“But what are we to do? Here is a great political and theological party . . . labouring under perfect discipline and with fell unity of purpose, to hold the University in subjection, and fill her government with its nominees.”
At a recent election to Council, the Liberals mustered ninety-two votes and the Conservatives ninety-three; whereupon the latter were charged with having obtained their victory by a conspiracy.
Not to mention that, as we cannot promise Paradise to our supporters, they are very apt to take the train for London just before the election.
It is not known to what the word “Paradise” was intended to allude, and therefore the hint, here thrown out, that the writer meant to recall the case of the late Chairman of Mr. Gladstone's committee, who had been recently collated to the See of Chester, is wholly wanton and gratuitous.
A case of this kind had actually occurred on the occasion of the division just alluded to.
Mr. Wayte, now President of Trinity, then put forward as the Liberal candidate for election to Council.
“You and others suggest, as the only effective remedy, that the Constituency should be reformed, by the exclusion of the non-academical elements which form a main part of the strength of this party domination.”
“I confess that, having included all the really academical elements in Congregation, I would go boldly on, and put an end to the Legislative functions of Convocation.”
“This conviction, that while we have Elections to Council we shall not entirely get rid of party organization and its evils, leads me to venture a step further, and to raise the question whether it is really necessary that we should have an Elective Council for legislative purposes at all.”
And here I must relate a little fable
I heard last Saturday at our high table:—
The cats, it seems, were masters of the house,
And held their own against the rat and mouse:
Of course the others couldn't stand it long,
So held a caucus (not, in their case, wrong);
And, when they were assembled to a man,
Uprose an aged rat, and thus began:—
“Brothers in bondage! Shall we bear to be
For ever left in a minority?
With what ‘fell unity of purpose’ cats
Oppose the trusting innocence of rats!
So unsuspicious are we of disguise,
Their machinations take us by surprise—
Insulting and tyrannical absurdities!
It is too bad by half—upon my word it is!
For, now that these Con—, cats, I should say (frizzle 'em!),
Are masters, they exterminate like Islam!
How shall we deal with them? I'll tell you how:—
Let none but kittens be allowed to miaow!
The Liberal kittens seize us but in play,
And, while they frolic, we can run away;
But older cats are not so generous,
Their claws are too Conservative for us!
Then let them keep the stable and the oats,
While kittens, rats, and mice have all the votes.
“Yes; banish cats! The kittens would not use
Their powers for blind obstruction, nor refuse
To let us sip the cream and gnaw the cheese—
How glorious then would be our destinies!
Kittens and rats would occupy the throne,
And rule the larder for itself alone!”
“Sometimes, indeed, not being informed that the wires are at work, we are completely taken by surprise.”
“We are without protection against this most insulting and tyrannical absurdity.”
“It is as exterminating as Islam.”
“Their powers would scarcely be exercised for the purposes of fanaticism, or in a spirit of blind obstruction.”
“These narrow local bounds, within which our thoughts and schemes have hitherto been pent, will begin to disappear, and a far wider sphere of action will open on the view.”
“Those councils must be freely opened to all who can serve her well and who will serve her for herself.”
So rhymed my friend, and asked me what I thought of it.
I told him that so much as I had caught of it
Appeared to me (as I need hardly mention)
Entirely undeserving of attention.
But now, to guide the Congregation, when
It numbers none but really “able” men,
A “Vice-Cancellarius” will be needed
Of every kind of human weakness weeded!
Is such the president that we have got?
He ought no doubt to be; why should he not?
I do not hint that Liberals should dare
To oust the present holder of the chair—
But surely he would not object to be
Gently examined by a Board of three?
Their duty being just to ascertain
That he's “all there” (I mean, of course, in brain),
And that his mind, from “petty details” clear,
Is fitted for the duties of his sphere.
“To preside over a Congregation with full legislative powers, the Vice-Chancellor ought no doubt to be a man of real capacity; but why should he not? His mind ought also, for this as well as for his other high functions, to be clear of petty details, and devoted to the great matters of University business; but why should not this condition also be fulfilled?”
All this is merely moonshine, till we get
The seal of Parliament upon it set.
A word then, Senior Censor, in your ear:
The Government is in a state of fear—
Like some old gentleman, abroad at night,
Seized with a sudden shiver of affright,
Who offers money, on his bended knees,
To the first skulking vagabond he sees—
Now is the lucky moment for our task;
They daren't refuse us anything we ask!
“If you apply now to Parliament for this or any other University reform, you will find the House of Commons in a propitious mood. . . . Even the Conservative Government, as it looks for the support of moderate Liberals on the one great subject, is very unwilling to present itself in such an aspect that these men may not be able decently to give it their support.”
And then our Fellowships shall open be
To Intellect, no meaner quality!
No moral excellence, no social fitness
Shall ever be admissible as witness.
“Avaunt, dull Virtue!” is Oxonia's cry:
“Come to my arms, ingenious Villainy!”
For Classic Fellowships, an honour high,
Simonides and Co. will then apply—
Our Mathematics will to Oxford bring
The 'cutest members of the betting-ring—
Law Fellowships will start upon their journeys
A myriad of unscrupulous attorneys—
While prisoners, doomed till now to toil unknown,
Shall mount the Physical Professor's throne!
And thus would Oxford educate, indeed,
Men far beyond a merely local need—
With no career before them, I may say,
Unless they're wise enough to go away,
And seek far West, or in the distant East,
Another flock of pigeons to be fleeced.
“With open Fellowships, Oxford will soon produce a supply of men fit for the work of high education far beyond her own local demands, and in fact with no career before them unless a career can be opened elsewhere.”
I might go on, and trace the destiny
Of Oxford in an age which, though it be
Thus breaking with tradition, owns a new
Allegiance to the intellectual few—
(I mean, of course, the—pshaw! no matter who!)
But, were I to pursue the boundless theme,
I fear that I should seem to you to dream.
“I sh
ould seem to you to dream if I were to say what I think the destiny of the University may be in an age which, though it is breaking with tradition, is, from the same causes, owning a new allegiance to intellectual authority.”
This to fulfil, or even—humbler far—
To shun Conservatism's noxious star
And all the evils that it brings behind,
These pestilential coils must be untwined—
The party-coils, that clog the march of Mind—
Choked in whose meshes Oxford, slowly wise,
Has lain for three disastrous centuries.
Away with them! (It is for this I yearn!)
Each twist untwist, each Turner overturn!
Disfranchise each Conservative, and cancel
The votes of Michell, Liddon, Wall, and Mansel!
Then, then shall Oxford be herself again,
Neglect the heart, and cultivate the brain—
Then this shall be the burden of our song,
“All change is good—whatever is, is wrong—”
Then Intellect's proud flag shall be unfurled,
And Brain, and Brain alone, shall rule the world!
“But to fulfil this, or even a far humbler destiny—to escape the opposite lot—the pestilential coils of party, in which the University has lain for three disastrous centuries choked, must be untwined.”
Dr. Wynter, President of St. John's, one of the recently elected Conservative members of Council.
THE DESERTED PARKS
“Solitudinem faciunt: Parcum appellant.”
Museum! loveliest building of the plain
Where Cherwell winds towards the distant main;
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared the scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The rustic couple walking arm in arm—
The groups of trees, with seats beneath the shade
For prattling babes and whisp'ring lovers made—
The never-failing brawl, the busy mill
Where tiny urchins vied in fistic skill—
(Two phrases only have that dusky race
Caught from the learned influence of the place;
Phrases in their simplicity sublime,
“Scramble a copper!” “Please, Sir, what's the time?”
These round thy walks their cheerful influence shed;
There were thy charms—but all these charms are fled.
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And rude pavilions sadden all thy green;
One selfish pastime grasps the whole domain,
And half a faction swallows up the plain;
Adown thy glades, all sacrificed to cricket,
The hollow-sounding bat now guards the wicket;
Sunk are thy mounds in shapeless level all,
Lest aught impede the swiftly rolling ball;
And trembling, shrinking from the fatal blow,
Far, far away thy hapless children go.
Ill fares the place, to luxury a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and minds decay;
Athletic sports may flourish or may fade,
Fashion may make them, even as it has made;
But the broad parks, the city's joy and pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied!
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells go by with laugh of hollow joy,
And shouting Folly hails them with “Ahoy!”
Funds even beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name,
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for the game, and all its instruments,
Space for pavilions and for scorers' tents;
The ball, that raps his shins in padding cased,
Has wore the verdure to an arid waste;
His Park, where these exclusive sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the rustic from the green;
While through the plain, consigned to silence all,
In barren splendour flits the russet ball.
In peaceful converse with his brother Don,
Here oft the calm Professor wandered on;
Strange words he used—men drank with wondering ears
The languages called “dead,” the tongues of other years.
(Enough of Heber! Let me once again
Attune my verse to Goldsmith's liquid strain.)
A man he was to undergraduates dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
And so, I ween, he would have been till now,
Had not his friends ('twere long to tell you how)
Prevailed on him, Jack-Horner-like, to try
Some method to evaluate his pie,
And win from those dark depths, with skilful thumb,
Five times a hundredweight of luscious plum—
Yet for no thirst of wealth, no love of praise,
In learned labour he consumed his days!
O Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy;
Iced cobbler, Badminton, and shandy-gaff,
Rouse the loud jest and idiotic laugh;
Inspired by them, to tipsy greatness grown,
Men boast a florid vigour not their own;
At every draught more wild and wild they grow;
While pitying friends observe “I told you so!”
Till, summoned to their post, at the first ball,
A feeble under-hand, their wickets fall.
Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
Even now, methinks while pondering here in pity,
I see the rural Virtues leave the city.
Contented Toil, and calm scholastic Care,
And frugal Moderation, all are there;
Resolute Industry that scorns the lure
Of careless mirth—that dwells apart secure—
To science gives her days, her midnight oil,
Cheered by the sympathy of others' toil—
Courtly Refinement, and that Taste in dress
That brooks no meanness, yet avoids excess—
All these I see, with slow reluctant pace
Desert the long-beloved and honoured place!
While yet 'tis time, Oxonia, rise and fling
The spoiler from thee: grant no parleying!
Teach him that eloquence, against the wrong,
Though very poor, may still be very strong;
That party-interests we must forgo,
When hostile to “pro bono publico”;
That faction's empire hastens to its end,
When once mankind to common sense attend;
While independent votes may win the day
Even against the potent spell of “Play!”
May 7.
EXAMINATION STATUTE
[“The Statute proposed to allow candidates for a degree to forsake Classics after Moderations, except so far as was needed for a Fourth Class in the Final School of Literæ Humaniores, if they wished to graduate in science. This Dodgson considered degrading both to Classics and to Mathematics.” —Dodgson Handbook.]
A list of those who might, could, would, or should have voted thereon in Congregation, February 2, 1, arranged alphabetically.
A is for [Acland], who'd physic the Masses,
B is for [Brodie], who swears by the gases.
C is for [Conington], constant to Horace.
D is for [Donkin], who integrates for us.
E is for [Evans], with rifle well steadied.
F is for [Freeman], Examiner dreaded!
G's [Goldwin Smith], by the “Saturday” quoted.
H is for [Heurtley], to “Margaret” devoted.
I am the Author, a rhymer erratic—
J is for [Jowett], who lectures in Attic:
K is for [Kitchen], than attic much warmer.
L is for [Liddell], relentless reformer!
M is for [Mansel], our Logic-provider,
And [Norris] is N, once a famous rough-rider.
[Ogilvie]'s O, Orthodoxy's Mendoza!
And [Parker] is P, the amendment-proposer.
Q is the Quad, where the Dons are collecting.
R is for [Rolleston], who lives for dissecting:
S is for [Stanley], sworn foe to formality.
T's [Travers Twiss], full of civil legality.
U's University, factiously splitting—
V's the Vice-Chancellor, ceaselessly sitting.
W's [Wall], by Museum made frantic,
X the Xpenditure, grown quite gigantic.
Y are the Young men, whom nobody thought about—
Z is the Zeal that this victory brought about.
PHANTASMAGORIA AND OTHER POEMS
OR
RHYME? AND REASON?
This collection of poems was first published by Macmillan, the same publishers of the Alice books, in London in 1869. The feature poem Phantasmagoria is Carroll's longest poetic work, forming a discussion written in seven cantos between a ghost and a man called Tibbets.
CONTENTS
PHANTASMAGORIA
CANTO I - The Trystyng
CANTO II - Hys Fyve Rules
CANTO III - Scarmoges
CANTO IV - Hys Nouryture
CANTO V - Byckerment
CANTO VI - Dyscomfyture
CANTO VII - Sad Souvenaunce
ECHOES
A SEA DIRGE
HIAWATHA’S PHOTOGRAPHING
MELANCHOLETTA
A VALENTINE
THE THREE VOICES
TÈMA CON VARIAZIÒNI
A GAME OF FIVES
POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR
SIZE AND TEARS
ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN
THE LANG COORTIN’
Complete Works of Lewis Carroll Page 85