The English Spy: An Original Work Characteristic, Satirical, And Humorous. C. M. Westmacott

it's extra-proctorial, sir: none of the town raff are ever admitted into it, and the marshal and his bull dogs never think of intruding here. With your leave, sir, I'll send in master—he will explain things better; and mayhap, sir, as you are fresh, he may give you a little useful information." "Do so—send me in a bottle of old Madeira and two glasses, and tell your master I shall be happy to see him." In a few moments I was honoured with the company of mine host of the Mitre, who, to do him justice, was a more humorous fellow than I had anticipated. Not quite so ceremonious as he of the Christopher at Eton, or the superlative of a Bond-street restaurateur; but with an unembarrassed roughness, yet respectful demeanour, that partook more of the sturdy English farmer, or an old weather-beaten sportsman, than the picture I had figured to myself of the polished landlord of the principal inn in the sacred city of learning. We are too much the creatures of prejudice in this life, and first impressions are not unfrequently the first faults which we unthinkingly commit against the reputation of a new acquaintance. Master Peake was, I discovered, a fellow of infinite jest, an old fox-hunter, and a true sportsman; and supposing me, from my introduction by Tom Echo to his house, to be as fond of a good horse, a hard run, and a black bottle, as my friend, he had eagerly sought an opportunity for this early introduction. "No man in the country, sir," said Peake, "can boast of a better horse or a better wife: I always leave the management of the bishop's cap to the petticoat; for look ye, sir, gown against gown is the true orthodox system, I believe.—When I kept the Blue Pig{53} by the Town Hall, the big wigs used to grunt a little now and then about the gemmen of the university getting bosky in a pig-sty; so, egad, I thought I would fix them at last, and removed here; for I knew it would be deemed sacrilegious to attack the mitre, or hazard a pun upon the head of the church.

      53 The Blue Boar, since shut up.

       If ever you should be tiled up in Eager heaven,{54} there's not a kinder hearted soul in Christendom than Mrs. Peake: Dr. Wall says that he thinks she has saved more gentlemen's lives in this university by good nursing and sending them niceties, than all the material medicals put together. You'll excuse me, sir, but as you are fresh, take care to avoid the gulls{55}; they fly about here in large flocks, I assure you, and do no little mischief at times." "I never understood that gulls were birds of prey," said I.—"Only in Oxford, sir; and here, I assure you, they bite like hawks, and pick many a poor young gentleman as bare before his three years are expired, as the crows would a dead sheep upon a common. Every thing depends upon your obtaining an honest scout, and that's a sort of haro ravis (I think they call the bird) here." Suppressing my laughter at my host's Latinity, I thought this a fair opportunity to make some inquiries relative to this important officer in a college establishment.

      "I suppose you know most of these ambassadors of the togati belonging to the different colleges'?" "I think I do, sir," said Peake, "if you mean the scouts; but I never heard them called by that name before. If you are of Christ Church, I should recommend Dick Cook, or, as he is generally called, Gentleman Cook, as the most finished, spritely, honest fellow of the whole. Dick's a trump, and no telegraph—up to every frisk, and down to every move of the domini, thorough bred, and no want of courage?"

      54 Æager haven—laid up in the depot of invalids.

       55 Gulls—knowing ones who are always on the look out for

       freshmen.

       "But not having the honour of being entered there, I cannot avail myself of Dick's services: pray tell me, who is there at Brazennose that a young fellow can make a confidant of?" "Why, the very best old fellow in the world—nothing like him in Oxford—rather aged, to be sure, but a good one to go, and a rum one to look at;—I have known Mark Supple these fifty years, and never heard a gentleman give him a bad word: shall I send for him, sir? he's the very man to put you up to a thing or two, and finish you off in prime style." "In the morning, I'll see him, and if he answers your recommendation, engage with him: "for, thought I, such a man will be very essential, if it is only to act as interpreter to a young novice like myself.

      The conversation now turned to sporting varieties, by which I discovered mine host was a leading character in the neighbouring hunts; knew every sportsman in the field, and in the course of half an hour, carried me over Godrington's manors, Moystoris district, and Somerset range,{56} taking many a bold leap in his progress, and never losing sight of the dogs. "We shall try your mettle, sir," said he, "if we catch you out for a day's sport; and if you are not quite mounted at present to your mind, I have always a spare nag in the stable for the use of a freshman."

      56 The three packs of hounds contiguous to Oxford.

      Though I did not relish the concluding appellation, coming from a tavern-keeper, I could not help thanking Peake for his liberal offer; yet without any intention of risking my neck in a steeple chase. The interview had, however, been productive of some amusement and considerable information. The bottle was now nearly finished; filling my last glass, I drank success to the Mitre, promised to patronise the landlord, praise the hostess, coquet with the little cherry-cheek, chirping lass in the bar, and kiss as many of the chamber-maids as I could persuade to let me. Wishing mine host a good night, and ringing for my bed-candle, I proceeded to put the last part of my promise into immediate execution.

COLLEGE SERVANTS.

       Table of Contents

      Descriptive Sketch of a College Scout—Biography of Mark

       Supple—Singular Invitation to a Spread.

      The next morning, early, while at breakfast, I received a visit from Mr. Mark Supple, the scout, of whom mine host of the Mitre had on the preceding night spoken so highly. There was nothing certainly very prepossessing in his exterior appearance; and if he had not previously been eulogised as the most estimable of college servants, I should not have caught the impression from a first glance. He was somewhere about sixty years of age, of diminutive stature and spare habit, a lean brother with a scarlet countenance, impregnated with tints of many a varied hue, in which however the richness of the ruby and the soft purple of the ultramarine evidently predominated. His forehead was nearly flat; upon his eyebrows and over his os frontis and scalp, a few straggling straight hairs were extended as an apology for a wig, but which was much more like a discarded crow's nest turned upside down. Immense black bushy eyebrows overhung a pair of the queerest looking oculars I had ever seen; below which sprung forth what had once been, no doubt, a nose, and perhaps in youth an elegant feature; but, Heaven help the wearer! it was now grown into such a strange form, and presented so many choice exuberances, that one might have supposed it was the original Bardolph's, and charged with the additional sins of every succeeding generation. The loss of his teeth had caused the other lip to retire inwards, and consequently the lower one projected forth, supported by a huge chin, like the basin or receiver round the crater of a volcano.

      His costume was of a fashion admirably corresponding with his person. It might once have graced a dean, or, perhaps, a bishop, but it was evident the present wearer was not by when the artiste of the needle took his measure or instructions. Three men of Mark's bulk might very well have been buttoned up in the upper habiliment; and as for the inexpressibles, they hung round his ultimatum like the petticoat trowsers of a Dutch smuggler: then for the colour, it might once have been sable or a clerical mixture; but what with the powder which the collar bore evidence it had once been accustomed to, and the weather-beaten trials it had since undergone, it was quite impossible to specify. The beaver was in excellent keeping, en suite, except, perhaps, from the constant application of the hand to pay due respect to the dignitaries, it was here and there enriched with some more shining qualities. I at first suspected this ancient visitor was a hoax of my friend Tom Echo's, who had concerted the scheme with the landlord; but a little conversation with the object of my surprise soon convinced me it was the genuine Mark Supple, the true college scout, and no counterfeit.

      "The welcome of Isis to you, sir," said the old man. "The domini of the bishops cap here gave me a hint you wished to see me.—I have the honour to be Mark Supple, sir, senior scout