The Vice-Chancellor, having taken his seat, opened Convocation with the usual Latin speech. Dr. Bryce, Regius Professor of Civil Law, then presented a number of distinguished men—bishops, judges, statesmen, soldiers, poets, and historians—and in introducing each alluded in brief Latin speeches to the peculiar merits that had called for the honorary degree of D.C.L.—the highest honour which the University can confer. After this the Creweian oration was delivered by the Public Orator; but as he spoke in an indistinct voice, and in Latin, the interesting allusions he made to past and present were scarcely even heard, much less understood. He took the chaff hurled at him with profound good humour, and ignoring the various injunctions to “Speak up,” and “That will do, sir—now translate!” hurried bravely on, and finished amid cheers of satisfaction. Then came the various prize poems and essays, to none of which, except to the Newdigate, was the slightest attention paid. But the Newdigate, though an exceptionally good poem, was badly read, and most of the cheers were ironical—all sorts of absurd constructions being at once fixed upon various lines.
The Masonic Fête on Wednesday afternoon was very delightful, but they were getting tired of the incessant gaiety; and so was the Magdalen concert and Christ-Church ball on Wednesday night; but they had had enough of concerts and enough of dancing, and all their energies and interest were centred in Thursday morning, when Frank was to take his degree—a far important event to Rose than the conferring of honorary D.C.L. on all the bishops, judges, statesmen, and soldiers put together.
It may be convenient here to enumerate roughly Frank’s expenses during his three years’ academical career. It will be remembered that his life has been that of an ordinary undergraduate. Its cost is therefore considerably in excess of that of a great many. It is also considerably below the level of comfort and luxury which in some cases folly induces, and in others is justified by adequate means. He came to Oxford not for intellectual advantages only, nor for social advantages only, but for both. He wished to be neither a spendthrift nor a “smug,” and he has been neither.
Three years contain twelve legal terms, but only nine of payment, the Easter and Act terms being virtually one in matter of residence.
On Thursday morning, having paid to the Dean the necessary College fee, and from him obtained a certificate of twelve terms’ residence, Frank, duly attired in cap and gown, white tie, and the statutable garments “of a subfusc hue,” proceeded to the Apodyterium of the Convocation House. There he paid the University fee, and showed to the Registrar the testamurs gained in Moderations and the Rudiments of Faith and Religion, and a certificate of his having been placed in the second class in the Honour School of Jurisprudence.
These preliminaries over, he met his party and took them into the Convocation House. There, having waited for half an hour, in a crowd that made moving impossible, and speaking almost a difficulty, the impatient spectators were informed that Convocation was removed to the Sheldonian Theatre, a piece of information certainly welcome, but one which they thought might have been given them before.
Perhaps it need not be said that four hearts at least were filled to overflowing as Frank went up with several other Paul’s men to be presented by the Dean to the Vice-Chancellor, and at least one pair of bright eyes shone the brighter for the tears that would rise up in them. And then with what pride Frank slipped on his gown and tipped his scout, William, the customary sovereign, and what a happy party sat down to lunch in Paul’s! Crawford was there, the new Fellow of Queen’s, not yet grown donnish and distant; and little Blue-eyes too was there, who had made firm friends with Rose, with whom she talked with pride of their two lovers.
In the evening the young people went to Nuneham, Rose and Mary sitting in the stern, Blue-eyes in the bows, where she paddled in the water like a very child; Crawford and Frank rowing. Mary had brought her sketching-book, and when they had had tea in the Moss Cottage, and a stroll was proposed, nothing could induce her to accompany the others. She wanted to sketch the rustic bridge and the river, and plenty of time she found for the purpose. For surely never were folks so long as Rose and Frank, Blue-eyes and Crawford, in walking through the lovely Nuneham woods. Like the bright June leaves that hung over them, life was young, and fresh, and bright; sobered, not saddened, by the twilight of earnest thoughts of the work that lay before them. Oxford had done her best for these two sons of hers; had not soured them; had not robbed them of their early faith; had not taught them to posture as the disciples of creeds as meaningless as they are cold and dead; had not inflated them with the notion that Oxford thought leads England and therefore the world; had not elated them with their academical success; but was sending them forth full of energy and full of hope, with the belief that life, that stern hard battle, was beginning and not ending with the winning of a degree.