B. N.
C. was the head boat, and even B. N. C. did Corpus bump. But the triumph
was brief. B. N. C. made changes in its crew, got a new ship, drank the
foaming grape, and bumped Corpus back. I think they went head next year,
but not that year. Thus Mr. Bridges, as Kingsley advises, was doing
noble deeds, not dreaming them, at that moment.
There existed a periodical entirely devoted to verse, but nobody knew
anybody who wrote in it. A comic journal was started; I remember the
pride with which when a freshman, I received an invitation to join its
councils as an artist. I was to do the caricatures of all things. Now,
methought, I shall meet the Oxford wits of whom I have read. But the
wits were unutterably disappointing, and the whole thing died early and
not lamented. Only one piece of academic literature obtained and
deserved success. This was _The Oxford Spectator_, a most humorous
little periodical, in shape and size like Addison's famous journal. The
authors were Mr. Reginald Copleston, now Bishop of Colombo, Mr. Humphry
Ward, and Mr. Nolan, a great athlete, who died early. There have been
good periodicals since; many amusing things occur in the _Echoes from the
Oxford Magazine_, but the _Spectator_ was the flower of academic
journals. "When I look back to my own experience," says the _Spectator_,
"I find one scene, of all Oxford, most deeply engraved upon 'the mindful
tablets of my soul.
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