LIFE AT OXFORD. 49 



England, the Lake District, the Highlands, and Ireland, would have 

 been more amusing than most hooks of travel, for we have his own 

 word for it that they were sometimes "full of adventure and scrape." 

 But of these journeys he kept no record, and all that can now be 

 gleaned is an incidental allusion here and there in his works.* 



The circle of his acquaintance at Oxford was most extensive, 

 from the learned President of his College, Dr. Routh, with whom, 

 as De Quincey says, "he enjoyed an unlimited favor," down through 

 "an infinite gamut of friends and associates, running through every 

 key, the diapason closing full in groom, cobbler, and stable-boy." 

 But though a universal favorite, his circle of intimate friends was 

 more select. Among these were Mr. Home Drummond (of Blair- 

 Drummond), Mr. Charles Parr Burney, Reginald Heber; Mr. Sib- 

 thorpe, brother of the late Colonel Sibthorpe; Mr. N\ Ellison, Mr. 

 Charles Edward Grey. None of these gentlemen was of his own 

 college. 



An anecdote may here be given, illustrating a somewhat unusual 

 mode of shutting up a proctor. One evening one of these important 

 functionaries was aroused to the exercise of his authority by a con- 

 siderable noise in the High Street. Coming forth to challenge the 

 authors of the unlawful uproar, he found that " Wilson of Magda- 

 len's" was the prime author of the disturbance. Remonstrance and 

 warning were alike thrown away on the indomitable youth ; he had 

 put on his "boldest suit of mirth, for he had friends that purposed 

 merriment." Nothing could be made of him. In vain the proctor 

 advanced ; he was received with speeches, and a perfect flood of 

 words. The idea of repose was flouted by this incorrigible youth. 

 Still the proctor protested, until he was fairly driven away by Wil- 

 son repeating to him, with imperturbable gravity, nearly the whole 

 of Pope's " Essay on Man." 



I am glad to be able to make up, in some respects, for the meagre- 

 ness of these outlines, by some very interesting reminiscences kindh 

 furnished by one who truly says, that he is " perhaps the only per 



* " ' The Tipperary shillelaghs came tumbling about Ms nob as thick as grass: This is a 

 sweet pastoral image, which we ourselves once heard employed by a very delicate and modest 

 young woman in a cottage near Limerick, when speaking of the cudgels in an affray. A broken 

 head is in Ireland always spoken of in terms of endearment; much of the same tender feel- 

 ing is naturally transferred to the shillelagh that inflicted it. 'God bless your honor I' said 

 the same" gentle creature to us while casting an affectionate look of admiration on our walk- 

 ing-stick. ' Tou would give a swate blow with it: "—Blackwood, vol. v., p. 667. 

 3 



