Punch (79.1880)

October 23, 1880.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

181

ROUND ABOUT TOWN.

A Gresham Lecture.

It is no secret that of late the City Institutions have been very
roughly handled. The Companies have been accused of spending
too much upon eating and drinking, and too little upon technical
education. It has been said that they have squandered their enor-
mous funds upon the most useless objects; that, in fact, they are
utterly valueless. Hoping in some degree to disprove these humilia-
ting charges, I attended a Gresham Lecture.

On reaching the corner of Basinghall Street, a few nights since, I
found a Beadle in the hall of the College, apparently impatiently
awaiting my arrival. He seemed heartily pleased to see me, and
directed me to ascend a staircase leading to the theatre, in a tone
that suggested he would not have me miss a word of the Lecture to
i save my life. Invigorated by his cordiality, I rushed up the well-
; lighted stairs, and on the landing was received by another Beadle,
j The second official was less cheery than the first. He pointed to a
door and informed me “that was the way in.” As I passed him, he
seemed to me to sigh (but this may have been an idle fancy), as if he
would murmur in my ear. “ Beware! Beware! Beware!”

My first impression of Gresham College was that it rejoiced in a
plethora of gorgeously-attired Beadles. My second (after entering
the theatre) was that a Lecture upon Rhetoric, at. six p.m. on a cold
j October evening, in the neighbourhood of St. Martin’s-le-Grand, was
i not considered by a majority of the British Public as an “ over-
! whelming attraction.” There were about twenty people present.

I entered in a solemn silence. The
Lecturer was pausing in his remarks to
gaze earnestly and sternly at a gentle-
man who was wearing his hat. For
some moments the discourse seemed to
have come to a complete standstill.
This gave me time to look around me.
The Lecturer was attired in Academical
costume. He wore a gown and an
Oxford hood, and a College cap was
resting beside him. In fact nothing
could have been more impressive than
what I may term his “ upper man.” It
is only just, however, to admit that the
effect was slightly marred by a habit
he had of keeping his hands in the
pockets of a pair of light-coloured
trousers. It may appear a little hyper-
critical to unduly insist upon such
paltry details, and I should shrink from doing so were not the
j costume of the Lecturer in strict keeping with the character of his
I harangue. I can only describe the bearing of the learned gentleman
as an assumption of state in an atmosphere of “ Oh-any thing-will-
; do-for-this-sort-of-thing-don’t-you-know.” The ancient origin of
| the Institution was represented by the Academical costume, and the
| comfortable “little certainty” by the degage attitude and the light-
coloured trousers.

The Lecturer was addressing rather a mixed audience. There
were two or three lads with MS. books, more or less successful!.
attempting to take notes. One was very industri-
ous, and I really was forced to wonder what he
could be writing. The others were calmer, and
only grew excited when they got hold of a date.

In the midst of these lads sat a very old man,
whose education possibly may have been neglected.

I say “possibly,” as, from the moment of my
entering to my departure, he scribbled away as
if his fate depended upon his preserving every
syllable that fell from the lips of his instructor.

He seemed to be making up for lost time with
frantic haste, as if he could not die in peace until
he had learned—something! There was a strong-
minded female in one corner, and a pretty-looking girl in another,
and a few uninteresting loungers were scantily spread over the back-
ground. These last reminded me forcibly of the crowd of idlers who
make it a daily task to march from Wellington Barracks to St.
James’s Palace to the martial strains of the Guards’ Band. I do not
think that any one of them cared about Rhetoric—particularly !

So much for the audience, and now for the lecture. The offending
hat having been removed, the orator resumed the thread of his dis-
course. He spoke in a low and melancholy tone, and apparently
had some difficulty (at times) in collecting his thoughts. Occasion-
ally he seemed to be speaking in his sleep. As I settled down into
my seat, I understood him to be disagreeing with “ Mr. Hallam”
upon some point or other, while he claimed for “ Hobbes of Malmes-
bury ” a high place in the literature of the Past. The subject, how-
ever, could not have been of absorbing interest to him. as he once
confused the modern author with the ancient writer, calling the first

plain “ Hallam,” and the last, respectfully, “ Mr. Hobbes of
Malmesbury.” Then he paused, and slowly drank a glass of water.
Having partaken of this slight refreshment, he continued with re-
newed energy to talk about “what he had said last night.” But
the “ spurt] was soon exhausted, and he quickly resumed what I
may term his “ trance ” state. Once more he seemed to be lecturing
in his sleep, making long pauses now and then, as if he had entirely
forgotten what he was speaking about. I tried my best to under-
stand him, and have reason to believe that he jumped from “ Mr.
Hobbes of Malmesbury ” to the orators of the time of Henry the
Seventh. After some little pause, he disappointed us all by dis-
missing that reign with the remark that no oratory of that epoch
had been handed down to him. He then came to Henry the
Eighth, and our hopes of learning something “really good” were
again aroused. The more sanguine of us may have even expected
that the Lecturer would now throw off his lethargy, pull himself
together, and do wonders with a piece of white chalk upon the black
board that stood invitingly behind him. But, alas ! it was not to
be! He merely observed that he ‘ ‘ should say nothing about the
oratory of the time of Henry the Eighth.” Why he elected to be
so sternly reticent, did not appear. Perhaps it was because there
were Ladies present! We forgave him, however, the disappointment
he had caused us, because he had secured our deepest commisera-
tion. He seemed so very bored and tired. Apparently, he had set
himself a task which he nobly intended to perform. That task, I
cannot help thinking, was to lecture for an hour. Probably in
furtherance of this design, he kindly intimated that he was going to
read us a speech. “It is forcible in style,” he observed, “and
tolerably intelligible.” He added, that it was delivered by Sir
John Chepe to the “Levellers.” “ The crimes of the Levellers,”
he continued, “were something like agrarian outrages.” Then he
paused, and corrected himself. He was not quite sure that this was
exactly accurate; but, after all, the crimes of the LeveUers had
nothing to do with Rhetoric, and therefore he would pursue the
subj ect no further.

It occurred to me once or twice during the Lecture that the learned
gentleman was “not sure” of several things, and rather shrank
from entering into unnecessary particulars. He continued:—“ This
speech was addressed to one Tanner of Kent.” Then he paused,
and again corrected himself. The speech was not strictly a speech,
because it happened to be a proclamation. Still, it might have been
spoken if any one had liked to read it aloud, when of course it would
have been a speech!

Having settled this point to hi? own satisfaction, he commenced.
The harangue may have been “forcible” in style when originally
addressed to Levellers, but on this occasion it certainly did not gain
much by the delivery. The Lecturer read slowly on in a perfunctory
manner—once losing his place, and “ trying back”—until he came to
the line, “ a marvellously tanned commonwealth.” Here he paused
with an air of languid triumph—he had caught a pun ! He re-
minded us that the “ speech or proclamation ” had been addressed to
the followers of a Tanner, and that here was an allusion to a
“ tanned Commonwealth.” The play upon words was as obvious as
it was pleasing ! Eor a moment he seemed to be inviting us to join
him in a wild burst of almost delirious merriment, but no one
laughed, and he almost immediately relapsed into his normal air of
melancholy. But I could not help fancy-
ing that he was “ ‘ a little hurt,” for, after
reading two or three words more of the
speech in a tone of resigned disappoint-
ment, he observed, rather abruptly,

“I need not continue this further.”

As he seemingly paused to consider
leisurely what he should do next, I
seized the opportunity to turn round
and regard the audience. Judge of my
horror and my shame when I found
that there were sleepers present! As I tried to recover from so
severe a shock to all my better feelings, I noticed two of the
audience making stealthily for the door !

They had scarcely quitted the theatre when others quickly fol-
lowed their example. I gathered from this that there was something
going on on the platform which was evidently causing profound
emotion. I turned sharply round, and found the orator reading
with an energy that argued that he had at length discovered some-
thing that exactly suited him. In a moment more the mystery was
solved. The Lecturer on Rhetoric (with the assistance of Bishop
Latimer) was preaching a sermon !

As I hurriedly left, the First Beadle, cheery to the last, informed
me that “ it was generally over by about seven.” But no, I would
not stop—I had had enough ! I may be wrong, but I cannot help
fancying that quantity, rather than quality, is the distinguishing
characteristic (in some instances) of a Gresham Lecture.

The Real Owe de Cologne.—The Debt on the Cathedral.