, but only for short 
 visits ; he never stayed behind now after the other men 
 left the bar, and avoided interviews with Patty alone as 
 diligently as he had sought them before. She was puz- 
 zled at his change of manner, and, not being able to account 
 for it, was piqued, and ready to revenge herself and pay 
 him out in the hundred little ways which the least prac- 
 tised of her sex know how to employ for the discipline of 
 any of the inferior or trousered half of the creation. If 
 she had been really in love with him, it would have been 
 a different matter ; but she was not. In the last six weeks 
 she had certainly often had visions of the pleasures of 
 being a lady and keeping servants, and riding in a car- 
 riage like the squires' and rectors' wives and daughters 
 about her home. She had a liking, even a sentiment for 
 him, which might very well have grown into something 
 dangerous before long ; but as yet it was not more than 
 skin deep. Of late, indeed, she had been much more 
 frightened than attracted by the conduct of her admirer, 
 and really felt it a relief, notwithstanding her pique, when 
 he retired into the elder-brother sort of state. But she 
 would have been more than woman if she had not resented 
 the change ; and so, very soon, the pangs of jealousy were 
 added to his other troubles. Other men were beginning 
 
810 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 to frequent " The Choughs " regularly. Drysdale, besides 
 dividing with Tom the prestige of being an original dis- 
 coverer, was by far the largest customer. St. Cloud came 
 and brought Chanter with him, to whom Patty was actu- 
 ally civil, not because she liked him at all, but because she 
 saw that it made Tom furious. Though he could not fix 
 on any one man in particular, he felt that mankind in gen- 
 eral were gaining on him. In his better moments indeed 
 he often wished that she would take the matter into her 
 own hands and throw him over for good and all; but keep 
 away from the place altogether he could not, and often, 
 when he fancied himself on the point of doing it, a pretty 
 toss of her head, or kind look of her eyes, would scatter all 
 his good resolutions to the four winds. 
 
 And so the days dragged on, and he dragged on through 
 them ; hot fits of conceit alternating in him with cold fits 
 of despondency and mawkishness and discontent with every 
 thing and everybody, which were all the more intolerable 
 from their entire strangeness. Instead of seeing the bright 
 side of all things, he seemed to be looking at creation 
 through yellow spectacles, and saw faults and blemishes in 
 all his acquaintance which had been till now invisible. 
 
 But, the more he was inclined to depreciate all other 
 men, the more he felt that there was one to whom he had 
 been grossly unjust. And, as he recalled all that had 
 passed, he began to do justice to the man who had not 
 flinched from warning him and braving him, who he felt 
 had been watching over him, and trying to guide him 
 straight when he had lost all power or will to keep straight 
 Limself. 
 
 From this time the dread increased on him, lest any 
 of the other men should find out his quarrel with Hardy. 
 Their utter ignorance of it encouraged him in the hopa 
 that it might all pass off like a bad dream. "While it re* 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 311 
 
 mained a matter between them alone, he felt that all might 
 come straight, though he could not think how. He began 
 to loiter by the entrance of the passage which led to 
 Hardy's rooms ; sometimes he would find something to say 
 to iris scout or bedmaker which took him into the back 
 regions outside Hardy's window, glancing at it sideways as 
 he stood giving his orders. There it was, wide open, gen- 
 erally — he hardly knew whether he hoped to catch a 
 glimpse of the owner, but he did hope that Hardy might 
 hear his voice. He watched him in chapel and hall fur- 
 tively, but constantly, and was always fancying what he 
 was doing and thinking about. "Was it as painful an effort 
 to Hardy, he wondered, as to him to go on speaking; as if 
 nothing had happened, when they met at the boats, as they 
 did now again almost daily (for Diogenes was bent on 
 training some of the torpids for next year), and yet never 
 to look one another in the face ; to live together as usual 
 during part of every day, and yet to feel all the time that 
 a great wall had arisen between them, more hopelessly di- 
 viding them for the time, than thousands of miles of ocean 
 or continent? 
 
 Amongst other distractions which Tom tried at this 
 crisis of his life, was reading. For three or four days 
 running he really worked hard, — very hard, if we were 
 to reckon by the number of hours he spent in his own 
 rooms over his books with his oak sported, — hard, even 
 though we should only reckon by results. For, though 
 scarcely an hour passed that he was not balancing on the 
 l.ind legs of his chair with a vacant look in his eyes, and 
 thinking of any thing but Greek roots or Latin construc- 
 tions, yet on the whole he managed to get through a good 
 deal, and one evening, for the first time since his quarrel 
 with Hardy, felt a sensation of real comfort — it hardly 
 amounted to pleasure — as he closed his Sophocles some 
 
312 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 hour or so after hall, having just finished the last of the 
 Greek plays which he meant to take in for his first exam- 
 ination. He leaned back in his chair and sat for a few 
 minutes, letting his thoughts follow their own bent. They 
 soon took to going wrong, and he jumped up in fear lest 
 he should be drifting back into the black, stormy sea in the 
 trough of which he had been laboring so lately, and which 
 he felt he was by no means clear of yet. At first he 
 caught up his cap and gown as though he were going out. 
 There was a wine party at one of his acquaintance' rooms ; 
 or he could go and smoke a cigar in the pool room, or at 
 any one of a dozen other places. On second thoughts, 
 however, he threw his academicals back on to the sofa, and 
 went to his bookcase. The reading had paid so well that 
 evening that he resolved to go on with it. He had no 
 particular object in selecting one book more than another, 
 and so took down carelessly the first that came to hand. 
 
 It happened to be a volume of Plato, and opened of its 
 own accord in the Apology. He glanced at a few lines. 
 What a flood of memories they called up ! This was 
 almost the last book he had read at school ; and teacher, 
 and friends, and lofty oak-shelved library, stood out before 
 him at once. Then the blunders that he himself and 
 others had made rushed through his mind, and he almost 
 burst into a laugh as he wheeled his chair round to the 
 window, and began reading where he had opened, en* 
 couraging every thought of the old times when he first 
 read that marvellous defence, and throwing himself back 
 into them with all his might. And still, as he read, for 
 gotten words of wise comment, and strange thoughts of 
 winder and longing, came back to him. The great truth 
 which he had been led to the brink of in those early days 
 rose in all its awe and all its attractiveness before him. 
 He leant back in his chair, and gave himself up to hia 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 313 
 
 thought ; and how strangely that thought bore on the strug- 
 gle which had been raging in him of late ; how an answer 
 seemed to be trembling to come out of it to all the cries, 
 now defiant, now plaintive, which had gone up out of his 
 heart in this time of trouble! For his thought was of that 
 spirit, distinct from himself, and yet communing with his 
 inmost soul, always dwelling in him, knowing him better 
 than he knew himself, never misleading him, always lead- 
 ing him to light and truth, of which the old philosopher 
 spoke. " The old heathen, Socrates, did actually believe 
 that — there can be no question about it;" he thought. 
 " Has not the testimony of the best men through these two 
 thousand years borne witness that he was right — that he 
 did not believe a lie? That was what we were told. 
 Surely, I don't mistake ! Were we not told, too, or did I 
 dream it, that what was true for him is true for every 
 man — for me ? That there is a spirit dwelling in me, 
 striving with me, ready to lead me into all truth if I will 
 submit to his guidance ? " 
 
 " Ay ! submit, submit, there's the rub ! Give yourself 
 up to his guidance ! Throw up the reins, and say, you've 
 made a mess of it. Well, why not ? Haven't I made a 
 mess of it ? Am I fit to hold the reins ? " 
 
 " Not I," he got up and began walking about his rooms, 
 * 1 give it up." 
 
 " Give it up ! " he went on, presently ; " yes, but to 
 whom ? Not to the demon, spirit, whatever it was, who 
 took up his abode in the old Athenian — at least so he 
 said, and so I believe. No, no! Two thousand year? 
 and all that they have seen have not passed over the world 
 to leave us just where he was left. We want no demons 
 or spirits. And yet the old heathen was guided right, and 
 what can a man want more ? and who ever wanted guid- 
 ance more than I now — here — in this r^om — at thia 
 27 
 
f»14 TOM EEOWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 minute? I give up the reins; who will take them?* 
 And so there' came on him one of those seasons when a 
 man's thoughts cannot be followed in words. A sense of 
 awe came on him, and over him, and wrapped him round ; 
 awe at a presence of which he was becoming suddenly 
 conscious, into which he seemed to have wandered, and yet 
 which he felt must have been there, around him, in his 
 own heart and soul, though he knew it not. There was 
 hope and longing in his heart mingling with the fear of 
 that presence, but withal the old reckless and daring' feel- 
 ing which he knew so well, still bubbling up untamed, 
 untamable it seemed to him. 
 
 The room stifled him now ; so he threw on his cap and 
 grown, and hurried down into the quadrangle. It was 
 very quiet; probably there were not a dozen men in 
 college. He walked across to the low, dark entrance of 
 the passage which led to Hardy's rooms, and there paused. 
 "Was he there by chance, or was he guided there ? Yes, 
 this was the right way for him, he had no doubt now as to 
 that ; down the dark passage, and into the room he knew 
 so well — and what then ? He took a short turn or two 
 before the entrance. How could he be sure that Hardy 
 was alone ? And, if not, to go in would be worse than 
 useless. If he were alone, what should he say ? After 
 all, must he go in there ? was there no way but that ? 
 
 The college clock struck a quarter to seven. It was his. 
 usual time for "The Choughs;" the house would be quiet 
 now ; was there not one looking out for him there who 
 would be grieved if he did not come ? After all, might 
 cot that be his way, for this night at least ? He might 
 bring pleasure to one human being by going there at once. 
 That lie knew ; what else could he be sure of? 
 
 At this moment he heard Hardy's door open, and a 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 315 
 
 Voice saying, "Good-night," and the next Grey came oui 
 of the passage, and was passing close to him. 
 
 "Join yourself to him." The impulse came so strongly 
 into Tom's mind this time, that it was like a voice speak- 
 ing to him. He yielded to it, and, stepping to Grey's side, 
 wished him good-evening. The other returned his saluto 
 in his shy way, and was hurrying on, but Tom kept by 
 him. 
 
 " Have you been reading with Hardy ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How is he ? I have not seen any thing of him for 
 some time." 
 
 " Oh, very well, I think," said Grey, glancing sideways 
 at his questioner, and adding, after a moment, "I have 
 wondered rather not to see you there of late." 
 
 " Are you going to your school ? " said Tom, breaking 
 away from the subject. 
 
 " Yes, and I am rather late ; I must make haste on ; 
 good-night." 
 
 " Will you let me go with you to-night ? It would be a 
 real kindness. Indeed," he added, as he saw how embar- 
 rassing his proposal was to Grey, " I will do whatever you 
 tell me — you don't know how grateful I shall be to you. 
 Do let me go — just for to-night. Try me once." 
 
 Grey hesitated, turned his head sharply once or twice 
 as they walked on together, and then said, with something 
 like a sigh — 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure. Did you ever teach in a 
 night-school ? " 
 
 " No, but I have taught in the Sunday-school at home 
 sometimes. Indeed, I will do whatever you tell me." 
 
 " Oh ! but this is not at all like a Sunday-school. They 
 are a very rough, wild lot." 
 
816 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "The rougher the better/- said Tom;>'I shall know 
 how to manage them then." 
 
 " But you must not really be rough with them." 
 
 " No, I wont ; I didn't mean that," said Tom, hastily, 
 for he saw his mistake at once. " I shall take it as a 
 great favor, if you will let me go to-night. You wont re- 
 pent it, I'm sure." 
 
 Grey did not seem at all sure of this, but saw no means 
 of getting rid of his companion, and so they walked on 
 together and turned down a long, narrow court in the 
 lowest part of the town. At the doors of the houses 
 laboring men, mostly Irish, lounged or stood about, smok- 
 ing and talking to one another, or to the women who leant 
 out of the windows, or passed to and fro on their various 
 errands of business or pleasure. A group of half-grown 
 lads were playing at pitch-farthing at the further end, and 
 all over the court were scattered children of all ages, 
 ragged and noisy little creatures most of them, on whom 
 paternal and maternal admonitions and cuffs were con- 
 stantly being expended, and; to all appearances, in vain. 
 
 At the sight of Grey a shout arose amongst the smaller 
 boys, of " Here's the teacher ! " and they crowded round 
 him and Tom as they went up the court. Several of the 
 men gave him a half-surly, half-respectful nod, as he passed 
 along, wishing them good-evening. The rest merely 
 stared at him and his companion. They stopped at a door 
 which Grey opened, and led the way into the passage of 
 an old tumble-down cottage, on the ground-floor of which 
 were two low rooms which served for the schoolrooms. 
 
 A hard-featured, middle-aged woman, who kept the 
 house, was waiting, and said to Grey, " Mr. Jones told me 
 to say, sir, he would not be here to-night, as he has got a 
 b id fev 3r case — so you was to take only the lower classes 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 317 
 
 eir, he said ; and the policeman would be near to keep out 
 the big boys, if you wanted him ; shall I go and tell him 
 to step round, cir ? " 
 
 Grey looked embarrassed for a moment, and then said,, 
 " No, never mind, you can go ; " and then turning to Tom, 
 added, " Jones is the curate ; he wont be here to-night ; 
 and some of the bigger boys are very noisy and trouble- 
 some, and Qnly come to make a noise. However, if they 
 come, we must do our best." 
 
 Meantime, the crowd of small ragged urchins had filled 
 the room, and were swarming on to the benches and 
 squabbling for the copy-books which were laid out on the 
 thin desks. Grey set to work to get them into order, and 
 soon the smallest were draughted off into the inner room 
 with slates and spelling-books, and the bigger ones, some 
 dozen in number, settled to their writing. Tom seconded 
 him so readily, and seemed so much at home, that Grey 
 felt quite relieved/ 
 
 " You seem to get on capitally," he said ; " I will go into 
 the inner room to the little ones, and you stay and take 
 these. There are the class-books when they have done 
 their copies," and so went off into the inner room and 
 closed the door. 
 
 My readers must account for the fact as they please ; I 
 only state that Tom, as he bent over one after another of 
 the pupils, and guided the small, grubby hands, which 
 clutched the inky pens with cramped fingers, and went 
 spluttering and blotching along the lines of the copy-books, 
 felt the yellow scales dropping from his eyes, and more 
 warmth coming back into his heart than he had knowu 
 there for many a day. 
 
 All went on well inside, notwithstanding a few small 
 outbreaks between the scholars, but every now and then 
 mud was thrown against the window, and noises outsido 
 27* 
 
8.18 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 and in the passage threatened some interruption. At lust, 
 when the writing was finished, the copy-books cleared 
 away, and the class-books distributed, the door opened, 
 and two or three big boys of fifteen or sixteen lounged in, 
 with their hands in their pockets and their caps on. There 
 was an insolent look about them which set Tom's back up 
 at once ; however, he kept his temper, made them take 
 their caps off, and, as they said they wanted to. read with 
 the rest, let them take their places on the benches. 
 
 But now came the tug of war. He could not keep his 
 eyes on the whole lot at once, and, no sooner did he fix 
 his attention on the stammering reader for the time being 
 and try to help him, than anarchy broke out all round 
 him. Small stones and shot were thrown about, and cries 
 arose from the smaller fry, " Please, sir, he's been and 
 poured some ink down my back," " He's stole my book, 
 sir," " He's gone and stuck a pin in my leg." The evil- 
 doers were so cunning that it was impossible to catch them ; 
 but, as he was hastily turning in his own mind what to do, 
 a cry arose, and one of the benches went suddenly over 
 backwards on to the floor, carrying with it its whole freight 
 of boys, except two of the bigger ones, who were the evi- 
 dent authors of the mishap. 
 
 Tom sprang at the one nearest him, seized him by the 
 collar, hauled him into the passage, and sent him out of 
 the street-door with a sound kick ; and then, rushing back, 
 caught hold of the second, who went down on his back 
 and clung round Tom's legs, shouting for help to his re- 
 maining companions, and struggling and swearing. It was 
 all the work of a moment, and now the door opened, and 
 Grey appeared from the inner room. Tom left off haul 
 ing his prize towards the passage, and felt and looked very 
 foolish. 
 
 " TWs fellow, and another whom I have turned out, up« 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 319 
 
 set that form with all the little boys on it," he said, apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 " It's a lie ; 'twasn't me," roared the captive, to whom 
 Tom administered a sound box on the ear, Avhile the small 
 boys, rubbing different parts of their bodies, chorused, 
 "'Twas him, teacher, 'twas him," and heaped further 
 charges of pinching, pin-sticking, and other atrocities on 
 him. 
 
 Grey astonished Tom by his firmness. " Don't strike 
 him again," he said. " Now, go out at once, or I will send 
 for your father." The fellow got up, and, after standing 
 a moment and considering his chance of successful resist- 
 ance to physical force in the person of Tom, and moral in 
 that of Grey, slunk out. " You must go too, Murphy," 
 went on Grey to another of the intruders. 
 
 "O your honor, let me bide. I'll be as quiet as a 
 mouse," pleaded the Irish boy ; and Tom would have given 
 in, but Grey was unyielding. 
 
 " You were turned out last week, and Mr. Jones said 
 you were not to come back for a fortnight." 
 
 " Well, good-night to your honor," said Murphy, and 
 took himself off. 
 
 " The rest may stop," said Grey. " You had better take 
 the inner room now ; I will stay here." 
 
 " I'm very sorry," said Tom. 
 
 " You couldn't help it ; no one can manage those two. 
 Murphy is quite different, but I should have spoiled him 
 if I had let him stay now." 
 
 The remaining half-hour passed off quietly. Tom re- 
 tired into the inner room, and took up Grey's lesson, which 
 he had been reading to the boys from a large Bible with 
 pictures. Out of consideration for their natural and ac- 
 quired restlessness, the little fellows, who were all between 
 eight and eleven years old, were only kept sitting at their 
 
320 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 pot«hooks and spelling for the first hour, and then wero 
 allowed to crowd round the teacher, who read and talked 
 to them, and showed them the pictures. Tom found the 
 Bible open at the story of the prodigal son, and read it 
 out to them as they clustered round his knees. Some of 
 the outside ones fidgeted about a little, but those close 
 round 3iim listened with ears, and eyes, and bated breath ; 
 and two little clue-eyed boys without shoes — their ragged 
 clothes concealed by long pinafores which their widowed 
 mother had put on clean to send them to school in — 
 leaned against him and looked up in his face, and his heart 
 warmed to the touch and the look. *" Please, teacher, read 
 it again," they said, when he finished ; so he read it again, 
 and sighed when Grey came in and lighted a candle 
 (for the room was getting dark), and said it was time for 
 prayers. 
 
 A few collects, and the Lord's Prayer, in which all the 
 young voices joined, drowning for a minute the noises from 
 the court outside, finished the evening's schooling. The 
 children trooped out, and Grey went to speak to the 
 woman who kept the house. Tom, left to himself, felt 
 strangely happy, and, for something to do, took the snuf- 
 fers and commenced a crusade against a large family of 
 bugs, who, taking advantage of the quiet, came cruising 
 out of a crack in the otherwise neatly papered wall. 
 Some dozen had fallen on his spear when Grey re-ap- 
 peared, and was much horrified at the sight. He called 
 the woman, and told her to have the hole carefully fumi- 
 gated and mended. 
 
 " I thought we had killed them all long ago," he said ; 
 " but the place is tumbling down." 
 
 " It looks well enough," said Tom. 
 
 " Yes, we have it kept as tidy as possible. It ought to 
 be, at least, a little better than what the children see at 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 321 
 
 home." And so they left the school and court, and walked 
 up to college. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " Tom said, as they entered 
 the gate. 
 . * To Hardy's rooms ; will you come ? " 
 
 " No, not to-night," said Tom. " I know that you want 
 to be reading ; I should only interrupt." 
 
 " "Well, good-night, then," said Grey, and went on, leav- 
 ing Tom standing in the porch. On the way up from the 
 school he had almost made up his mind to go to Hardy's , 
 rooms that night. He longed, and yet feared to do so ; 
 and, on the whole, was not sorry for an excuse. Their 
 first meeting must be alone, and it would be a very em- 
 barrassing one for him, at any rate. Grey, he hoped, 
 would tell Hardy of his visit to the school, and that would 
 show that he was coming round, and make the meeting 
 easier. His talk with Grey, too, had removed one great 
 cause of uneasiness from his mind. It was now quite 
 clear that he had no suspicion of the quarrel, and, if Hardy 
 had not told him, no one else could know of it. 
 
 Altogether he strolled into the quadrangle a happier 
 and sounder man than he had been since his first visit to 
 the Choughs, and looked up and answered with his old 
 look and voice when he heard his name called from one 
 of the first-floor windows. 
 
 The hailer was Drysdale, who was leaning out in 
 lounging coat and velvet cap, and enjoying a cigar as 
 usual, in the midst of the flowers of his hanging garden. 
 
 "You've heard the good news, I suppose?" 
 
 " No ; what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, Blake has got the Latin verse." 
 
 " Hurrah ! I'm so glad." 
 
 " Come up and have a weed." Tom ran up the stair* 
 
822 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 case and into Drysdale's rooms, and was leaning out of Ilia 
 window at his- side in another minute. 
 
 " "What does he get by it ? " he said ; '" do you know ? n 
 
 " No ; some books bound in Russia, I dare say, with the 
 Oxford arms, and ' Dominus illuminatio mea ' on the 
 back." 
 
 " No money ? " 
 
 " Not much — perhaps a ten'ner," answered Drysdale, 
 * but no end of icvdoc, I suppose." 
 
 " It makes it look well for his first, don't you think ? 
 But I wish he had got some money for it. I often feel 
 very uncomfortable about that bill ; don't you ? " 
 
 " Not I ; what's the good ? It's nothing when you are 
 used to it. Besides, it don't fall due for another month." 
 
 " But if Blake can't meet it then ? " said. Tom. 
 
 " Well, it will be vacation, and I'll trouble greasy Ben 
 jamin to catch me then." 
 
 " But you don't mean to say you wont pay it ? " said 
 Tom, in horror. 
 
 " Pay it ! You may trust Benjamin for that. He'll 
 pull round his little usuries somehow." 
 
 " Only we have promised to pay on a certain day, you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, of course, that's the form. That only means that 
 lie can't pinch us sooner." 
 
 " I do hope, though, Drysdale, that it will be paid on 
 the day," said Tom, who could not quite swallow the 
 notion of forfeiting his word, even though it were only a 
 promise to pay to a scoundrel. 
 
 " All right. You've nothing to do with it, remember. 
 He wont bother you. Besides, you can plead infancy, if 
 the worst comes to the worst. There's such a queer old 
 bird gone to your friend Hardy's rooms." 
 
 The mention of Hardy broke the disagreeable train of 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 82tt 
 
 thought into which Tom was falling, and he listened 
 eagerly as Drysdale went on. 
 
 " It was about half an hour ago. I was looking out. 
 here, and saw an old fellow come hobbling into quad on 
 two sticks, in a shady blue uniform coat and white trou- 
 sers. The kind of old boy you read about in books, you 
 know ; Commodore Trunnion, or Uncle Toby, or one of 
 that sort. Well, I watched him backing and filing about 
 the quad, and trying one staircase and another ; but there 
 was nobody about. So down I trotted, and went up to 
 him for fun, and to see what he was after. It was as good 
 as a play, if you could have seen it. I was ass enough to 
 take off my cap and make a low bow as I came up to him, 
 and he pulled off his uniform cap in return, and we stood 
 there bowing to one another. He was a thorough old 
 gentleman, and I felt rather foolish for fear he should see 
 that I expected a lark when I came out. But T don't 
 think he had an idea of it, and only set my capping him 
 down to the wonderful good manners of the college. So 
 we got quite thick, and I piloted him across to Hardy's 
 staircase in the back quad. I wanted him to come up and 
 quench, but he declined, with many apologies. I'm sure 
 he is a character." 
 
 " He must be Hardy's father," said Tom. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder. But is his father in the navy ? * 
 
 " He is a retired captain." 
 
 " Then no doubt you're right. "What shall we do ? 
 Have a hand at picquet ? Some men will be here directly. 
 Only for love." 
 
 Tom declined the proffered game, and went off soon 
 after to his own rooms, a happier man than he had been 
 since his first night at the Choughs. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE RECONCILIATION. 
 
 Tom rose in the morning with a presentiment that all 
 would be over now before long, and, to make his presenti- 
 ment come true, resolved, before night, to go himself to 
 Hardy and give in. All he reserved to himself was the 
 liberty to do it in the manner which would be least pain- 
 ful to himself. He was greatly annoyed, therefore, when 
 Hardy did not appear at morning chapel ; for he had fixed 
 on the leaving chapel as the least unpleasant time in 
 which to begin his confession, and was going to catch 
 Hardy then, and follow him to his rooms. All the morn- 
 ing, too, in answer to his inquiries by his scout Wiggins, 
 Hardy's scout replied that his master was out, or busy. 
 He did not come to the boats, he did not appear in hall ; 
 €0 that, after hall, when Tom went back to his own rooms, 
 as he did at once, instead of sauntering out of college, or 
 going to a wine party, he was quite out of heart at his bad 
 luck, and began to be afraid that he would have to sleep 
 on his unhealed wound another night. 
 
 He sat down in an arm-chair, and fell to musing, and 
 thought how wonderfully his life had been changed in 
 these few short weeks. He could hardly get back across 
 the gulf which separated him from the self who came back 
 into those rooms after Easter, full of anticipations of the 
 pleasures and delights of the coming summer term and 
 vacation. To his own surprise he didn't seem much to 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 325 
 
 regret the loss of his chateaux en Espagne, and felt a soit 
 of grim satisfaction in their utter overthrow. 
 
 While occupied with these thoughts, he heard talking 
 on his stairs, accompanied by a strange lumbering tread. 
 These came nearer ; and at last stopped just outside his 
 door, which opened in another moment, and Wiggins an- 
 nounced, — 
 
 " Capting Hardy, sir." 
 
 Tom jumped to his legs, and felt himself color painfully. 
 " Here, Wiggins," said he, " wheel round that arm-chair 
 for Captain Hardy. I am so very glad to see you, sir," 
 and he hastened round himself to meet the old gentleman, 
 holding out his hand, which the visitor took very cordially, 
 as soon as he had passed his heavy stick to his left hand, 
 and balanced himself safely upon it. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; thank you," said the old man after a 
 few moments' pause, "J find your companion "ladders 
 rather steep ; " and then he sat down with some difficulty. 
 
 Tom took the captain's stick and undress cap, and put 
 them reverentially on his sideboard ; and then, to get rid 
 of some little nervousness which he couldn't help feeling, 
 bustled to his cupboard, and helped Wiggins to place 
 glasses and biscuits on the table. " Now, sir, what will 
 you take ? I have port, sherry, and whiskey here, and 
 can get you any thing else. Wiggins, run to Hinton's and 
 get some dessert." 
 
 " No dessert, thank you, for me," said the captain ; " I'll 
 take a cup of coffee, or a glass of grog, or any thing you 
 have ready. Don't open wine for me, pray, sir." 
 
 " Oh, it is all the better for being opened," said Tom, 
 working away at a bottle of sherry with his corkscrew — 
 " and, Wiggins, get some coffee and anchovy toast in a 
 quarter of an hour ; and just put out some tumblers and 
 toddy ladles, and bring up boiling water with the coffee." 
 28 
 
326 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 While making his hospitable preparations, Tom managed 
 to get many side-glances at the old man, who sat looking 
 steadily and abstractedly before him into the fireplace, and 
 was much struck and touched by the picture. The sailor 
 wore a well-preserved old undress uniform coat and waist- 
 coat, and white drill trousers ; he was a man of middle 
 height, but gaunt and massive, and Tom recognized the 
 framework of the long arms and grand shoulders and chest 
 which he had so often admired in the son. His right leg 
 was quite stiff from an old wound on the kneecap ; the left 
 eye was sightless, and the scar of a cutlass travelled down 
 the drooping lid and on to the weather-beaten cheek below. 
 His head was high and broad, his hair and whiskers silver 
 white, while the shaggy eyebrows were scarcely grizzled. 
 His face was deeply lined, and the long, clean-cut lower 
 jaw, and drawn look about the mouth, gave a grim ex- 
 pression to the face at the first glance, which wore off as 
 you looked, leaving, however, on most men who thought 
 about it, the impression which fastened on our hero, " An 
 awkward man to have met at the head of boarders towards 
 the end of the great war." 
 
 In a minute or two Tom, having completed his duties, 
 faced the old sailor, much re-assured by his covert inspec- 
 tion ; and, pouring himself out a glass of sherry, pushed 
 the decanter across, and drank to his guest. 
 
 " Your health, sir," he said, " and thank you very much 
 for coming up to see me." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said the captain, rousing himself and 
 filling, " I drink to you, sir. The fact is, I took a great 
 liberty in coming up to your rooms in this off-hand way, 
 without calling or sending up, but you'll excuse it in an 
 old sailor." Here the captain took to his glass, and seemed 
 a little embarrassed. Tom felt embarrassed also, feel- 
 ing that something was coming, and could only think of 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 327 
 
 asking how the captain liked the sherry. The captain 
 liked the sherry very much. Then, suddenly clearing his 
 throat, he went on. " I felt, sir, that you would excuse 
 me, for I have a favor to ask of you." He paused again, 
 while Tom muttered something about great pleasure, and 
 then went on. 
 
 " You know my son, Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 u Yes, sir; he has been my best friend up here ; I owe 
 more to him than to any man in Oxford." 
 
 The captain's eye gleamed with pleasure as he replied, 
 " Jack is a noble fellow, Mr. Brown, though I say it, who 
 am his father. I've often promised myself a cruize to 
 Oxford since he has been here. I came here, at last, yes- 
 terday, and have been having a long yarn with him. I 
 found there was something on his mind. He can't keep 
 any thing from his old father: .and so I drew out of him 
 that he loves you as David loved Jonathan. He made 
 my old eye very dim while he was talking of you, Mr. 
 Brown. And then I found that you two are not as you 
 used to be. Some coldness sprung up between you ; but 
 what about, I couldn't get at ! Young men are often 
 hasty — I know I was, forty years ago — Jack says he 
 has been hasty with you. Now, that boy is all that I have 
 in the world, Mr. Brown. I know my boy's friend will 
 Like to send an old man home with a light heart. So I 
 made up my mind to come over to you, and ask you to 
 make it up with Jack. I gave him the slip after dinner 
 and here I am." 
 
 " O sir, did he really ask you to come to me ? " 
 
 " No,, sir," said the captain, " he did not — I'm sorry 
 for it — I think Jack must be in the wrong, for he said he 
 had been too hasty, and yet he wouldn't ask me to come 
 to you and make it up. But he is young, sir ; young and 
 proud. He said he couldn't move in it, his mind was 
 
328 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 made up ; he was wretched enough over it, but -the move 
 mUrjt come from you. And so that's the favor I have to 
 ask, that you will make it up with Jack. It isn't often a 
 young man can do such a favor to an old one — to an old 
 father with one son. You'll not feel the worse for having 
 done it, if it's ever so hard to do, when you come to be my 
 age." And the old man looked wistfully across the table, 
 the muscles about his mouth quivering as he ended. 
 
 Tom sprang from his chair, and grasped the old sailor's 
 hand, as he felt the load pass out of his heart. " Favor, 
 sir ! " he said, " I have been a mad fool enough already in 
 this business — I should have been a double-dyed scoun- 
 drel, like enough, by this time, but for your son, and I've 
 quarrelled with him for stopping me at the pit's mouth. 
 Favor ! If God will, I'll prove somehow where the favor 
 lies, and what I owe to him ; and to you, sir, for coming 
 to me to-night. Stop here two minutes, sir, and I'll run 
 down and bring him over." 
 
 Tom tore away to Hardy's door and knocked. There 
 was no pausing in the passage now. " Come in." He 
 opened the door, but did not enter, and for a moment or 
 two could not speak. The rush of associations which the 
 sight of the well-known old rickety furniture, and the 
 figure which was seated, book in hand, with its back to 
 the door and its feet up against one side of the mantel- 
 piece, called up, choked him. 
 
 " May I come in ? " he said, at last. 
 
 He saw the figure give a start, and the book trembled a 
 little, but then came the answer, slow but firm — 
 
 " I have not changed my opinion." 
 
 " No, dear old boy, but I have," and Tom rushed across 
 to his friend, dearer than ever to him now, and threw his 
 ft] m round his neck ; and, if the un-English truth must 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 329 
 
 out, had three parts of a mind to kiss the rough face which 
 was now working with strong emotion. 
 
 " Thank God ! " said Hardy, as he grasped the hand 
 which hung over his shoulder. 
 
 " And, now, come over to my rooms ; your father is 
 there waiting for us.'' 
 
 " What, the dear old governor ? That's what he has 
 been after, is it ? I couldn't think where he could have 
 hove to, as he would say." 
 
 Hardy put on his cap, and the two hurried back to Tom's 
 rooms, the lightest hearts in the university of Oxford. 
 28* 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CAPTAIN HARDY ENTERTAINED BY ST. AMBROSE. 
 
 There are moments in the life of the most self-con- 
 tained and sober of us all, when we fairly bubble over, like 
 a full bottle of champagne with the cork out ; and this 
 was one of them for our hero, who, however, be it re- 
 marked, was neither self-contained nor sober by nature. 
 When .they got back to his rooms, he really hardly knew 
 what to do to give vent to his lightness of heart; and 
 Hardy, though self-contained and sober enough in general, 
 was on this occasion almost as bad as his friend. They 
 rattled on, talking out the thing which came uppermost, 
 whatever the subject might chance to be ; but, whether 
 grave or gay, it always ended after a minute or two in 
 jokes not always good, and chaff, and laughter. The poor 
 captain was a little puzzled at first, and made one or two 
 endeavors to turn the talk into improving channels. But 
 very soon he saw that Jack was thoroughly happy, and 
 that was always enough for him. So he listened to one 
 and the other, joining cheerily in the laugh whenever he 
 could ; and, when he couldn't catch the joke, looking like 
 a benevolent old lion, and making as much belief that he 
 had understood it all, as the simplicity and truthfulness of 
 his character would allow. 
 
 The spirits of the two friends seemed inexhaustible. 
 They lasted out the bottle of sherry which Tom had un- 
 corked, and the remains of a bottle of his famous port. 
 He had tried hard to be allowed to open a fresh bottle, but 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 331 
 
 the captain had made such a point of his not doing so, that 
 he had given in for hospitality's sake. They lasted out 
 the coffee and anchovy toast ; after which the captain made 
 a little effort at moving, which was supplicatingly stopped 
 by Tom. 
 
 " Oh, pray, don't go, Captain Hardy. I haven't been so 
 lappy for months. Besides, I must brew you a glass of 
 grog. I pride myself on my brew. Your son, there, will 
 tell you that I am a dead hand at it. Here, Wiggins, a 
 iemon!" shouted Tom. 
 
 " Well, for once in a way, I suppose. Eh, Jack ? " said 
 the captain, looking at his son. 
 
 " Oh, yes, father. You mayn't know it Brown, but, if 
 there is one thing harder to do than another, it is to 
 get an old sailor like my father to take a glass of grog at 
 night." 
 
 The captain laughed a little laugh, and shook his thick 
 stick at his son who went on. 
 
 " And as for asking him to take a pipe with it — " 
 
 " Dear me," said Tom, " I quite forgot. I really beg 
 your pardon, Captain Hardy ; " and he put down the lemon 
 he was squeezing, and produced a box of cigars. 
 
 " It's all Jack's nonsense, sir," said the captain, holding 
 out his hand, nevertheless, for the box. 
 
 "Now, father, don't be absurd," interrupted Hardy, 
 snatching the box away from him. " You might as well 
 give him a glass of absinthe. He is churchwarden at 
 home, and can't smoke any thing but a long clay." 
 
 " I'm very sorry I haven't one here, but I can send out 
 in a minute." And Tom was making for the door to shout 
 for Wiggins. 
 
 u No, don't call. I'll fetch some from my rooms." 
 
 When Hardy left the room, Tom squeezed away at his 
 lemon, and was preparing himself for a speech to Captain 
 
332 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Hardy full of confession and gratitude. But the captain 
 was before him, and led the conversation into a most un- 
 expected channel. 
 
 " I suppose, now, Mr. Brown," he began, " you don't 
 find any difficulty in construing your Thucydides ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, sir," said Tom, laughing. " I find him a 
 very tough old customer, except in the simplest narrative." 
 
 " For my part," said the captain, " I can't get on at all, 
 I find, without a translation. But you see, sir, I had none 
 of the advantages which young men have up here. In 
 fact, Mr. Brown, I didn't begin Greek till Jack was nearly 
 ten years old." The captain in his secret heart was 
 prouder of his partial victory over the Greek tongue in his 
 old age, than of his undisputed triumphs over the French 
 in his youth, and was not averse to talking of it. 
 
 " I wonder that you ever began it at all, sir," said Tom. 
 
 " You wouldn't wonder if you knew how an uneducated 
 man like me feels, when he comes to a place like Oxford." 
 
 " Uneducated, sir ! " said Tom. " Why your education 
 has been worth twice as much, I'm sure, as any we get 
 here." 
 
 " No, sir; we never learnt any thing in the navy when 
 I was a youngster, except a little rule-of-thumb mathemat- 
 ics. One picked up a sort»of smattering of a language or 
 two knocking about the world, but no grammatical knowl- 
 edge, nothing scientific. If a boy doesn't get a method, he 
 is beating to windward in a crank craft all his life. He 
 hasn't got any regular place to stow away what he gets into 
 his brains, and so it lies tumbling about in the hold, and 
 he loses it, or it gets damaged and is never ready for use. 
 You see what I mean, Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. But I'm afraid we don't all of us get much 
 method up here. Do you really enjoy reading Thucydides 
 new, Captain Hardy ? " 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 333 
 
 " Indeed I do, sir, very much," said the caplaia 
 * There's a great deal in his history to interest an old 
 sailor, you know. I dare say, now, that I enjoy those 
 parts about the sea-fights more than you do." The cap- 
 tain looked at Tom as if he had made an audacious re- 
 mark. 
 
 " I am sure you do, sir," said Tom, smiling. 
 
 " Because you see, Mr. Brown," said the captain, " when 
 one has been in that sort of thing one's self, one likes 
 to read how people in other times managed, and to think 
 what one would have done in their place. I don't believe 
 that the Greeks just at that time were very resolute fight- 
 ers, though. Nelson or Collingwood would have finished 
 that war in a year or two." 
 
 "Not with triremes, do you think, sir?" said Tom. 
 
 " Yes, sir, with any vessels which were to be had," said 
 the captain. " But you are right about triremes. It has 
 always been a great puzzle to me how those triremes could 
 have been worked. How do you understand the three 
 banks of oars, Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I suppose they must have been one above 
 the other somehow." 
 
 " But the upper bank must have had oars twenty feet 
 long and more in that case," said the captain. "You 
 must allow for leverage, you see." 
 
 " Of course, sir. When one comes to think of it, it isn't 
 easy to see how they were manned and worked," said 
 Tom. 
 
 " Now my notion about triremes — " began the captain, 
 holding the head of his stick with both hands, and looking 
 across at Tom. 
 
 " Why, father ! " cried Hardy, returning at the moment 
 with the pipes, and catching the captain's last word, " on 
 one of your hobby horses already ! You're not safe ! — I 
 
S34 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 can't leave you for two minutes. Here's a long pipe for 
 you. How in the world did he get on triremes ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," said Tom, " but I want to hear what 
 Captain Hardy thinks about them. You were saying, sir, 
 that the upper oars must have been twenty feet long at 
 least." 
 
 " My notion is — " said the captain, taking the pipe 
 and tobacco-pouch from his son's hand. 
 
 " Stop one moment," said Hardy ; " I found Blake at 
 my rooms, and asked him to come over here. You don't 
 object?" 
 
 " Object, my dear fellow ! I'm much obliged to ycu. 
 Now, Hardy, would you like to have any one else ? I can 
 send in a minute." 
 
 " No one, thank you." 
 
 "You wont stand on ceremony now, will you, with me?" 
 said Tom. 
 
 " You see I haven't." 
 
 " And you never will again ? " 
 
 " No, never. Now, father, you can heave ahead about 
 those oars." 
 
 The captain went on charging his pipe, and proceeded : 
 " You see, Mr. Brown, they must have been at least 
 twenty feet long, because, if you allow the lowest bank of 
 oars to have been three feet above the water-line, which 
 even Jack thinks they must have been — " 
 
 " Certainly. That height at least to do any good," said 
 Hardy. 
 
 " Not that J think Jack's opinion worth much on the 
 point," went on his father. 
 
 " It's very ungrateful of you, then, to say so, father" 
 said Hardy, " after all the time I've wasted trying to make 
 it all clear to you ? " 
 
 " I don't say that Jack's is not a good opinion on most 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 335 
 
 things, Mr. Brown," said the captain ; " but he is all at 
 sea about triremes. He believes that the men of the up- 
 permost bank rowed somehow like lightermen on the 
 Thames, walking up and down." 
 
 " I object to your statement of my faith, father," said 
 Hardy. 
 
 " Now you know, Jack, you have said so, often." 
 
 "I have said they must have stood up to row, and 
 so — " 
 
 "You would have had awful confusion, Jack. You 
 must have order between decks when you're going into 
 action. Besides, the rowers had cushions." 
 
 " That old heresy of yours again." 
 
 " "Well, but Jack, they had cushions. Didn't the rowers 
 who were marched across the Isthmus to man the ships 
 which were to surprise the Piraeus, carry their oars, thongs, 
 and cushions ? " 
 
 " If they did, your conclusion doesn't follow, father, that 
 they sat on them to row." 
 
 " You hear, Mr. Brown," said the captain ; " he admits 
 my point about the cushions." 
 
 " O father, I hope you used to fight the French moro 
 fairly," said Hardy. 
 
 " But, didn't he ? Didn't Jack admit my point ? " 
 
 " Implicitly, sir, I think," said Tom, catching Hardy'b 
 eye, which was dancing with fun. 
 
 " Of course he did. You hear that, Jack. Now my 
 notion about triremes — " 
 
 A knock at the door interrupted the captain again, and 
 Blake came in and was introduced. 
 
 "Mr. Blake is almost our best scholar, father; you 
 should appeal to him about the cushions." 
 
 "I am very proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said 
 the captain; " I have heard my son speak of you often." 
 
336 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " We were talking about triremes," said Tom ; " Cap- 
 tain Hardy thinks the oars must have been twenty feet 
 long." 
 
 " Not easy to come forward well with that sort of oar," 
 said Blake ; " they must have pulled a slow stroke." 
 
 " Our torpid would have bumped the best of them," said 
 Hardy. 
 
 " I don't think they could have made more than six 
 knots," said the captain ; " but yet they used to sink one 
 another, and a light boat going only six knots couldn't 
 break another in two amidships. It's a puzzling subject, 
 Mr. Blake." 
 
 " It is, sir," said Blake; "if we only had some of the 
 fo'castle songs we should know more about it. I'm afraid 
 they had no Dibdin." 
 
 " I wish you would turn one of my father's favorite 
 songs into anapaests for him," said Hardy. 
 
 " What are they ?" said Blake. 
 
 " ' Tom Bowling,' or * The wind that blows, and the ship 
 that goes, and the lass that loves a sailor.' " 
 
 " By the way, why shouldn't we have a song ?" said 
 Tom. " What do you say, Captain Hardy ? " 
 
 The captain winced a little as he saw his chance of ex- 
 pounding his notion as to triremes slipping away, but an- 
 swered, — 
 
 " By all means, sir ; Jack must sing for me, though. 
 Did you ever hear him sing ' Tom Bowling ' ? " 
 
 " No, never, sir. Why, Hardy, you never told me you 
 could sing." 
 
 " You never asked me," said Hardy, laughing ; " but, if 
 I sing for my father, he must spin us a yarn." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; will you, sir ? " 
 
 " I'll do my best, Mr. Brown ; but I don't know that 
 you'll care to listen to my old yarns. Jack thinks every- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 337 
 
 body must like them as well as he, who used to hear them 
 when he was a child." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; that's famous, — now Hardy, strike 
 up." 
 
 " After you. You must set the example in your own 
 rooms." 
 
 So Tom sang his song. And the noise brought Drys- 
 dale and another man up, who were loitering in quad on 
 the lookout for something to do. Drysdale and the cap- 
 tain recognized one another, and were friends at once. 
 And then Hardy sang " Tom Bowling," in a style which 
 astonished the rest not a little, and as usual nearly made 
 his father cry ; and Blake sang, and Drysdale, and the 
 other man. And then the captain was- called on for his 
 yarn ; and, the general voice being for " something that 
 had happened to him," " the strangest thing that had ever 
 happened to him at sea," the old gentleman laid down his 
 pipe and sat up in his chair with his hands on his stick 
 and began. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 
 
 It will be forty years ago, next month, since the ship I 
 was then in came home from the "West Indies station, and 
 was paid off. I had nowhere in particular to go just then, 
 and so was very glad to get a letter, the morning after I 
 went ashore at Portsmouth, asking me to go down to Plym- 
 outh for a week or so. It came fiom an old sailor, a 
 friend of my family, who had been commodore of the 
 fleet. He lived at Plymouth; he was a thorough old 
 sailor, — what you young men would call " an old salt," 
 — and couldn't live out of sight of the blue sea and the 
 shipping. It is a disease that a good many of us take who 
 have spent our best years on the sea. I have it myself,— 
 a sort of feeling that we must be under another kind of 
 29 
 
?33 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Providence, when we look out and see a hill on this side 
 and a hill on that. It's wonderful to see the trees come 
 out and the corn grow, but then it doesn't come so home to 
 an old sailor. I know that we're ail just, as much under 
 the Lord's hand on shore as at sea ; but you can't read in 
 a book you haven't been used to, and they that go down 
 to the sea in ships, they see the works of the Lord and 
 his wonders in the deep. It isn't their fault if they don't 
 see his wonders on the land so easily as other people. 
 
 But, for all that, there's no man enjoys a cruize in the 
 country more than a sailor. It's forty years ago since I 
 started for Plymouth, but I haven't forgotten the road a 
 bit, or how beautiful it was, all through the New Forest, 
 and over Salisbury Plain, and then on by the mail to 
 Exeter, and through Devonshire. It took me three days 
 to get to Plymouth, for we didn't get about so quick in 
 those days. 
 
 The commodore was very kind to me when I got there, 
 and I went about with him to the ships in the bay, and 
 through the dockyard, and picked up' a good deal that was 
 of use to me afterwards. I was*a lieutenant in those days, 
 and had seen a good deal of service, and I found the old 
 commodore had a great-nephew whom he had adopted, 
 and had set his whole heart upon. He was an old bachelor 
 himself, but the boy had come to live with him, and was 
 to go to sea ; so he wanted to put him under some one who 
 would give an eye to him for the first year or two. He 
 was a light slip of a boy then, fourteen years old, with 
 deep-set blue eyes and long eyelashes, and cheeks like a 
 girl's, but as brave as a lion and as merry as a lark. The 
 old gentleman was very pleased to see that we took to one 
 another. We used to bathe and boat togeth<?r ; and he 
 was never tired of hearing my stories about the great ad- 
 mirals, and the fleet, and the stations I had been on. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 839 
 
 Well, it was agreed that I should apply for a ship again 
 directly, and go up to London with a letter to the admi- 
 ralty from the commodore, to help things on. After a month 
 or two, I was appointed to a brig, lying at Spithead ; and 
 so I wrote off to the commodore, and he got his boy a 
 midshipman's berth on board, and brought him to Ports- 
 mouth himself, a day or two before we sailed for the Medi- 
 terranean. The old gentleman came on board to see his 
 boy's hammock slung, and went below into the cockpit to 
 make sure that all was right. He only left us by the pilot- 
 boat, when we were well out in the channel. He was 
 very low at parting from his boy, but bore up as well as 
 he could ; and we promised to write to him from Gibraltar, 
 and as often afterwards as we had a chance. 
 
 I was soon as proud and fond of little Tom Holdsworth 
 as if he had been my own younger brother ; and, for that 
 matter, so were all the crew, from our captain to the cook's 
 boy. He was such a gallant youngster, and yet so gentle. 
 In one cutting-out business we had he climbed over the 
 boatswain's shoulders, and was almost first on deck ; how 
 he came out of it without a scratch I can't think to this day. 
 But he hadn't a bit of bluster in him, and was as kind as 
 a woman to any one who was wounded or down with sick- 
 ness. 
 
 After we had been out about a year, we were sent to 
 cruise off Malta, on the lookout for the French fleet. It 
 was a long business, and the post wasn't so good then as it 
 is now. We were sometimes for months without getting 
 a letter, and knew nothing of what was happening at home, 
 or anywhere else. We had a sick time too on board, and 
 at last he got a fever. He bore up against it like a man, 
 and wouldn't knock off duty for a long time. He was mid- 
 shipman of my watch ; so I used to make him turn in early, 
 and tried to ease things to him as much as I could ; but ho 
 
340 TOiX BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 didn't pick up, and I began to get very anxious about him. 
 I talked to the doctor, and turned matters over in my own 
 mind, and at last I came to think he wouldn't get any bet 
 ter unless he could sleep out of the cockpit. So, one night, 
 the 20th of October it was, — I remember it well enough, 
 better than I remember any day since ; it was a dirty night, 
 blowing half a gale of wind from the southward, and we 
 were under close-reefed topsails, — I had the first watch, 
 and at nine o'clock I sent him down to my cabin to sleep 
 there, where he would be fresher and quieter, and I was 
 to turn into his hammock when my watch was over. 
 
 I was on deck three hours or so after he went down, 
 and the weather got dirtier and dirtier, and the scud drove 
 by, and the wind sang and hummed through the rigging — 
 it made me melancholy to listen to it. I could think of 
 nothing but the youngster down below, and what I should 
 say to his poor old uncle if any thing happened. "Well, 
 soon after midnight I went down and turned into his ham- 
 mock. I didn't go to sleep at once, for I remember very 
 well listening to the creaking of the ship's timbers as she 
 rose to the swell, and watching the lamp, which was slung 
 from the ceiling, and gave light enough to make out the 
 other hammocks swinging slowly all together. At last, 
 however, I dropped off*, and I reckon I must have been 
 asleep about an hour, when I woke with a start. For the 
 first moment, I didn't see any thing but the swinging ham- 
 mocks and the lamp ; but, then, suddenly I became aware 
 that some one was standing by my hammock, and I saw 
 the figure as plainly as I see any one of you now, for the 
 foot of the hammock was close to the lamp, and the light 
 struck full across on the head and shoulders, which was 
 all that I could see of him. There he was, the old com- 
 modore ; his grizzled hair coming out from under a red 
 woollen nightcap, and his shoulders wrapped in an old 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 841 
 
 threadbare blue dressing-gown, which I had often seen him 
 in. His face looked pale and drawn, and there was a 
 wistful, disappointed look about the eyes. I was so taken 
 aback I couldn't speak, but lay watching him. He looked 
 full at my face once or twice, but didn't seem to recog- 
 nize me ; and, just as I was getting back my tongue and 
 going to speak, he said, slowly : * Where's Tom ? this is 
 his hammock. I can't see Tom ; ' and then he looked 
 vaguely about and passed away somehow, but how, I 
 couldn't see. In a moment or two I jumped out and hur- 
 ried to my cabin, but young Holdsworth was fast asleep. 
 I sat down, and wrote down just what I had seen, making 
 a note of the exact time, twenty minutes to two. I didn't 
 turn in again, but sat watching the youngster. When he 
 woke I asked him if he had heard any thing of his great- 
 uncle by the last mail. Yes, he had heard ; the old gen- 
 tleman was rather feeble, but nothing particular the mat- 
 ter. I kept my own counsel and never told a soul in the 
 ship ; and, when the mail came to hand a few days after- 
 wards with a letter, from the commodore to his nephew, 
 dated late in September, saying that he was well, I thought 
 the figure by my hammock must have been all my own 
 fancy. 
 
 However, by the next mail came the news of the old 
 commodore's death. It had been a very sudden break-up, 
 his executor said. He had left all his property, which 
 was not much, to his great-nephew, who was to get leave 
 to come home as soon as he could. 
 
 The first time we touched at Malta, Tom Holdsworth 
 left us, and went home. We followed about two years 
 afterwards, and the first *thing I did after landing wa.s to 
 find out the commodore's executor. He was a quiet, dry 
 little Plymouth lawyer, and very civilly answered all my 
 questions about the last days of my old friend. At last 
 29* 
 
842 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 I asked him to tell me as near as he coulcLtha fime of his 
 death ; and he put on his spectacles, and got'his diary, and 
 turned over the leaves. I was quite nervous till he looked 
 up and said, " Twenty-five minutes to two, sir, a.m., on 
 the morning of October 21st ; or it might be a few minutes 
 later." 
 
 " How do you mean, sir ? " I asked. 
 
 " "Well," he said, " it is an odd story. The doctor was 
 sitting with me, watching the old man, and, as I tell you, 
 at twenty-five minutes to two, he got up and said it was all 
 over. We stood togethsr, talking in whispers, for, it might 
 be, four or five minutes, when the body seemed to move. 
 He was an odd old man, you know, the commodore, and 
 we never could get him properly to bed, but he lay in his 
 red nightcap and old dressing-gown, with a blanket over 
 him. It was not a pleasant sight, I can tell you, sir. I 
 don't think one of you gentlemen, who are bred to face 
 all manner of dangers, would have liked it. As I was say- 
 ing, the body first moved, and then sat up, propping itself 
 behind with its hands. The eyes were wide open, and he 
 looked at us for a moment, and said, slowly, l I've been to 
 the Mediterranean but I didn't see Tom/ Then the body 
 sank back again, and this time the old commodore was 
 really dead. But it was not a pleasant thing to happen to 
 one, sir. I do not remember any thing like it in my forty 
 years' practice." 
 
.4 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 DEPARTURES EXPECTED AND UNEXPECTED. 
 
 There was a silence of a few seconds after the captain 
 had finished his story, all the men sitting with eyes fixed 
 on him, and not a little surprised at the results of their 
 call. Drysdale was the first to break the silence, which 
 he did with a " By George ! " and a long respiration ; but, 
 as he did not seem prepared with any further remark, 
 Tom took up the running. 
 
 " What a strapge story," he said ; " and that really hap- 
 pened to you, Captain Hardy ? " 
 
 . " To me, sir, in the Mediterranean, more than forty 
 years ago." 
 
 " The strangest thing about it is that the old commodore 
 should have managed to get all the way to the ship, and 
 then not have known where his nephew was," said Blake. 
 
 " He only knew his nephew's berth, you see, sir," said 
 the captain. 
 
 " But he might have beat about through the ship till he 
 had found him." 
 
 " You must remember that he was at his last breath, 
 sir," said the captain ; " you can't expect a man to have 
 his head clear at such a moment." 
 
 " Not a man, perhaps, but I should a ghost," said Blake. 
 
 " Time was every thing to him," went on the captain, 
 without regarding the interruption, " space nothing.- But 
 the strangest part of it is that / should have seen the 
 figure at all. It's true I had been thinking of the old 
 
344 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 uncle, because of the boy's illness ; but I can't suppose he 
 was thinking of me, and, as I say, b^ never recognized me. 
 I have taken a great deal of interest in such matters since 
 that time, but I have never met with just such a case as 
 this." 
 
 " No, that is the puzzle. One can fancy his appearing 
 to his nephew well enough," said Tom. 
 
 " We can't account for these things, or for a good many 
 other things which ought to be quite as startling, only we 
 see them every day. But now I think it is time for us to 
 be going ; eh, Jack?" and the captain and his son rose to 
 go. 
 
 Tom saw that it would be no kindness to them to try to 
 prolong the sitting, and so he got up too, to accompany 
 them to the gates. This broke up the party. Before 
 going, Drysdale, after whispering to Tom, went up to Cap- 
 tain Hardy, and said, — 
 
 " I want to ask you to do me a favor, sir. Will yc u 
 and your son breakfast with me to-morrow ? " 
 
 " We shall be very happy, sir," said the captain. 
 
 "I think, father, you had better breakfast with me, 
 quietly. We are much obliged to Mr. Drysdale, but I 
 can't give up a whole morning. Besides, I have several 
 things to talk to you about." 
 
 " Nonsense, Jack," blurted out the old sailor, " leave 
 your books alone for one morning. I'm come up here to 
 enjoy myself, and see your friends." 
 
 Hardy gave a slight shrug of his shoulders at the word 
 friends, and Drysdale, who saw it, looked a little confused. 
 He had never asked Hardy to his. rooms before. The 
 captain saw that something was the matter t and hastened 
 in his own way to make all smooth again. 
 
 " Never mind Jack, sir," he said, " he shall come. It's 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD 345 
 
 B great treat to me to be with young men, especially m hen 
 they are friends of my boy." 
 
 " I hope you'll come as a personal favor to me," said 
 Drysdale, turning to Hardy. " Brown, you'll bring him. 
 wont you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'm sure he'll come," said Tom. 
 
 " That's all right. Good-night, then ; " and Drysdale 
 went off. 
 
 Hardy and Tom accompanied the captain to the gate. 
 During his passage across the two quadrangles, the old 
 gentleman was full of the praises of the men, and of prot- 
 estations as to the improvement in social manners and 
 customs since his day, when there could have been no 
 such meeting, he declared, without blackguardism and 
 drunkenness, at least among young officers, but then they 
 had less to think of than Oxford men, no proper educa- 
 tiori. And so the captain was evidently travelling back 
 into the great trireme question when they reached the 
 gate. As they could go no further with him, however, he 
 had to carry away his solution of the three-banks-of-oars 
 difficulty in his own bosom to the Mitre. 
 
 " Don't let us go in," said Tom, as the gate closed on 
 the captain, and they turned back into the quadrangle, 
 " let us take a turn or two ; " so they walked up and down 
 the inner quad in the starlight. 
 
 Just at first they were a good deal embarrassed and 
 confused : but before long, though not without putting con- 
 siderable force on himself, Tom got back into something 
 like his old familiar way of unbosoming himself to his re-, 
 found friend, and Hardy showed more than his old anxiety 
 to meet him half-way. His ready and undisguised sympa- 
 thy soon dispersed the few remaining clouds which were 
 still hanging between them ; and Tom found it almost a 
 pleasure, instead of a dreary task, as he had anticipated, 
 
S45 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 to make a full confession, and state the case clearly anJ 
 strongly against himself to one who claimed neither by 
 word nor look the least superiority over him, and never 
 6eemed to remember that he himself had been ill-treated 
 in the matter. 
 
 " He had such a chance of lecturing me and didn't do 
 it," thought Tom, afterwards, when he was considering why 
 he felt so very grateful to Hardy. " It was so cunning of 
 him, too. If he had begun lecturing, I should have begun 
 to defend myself, and never have felt half such a scamp 
 as I did when I was telling it all out to him in my own 
 way." 
 
 The result of Hardy's management was that Tom made 
 a clean breast of it, telling every thing, down to his night 
 at the ragged school ; and what an effect his chance open- 
 ing of the Apology had had on him. Here for the first 
 time Hardy came in with his usual dry, keen voice, 
 " You needn't have gone so far back as Plato for that les- 
 son." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Tom. 
 
 "Well, there's something about an indwelling spirit 
 which guideth every man in St. Paul, isn't there?" 
 
 " Yes, a great deal," Tom answered, after a pause ; 
 " but it isn't the same thing." 
 
 " Why not the same thing ? " 
 
 " Oh, surely, you must feel it. It would be almost blas- 
 phemy in us now to talk as St. Paul talked. It is 
 much easier to face the notion, or the fact, of a ^mon or 
 spirit such as. Socrates felt to be in him, than to face what 
 St. Paul seems to be meaning." 
 
 "Yes, much easier. The only question is whether we 
 will be heathens or not." 
 
 " How do you mean?" said Tom. 
 
 " Why, a spirit was speaking to Socrates, and guiding 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 34? 
 
 him. He obeyed the guidance, but knew not whence it 
 came. A spirit is striving with us too, and trying to 
 guide us — we feel that just as much as he did,. Do we 
 know what spirit it is ? whence it comes ? Will we obey 
 it? If we can't name it — know no more of it than he 
 knew about his demon, of course, we are in no better po- 
 sition than he — in fact, heathens." 
 
 Tom made no answer, and, after a silent turn or two 
 more, Hardy said, " Let us go in ; " and they went to his 
 rooms. When the candles were lighted, Tom saw the 
 array of books on the table, several of them open, and re- 
 membered how near the examinations were. . 
 
 " I see you want to work," he said. " Well, good- 
 night. I know how fellows like you hate being thanked — 
 there, you needn't wince ; I'm not going to try it on. The 
 best way to thank you, I know, is to go straight for the 
 future. I'll do that, please God, this time at any rate. 
 Inow what ought I to do, Hardy?" 
 
 * Well, it's very hard to say. I've thought about it a 
 great deal this last few days, — since I felt you were 
 coming round, — but can't make up my mind. How do 
 you feel yourself? What's your own instinct about it ? " 
 
 " Of course, I must break it all off at once, completely," 
 said Tom, mournfully, and half hoping that Hardy mighr 
 not agree with him. 
 
 " Of course," answered Hardy ; " but how ? " 
 
 " In the way that will pain her least. I would sooner 
 lose my hand or bite my tongue off than that she should 
 feel lowered, or lose any self-respect, you know," said 
 Tom, looking helplessly at his friend. 
 
 " Yes, that's all right, — you must take all you can on 
 your own shoulders. It must leave a sting though for 
 both of you, manage how you will." 
 
X 
 
 3 43 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " But I can't bear to let her think I don't care for her 
 — T needn't do that — I can't do that." 
 
 " I don't know what to advise. However, I believe I 
 was wrong in thinking she cared for you so much. She 
 will be hurt, of course — she can't help being hurt — but 
 it wont be so bad as I used to think." 
 
 Tom made no answer; in spite of all his good resolu- 
 tions, he was a little piqued at this last speech. Hardy 
 went on presently, " I wish she were well out of Oxford. 
 It's a bad town for a girl to be living in, especially as a 
 barmaid in a place which we haunt. I don't know that 
 she will take much harm now ; but it's a very trying 
 thing for a girl of that sort to be thrown every day 
 amongst a dozen young men above her in rank, and not 
 one in ten of whom has any manliness about him." 
 
 " How do you mean — no manliness ? " 
 
 " I mean that a girl in her position isn't safe with us. 
 If we had any manliness in us she would be — " 
 
 " You can't expect all men to be blocks of ice, or milk- 
 sops," said Tom, who was getting nettled. 
 
 " Don't think that I meant you," said Hardy ; " indeed, 
 I didn't. But surely, think a moment ; is it a proof of 
 manliness that the pure and the weak should fear you 
 and shrink from you ? Which is the true — ay, and the 
 brave — man, he who trembles before a woman, or he be- 
 fore whom a woman trembles ? " 
 
 " Neither," said Tom ; " but I see what you mean, and 
 when you put it that way, it's clear enough." 
 
 u But you're wrong in saying * neither,' if you do see 
 what I mean." Tom was silent. " Can there be any 
 true manliness without purity ? " went on Hardy. Tom 
 drew a deep breath, but said nothing. " And where, then, 
 can you point to a place where is so little manliness ag 
 here ? It makes my blood boil to see what one must see 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 849 
 
 every day. There are a set of men up here, and have 
 been ever since I can remember the place, not one of 
 whom can look at a modest woman without making her 
 shudder." t « 
 
 "There must always be some blackguards," said Tom. 
 
 w Yes ; but unluckily the blackguards set the fashion, 
 and give the tone to public opinion. " I'm sure both of us 
 have seen enough to know perfectly well that up here, 
 amongst us undergraduates, men who are deliberately and 
 avowedly profligates, are rather admired and courted, — 
 are said to know the world, and all that, — r while a man 
 who tries to lead a pure life, and makes no secret of it, is 
 openly sneered at by them, looked down on more or less 
 by the great mass of men, and, to use the word you used 
 just now, thought a milksop by almost all." 
 
 " I don't think it is so bad as tha't," said Tom. " There 
 are many men who would respect him, though they might 
 not be able to follow him." 
 
 u > Of course, I never meant that there are not many 
 such, but they don't set the fashion. I am sure I'm 
 right. Let us try it by the best test. Haven't you and 
 I, in our secret hearts, this cursed feeling, that the sort of 
 man we are talking of is a milksop ? " 
 
 After a moment's thought, Tom answered, " I am afraid 
 I have, but I really am thoroughly ashamed of it now, 
 Hardy. But you haven't it. If you had it you could 
 never have spoken to me as you have." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. No man is more open than I to 
 the bad influences of any place he lives in. God knows I 
 am even as other men, and worse ; for I have been 
 taught ever since I could speak, that the crown of all real 
 manUw-ess, of all Christian manliness, is purity." 
 
 Neither of the two spoke for some minutes. Then 
 Hardy looked at his watch, — 
 SO 
 
850 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 "Past eleven," lie said. "I must io some work 
 "Well, Brown, this will be a day to be remembered in my 
 calendar." 
 
 Tom wrung his hand, but did not venture to reply. As 
 he got to the door, however, he turned back, and said, — 
 
 " Do you think I ought to write to her?" 
 
 " Well, you can try. You'll find it a bitter business, I 
 fear." 
 
 " I'll try, then. Good-night." 
 
 Tom went to his own rooms, and set to work to write 
 his letter ; and certainly found it as difficult and unpleas- 
 ant a task as he had ever set himself to work upon. Haifa 
 dozen times he tore up sheet after sheet of his attempts ; 
 and got up and walked about, and plunged and kicked men- 
 tally against the collar and traces in which he had har- 
 nessed himself by his 'friend's help, — trying to convince 
 himself that Hardy was a Puritan, who had lived quite 
 differently from other men, and knew nothing of what a 
 man ought to do in a case like this. That, after all, very 
 little harm had been done ! The world would never go on 
 at all if people were to be so scrupulous ! Probably, not 
 another man in the college, except Grey, perhaps, would 
 think any thing of what he had done ! Done ! — why, 
 what had he done ? He couldn't be taking it more seri- 
 ously if he had ruined her ! 
 
 At this point he managed to bring himself up sharp 
 ' again rtore than once. " No thanks to me, at any rate 
 that she isn't ruined. Had I any pity* any scruples? 
 My God, what a mean, selfish rascal I have been ! " and 
 then he sat down again, and wrote, and scratched out what 
 he had written, till the other fit came on, and something 
 of the same process had to be gone through again. 
 
 I am sure all readers must recognize the process, and 
 will remember many occasions on which they have had tc 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 35 1 
 
 put bridle and bit on, and ride themselves as if they had 
 been horses or mules without understanding ; and what a 
 trying business it was • — as bad as getting a young colt 
 past a gypsy encampment in a narrow lane. 
 
 At last, after many trials, Tom got himself well in hand, 
 and produced something which seemed to satisfy him ; for, 
 after reading it three or four times, he put it in a cover, 
 with a small case, which he produced from his desk, sealed 
 it, directed it, and then went to bed. - 
 
 Next morning, after chapel, he joined Hardy, and 
 walked to his rooms with him, and after a few words on 
 indifferent matters, said, — 
 
 " "Well, I wrote my letter last night." 
 
 "Did you satisfy yourself? " 
 
 "Yes, I think so. I don't know, though, on second 
 thoughts : it was very tough work." 
 
 " I was afraid you would find it so." 
 
 " But wouldn't you like to see it ? " 
 
 " No, thank you. I suppose my father will be here di- 
 rectly." 
 
 " But I wish you would read it through," said Tom, 
 producing a copy. 
 
 " Well, if you wish it, I suppose I must ; but I don't 
 see how I can do any good." 
 
 Hardy took the letter, and sat down, and Tom drew a 
 chair close to him, and watched his face while he read : — 
 
 " It is best for us both that I should not see you any 
 more, at least, at present. I feel that I have done you a 
 great wrong. I dare not say much to you, for fear of 
 making that wrong greater. I cannot, I need not tell you 
 how I despise myself now — how I long to make you any 
 amends in my power. If ever I can be of any service to 
 you, I do hope that nothing which has passed will hinder 
 you from applying to me. You will not believe, how it 
 pains me to write this ; how should you ? I don't deserve 
 
352 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 that you should believe any thing I say. I must seem 
 heartless to you ; I have been, I am heartless. I hardly 
 know what I am writing. I shall long all my life to hear 
 good news of you. I don't ask you to pardon me, but if 
 you can prevail on yourself not to send back the enclosed, 
 and will keep it as a small remembrance of one who is 
 deeply sorry for the wrong he has done you, but who can- 
 not and will not say he is sorry that he ever met you, you 
 will be adding another to the many kindnesses which I 
 Lave to thank you for, and which I shall never forget." 
 
 Hardy read it over several times, as Tom watched im- 
 patiently, unable to make out any thing from his face. 
 
 "What do you think? You don't think there's any 
 thing wrong in it, I hope ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, my dear fellow. I really think it does 
 you credit. I don't know what else you could have said 
 very well, only — " 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 " Couldn't you have made it a little shorter ? " 
 
 " No, I couldn't ; but you don't mean that. What did 
 you mean by that ' only ' ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't think this letter will end the business ; 
 at least, I'm afraid not." 
 
 " But what more could I have said?" 
 
 " Nothing more, certainly ; but couldn't you have been 
 a little quieter, — it's difficult to get the right word, — a 
 little cooler, perhaps ? Couldn't you have made the part 
 about not seeing her again a little more decided ? " . 
 
 " But you said I needn't pretend I didn't care for her." 
 
 "Did I?" 
 
 " Yes. Besides, it would have been a lie." 
 
 " I don't want you to tell a lie, certainly. But how 
 about this i small remembrance' that you speak of? What'a 
 that?" 
 
 " Oh, nething ! only a little locket I bought for her." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 3o3 
 
 "With some of your hair in'it? " 
 
 "Well, of course! Come, now, there's no harm ia 
 that?" 
 
 " No ; no harm. Do you think she will wear it ? " 
 
 "How can I tell?" 
 
 " It may make her think it isn't all at an end, I'm afraid. 
 If she always wears your hair — " 
 
 " By Jove, you're too bad, Hardy. I wish you had had 
 to write it yourself. It's all very easy to pull my letter 
 to pieces, I dare say, but — " 
 
 " I didn't want to read it, remember." 
 
 " No more you did. I forgot. But I wish you would 
 just write down now what you would have said." 
 
 " Yes, I think I see myself at it. By the way, of course 
 you have sent your letter ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I sent it off before chapel." 
 
 "I thought so. In that case I don't think we need 
 trouble ourselves further with the form of the document." 
 
 " Oh, that's only shirking. How do you know I may 
 not want it for the next occasion ? " 
 
 " No, no ! Don't let us begin laughing about it. A 
 man never ought to have to write such letters twice in his 
 life. If he has, why he may get a good enough precedent 
 for the second out of the * Complete Letter Writer.' " 
 
 " So you wont correct my copy ? " 
 
 "No, not I." 
 
 At this point in their dialogue, Captain Hardy appeared 
 on the scene, and the party went off to Drysdale's to 
 breakfast. 
 
 Captain Hardy's visit to St. Ambrose was a great suc- 
 cess. He stayed some four or five days, and saw every 
 thing that was to be seen, and enjoyed it all in a sort of 
 reverent way which was almost comic. Tom devoted 
 lumsclf to the work of cicerone, and did his best to do 
 30* 
 
354 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 the work thoroughly. Oxford was a sort of Utopia to the 
 captain, who was resolutely bent on seeing nothing but 
 beauty and learning and wisdom within the precincts of 
 the university. On one or two occasions his faith was 
 tried sorely by the sight of young gentlemen gracefully 
 apparelled, dawdling along two together in low, easy pony 
 carriages, or lying on their backs in punts for hours smok- 
 ing, with not even a BeWs Life by them to pass the time. 
 Dawdling and doing nothing were the objects of his spe- 
 cial abhorrence ; but with this trifling exception the cap- 
 tain continued steadily to behold towers and quadrangles 
 and chapels and the inhabitants of the colleges, through 
 rose-colored spectacles. His respect for a " regular edu- 
 cation," and for the seat of learning at which it was dis- 
 pensed, was so strong, that he invested not only the tutors, 
 doctors, and proctors (of whom he saw little, except at a 
 distance), but even the most empty-headed undergraduate 
 whose acquaintance he made, with a sort of fancy halo of 
 scientific knowledge, and often talked to those youths in a 
 way which was curiously bewildering and embarrassing to 
 them. Drysdale was particularly hit by it. He had hu- 
 mor and honesty enough himself to appreciate the cap- 
 tain, but it was a constant puzzle to him to know what to 
 make of it all. 
 
 " He's a regular old brick, is the captain," he said to 
 Tom, on the last evening of the old gentleman's visit ; 
 " but, by Jove, I can't help thinking he must be poking 
 fun at us half his time. It is rather too rich to hear him 
 talking on as if we were all as fond of Greek as he seems 
 to be, and as if no man ever got drunk up here." 
 
 u I declare I think he believes it," said Tom. " You 
 see we're all careful enough before him." 
 
 " That son of his, too, must be a good fellow. Don't 
 you see he can never have peached ? His father was tell- 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 855 
 
 ing me last night what a comfort it was to him to see that 
 Jack's poverty had been no drawback to him. He had 
 always told him it would be so amongst English gentle* 
 men, and now he found him living quietly and independ- 
 ently, and yet on equal terms, and friends with men far 
 above him in rank and fortune, ' like you, sir/ the old boy 
 said. By Jove, Brown, I felt devilish foolish. I believe 
 I blushed, and it isn't often I indulge in that sort of lux- 
 ury. If I weren't ashamed of doing it now, I should iry 
 to make friends with Hardy. But I don't know how to 
 face him, and I doubt whether he wouldn't think me too 
 much of a rip to be intimate with." 
 
 Tom, at his own special request, attended the captain's 
 departure, and took his seat opposite to him and his son 
 at the back of the Southampton coach, to accompany him 
 a few miles out of Oxford. For the first mile, the cap- 
 tain was full of the pleasures of his visit, and of invitations 
 to Tom to come and see them in the vacation. If he did 
 not mind homely quarters he would find a hearty wel- 
 come, and there was no finer bathing and boating place on 
 the coast. If he liked to bring his gun, there were plenty 
 of blue rock-pigeons and sea-otters in the caves at the 
 point. Tom protested, with the greatest sincerity, that 
 there was nothing he should enjoy so much. Then the 
 young men got down to walk up Bagley Hill, and when 
 they mounted again found the captain with a large leather 
 case in his hand, out of which he took two five-pound 
 notes, and began pressing them on his son, while Tom 
 tried to look as if he did not know what was going on. 
 For some time Hardy steadily refused, and the contention 
 became animated, and it was useless to pretend any longer 
 not to hear. 
 
 " Why, Jack, you're not too proud, I hope, to take a 
 present from your own father," the captain said, at last. 
 
356 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 " But. my dear father, I don't want the money. You 
 make me a very good allowance already." 
 
 u Now, Jack, just listen to me, and be reasonable. You 
 know a great many of your friends have been very hospi- 
 table to me : I could not return their hospitality myself 
 but I wish you to do so for me." 
 
 " Well, father, I can do that without this money." 
 
 "Now, Jack," said the captain, pushing forward the 
 notes again, "I insist on your taking them. You will 
 pain me very much if you don't take them." 
 
 So the son took the notes at last, looking as most men 
 of his age would if they had just lost them, while the 
 father's face was radiant as he replaced his pocket-book in 
 the breast-pocket inside his coat. His eye caught Tom's 
 in the midst of the operation, and the latter could not help 
 looking a little confused, as if he had been unintentionally 
 obtruding on their privacy. But the captain at once laid 
 his hand on his knee and said, — 
 
 " A young fellow is never the worse for having a ten- 
 pound note to veer and haul on ; eh/ Mr. Brown ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir. A great deal better, I think," said 
 Tom, and was quite comfortable again. The captain had 
 no new coat that summer, but he always looked like a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Soon the coach stopped to take up a parcel at a cross- 
 road, and the young men got down. They stood watch- 
 ing it until it disappeared round a corner of the road, and 
 then turned back towards Oxford and struck into Bagley 
 Wood, Hardy listening with evident pleasure to his friend's 
 enthusiastic praise of his father. But he was not in a 
 talking humor, and they were soon walking along together 
 in silence. 
 
 This was the first time they had been alone together 
 umoe the morning after their reconciliation ; so, presently, 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXIGRD. 357 
 
 Tom seized the occasion to recur to the subject which was 
 uppermost in his thoughts. 
 
 " She has never answered my letter," he began, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " I'm very glad of it," said Hardy. 
 
 "But, why?" 
 
 " Because, you know you want it all broken off com- 
 pletely." 
 
 " Yes ; but still she might have just acknowledged it. 
 You don't know how hard it is to me to keep away from 
 the place." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I know it must be hard work, but you 
 are doing the right thing." 
 
 " Yes, I hope so," said Tom, with a sigh. " I haven't 
 been within a hundred yards of * The Choughs ' this five 
 days. The old lady must think it so odd." 
 
 Hardy made no reply. What could he say, but that no 
 doubt she did ? 
 
 " Would you mind doing me a great favor ? " said Tom, 
 after a minute. 
 
 " Any thing I can do. WTiat is it ? " 
 
 " Why, just to step round on our way back, — I will stay 
 as far off as you like, — and see how things are going 
 on i — how she is." 
 
 " Very well. Don't you like this view of Oxford ? I 
 always think it is the best of them all." 
 
 " No. You don't see any thing of half the colleges," 
 »<aid Tom, who was very loth to leave the other subject for 
 the picturesque. 
 
 " But you get all the spires and towers so well, and the 
 river in the foreground. Look at that shadow of a cloud 
 skimming over Christ Church meadow. It's a splendid 
 old place after all." 
 
 " It may be from a distance, to an outsider," said Tom ; 
 
858 T0& BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 '* but I don't know — it's an awfully chilly, deadening kind 
 of place to live in. There's something in the life of the 
 place that sits on me like a weight, and makes me feel 
 dreary." 
 
 " How long have you felt that ? You're coming out in 
 a new line." 
 
 " I wish I were. I want a new line. I don't care a 
 straw for cricket ; I hardly like pulling ; and as for those 
 wine parties, day after day, and suppers, night after night, 
 they turn me sick to think of." 
 
 " You have the remedy in your own hands, at any rate," 
 said Hardy, smiling. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, you needn't go to them." 
 
 " Oh ! one can't help going to them. What else is there 
 to do?" 
 
 Tom waited for an answer, but his companion only 
 nodded to show that he was listening, as he strolled on 
 down the path, looking at the view. 
 
 " I can say what I feel to you, Hardy. I always have 
 been able, and it's such a comfort to me now. It was you 
 who put these sort of thoughts into my head, too, so you 
 ought to sympathize with me." 
 
 " I do, my dear fellow. But you'll be all right again 
 in. a few days." 
 
 " Don't you believe it. It isn't only what you seem tc 
 think, Hardy. You don't know me so well as I do yon, 
 after all. No ; I'm not just love-sick and hipped, because 
 I can't go and see her. That has something to do with it, 
 i dare say ; but it's the sort of shut-up, selfish life we lead 
 here that I can't stand. A man isn't meant to live only 
 with fellows like himself, with good allowance? paid quar- 
 terly, and no care but how to amuse themselves. One i^ 
 old enough for something better than that, I'm sure." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 359 
 
 "No doubt," said Hardy, with provoking taciturnity. 
 
 " And the moment one tries to break through it, one 
 only gets into trouble." 
 
 " Yes, there's a good deal of danger of that certainly," 
 said Hardy. 
 
 " Don't you often long to be in contact with some of the 
 realities of life, with men and women who haven't their 
 bread and butter all ready cut for them? How can a 
 place be a university where no one can come up who 
 hasn't two hundred a year or so to live on ? " 
 
 " You ought to have been at Oxford four hundred years 
 ago, when there were more thousands here than we have 
 hundreds." 
 
 " I don't see that. It must have been ten times as bad 
 then." 
 
 " Not at all. But it must have been a very different 
 state of things from ours ; they must have been almost all 
 poor scholars, who worked for their living, or lived on 
 next to nothing." 
 
 " How do you really suppose they lived though ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. But how should you like it now, 
 if we had fifty poor scholars at St. Ambrose, besides us 
 servitors — say ten tailors, ten shoemakers, and so on, who 
 came up from love of learning, and attended all the lec- 
 tures with us, and worked for the present undergraduates 
 while they were hunting and cricketing and boating ? " 
 
 " Well, I think it would be a very good thing. At any 
 rate, we should save in tailors' bills." 
 
 " Even if we didn't get our coats so well built," said 
 Hardy, laughing. " Well, Brown, you have a most cathcn 
 lie taste, and 'a capacity for taking in new truths/ all the 
 elements of a good Radical in you." 
 
 " I tell you I hate Radicals ! " said Tom, indignan*. ] y. 
 
 " Well, here we are in the town. I'll go round by ' The 
 
360 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Choughs' and catch you up before you get to High 
 Street." 
 
 Tom, left to himself, walked slowly on for a little way, 
 and then quickly back again in an impatient,* restless, 
 manner, and was within a few yards of the corner where 
 they had parted when Hardy appeared again. He saw at 
 a glance that something had happened. 
 
 " What is it ? — she is not ill ? " he said, quickly. 
 
 " No ; quite well, her aunt says." 
 
 " You didn't see her then ? " 
 
 u No. The fact is she has gone home." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE ENGLEBOUKN CONSTABLE. 
 
 On the afternoon of a splendid day in the early part of 
 June, some four or five days after the Sunday on which 
 the morning service at Englebourn was interrupted by the 
 fire at Farmer Grove's, David Johnson, tailor and*consta- 
 ble of the parish, was sitting at his work, in a small erec- 
 tion, half shed, half summer-house, which leaned against 
 the back of his cottage. Not that David had not a regular 
 workshop with a window looking into the village street, 
 and a regular counter close under it, on which passers-by 
 might see him stitching, and from whence he could gossip 
 with them easily, as was his wont. But although the con- 
 stable kept the king's peace and made garments of all 
 kinds for his livelihood, — from the curate's frock down to 
 the ploughboy's fustians, — he was addicted for his pleasure 
 and solace to the keeping of bees. The constable's bees 
 inhabited a row of hives in the narrow strip of garden 
 which ran away at the back of the cottage. This strip of 
 garden was bordered along the whole of one side by the 
 rector's premises. Now honest David loved gossip well, 
 and considered it a part of his duty as constable to be well 
 up in all events and rumors which happened or arose 
 within his liberties. But he loved his bees better than 
 gossip, and, as he was now in hourly expectation that they 
 would be swarming, was working, as has been said, in his 
 summer-house, that he might be at hand at the critical 
 moment. The rough table on which he was seated com- 
 31 
 
862 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 manded a view of the hives ; his big scissors and soma 
 shreds of velveteen lay near him on the table, also the 
 street-door key and an old shovel, of which the uses will 
 appear presently. 
 
 On his knees lay the black velveteen coat, the Sunday 
 garment of Harry Winburn, to which he was fitting new 
 sleeves. In his exertions at the top of the chimney in 
 putting out the fire, Harry had grievously damaged the 
 garment in question. The farmer had presented him with 
 five shillings on the occasion, which sum was quite inade- 
 quate to the purchase of a new coat, and Harry, being too 
 proud to call the farmer's attention to the special damage 
 which he had suffered in his service, had contented him- 
 self with bringing his old coat to be new-sleeved. 
 
 Harry was a favorite with the constable on account of 
 his intelligence and independence, and because of his rela- 
 tions with the farmers of Englebourn on the allotment 
 question. Although by his office the representative of law 
 and order in the parish, David was a man of the people, 
 and sympathized with the peasantry more than with the 
 farmers. He had passed some years of his apprenticeship 
 at Reading, where he had picked up notions on political and 
 social questions much ahead of the Englebourn worthies. 
 "When he returned to his native village, being a wise man, 
 he had kept his new lights in the background, and conse- 
 quently, had succeeded in the object of his ambition, and 
 had been appointed constable. His reason for seeking 
 the post was a desire to prove that the old joke as to the 
 manliness of tailors had no application to his case, and this 
 he had established to the satisfaction of all the neighbor- 
 hood by the resolute manner in which, whenever called on, 
 he performed his duties. And, now that his character was 
 made and his position secure, he was not so careful of be- 
 
TOJI BROWN AT OXFORD. 863 
 
 trayingliis leanings, and had lost some custom amongst the 
 farmers in consequence of them. 
 
 The job on which he was employed naturally turned 
 his thoughts to Harry. He stitched away, now weighing 
 in his mind whether he should not go himself to Farmer 
 Grove, and represent to him that he ought to give Harry 
 a new coat ; now rejoicing over the fact that the rector 
 had decided to let Harry have another acre of the allot- 
 ment land ; now speculating on the attachment of his favor- 
 ite to the gardener's daughter, and whether he could do 
 any thing to forward his suit. In the pursuit of which 
 thoughts he had forgotten all about his bees, when sud- 
 denly a great humming arose, followed by a rush through 
 the air like the passing of an express train, which recalled 
 him to himself. He jumped from the table, casting aside 
 the coat, and, seizing the key and shovel, hurried out into 
 the garden, beating the two together with all his might. 
 
 The process in question, known in country phrase as 
 " tanging," is founded upon the belief that the bees will 
 not settle unless under the influence of this peculiar music; 
 and the constable, holding faithfully to the popular belief, 
 rushed down his garden " tanging," as though his life de- 
 pended upon it, in the hopes that the soothing sound would 
 induce the swarm to settle at once on his own apple-trees. 
 
 Is " tanging " a superstition or not ? People learned in 
 bees ought to know, but I never happened to meet one 
 who had considered the question. It is curious how such 
 beliefs or superstitions fix themselves in the popular mind 
 cf a country-side, and are held by wise and simple alike. 
 David the constable was a most sensible and open-minded 
 man of his time and class, but Kemble or Akerman, or 
 other learned Anglo-Saxon scholar, would have vainly ex- 
 plained to him that " tang," is but the old word for " to 
 hold," and that the object of " tanging" is, not to lure tho 
 
364 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 bees with sweet music of key and shovel, but to give notice 
 to the neighbors that they have swarmed, and that the 
 owner of the maternal hive means to hold on to his right 
 to the emigrants. David would have listened to the lec- 
 ture with pity, and have retained unshaken belief in his 
 music. 
 
 In the present case, however, the tanging was of little 
 avail, for the swarm, after wheeling once or twice in the 
 air, disappeared from the eyes of the constable over the 
 rector's wall. He went on "tanging" violently for a 
 minute or two, and then paused to consider what was to 
 be done. Should he get over the wall into the rector's 
 garden at once, or .should he go round to ask leave to 
 carry his search into the parsonage grounds ? As a man 
 and bee-fancier he was on the point of following straight 
 at once, over wall and fence ; but the constable was also 
 strong within him. He was not on the best of terms with 
 old Simon, the rector's gardener, and his late opposition 
 to Miss Winter in the matter of the singing also came into 
 his mind. So he resolved that the parish constable would 
 lose caste by disregarding his neighbor's boundaries, and 
 was considering what to do next when he heard a footstep 
 and short cousrh on the other side the wall which he rec- 
 
 o 
 
 ognized. 
 
 " Be you there, Maester Simon ? " he called out. Where- 
 upon the walker on the other side pulled up, and a'ter a 
 second appeal answered, shortly, — 
 
 « Ees." 
 
 " Hev'ee seed aught o' my bees ? Thaay've a bin' and 
 viz and gone off somweres athert the wall." 
 
 " E'es, I seen 'em." 
 
 "Wer'be'em, then?" 
 
 u Aal-amang wi ourn in the limes." 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 365 
 
 " Aal-amang wi yourn ! " exclaimed the constable. " Drat* 
 tie 'em. Thaay be mwore trouble than they be wuth." 
 
 " I know as thaay wur yourn zoon as ever 1 sot eyes on 
 'em," old Simon went on. 
 
 " How did'ee know 'em then ? " asked the constable. 
 
 " Cause thine be a'al zettin' crasslegged," said Simon, 
 with a chuckle. " Thee medst cum and jDick 'em all out 
 if thee'st a mind to 't." 
 
 Simon was mollified by his own joke, and broke into a 
 short, dry, cachination, half laugh, half cough ; while the 
 constable, who was pleased and astonished to find his 
 neighbor in such a good-humor, hastened to get an empty 
 hive and a pair of hedger's gloves, — fortified with which 
 he left his cottage and made the best of his way up street 
 towards the rectory gate, hard by which stood Simon's 
 cottage. The old gardener was of an impatient nature, and 
 the effect of the joke had almost time to evaporate, and 
 Simon was fast relapsing into his usual state of mind tow- 
 ards his neighbor before the latter made his appearance. 
 
 " Wher' hast been so long ? " he exclaimed, when the 
 constable joined him. 
 
 " I seed the young missus and t'other young lady a 
 standin' talkin' afore the door," said David ; " so I stopped 
 back, so as not to disturve 'em." 
 
 " Be 'em gone in ? Who was 'em talkin' to ? " 
 
 " To thy missus, and thy daarter too, I b'lieve 'twas. 
 Thaay be both at whoam, bean't 'em ? " 
 
 " Like enough. But what was 'em zayin' ? " 
 
 " I couldn't heer nothin' partic'lar, but I judged as 'twas 
 Bummat about Sunday and the fire." 
 
 u 'Tis na use for thaay to go on fillin' our pleace wi' 
 bottles. I dwont mean to take any mwore doctor's stuff." 
 
 Simon, it may be said, by the way, had obstinately re* 
 fused to take any medicine since his fall, and had main- 
 31* 
 
366 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 tained a constant war* on the subject, both with his own 
 women and with Miss "Winter, whom he had impressed 
 more than ever with a belief in his wrong-headedness. 
 
 "Ah! and how be 'ee, tho', Maester Simon?" said 
 David ; " I didn't mind to ax afore. You dwon't feel no 
 wus for your fall, I hopes ? " 
 
 " I feels a bit stiffish like, and as if summat wus cuttin' 
 m' at times, when I lifts up my arms." 
 
 " 'Tis a mercy 'tis no wus," said David ; " we bean't so 
 young nor so lissom as we was, Maester Simon." 
 
 To which remark Simon replied by a grunt. He dis- 
 liked allusions to his age, — a rare dislike among his class 
 in that part of the country. Most of the people are fond 
 of making themselves out older than they are, and love to 
 dwell on their experiences, and believe, as firmly as the 
 rest of us, that every thing has altered for the worse in 
 the parish and district since their youth. 
 
 But Simon, though short of words and temper, and an 
 uncomfortable acquaintance in consequence, was inclined 
 to be helpful enough in other ways. The constable, with 
 his assistance, had very soon hived his swarm of cross- 
 legged bees. 
 
 Then the constable insisted on Simon's coming with him 
 and taking a glass of ale, which, after a little coquetting, 
 Simon consented to do. So, after carrying- his recapture 
 safely home, and erecting the hive on a three-legged stand 
 of his own workmanship, he hastened to rejoin Simon, and 
 the two soon found themselves together in the bar of the 
 « Red Lion." 
 
 The constable wished to make the most of this opportu- 
 nity, and so began at once to pump Simon as to his inten- 
 tions with regard to his daughter. But Simon was not 
 easy to lead in any way whatever, and seemed in a more 
 than usually no-business-of-yours line about his daughter. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. SC7 
 
 Whether he had any one in his eye for her 01 not, David 
 could not make out ; but one thing he did make out, and it 
 grieved him much. Old Simon was in a touchy and un- 
 friendly state of mind against Harry, who, he said, was 
 falling into bad ways, and beginning to think much too 
 much of his self. Why was he to be wanting more allot- 
 ment ground than any oiTe else? Simon had himself 
 given Harry some advice on the point, but not to much 
 purpose, it would seem, as he summed up his notions on 
 the subject by the remark that, " 'Twas waste of soap to 
 lather an ass." 
 
 The constable now and then made a stand for his young 
 friend, but very judiciously ; and, after feeling his way for 
 some time, he came to the conclusion — as, indeed, the 
 truth was — that Simon was jealous of Harry's talent for 
 growing flowers, and had been driven into his present 
 frame of mind at hearing Miss Winter and her cousin 
 talking about the flowers at Dame Winburn's under his 
 very nose for the last four or five days. They had spoken 
 thus to interest the old man, meaning to praise Harry to 
 him. The fact was, that the old gardener was one of those 
 men who never can stand hearing other people praised, 
 and think that all such praise must be meant in deprecia- 
 tion of themselves. 
 
 When they had finished their ale, the afternoon was 
 getting on, and the constable rose to go back to his work ; 
 while old Simon declared* his intention of going down to 
 the hayfield, to see how the mowing was getting on. He 
 was sure that the hay would never be made properly, now 
 that he couldn't be about as much as usual. 
 
 In another hour the coat was finished, and the constable, 
 being uneasy in his mind, resolved to carry the garment 
 home himself at once, and to have a talk with Dame Win- 
 
368 TOM BROWN AT OXFOItD. 
 
 burn. So he wrapped the coat in a handkerchief, put it 
 under his arm, and set off down the village. 
 
 He found the dame busy with her washing ; and after 
 depositing his parcel sat down on the settle to have a talk 
 with her. She soon got on the subject which was always 
 uppermost in her mind, her son's prospects, and she' poured 
 out to the constable her troubles. First there was this 
 sweethearting after old Simon's daughter, — not that Dame 
 Winburn was going to say any thing against her, though 
 she might have her thoughts as well as other folk, and for 
 her part she liked to see girls that were fit for something 
 besides dressing themselves up like their betters, — but 
 what worrited her was to see how Harry took it to heart. 
 He wasn't like himself, and she couldn't see how it was all 
 to end. It made him fractious, too, and he was getting 
 into trouble about his work. He had left his regular place, 
 and was gone mowing with a gang, most of them men out 
 of the prarish that she knew nothing about, and likely not 
 to be the best of company. And it was all very well in 
 harvest time, when they could go and earn good wages at 
 mowing and reaping anywhere about, and no man could 
 earn better than her Harry, but when it came to winter 
 again she didn't see but what he might find the want of a 
 
 1 regular place, and then the farmers mightn't take him on ; 
 and his own land that he had got, and seemed to think so 
 much of, mightn't turn out all he thought it would. And 
 so in fact the old lady was troubled in her mind, and only 
 made the constable more uneasy. He had a vague sort of 
 impression that he was in some way answerable for Harry, 
 who was a good deal with him, and was fond of coming 
 
 • about his place. And although his cottage happened to 
 be next to old Simon's, which might account for the fact 
 to some extent, yet the constable was. conscious of having 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 3GS 
 
 talked to his young friend on many matters in a way which 
 might have unsettled him, and encouraged his natural 
 tendency to stand up" for his own rights and independence, 
 and he knew well enough that this temper was not the 
 one which was likely to keep a laboring man out of trouble 
 in the parish. 
 
 He did not allow his own misgivings, however, to add 
 to the widow's troubles, but, on the contrary, cheered her 
 by praising up Harry as much as ever she could desire, 
 and prophesying that all would come right, and that those 
 that lived would see her son as respected as any man in 
 the parish, and he shouldn't be surprised if he were church- 
 warden before he died. And then, astonished at his own 
 boldness, and feeling that he was not capable of any higher 
 flight of imagination, the constable rose to take his leave. 
 He asked where Harry was working, and, finding that he 
 was at mowing in the Danes' Close, set off to look after 
 him. The kind-hearted constable could not shake off the 
 feeling that something was going to happen to Harry 
 which would get him into trouble, and he wanted to assure 
 himself that as yet nothing had gone wrong. Whenever 
 one has this sort of vague feeling about a friend, there is 
 a natural and irresistible impulse to go and look after him, 
 and to be with him. 
 
 The Danes' Close was a part of the glebe, a large field 
 of some ten acres or so in extent, close to the village. 
 Two footpaths ran across it, so that it was almost common 
 property, and the village children considered it as much 
 their playground as the green itself. They trampled the 
 grass a good deal more than seemed endurable in the eyes 
 of Simon, who managed the rector's farming operations 
 as well as the garden ; but the children had their own 
 way, notwithstanding the threats he sometimes launched 
 at them. Miss Winter would have sooner lost all the hay 
 
370 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 than have narrowed their amusements. It was the most 
 difficult piece of mowing in the parish, in consequence of 
 the tramplings and of the large crops it bore. The Danes, 
 or some other unknown persons, had made the land fat, 
 perhaps with their carcasses, and the benefit had lasted to 
 the time of our story. At any rate, the field bore splen- 
 did crops, and the mowers always got an extra shilling an 
 acre for cutting it, by Miss Winter's special order, which 
 was paid by Simon in the most ungracious manner, and 
 with many grumblings that it was enough to ruin all the 
 mowers in the country-side. 
 
 As the constable got over the stile into the hayfield, a 
 great part of his misgivings passed out of his head. He 
 was a simple, kindly man, whose heart lay open to all in- 
 fluences of scene and weather, and the Danes' Close, full 
 of life and joy and merry sounds, as seen under the slant- 
 ing rays of the evening sun, was just the place to rub all 
 the wrinkles out of him. 
 
 The constable, however, is not singular in this matter. 
 
 What man amongst us all, if he will think the matter 
 over calmly and fairly, can honestly say^tkat there is any 
 one spot on the earth's surface in which he has enjoyed so 
 much real, wholesome, happy life as in a hayfield ? He 
 may have won renown on horseback or on foot at the 
 sports and pastimes in which Englishmen glory ; he may 
 have shaken off all rivals, time after time, across the vales 
 of Aylesbury, or of Berks, or any other of our famous 
 hunting counties ; he may have stalked the oldest and shy- 
 est buck in Scotch forests, and killed the biggest salmon 
 of the year in the Tweed, and trout in the Thames ; he 
 may have made topping averages in firstrate matches of 
 cricket ; or have made long and perilous marches, dear to 
 memory, over boggy moor, or mountain, or glacier; he 
 may have successfully attended many breakfast-parties 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 371 
 
 within drive of May Fair, on velvet lawns, surrounded by 
 all the fairy land of pomp and beauty and luxury which 
 London can pour out ; he may have shone at private the- 
 atricals and at-homes, his voice may have sounded over 
 hushed audiences at St. Stephen's, or in the law courts ; 
 cr he may have had good times in any other scenes of 
 pleasure or triumph open to Englishmen ; but I much 
 doubt whether, on putting his recollections fairly and qui- 
 etly together, he would not say at last that the fresh-mown 
 hayfield is the place where he has spent the most hours 
 which he would like to live over again, the fewest which 
 he would wish to forget. 
 
 As children, we stumble about the new-mown hay, rev- 
 elling in the many colors of the prostrate grass and wild 
 flowers, and in the power of tumbling where we please 
 without hurting ourselves ; as small boys, we pelt one 
 another, and the village schoolgirls, and our nursemaids, 
 and young-lady cousins with the hay, till, hot and weary, 
 we retire to tea or syllabub beneath the shade of some 
 great oak or elm standing up like a monarch out of the 
 fair pasture ; or, following the mowers, we rush with 
 eagerness on the treasures disclosed by the scythe-stroke, 
 — the nest of the unhappy late-laying titlark, or careless 
 field-mouse; as big boys, we toil ambitiously with the 
 spare forks and rakes, or climb into the wagons and re- 
 ceive with open arms the delicious load as it is pitched up 
 from below, and rises higher and higher as we pass along 
 the long lines of haycocks ; a year or two later, we are 
 strolling there with our first sweethearts, our souls and 
 tongues loaded with sweet thoughts and soft speeches ; we 
 take a turn with the scythe as the bronzed mowers lie in 
 the shade for their short rest, and willingly pay our foot- 
 ing for the feat. Again, we come back with book in 
 pocket, and our own children tumbling about as we did 
 
£ "2 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 before them; now romping with them, and smothering 
 them with the sweet-smelling load — now musing and 
 reading and dozing away the delicious summer evenings. 
 And so shall we not come back to the end, enjoying as 
 grandfathers the lovemaking and the rompings of younger 
 generations yet ? 
 
 Were any of us ever really disappointed or melancholy 
 in a hayfield ? Did we ever lie fairly back on a haycock 
 and look up into the blue sky, and listen to the merry 
 sounds, the whetting of scythes and the laughing prattle 
 of women and children, and think evil thoughts of the 
 world or our brethren ? Not we ! or if we have so done, 
 we ought to be ashamed of ourselves, and deserve never 
 to be out of town again during hay harvest. 
 
 There is something in the sights and sounds of a hay- 
 field which seems to touch the same chord in one as Low- 
 ell's lines in the " Lay of Sir Launfal," which ends, — 
 
 " For a cap and bells our lives we pay ; 
 
 We wear out our lives with toiling and tasking; 
 It is only Heaven that is given away ; 
 
 It is only God may be had for the asking. 
 There is no price set on the lavish summer, 
 And June may be had by the poorest comer." 
 
 But the philosophy of the hayfield remains to be writ- 
 ten. Let us hope that whoever takes the subject in hand 
 will not dissipate all its sweetness in the process of the 
 inquiry wherein the charm lies. 
 
 The constable had not the slightest notion of speculating 
 on his own sensations, but was very glad, nevertheless, 
 to find his spirits rising as he stepped into the Danes' 
 Close. All the hay was down, except a small piece in 
 the further corner, which the mowers were upon. There 
 were groups of children in many parts of the field, and 
 women to look after them, mostly sitting on the fresh 
 
TOM BROTVN AT OXFORD. 373 
 
 swarth, working and gossiping, while the little on 3S played 
 about. He had not gone twenty yards before he was 
 stopped by the violent crying of a child; and/ turning 
 towards the voice, he saw a little girl of six or seven, who 
 had strayed from her mother, scrambling out of the ditch, 
 and wringing her hands in an agony of pain and terror. 
 The poor little thing had fallen into a bed of nettles, and 
 was very much frightened, and not a little hurt. The 
 constable caught her up in his arms, soothing her as well 
 as he could, and hurrying along till he found some dock- 
 leaves, sat down with her on his knee, and rubbed her 
 hands with the leaves, repeating the old saw — 
 
 " Out nettle, 
 In dock : 
 Dock shall ha* 
 Anew smock; 
 Nettle shan't 
 Ha* narrunV 
 
 What with rubbing, and the constable's kind manner, 
 and listening to the doggerel rhyme, and feeling that nettle 
 would get her deserts, the little thing soon ceased crying. 
 But several groups had been drawn towards the place, and 
 amongst the rest came Miss Winter and her cousin, who 
 had been within hearing of the disaster. The constable 
 began to feel very nervous and uncomfortable, when he 
 looked up from his charitable occupation, and suddenly 
 found the rector's daughter close to him. But his ner- 
 vousness was uncalled for. The sight of what. he wa3 
 about, and of the tender way in which he was handling the 
 child, drove all remembrance of his heresies and contu- 
 maciousness, in the matter of psalmody, out of her head. 
 She greeted him with frankness and cordiality, and, pres- 
 ently — when he had given up his charge to the mother, 
 who was inclined at first to be bard wiih the poor little 
 32 
 
874 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 Bobbing truant — came up, and said she wished to speak a 
 few words to him. 
 
 David was highly delighted at Miss Winter's manner ; 
 but he walked along by her side not quite comfortable in 
 his mind, for fear lest she should start the old subject of 
 dispute, and then his duty, as a public man, would have to 
 be done at all risk of offending her. He was much com- 
 forted when she began by asking him whether he had seen 
 much of Widow Winburn's son lately. 
 
 David admitted that he generally saw him every day. 
 
 Did he know that he had left his place, and had quar- 
 relled with Mr. Tester ? 
 
 Yes, David knew that Harry had had words with 
 Farmer Tester; but Farmer Tester was a sort that it. 
 was very hard not to have words with. 
 
 " Still, it is very bad, you know, for so young a man to 
 be quarrelling with the farmers," said Miss Winter. 
 
 " 'Twas the varmer as quarrelled wi' he ; you see, miss,*' 
 David answered, " which makes all the odds. He cum 
 to Harry all in a fluster, and said as how he must drow up 
 the land as he'd a'got, or he's place — one or t'other on 
 'em. And, so you see, miss, as Harry wur kind o' druv 
 to it. Twarn't likely as he wur to drow up the land now 
 as he wur just reppin' the benefit ov it, and all for Var- 
 mer Tester's place, wich be no sich gurt things, miss, 
 arter all." 
 
 " Very likely not ; but I fear it may hinder his getting 
 employment. The other farmers will not take him on 
 now, if they can help .it." 
 
 " No ; thaay falls out wi' one another bad enough, and 
 calls all manner o' names. But thaay can't abide a poor 
 man to speak his mind, nor take his own part, not one on 
 'em,'' said David, looking at Miss Winter, as if doubtful 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 375 
 
 how she might take his strictures ; but she went on, with 
 out any show of dissent, — 
 
 " I shall try to get him to work for my father ; but I 
 am sorry to find that Simon does not seem to like the idea 
 of taking him on. It is not easy always to make out 
 Simon's meaning. "When I spoke to him, he said some- 
 thing about a bleating sheep losing a bite ; but I should 
 think this young man is not much of a talker in general?" 
 —she paused. 
 
 " That's true, miss," said David, energetically ; " there 
 aint a quieter-spoken or steadier man at his work in the 
 parish." 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear you say so," said Miss Winter, 
 " and I hope we may soon do something for him. But 
 what I want you to do just now, is to speak a word to him 
 about the company he seems to be getting into." 
 
 The constable looked somewhat aghast at this speech of 
 Miss Winter, but did not answer, not knowing to what 
 she was alluding. She saw that he did not understand, 
 and went on, — 
 
 " He is mowing to-day with a gang from the heath and 
 the next parish ; I am sure they are very bad men for 
 him to be with. I was so vexed when I found Simon had 
 given them the job ; but he said they would get it all down 
 in a day, and be done with it, and that was all he cared 
 for." 
 
 " And 'tis a fine day's work, miss, for five men," said 
 David, looking over the field ; " and 'tis good work, too, you 
 mind the swarth else," and he picked up a handful of the 
 fallen grass to show her how near the ground it was cut. 
 
 ft Oh, yes ; I have no doubt they are very good mowers, 
 but they are not good men, I'm sure. There, do you see 
 now who it is that is bringing them beer ? I hope you 
 will see Widow Winburn's son, and speak to him, and try 
 
376 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 to keep him out of bad company. We should be all to 
 Bony if he were to get into trouble." 
 
 David promised to do his best, and Miss "Winter wished 
 him good-evening, and rejoined her cousin. 
 
 " Well, Katie, will he do jour behest ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and I think he is the best person- to do 
 it. Widow Winburn thinks her son minds him more than 
 any one." 
 
 " Do you know I don't think it will ever go right. I'm 
 sure she doesn't care the least for him." 
 
 " Oh ! you have only just seen her once to-day for two 
 or three minutes." 
 
 " And then, that wretched old Simon is so perverse 
 about it," said the cousin. " You will never manage 
 him." 
 
 " He is very provoking, certainly ; but I get my own 
 way generally, in spite of him. And it is such a perfect 
 plan; isn't it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! charming, if you can only bring it about." 
 
 " Now we must be really going home, papa will be get* 
 ting restless." So the young ladies left the hayfield deep 
 in castle-building for Harry Winburn and the gardener's 
 daughter, Miss Winter being no more able to resist a tale 
 of true love than her cousin, or the rest of her sex. 
 They would have been more or less than women if they 
 had not taken an interest in so absorbing a passion as 
 poor Harry's. By the time they reached the rectory 
 gate they had installed him in the gardener's cottage 
 with his bride, and mother (for there would be plenty of 
 room for the widow, and it would be so convenient to 
 have the laundry close at hand), and had pensioned old 
 Simon, and sent him and his old wife to wrangle away 
 the rest of their time in the widow's cottage. Castle- 
 building is a delightful and harmless exercise. 
 
TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 377 
 
 Meantime, David the constable had gone towards the 
 mowers, who were taking a short rest before finishing off 
 the last half acre which remained standing. The person 
 whose appearance had so horrified Miss Winter was 
 drawing beer for them from a small barrel. This was an 
 elderly, raw-boned woman with a skin burnt as brown as 
 that of any of the mowers. She wore a man's hat and 
 spencer, and had a strong, harsh voice, and altogether was 
 not a prepossessing person. She went by the name of 
 Daddy Cowell in the parish, and had been for years a 
 proscribed person. She lived up on the heath, often 
 worked in the fields, took in lodgers, and smoked a 
 short clay pipe. These eccentricities, when added to her 
 half-male clothing, were quite enough to account for the 
 sort of outlawry in which she lived. Miss Winter, and 
 other good people of Englebourn, believed her capable 
 of any crime, and the children were taught to stop talk- 
 ing and playing, and run away when she came near 
 them ; but the constable, who had had one or two search- 
 warrants to execute in her house, and had otherwise had 
 frequent occasions of getting acquainted with her in the 
 course of his duties, had by no means so evil an opinion of 
 her. He had never seen much harm in her, he had been 
 heard to say, and she never made pretence to much good. 
 Nevertheless, David was by no means pleased to see her 
 acting as purveyor to the gang which Harry had joined. 
 He knew how such contact would damage him in the eyes 
 of all the parochial respectabilities, and was anxious to do 
 his best to get clear of it. 
 
 With these views he went up to the men, who were 
 resting under a large elm tree, and complimented them 
 on their day's work. They were themselves well satisfied 
 with it, and with one another. When'men have had six- 
 teen hours', or so, hard mowing in companj r , and none of 
 32* 
 
378 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 them can say that the others have not done their fair 
 share, they are apt to respect one another more at the 
 end of it. It was Harry's first day with this gang, who 
 were famous for going about the neighborhood, and doing 
 great feats in hay and wheat harvest. They were satis- 
 fied with him and he with them, none the less so probably 
 in his present frame of mind, because they also were loose 
 on the world, servants of no regular master. It was a 
 bad time to make his approaches, the constable saw ; so, 
 after sitting oy Harry until the gang rose to finish off 
 their work in the cool of the evening, and asking him to 
 come round by his cottage on his way home, which Harry 
 promised to do, he walked back to the village. 
 
 5 
 

 $*7