_Bacchi plenus_, whereas
the "steady man" regales himself with sober Bohea, talks of Newton and
Simeon, resolves to read mathematics with Burkitt, go to chapel fourteen
times a week, and never miss Trinity Church[1] on Thursday evenings. The
next day he asks the porter of his college where the tutor lives; the
key-bearing Peter laughs in his face, and tells him where he _keeps_; he
reaches the tutor's rooms, finds the door _sported_, and knocks till his
knuckles bleed. He talks of Newton to his tutor, and his tutor thinks him
a fool. He sallies forth from Law's (the tailor's) for the first time in
the academical toga and trencher, marches most majestically across the
grass-plot in the quadrangle of his college, is summoned before the master,
who had caught sight of him from the lodge-windows, and reprimanded. His
gown is a spick-and-span new one, of orthodox length, and without a single
rent; he caps every Master of Arts he meets; besides a few Bachelors, and
gets into the gutter to give them the wall. He comes into chapel in his
surplice, and sees it is not surplice-morning, runs back to his rooms for
his gown, and on his return finds the second lesson over. He has a
tremendous larum at his bed's head, and turns out every day at five
o'clock in imitation of Paley. He is in the lecture-room the very moment
the clock has struck eight, and takes down every word the tutor says. He
buys "Hints to Freshmen," reads it right through, and resolves to eject
his sofa from his rooms.[2] He talks of the roof of King's chapel, walks
through the market-place to look at Hobson's conduit, and quotes Milton's
sonnet on that famous carrier. He proceeds to Peter House to see Gray's
fire-escape, and to Christ's to steal a bit of Milton's mulberry tree. He
borrows all the mathematical MSS. he can procure, and stocks himself with
scribbling paper enough for the whole college. He goes to a wine-party,
toasts the university officers, sings sentiments, asks for tongs to sugar
his coffee, finds his cap and gown stolen and old ones left in their place.
He never misses St. Mary's (the University Church) on Sundays, is on his
legs directly the psalmody begins, and is laughed at by the other gownsmen.
He reads twelve or thirteen hours a day, and talks of being a wrangler. He
is never on the wrong side of the gates after ten, and his buttery bills
are not wound up with a single penny of fines. He leaves the rooms of a
friend in college, rather late perh