The Further Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate: Being a Continuation of "The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Freshman" — John Shaqi
The Further Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate: Being a Continuation of "The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Freshman"Bede, Cuthbert
History
The Further Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate: Being a Continuation of "The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Freshman"
Bede, Cuthbert
University of Oxford -- Fiction
[8] The _exact_ spot where Archbishop Cranmer and Bishops Ridley and
Latimer suffered martyrdom is not known. "The most likely supposition
is, that it was in the town ditch, the site of which is now occupied by
the houses in Broad Street, which are immediately opposite the gateway
of Balliol College, or the footpath in front of them, where an extensive
layer of wood-ashes is known to remain."--(Parker.)
[9] Æn., Book v., 378.
CHAPTER V.
MR. VERDANT GREEN IS FAVOURED WITH MR. BOUNCER'S OPINIONS REGARDING AN
UNDERGRADUATE'S EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATIONS TO HIS MATERNAL RELATIVE.
[Illustration]
"Come in, whoever you are! don't mind the dogs!" shouted little Mr.
Bouncer, as he lay, in an extremely inelegant attitude, in a red morocco
chair, which was considerably the worse for wear, chiefly on account of
the ill-usage it had to put up with, in being made to represent its
owner's antagonist, whenever Mr. Bouncer thought fit to practise his
fencing. "Oh! it's you and Giglamps, is it, Charley? I'm just refreshing
myself with a weed, for I've been desperately hard at work."
"What! Harry Bouncer devoting himself to study! But this is the age of
wonders," said Charles Larkyns, who entered the room in company with Mr.
Verdant Green, whose forehead still betrayed the effects of the blow he
had received a few nights before.
[Illustration]
"It ain't reading that I meant," replied Mr. Bouncer, "though that
always _does_ floor me, and no mistake! and what's the use of their
making us peg away so at Latin and Greek, I can't make out. When I go
out into society, I don't want to talk about those old Greek and Latin
birds that they make us get up. I don't want to ask any old dowager I
happen to fall in with at a tea-fight, whether she believes all the
crammers that Herodotus tells us, or whether she's well up in the
naughty tales and rummy nuisances that we have to pass no end of our
years in getting by heart. And when I go to a ball, and do the light
fantastic, I don't want to ask my partner what she thinks about
Euripides, or whether she prefers Ovid's Metamorphoses to Ovid's Art of
Love, and all that sort of thing; and as for requesting her to do me a
problem of Euclid, instead of working me any glorified slippers or
woolleries, I'd scorn the _h_action. I ain't like you, Charley, and I'm
not _guv_ in the classics: I saw too much of the beggars while I was at
Eton to take kindly to 'em; and just let me once get through my Greats,
and see if I don't precious soon drop the acquaintance of those old
classical parties!"
"No you won't, old fellow!" said Charles Larkyns; "you'll find that
they'll stick to you through life, just like poor relations, and you
won't be able to shake them off. And you ought not to wish to do so,
more especially as, in the end, you will find them to have been very
rich relations."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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