OXFORD, ancient mother," exclaimed De Quincey, "heavy with ancestral honours, time-honoured and haply, it may be, time-shattered power, I owe thee nothing. Of thy vast riches I took not a shilling." It would be wrong to say that Lord Rosebery owes nothing to Oxford, for the statesman, like the poet, is, to quote his own words, "the product, not of one climate, but of all," and many influences must combine to ripen his genius. But we never think of Lord Rosebery as a typical son of Oxford, like Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Asquith, or Sir Alfred Milner. If his years at Christ Church could be cut out of his life, he would still be the same man. Already his thoughts and sympathies were with the people; the dream of closer brotherhood between rich and poor, which he expressed so eloquently in some of his earlier speeches, was taking shape in his imagination, and there was little in the society of his College to inspire a Liberal. Critics said that the air at Christ Church was sickly with the affectation of an intellectual superiority, that the taint of toadyism was everywhere. One reason for this may have been that Christ Church was the favourite Royal College. The Prince of Wales matriculated there in 1859, living at Frewin Hall, but frequently dining at the high table. The Crown Prince of Denmark and Prince

Leopold carried on the Royal tradition into the sixties and seventies. Clever young noblemen were surrounded by would-be satellites, and no little strength of character was needed to repel the advances of flatterers. The rules of the College encouraged snobbery. The old mediæval regulations as to precedence at table were still in force when Lord Dalmeny matriculated in January, 1866. The high table on the daïs in the dining-hall, where the Dean and Canons sat twice a year upon the annual gaudy-days, was given upon ordinary occasions, not to the tutors, but to the undergraduate noblemen. They were known as "Tufts," from the gold tassel which was the badge of their order. Dean Liddell, who went to Christ Church in 1855, had set his heart on getting rid of this antiquated custom, which permitted some of the dullest. men in the University to sit above their preceptors at the common meals. There are amusing stories in the Dean's life of the easy indulgence with which. noblemen and their sons were permitted to slip through their academic course. Gentlemen commoners would

appear

at Collections" for examination in Creasy's "Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World," which represented their whole term's work. One young man, who seemed to be doing nothing in classics, was sent by his tutor to a

When they were over, his tutor tried to find out how far he had profited. "Of what is the atmosphere composed?" he asked. After long hesitation, the undergraduate replied, "The atmosphere is composed of zinc." The dons themselves were to blame if these gentlemen commoners had degenerated into a lazy clique, whose presence was a discredit to the University, and the Act which abolished social distinctions in 1867 did not come a day too soon.

Lord Dalmeny was one of the last of the "noblemen" recognised at Christ Church, and wore a black silk gown adorned with gold lace, and on gaudydays a gown of violet and gold. (Prince Leopold in 1872 was distinguished only by a gentleman commoner's cap.) The dons decided to abolish the gaudy-days, but omitted to make the fact publicly known; and when Lord Dalmeny entered the hall on St. Andrew's Day, fully dressed and carrying two bottles of wine, Mr. C. W. Sandford, the Censor, hurried forward to meet him, with the depressing announcement announcement that there that there was no gaudy-day. Some wag suggested that Lord Rosebery should commission a great artist to paint the historic scene.

In his Eton days it was said that Lord Dalmeny was a man of the world in miniature, and the characteristics that had marked him as a schoolboy can be traced in all the stories of his undergraduate life. Contemporaries speak of the "gravity with which he would lie by while others talked, and wait for a chance of saying at his ease something unexpected and sec." simple and unaffected manners made

His

casion he was drawn in a sedan chair amid enthusiastic cheering, by a band of undergraduates round Peckwater Quad. It would be folly to pretend that he was a model student, or that he burned much midnight oil. He liked to go his own way, and follow his own pursuits. No incident is recorded. like that which Lord Esher tells of hist Eton days, when his tutor found him so difficult of access that he resorted to the device of tearing up his verses in order to compel his attendance. But we cannot doubt that his preceptors at Oxford, who recognised his remarkable abilities, and considered his First Class certain, must often have wished, like Mr. Cory, that they could "get that lad to work." Happily, he had opportunities for a wider culture than the University could give. In the spring of 1867 he was again in Italy. Mr. Cory, whose kind letters followed him from place to place, advised him to read all he could about St. Francis and to visit Assisi. "Tell the Italians, with my love, that I have subscribed fifty francs to Manin's monument. Insult Antonelli for me."

A magazine called The Dark Blue was published in 1867 at Oxford. It was a very handsome publication, beautifully printed in large type. The first number contains an article on the Derby of 1867, which shows that horse-racing interested the University in these days. Its language is as different as possible from that of the sporting press. To the lads who read that serious disquisition on the merits of the various horses, racing may well have seemed the most harmless

and innocent of amusements. Lord Dalmeny, we may be sure, read the first number of The Dark Blue. Young as he was, he had already formed the idea of winning the Derby, and it is matter of history that he preferred the loss of his degree to the giving up of his racehorses. The Dean regarded the keeping of a stud as an unsuitable pastime for an undergraduate, and Lord

pletely withdrawn from politics, and had taken only an intermittent interest even in Scotch affairs. Still, it is remarkable that the Scotsman should have contented itself with a thirty-line paragraph, such as would be given nowadays to a country farmer or doctor.

[Elliott & Fry

"trotting in From Photo by] last," as The

Times remarks, "some distance in the rear of everything."

Brief announcements in the newspapers for March 5th, 1868, informed the world of the death of the fourth Earl of Rosebery, which took place at his town house, No. 139, Piccadilly. He had lived to the great age of eighty-five. For many years the Earl had been com

with great ability and good taste." The fourth Earl was a Knight of the Thistle, an honour which the Queen conferred on his successor at his resignation in 1895.

The coffin was brought from London to Dalmeny, that the Earl might rest. with his ancestors and with the son who had passed away seventeen years before.