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<h2> CHAPTER XV—ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS </h2>
<p>I should like to fill several volumes with accounts of various University
Snobs; so fond are my reminiscences of them, and so numerous are they. I
should like to speak, above all, of the wives and daughters of some of the
Professor-Snobs; their amusements, habits, jealousies; their innocent
artifices to entrap young men; their picnics, concerts, and
evening-parties. I wonder what has become of Emily Blades, daughter of
Blades, the Professor of the Mandingo language? I remember her shoulders
to this day, as she sat in the midst of a crowd of about seventy young
gentlemen, from Corpus and Catherine Hall, entertaining them with ogles
and French songs on the guitar. Are you married, fair Emily of the
shoulders? What beautiful ringlets those were that used to dribble over
them!—what a waist!—what a killing sea-green shot-silk gown!—what
a cameo, the size of a muffin! There were thirty-six young men of the
University in love at one time with Emily Blades: and no words are
sufficient to describe the pity, the sorrow, the deep, deep commiseration—the
rage, fury, and uncharitableness, in other words—with which the Miss
Trumps (daughter of Trumps, the Professor of Phlebotomy) regarded her,
because she DIDN'T squint, and because she WASN'T marked with the
small-pox.</p>
<p>As for the young University Snobs, I am getting too old, now, to speak of
such very familiarly. My recollections of them lie in the far, far past—almost
as far back as Pelham's time.</p>
<p>We THEN used to consider Snobs raw-looking lads, who never missed chapel;
who wore highlows and no straps; who walked two hours on the Trumpington
road every day of their lives; who carried off the college scholarships,
and who overrated themselves in hall. We were premature in pronouncing our
verdict of youthful Snobbishness The man without straps fulfilled his
destiny and duty. He eased his old governor, the curate in Westmoreland,
or helped his sisters to set up the Ladies' School. He wrote a
'Dictionary,' or a 'Treatise on Conic Sections,' as his nature and genius
prompted. He got a fellowship: and then took to himself a wife, and a
living. He presides over a parish now, and thinks it rather a dashing
thing to belong to the 'Oxford and Cambridge Club;' and his parishioners
love him, and snore under his sermons. No, no, HE is not a Snob. It is not
straps that make the gentleman, or highlows that unmake him, be they ever
so thick. My son, it is you who are the Snob if you lightly despise a man
for doing his duty, and refuse to shake an honest man's hand because it
wears a Berlin glove.</p>
<p>We then used to consider it not the least vulgar for a parcel of lads who
had been whipped three months previous, and were not allowed more than
three glasses of port at home, to sit down to pineapples and ices at each
other's rooms, and fuddle themselves with champagne and claret.</p>
<p>One looks back to what was called a 'wine-party' with a sort of wonder.
Thirty lads round a table covered with bad sweetmeats, drinking bad wines,
telling bad stories, singing bad songs over and over again. Milk punch—smoking—ghastly
headache—frightful spectacle of dessert-table next morning, and
smell of tobacco—your guardian, the clergyman, dropping in, in the
midst of this—expecting to find you deep in Algebra, and discovering
the Gyp administering soda-water.</p>
<p>There were young men who despised the lads who indulged in the coarse
hospitalities of wine-parties, who prided themselves in giving RECHERCHE
little French dinners. Both wine-party-givers and dinner-givers were
Snobs.</p>
<p>There were what used to be called 'dressy' Snobs:—Jimmy, who might
be seen at five o'clock elaborately rigged out, with a camellia in his
button-hole, glazed boots, and fresh kid-gloves twice a day;—Jessamy,
who was conspicuous for his 'jewellery,'—a young donkey, glittering
all over with chains, rings, and shirt-studs;—Jacky, who rode every
day solemnly on the Blenheim Road, in pumps and white silk stockings, with
his hair curled,—all three of whom flattered themselves they gave
laws to the University about dress—all three most odious varieties
of Snobs.</p>
<p>Sporting Snobs of course there were, and are always—those happy
beings in whom Nature has implanted a love of slang: who loitered about
the horsekeeper's stables, and drove the London coaches—a stage in
and out—and might be seen swaggering through the courts in pink of
early mornings, and indulged in dice and blind-hookey at nights, and never
missed a race or a boxing-match; and rode flat-races, and kept
bull-terriers. Worse Snobs even than these were poor miserable wretches
who did not like hunting at all, and could not afford it, and were in
mortal fear at a two-foot ditch; but who hunted because Glenlivat and
Cinqbars hunted. The Billiard Snob and the Boating Snob were varieties of
these, and are to be found elsewhere than in universities.</p>
<p>Then there were Philosophical Snobs, who used to ape statesmen at the
spouting-clubs, and who believed as a fact that Government always had an
eye on the University for the selection of orators for the House of
Commons. There were audacious young free-thinkers, who adored nobody or
nothing, except perhaps Robespierre and the Koran, and panted for the day
when the pale name of priest should shrink and dwindle away before the
indignation of an enlightened world.</p>
<p>But the worst of all University Snobs are those unfortunates who go to
rack and ruin from their desire to ape their betters. Smith becomes
acquainted with great people at college, and is ashamed of his father the
tradesman. Jones has fine acquaintances, and lives after their fashion
like a gay free-hearted fellow as he is, and ruins his father, and robs
his sister's portion, and cripples his younger brother's outset in life,
for the pleasure of entertaining my lord, and riding by the side of Sir
John. And though it may be very good fun for Robinson to fuddle himself at
home as he does at College, and to be brought home by the policeman he has
just been trying to knock down—think what fun it is for the poor old
soul his mother!—the half-pay captain's widow, who has been pinching
herself all her life long, in order that that jolly young fellow might
have a University education.</p>
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