W.
WALLING. At the University of Oxford, the punishment of walling, as it is popularly denominated, consists in confining a student to the walls of his college for a certain period.
WARDEN. The master or president of a college.—England.
WARNING. In many colleges, when it is ascertained that a student is not living in accordance with the laws of the institution, he is usually informed of the fact by a warning, as it is called, from one of the faculty, which consists merely of friendly caution and advice, thus giving him an opportunity, by correcting his faults, to escape punishment.
Sadly I feel I should have been saved by numerous warnings. Harvardiana, Vol. III. p. 98.
No more shall “warnings” in their hearing ring,
Nor “admonitions” haunt their aching head.
Yale Lit. Mag., Vol. XV. p. 210.
WEDGE. At the University of Cambridge, Eng., the man whose name is the last on the list of honors in the voluntary classical examination, which follows the last examination required by statute, is called the wedge. “The last man is called the wedge” says Bristed, “corresponding to the Spoon in Mathematics. This name originated in that of the man who was last on the first Tripos list (in 1824), Wedgewood. Some one suggested that the wooden wedge was a good counterpart to the wooden spoon, and the appellation stuck.”—Five Years in an Eng. Univ., Ed. 2d, p. 253.
WET. To christen a new garment by treating one’s friends when one first appears in it; e.g.:—A. “Have you wet that new coat yet?” B. “No.” A. “Well, then, I should recommend to you the propriety of so doing.” B. “What will you drink?” This word, although much used among students, is by no means confined to them.
WHINNICK. At Hamilton College, to refuse to fulfil a promise or engagement; to retreat from a difficulty; to back out.
WHITE-HOOD HOUSE. See SENATE.
WIGS. The custom of wearing wigs was, perhaps, observed nowhere in America during the last century with so much particularity as at the older colleges. Of this the following incident is illustrative. Mr. Joseph Palmer, who graduated at Harvard in the year 1747, entered college at the age of fourteen; but, although so young, was required immediately after admission to cut off his long, flowing hair, and to cover his head with an unsightly bag-wig. At the beginning of the present century, wigs were not wholly discarded, although the fashion of wearing the hair in a queue was more in vogue. From a record of curious facts, it appears that the last wig which appeared at Commencement in Harvard College was worn by Mr. John Marsh, in the year 1819.
See DRESS.
WILL. At Harvard College, it was at one time the mode for the student to whom had been given the JACK-KNIFE in consequence of his ugliness, to transmit the inheritance, when he left, to some one of equal pretensions in the class next below him. At one period, this transmission was effected by a will, in which not only the knife, but other articles, were bequeathed. As the 21st of June was, till of late years, the day on which the members of the Senior Class closed their collegiate studies, and retired to make preparations for the ensuing Commencement, Wills were usually dated at that time. The first will of this nature of which mention is made is that of Mr. William Biglow, a member of the class of 1794, and the recipient for that year of the knife. It appeared in the department entitled “Omnium Gatherum” of the Federal Orrery, published at Boston, April 27, 1795, in these words:—
“A Will
BEING THE LAST WORDS OF CHARLES CHATTERBOX, ESQ., LATE WORTHY AND MUCH LAMENTED MEMBER OF THE LAUGHING CLUB OF HARVARD UNIVERSITT, WHO DEPARTED COLLEGE LIFE, JUNE 21, 1794, IN THE TWENTY-FIRST YEAR OF HIS AGE.
“I, CHARLEY CHATTER, sound of mind,
To making fun am much inclined;
So, having cause to apprehend
My college life is near its end,
All future quarrels to prevent,
I seal this will and testament.
“My soul and body, while together,
I send the storms of life to weather;
To steer as safely as they can,
To honor GOD, and profit man.
“Imprimis, then, my bed and bedding,
My only chattels worth the sledding,
Consisting of a maple stead,
A counterpane, and coverlet,
Two cases with the pillows in,
A blanket, cord, a winch and pin,
Two sheets, a feather bed and hay-tick,
I order sledded up to Natick,
And that with care the sledder save them
For those kind parents, first who gave them.
“Item. The Laughing Club, so blest,
Who think this life what ’t is,—a jest,—
Collect its flowers from every spray,
And laugh its goading thorns away;
From whom to-morrow I dissever,
Take one sweet grin, and leave for ever;
My chest, and all that in it is,
I give and I bequeath them, viz.:
Westminster grammar, old and poor,
Another one, compiled by Moor;
A bunch of pamphlets pro and con
The doctrine of salva-ti-on;
The college laws, I’m freed from minding,
A Hebrew psalter, stripped from binding.
A Hebrew Bible, too, lies nigh it,
Unsold—because no one would buy it.
“My manuscripts, in prose and verse,
They take for better and for worse;
Their minds enlighten with the best,
And pipes and candles with the rest;
Provided that from them they cull
My college exercises dull,
On threadbare theme, with mind unwilling,
Strained out through fear of fine one shilling,
To teachers paid t’ avert an evil,
Like Indian worship to the Devil.
The above-named manuscripts, I say.
To club aforesaid I convey,
Provided that said themes, so given,
Full proofs that genius won’t be driven,
To our physicians be presented,
As the best opiates yet invented.
“Item. The government of college,
Those liberal helluos of knowledge,
Who, e’en in these degenerate days,
Deserve the world’s unceasing praise;
Who, friends of science and of men,
Stand forth Gomorrah’s righteous ten;
On them I naught but thanks bestow,
For, like my cash, my credit’s low;
So I can give nor clothes nor wines,
But bid them welcome to my fines.
“Item. My study desk of pine,
That work-bench, sacred to the nine,
Which oft hath groaned beneath my metre,
I give to pay my debts to PETER.
“Item. Two penknives with white handles,
A bunch of quills, and pound of candles,
A lexicon compiled by COLE,
A pewter spoon, and earthen bowl,
A hammer, and two homespun towels,
For which I yearn with tender bowels,
Since I no longer can control them,
I leave to those sly lads who stole them.
“Item. A gown much greased in Commons,
A hat between a man’s and woman’s,
A tattered coat of college blue,
A fustian waistcoat torn in two,
With all my rust, through college carried,
I give to classmate O——,[67] who’s married.
“Item. C——— P———s68 has my knife,
During his natural college life,—
That knife, which ugliness inherits,
And due to his superior merits;
And when from Harvard he shall steer,
I order him to leave it here,
That ’t may from class to class descend,
Till time and ugliness shall end.
“The said C——— P———s, humor’s son,
Who long shall stay when I am gone,
The Muses’ most successful suitor,
I constitute my executor;
And for his trouble to requite him,
Member of Laughing Club I write him.
“Myself on life’s broad sea I throw,
Sail with its joy, or stem its woe,
No other friend to take my part,
Than careless head and honest heart.
My purse is drained, my debts are paid,
My glass is run, my will is made,
To beauteous Cam. I bid adieu,
And with the world begin anew.”
Following the example of his friend Biglow, Mr. Prentiss, on leaving college, prepared a will, which afterwards appeared in one of the earliest numbers of the Rural Repository, a literary paper, the publication of which he commenced at Leominster, Mass., in the autumn of 1795. Thomas Paine, afterwards Robert Treat Paine, Jr., immediately transferred it to the columns of the Federal Orrery, which paper he edited, with these introductory remarks: “Having, in the second number of ‘Omnium Gatherum’ presented to our readers the last will and testament of Charles Chatterbox, Esq., of witty memory, wherein the said Charles, now deceased, did lawfully bequeath to Ch——s Pr——s the celebrated ‘Ugly Knife,’ to be by him transmitted, at his collegiate demise, to the next succeeding candidate;… and whereas the said Ch——-s Pr——-s, on the 21st of June last, departed his aforesaid ‘college life,’ thereby leaving to the inheritance of his successor the valuable legacy, which his illustrious friend had bequeathed, as an entailed estate, to the poets of the university,—we have thought proper to insert a full, true, and attested copy of the will of the last deceased heir, in order that the world may be furnished with a correct genealogy of this renowned jack-knife, whose pedigree will become as illustrious in after time as the family of the ‘ROLLES,’ and which will be celebrated by future wits as the most formidable weapon of modern genius.”
“A Will
BEING THE LAST WORDS OP CH——S PR——S, LATE WORTHY AND MUCH LAMENTED MEMBER OF THE LAUGHING CLUB OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY, WHO DEPARTED COLLEGE LIFE ON THE 21ST OF JUNE, 1795.
“I, Pr——-s Ch——s, of judgment sound,
In soul, in limb and wind, now found;
I, since my head is full of wit,
And must be emptied, or must split,
In name of president APOLLO,
And other gentle folks, that follow:
Such as URANIA and CLIO,
To whom my fame poetic I owe;
With the whole drove of rhyming sisters,
For whom my heart with rapture blisters;
Who swim in HELICON uncertain
Whether a petticoat or shirt on,
From vulgar ken their charms do cover,
From every eye but Muses’ lover;
In name of every ugly GOD;
Whose beauty scarce outshines a toad;
In name of PROSERPINE and PLUTO,
Who board in hell’s sublimest grotto;
In name of CERBERUS and FURIES,
Those damned aristocrats and tories;
In presence of two witnesses,
Who are as homely as you please,
Who are in truth, I’d not belie ’em,
Ten times as ugly, faith, as I am;
But being, as most people tell us,
A pair of jolly clever fellows,
And classmates likewise, at this time,
They sha’n’t be honored in my rhyme.
I—I say I, now make this will;
Let those whom I assign fulfil.
I give, grant, render, and convey
My goods and chattels thus away:
That honor of a college life,
That celebrated UGLY KNIFE,
Which predecessor SAWNEY69 orders,
Descending to time’s utmost borders,
To noblest bard of homeliest phiz,
To have and hold and use as his;
I now present C——s P——y S——r,70
To keep with his poetic lumber,
To scrape his quid, and make a split,
To point his pen for sharpening wit;
And order that he ne’er abuse
Said Ugly Knife, in dirtier use,
And let said CHARLES, that best of writers,
In prose satiric skilled to bite us,
And equally in verse delight us,
Take special care to keep it clean
From unpoetic hands,—I ween.
And when those walls, the Muses’ seat,
Said S——r is obliged to quit,
Let some one of APOLLO’S firing,
To such heroic joys aspiring,
Who long has borne a poet’s name,
With said knife cut his way to fame.
“I give to those that fish for parts,
Long sleepless nights, and aching hearts,
A little soul, a fawning spirit,
With half a grain of plodding merit,
Which is, as Heaven I hope will say,
Giving what’s not my own away.
“Those oven baked or goose egg folded,
Who, though so often I have told it,
With all my documents to show it,
Will scarce believe that I’m a poet,
I give of criticism the lens
With half an ounce of common sense.
“And ’t would a breach be of humanity,
Not to bequeath D—-n71 my vanity;
For ’tis a rule direct from Heaven,
To him that hath, more shall be given.
“Item. Tom M——n,72 COLLEGE LION,
Who’d ne’er spend cash enough to buy one,
The BOANERGES of a pun,
A man of science and of fun,
That quite uncommon witty elf,
Who darts his bolts and shoots himself,
Who oft hath bled beneath my jokes,
I give my old tobacco-box.
“My Centinels[73] for some years past,
So neatly bound with thread and paste,
Exposing Jacobinic tricks,
I give my chum for politics.
“My neckcloth, dirty, old, yet strong,
That round my neck has lasted long,
I give BIG BOY, for deed of pith,
Namely, to hang himself therewith.
“To those who’ve parts at exhibition
Obtained by long, unwearied fishing,
I say, to such unlucky wretches,
I give, for wear, a brace of breeches;
Then used; as they’re but little tore,
I hope they’ll show their tails no more.
“And ere it quite has gone to rot,
I, B—— give my blue great-coat,
With all its rags, and dirt, and tallow,
Because he’s such a dirty fellow.
“Now for my books; first, Bunyan’s Pilgrim,
(As he with thankful pleasure will grin,)
Though dog-leaved, torn, in bad type set in,
’T will do quite well for classmate B——,
And thus, with complaisance to treat her,
’T will answer for another Detur.
“To him that occupies my study,
I give, for use of making toddy,
A bottle full of white-face STINGO,
Another, handy, called a mingo.
My wit, as I’ve enough to spare,
And many much in want there are,
I ne’er intend to keep at home,
But give to those that handiest come,
Having due caution, where and when,
Never to spatter gentlemen.
The world’s loud call I can’t refuse,
The fine productions of my muse;
If impudence to fame shall waft her,
I’ll give the public all, hereafter.
My love-songs, sorrowful, complaining,
(The recollection puts me pain in,)
The last sad groans of deep despair,
That once could all my entrails tear;
My farewell sermon to the ladies;
My satire on a woman’s head-dress;
My epigram so full of glee,
Pointed as epigrams should be;
My sonnets soft, and sweet as lasses,
My GEOGRAPHY of MOUNT PARNASSUS;
With all the bards that round it gather,
And variations of the weather;
Containing more true humorous satire,
Than’s oft the lot of human nature;
(‘O dear, what can the matter be!’
I’ve given away my vanity;
The vessel can’t so much contain,
It runs o’er and comes back again.)
My blank verse, poems so majestic,
My rhymes heroic, tales agrestic;
The whole, I say, I’ll overhaul ’em,
Collect and publish in a volume.
“My heart, which thousand ladies crave,
That I intend my wife shall have.
I’d give my foibles to the wind,
And leave my vices all behind;
But much I fear they’ll to me stick,
Where’er I go, through thin and thick.
On WISDOM’S horse, oh, might I ride,
Whose steps let PRUDENCE’ bridle guide.
Thy loudest voice, O REASON, lend,
And thou, PHILOSOPHY, befriend.
May candor all my actions guide,
And o’er my every thought preside,
And in thy ear, O FORTUNE, one word,
Let thy swelled canvas bear me onward,
Thy favors let me ever see,
And I’ll be much obliged to thee;
And come with blooming visage meek,
Come, HEALTH, and ever flush my cheek;
O bid me in the morning rise,
When tinges Sol the eastern skies;
At breakfast, supper-time, or dinner,
Let me against thee be no sinner.
“And when the glass of life is run,
And I behold my setting sun,
May conscience sound be my protection,
And no ungrateful recollection,
No gnawing cares nor tumbling woes,
Disturb the quiet of life’s close.
And when Death’s gentle feet shall come
To bear me to my endless home,
Oh! may my soul, should Heaven but save it,
Safely return to GOD who gave it.”
Federal Orrery, Oct. 29, 1795. Buckingham’s Reminiscences,
Vol. II. pp. 228-231, 268-273.
It is probable that the idea of a “College Will” was suggested to Biglow by “Father Abbey’s Will,” portions of which, till the present generation, were “familiar to nearly all the good housewives of New England.” From the history of this poetical production, which has been lately printed for private circulation by the Rev. John Langdon Sibley of Harvard College, the annexed transcript of the instrument itself, together with the love-letter which was suggested by it, has been taken. The instances in which the accepted text differs from a Broadside copy, in the possession of the editor of this work, are noted at the foot of the page.
“Father Abbey’s Will
TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED, A LETTER OF COURTSHIP TO HIS VIRTUOUS AND
AMIABLE WIDOW.
“Cambridge, December, 1730.
“Some time since died here Mr. Matthew Abbey, in a very advanced age: He had for a great number of years served the College in quality of Bedmaker and Sweeper: Having no child, his wife inherits his whole estate, which he bequeathed to her by his last will and testament, as follows, viz.:—
“To my dear wife
My joy and life,
I freely now do give her,
My whole estate,
With all my plate,
Being just about to leave her.
“My tub of soap,
A long cart-rope,
A frying pan and kettle,
An ashes74 pail,
A threshing-flail,
An iron wedge and beetle.
“Two painted chairs,
Nine warden pears,
A large old dripping platter,
This bed of hay
On which I lay,
An old saucepan for butter.
“A little mug,
A two-quart jug,
A bottle full of brandy,
A looking-glass
To see your face,
You’ll find it very handy.
“A musket true,
As ever flew,
A pound of shot and wallet,
A leather sash,
My calabash,
My powder-horn and bullet.
“An old sword-blade,
A garden spade,
A hoe, a rake, a ladder,
A wooden can,
A close-stool pan,
A clyster-pipe and bladder.
“A greasy hat,
My old ram cat,
A yard and half of linen,
A woollen fleece,
A pot of grease,[75]
In order for your spinning.
“A small tooth comb,
An ashen broom,
A candlestick and hatchet,
A coverlid
Striped down with red,
A bag of rags to patch it.
“A rugged mat,
A tub of fat,
A book put out by Bunyan,
Another book
By Robin Cook,76
A skein or two of spun-yarn.
“An old black muff,
Some garden stuff,
A quantity of borage,77
Some devil’s weed,
And burdock seed,
To season well your porridge.
“A chafing-dish,
With one salt-fish.
If I am not mistaken,
A leg of pork,
A broken fork,
And half a flitch of bacon.
“A spinning-wheel,
One peck of meal,
A knife without a handle,
A rusty lamp,
Two quarts of samp,
And half a tallow candle.
“My pouch and pipes,
Two oxen tripes,
An oaken dish well carved,
My little dog,
And spotted hog,
With two young pigs just starved.
“This is my store,
I have no more,
I heartily do give it:
My years are spun,
My days are done,
And so I think to leave it.
“Thus Father Abbey left his spouse,
As rich as church or college mouse,
Which is sufficient invitation
To serve the college in his station.”
Newhaven, January 2, 1731.
“Our sweeper having lately buried his spouse, and accidentally hearing of the death and will of his deceased Cambridge brother, has conceived a violent passion for the relict. As love softens the mind and disposes to poetry, he has eased himself in the following strains, which he transmits to the charming widow, as the first essay of his love and courtship.
“MISTRESS Abbey
To you I fly,
You only can relieve me;
To you I turn,
For you I burn,
If you will but believe me.
“Then, gentle dame,
Admit my flame,
And grant me my petition;
If you deny,
Alas! I die
In pitiful condition.
“Before the news
Of your dear spouse
Had reached us at New Haven,
My dear wife dy’d,
Who was my bride
In anno eighty-seven.
“Thus78 being free,
Let’s both agree
To join our hands, for I do
Boldly aver
A widower
Is fittest for a widow.
“You may be sure
’T is not your dower
I make this flowing verse on;
In these smooth lays
I only praise
The glories79 of your person.
“For the whole that
Was left by80 Mat.
Fortune to me has granted
In equal store,
I’ve81 one thing more
Which Matthew long had wanted.
“No teeth, ’t is true,
You have to shew,
The young think teeth inviting;
But silly youths!
I love those mouths[82]
Where there’s no fear of biting.
“A leaky eye,
That’s never dry,
These woful times is fitting.
A wrinkled face
Adds solemn grace
To folks devout at meeting.
“[A furrowed brow,
Where corn might grow,
Such fertile soil is seen in ’t,
A long hook nose,
Though scorned by foes,
For spectacles convenient.][83]
“Thus to go on
I would84 put down
Your charms from head to foot,
Set all your glory
In verse before ye,
But I’ve no mind to do ’t.85
“Then haste away,
And make no stay;
For soon as you come hither,
We’ll eat and sleep,
Make beds and sweep.
And talk and smoke together.
“But if, my dear,
I must move there,
Tow’rds Cambridge straight I’ll set me.86
To touse the hay
On which you lay,
If age and you will let me.”87
The authorship of Father Abbey’s Will and the Letter of Courtship is ascribed to the Rev. John Seccombe, who graduated at Harvard College in the year 1728. The former production was sent to England through the hands of Governor Belcher, and in May, 1732, appeared both in the Gentleman’s Magazine and the London Magazine. The latter was also despatched to England, and was printed in the Gentleman’s Magazine for June, and in the London Magazine for August, 1732. Both were republished in the Massachusetts Magazine, November, 1794. A most entertaining account of the author of these poems, and of those to whom they relate, may be found in the “Historical and Biographical Notes” of the pamphlet to which allusion has been already made, and in the “Cambridge [Mass.] Chronicle” of April 28, 1855.
WINE. To drink wine.
After “wining” to a certain extent, we sallied forth from his rooms.—Alma Mater, Vol. I. p. 14.
Hither they repair each day after dinner “to wine.”
Ibid., Vol. I. p. 95.
After dinner I had the honor of wining with no less a personage than a fellow of the college.—Ibid., Vol. I. p. 114.
In wining with a fair one opposite, a luckless piece of jelly adhered to the tip of his still more luckless nose.—The Blank Book of a Small-Colleger, New York, 1824, p. 75.
WINE PARTY. Among students at the University of Cambridge, Eng., an entertainment after dinner, which is thus described by Bristed: “Many assemble at wine parties to chat over a frugal dessert of oranges, biscuits, and cake, and sip a few glasses of not remarkably good wine. These wine parties are the most common entertainments, being rather the cheapest and very much the most convenient, for the preparations required for them are so slight as not to disturb the studies of the hardest reading man, and they take place at a time when no one pretends to do any work.”—Five Years in an Eng. Univ., Ed. 2d, p. 21.
WIRE. At Harvard College, a trick; an artifice; a stratagem; a dodge.
WIRY. Trickish; artful.
WITENAGEMOTE. Saxon, witan, to know, and gemot, a meeting, a council.
In the University of Oxford, the weekly meeting of the heads of the colleges.—Oxford Guide.
WOODEN SPOON. In the University of Cambridge, Eng., the scholar whose name stands last of all on the printed list of honors, at the Bachelors’ Commencement in January, is scoffingly said to gain the wooden spoon. He is also very currently himself called the wooden spoon.
A young academic coming into the country immediately after this great competition, in which he had conspicuously distinguished himself, was asked by a plain country gentleman, “Pray, Sir, is my Jack a Wrangler?” “No, Sir.” Now Jack had confidently pledged himself to his uncle that he would take his degree with honor. “A Senior Optime?” “No, Sir.” “Why, what was he then?” “Wooden Spoon!” “Best suited to his wooden head,” said the mortified inquirer.—Forby’s Vocabulary, Vol. II. p. 258.
It may not perhaps be improper to mention one very remarkable personage, I mean “the Wooden Spoon.” This luckless wight (for what cause I know not) is annually the universal butt and laughing-stock of the whole Senate-House. He is the last of those young men who take honors, in his year, and is called a Junior Optime; yet, notwithstanding his being in fact superior to them all, the very lowest of the [Greek: oi polloi], or gregarious undistinguished bachelors, think themselves entitled to shoot the pointless arrows of their clumsy wit against the wooden spoon; and to reiterate the stale and perennial remark, that “Wranglers are born with gold spoons in their mouths, Senior Optimes with silver, Junior Optimes with wooden, and the [Greek: oi polloi] with leaden ones.”—Gent. Mag., 1795, p. 19.
Who while he lives must wield the boasted prize,
Whose value all can feel, the weak, the wise;
Displays in triumph his distinguished boon,
The solid honors of the wooden spoon.
Grad. ad Cantab., p. 119.
2. At Yale College, this title is conferred on the student who takes the last appointment at the Junior Exhibition. The following account of the ceremonies incident to the presentation of the Wooden Spoon has been kindly furnished by a graduate of that institution.
“At Yale College the honors, or, as they are there termed, appointments, are given to a class twice during the course;—upon the merits of the two preceding years, at the end of the first term, Junior; and at the end of the second term, Senior, upon the merits of the whole college course. There are about eight grades of appointments, the lowest of which is the Third Colloquy. Each grade has its own standard, and if a number of students have attained to the same degree, they receive the same appointment. It is rarely the case, however, that more than one student can claim the distinction of a third colloquy; but when there are several, they draw lots to see which is entitled to be considered properly the third colloquy man.
“After the Junior appointments are awarded, the members of the Junior Class hold an exhibition similar to the regular Junior exhibition, and present a wooden spoon to the man who received the lowest honor in the gift of the Faculty.
“The exhibition takes place in the evening, at some public hall in town. Except to those engaged in the arrangements, nothing is known about it among the students at large, until the evening of the performances, when notices of the hour and place are quietly circulated at prayers, in order that it may not reach the ears of the Faculty, who are ever too ready to participate in the sports of the students, and to make the result tell unfavorably against the college welfare of the more prominent characters.
“As the appointed hour approaches, long files of black coats may be seen emerging from the dark halls, and winding their way through the classic elms towards the Temple, the favorite scene of students’ exhibitions and secret festivals. When they reach the door, each man must undergo the searching scrutiny of the door-keeper, usually disguised as an Indian, to avoid being recognized by a college officer, should one chance to be in the crowd, and no one is allowed to enter unless he is known.
“By the time the hour of the exercises has arrived, the hall is densely packed with undergraduates and professional students. The President, who is a non-appointment man, and probably the poorest scholar in the class, sits on a stage with his associate professors. Appropriate programmes, printed in the college style, are scattered throughout the house. As the hour strikes, the President arises with becoming dignity, and, instead of the usual phrase, ‘Musicam audeamus,’ restores order among the audience by ‘Silentiam audeamus,’ and then addresses the band, ‘Musica cantetur.’
“Then follow a series of burlesque orations, dissertations, and disputes, upon scientific and other subjects, from the wittiest and cleverest men in the class, and the house is kept in a continual roar of laughter. The highest appointment men frequently take part in the speeches. From time to time the band play, and the College choir sing pieces composed for the occasion. In one of the best, called AUDACIA, composed in imitation of the Crambambuli song, by a member of the class to which the writer belonged, the Wooden Spoon is referred to in the following stanza:—
‘But do not think our life is aimless;
O no! we crave one blessed boon,
It is the prize of value nameless,
The honored, classic WOODEN SPOON;
But give us this, we’ll shout Hurrah!
O nothing like Audacia!’
“After the speeches are concluded and the music has ceased, the President rises and calls the name of the hero of the evening, who ascends the stage and stands before the high dignitary. The President then congratulates him upon having attained to so eminent a position, and speaks of the pride that he and his associates feel in conferring upon him the highest honor in their gift,—the Wooden Spoon. He exhorts him to pursue through life the noble cruise he has commenced in College,—not seeking glory as one of the illiterate,—the [Greek: oi polloi],—nor exactly on the fence, but so near to it that he may safely be said to have gained the ‘happy medium.’
“The President then proceeds to the grand ceremony of the evening, —the delivery of the Wooden Spoon,—a handsomely finished spoon, or ladle, with a long handle, on which is carved the name of the Class, and the rank and honor of the recipient, and the date of its presentation. The President confers the honor in Latin, provided he and his associates are able to muster a sufficient number of sentences.
“When the President resumes his seat, the Third Colloquy man thanks his eminent instructors for the honor conferred upon him, and thanks (often with sincerity) the class for the distinction he enjoys. The exercises close with music by the band, or a burlesque colloquy. On one occasion, the colloquy was announced upon the programme as ‘A Practical Illustration of Humbugging,’ with a long list of witty men as speakers, to appear in original costumes. Curiosity was very much excited, and expectation on the tiptoe, when the colloquy became due. The audience waited and waited until sufficiently humbugged, when they were allowed to retire with the laugh turned against them.
“Many men prefer the Wooden Spoon to any other college honor or prize, because it comes directly from their classmates, and hence, perhaps, the Faculty disapprove of it, considering it as a damper to ambition and college distinctions.”
This account of the Wooden Spoon Exhibition was written in the year 1851. Since then its privacy has been abolished, and its exercises are no longer forbidden by the Faculty. Tutors are now not unfrequently among the spectators at the presentation, and even ladies lend their presence, attention, and applause, to beautify, temper, and enliven the occasion.
The “Wooden Spoon,” tradition says, was in ancient times presented to the greatest glutton in the class, by his appreciating classmates. It is now given to the one whose name comes last on the list of appointees for the Junior Exhibition, though this rule is not strictly followed. The presentation takes place during the Summer Term, and in vivacity with respect to the literary exercises, and brilliance in point of audience, forms a rather formidable rival to the regularly authorized Junior Exhibition.—Songs of Tale, Preface, 1853, p. 4.
Of the songs which are sung in connection with the wooden spoon presentation, the following is given as a specimen.
“Air,—Yankee Doodle.
“Come, Juniors, join this jolly tune
Our fathers sang before us;
And praise aloud the wooden spoon
In one long, swelling chorus.
Yes! let us, Juniors, shout and sing
The spoon and all its glory,—
Until the welkin loudly ring
And echo back the story.
“Who would not place this precious boon
Above the Greek Oration?
Who would not choose the wooden spoon
Before a dissertation?
Then, let, &c.
“Some pore o’er classic works jejune,
Through all their life at College,—
I would not pour, but use the spoon
To fill my mind with knowledge.
So let, &c.
“And if I ever have a son
Upon my knee to dandle,
I’ll feed him with a wooden spoon
Of elongated handle.
Then let, &c.
“Most college honors vanish soon,
Alas! returning never,
But such a noble wooden spoon
Is tangible for ever.
So let, &c.
“Now give, in honor of the spoon,
Three cheers, long, loud, and hearty,
And three for every honored June
In coch-le-au-re-a-ti.88
Yes! let us, Juniors, shout and sing
The spoon and all its glory,—
Until the welkin loudly ring
And echo back the story.”
Songs of Yale, 1853, p. 37.
WRANGLER. In the University of Cambridge, Eng., at the conclusion of the tenth term, the final examination in the Senate-House takes place. A certain number of those who pass this examination in the best manner are called Wranglers.
The usual number of Wranglers—whatever Wrangler may have meant once, it now implies a First Class man in Mathematics—is thirty-seven or thirty-eight. Sometimes it falls to thirty-five, and occasionally rises above forty.—Bristed’s Five Years in an Eng. Univ., Ed. 2d, p. 227.
See SENIOR WRANGLER.
WRANGLERSHIP. The office of a Wrangler.
He may be considered pretty safe for the highest Wranglership out of Trinity.—Bristed’s Five Years in an Eng. Univ., Ed. 2d, p. 103.
WRESTLING-MATCH. At Harvard College, it was formerly the custom, on the first Monday of the term succeeding the Commencement vacation, for the Sophomores to challenge the Freshmen who had just entered College to a wrestling-match. A writer in the New England Magazine, 1832, in an article entitled “Harvard College Forty Years Ago,” remarks as follows on this subject: “Another custom, not enjoined by the government, had been in vogue from time immemorial. That was for the Sophomores to challenge the Freshmen to a wrestling-match. If the Sophomores were thrown, the Juniors gave a similar challenge. If these were conquered, the Seniors entered the lists, or treated the victors to as much wine, punch, &c. as they chose to drink. In my class, there were few who had either taste, skill, or bodily strength for this exercise, so that we were easily laid on our backs, and the Sophomores were acknowledged our superiors, in so far as ‘brute force’ was concerned. Being disgusted with these customs, we held a class-meeting, early in our first quarter, and voted unanimously that we should never send a Freshman on an errand; and, with but one dissenting voice, that we would not challenge the next class that should enter to wrestle. When the latter vote was passed, our moderator, pointing at the dissenting individual with the finger of scorn, declared it to be a vote, nemine contradicente. We commenced Sophomores, another Freshman Class entered, the Juniors challenged them, and were thrown. The Seniors invited them to a treat, and these barbarous customs were soon after abolished.”—Vol. III. p. 239.
The Freshman Class above referred to, as superior to the Junior, was the one which graduated in 1796, of which Mr. Thomas Mason, surnamed “the College Lion,” was a member,—“said,” remarks Mr. Buckingham, “to be the greatest wrestler that was ever in College. He was settled as a clergyman at Northfield, Mass., resigned his office some years after, and several times represented that town in the Legislature of Massachusetts.” Charles Prentiss, the wit of the Class of ’95, in a will written on his departure from college life, addresses Mason as follows:—
“Item. Tom M——n, COLLEGE LION,
Who’d ne’er spend cash enough to buy one,
The BOANERGES of a pun,
A man of science and of fun,
That quite uncommon witty elf,
Who darts his bolts and shoots himself,
Who oft has bled beneath my jokes,
I give my old tobacco-box.”
Buckingham’s Reminiscences, Vol. II. p. 271.
The fame which Mr. Mason had acquired while in College for bodily strength and skill in wrestling, did not desert him after he left. While settled as a minister at Northfield, a party of young men from Vermont challenged the young men of that town to a bout at wrestling. The challenge was accepted, and on a given day the two parties assembled at Northfield. After several rounds, when it began to appear that the Vermonters were gaining the advantage, a proposal was made, by some who had heard of Mr. Mason’s exploits, that he should be requested to take part in the contest. It had now grown late, and the minister, who usually retired early, had already betaken himself to bed. Being informed of the request of the wrestlers, for a long time he refused to go, alleging as reasons his ministerial capacity, the force of example, &c. Finding these excuses of no avail, he finally arose, dressed himself, and repaired to the scene of action. Shouts greeted him on his arrival, and he found himself on the wrestling-field, as he had stood years ago at Cambridge. The champion of the Vermonters came forward, flushed with his former victories. After playing around him for some time, Mr. Mason finally threw him. Having by this time collected his ideas of the game, when another antagonist appeared, tripping up his heels with perfect ease, he suddenly twitched him off his centre and laid him on his back. Victory was declared in favor of Northfield, and the good minister was borne home in triumph.
Similar to these statements are those of Professor Sidney Willard relative to the same subject, contained in his late work entitled “Memories of Youth and Manhood.” Speaking of the observances in vogue at Harvard College in the year 1794, he says:—“Next to being indoctrinated in the Customs, so called, by the Sophomore Class, there followed the usual annual exhibition of the athletic contest between that class and the Freshman Class, namely, the wrestling-match. On some day of the second week in the term, after evening prayers, the two classes assembled on the play-ground and formed an extended circle, from which a stripling of the Sophomore Class advanced into the area, and, in terms justifying the vulgar use of the derivative word Sophomorical, defied his competitors, in the name of his associates, to enter the lists. He was matched by an equal in stature, from that part of the circle formed by the new-comers. Beginning with these puny athletes, as one and another was prostrated on either side, the contest advanced through the intermediate gradations of strength and skill, with increasing excitement of the parties and spectators, until it reached its summit by the struggle of the champion or coryphæus in reserve on each of the opposite sides. I cannot now affirm with certainty the result of the contest; whether it was a drawn battle, whether it ended with the day, or was postponed for another trial. It probably ended in the defeat of the younger party, for there were more and mightier men among their opponents. Had we been victorious, it would have behooved us, according to established precedents, to challenge the Junior Class, which was not done. Such a result, if it had taken place, could not fade from the memory of the victors; while failure, on the contrary, being an issue to be looked for, would soon be dismissed from the thoughts of the vanquished. Instances had occurred of the triumph of the Freshman Class, and one of them recent, when a challenge in due form was sent to the Juniors, who, thinking the contest too doubtful, wisely resolved to let the victors rejoice in their laurels already won; and, declining to meet them in the gymnasium, invited them to a sumptuous feast instead.
“Wrestling was, at an after period, I cannot say in what year, superseded by football; a grovelling and inglorious game in comparison. Wrestling is an art; success in the exercise depends not on mere bodily strength. It had, at the time of which I have spoken, its well-known and acknowledged technical rules, and any violation of them, alleged against one who had prostrated his adversary, became a matter of inquiry. If it was found that the act was not achieved secundum artem, it was void, and might be followed by another trial.”—Vol. I. pp. 260, 261.
Remarks on this subject are continued in another part of the work from which the above extract is made, and the story of Thomas Mason is related, with a few variations from the generally received version. “Wrestling,” says Professor Willard, “was reduced to an art, which had its technical terms for the movement of the limbs, and the manner of using them adroitly, with the skill acquired by practice in applying muscular force at the right time and in the right degree. Success in the art, therefore, depended partly on skill; and a violation of the rules of the contest vitiated any apparent triumph gained by mere physical strength. There were traditionary accounts of some of our predecessors who were commemorated as among the coryphæi of wrestlers; a renown that was not then looked upon with contempt. The art of wrestling was not then confined to the literary gymnasium. It was practised in every rustic village. There were even migrating braves and Hectors, who, in their wanderings from their places of abode to villages more or less distant, defied the chiefest of this order of gymnasts to enter the lists. In a country town of Massachusetts remote from the capital, one of these wanderers appeared about half a century since, and issued a general challenge against the foremost wrestlers. The clergyman of the town, a son of Harvard, whose fame in this particular had travelled from the academic to the rustic green, was apprised of the challenge, and complied with the solicitation of some of his young parishioners to accept it in their behalf. His triumph over the challenger was completed without agony or delay, and having prostrated him often enough to convince him of his folly, he threw him over the stone wall, and gravely admonished him against repeating his visit, and disturbing the peace of his parish.”—Vol. I. p. 315.
The peculiarities of Thomas Mason were his most noticeable characteristics. As an orator, his eloquence was of the ore rotundo order; as a writer, his periods were singularly Johnsonian. He closed his ministerial labors in Northfield, February 28, 1830, on which occasion he delivered a farewell discourse, taking for his text, the words of Paul to Timothy: “The time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.”
As a specimen of his style of writing, the following passages are presented, taken from this discourse:—“Time, which forms the scene of all human enterprise, solicitude, toil, and improvement, and which fixes the limitations of all human pleasures and sufferings, has at length conducted us to the termination of our long-protracted alliance. An assignment of the reasons of this measure must open a field too extended and too diversified for our present survey. Nor could a development of the whole be any way interesting to us, to whom alone this address is now submitted. Suffice it to say, that in the lively exercise of mutual and unimpaired friendship and confidence, the contracting parties, after sober, continued, and unimpassioned deliberation, have yielded to existing circumstances, as a problematical expedient of social blessing.”
After commenting upon the declaration of Paul, he continued: “The Apostle proceeds, ‘I have fought a good fight’ Would to God I could say the same! Let me say, however, without the fear of contradiction, ‘I have fought a fight!’ How far it has been ‘good,’ I forbear to decide.” His summing up was this: “You see, my hearers, all I can say, in common with the Apostle in the text, is this: ‘The time of my departure is at hand,’—and, ‘I have finished my course.’”
Referring then to the situation which he had occupied, he said: “The scene of our alliance and co-operation, my friends, has been one of no ordinary cast and character. The last half-century has been pregnant with novelty, project, innovation, and extreme excitement. The pillars of the social edifice have been shaken, and the whole social atmosphere has been decomposed by alchemical demagogues and revolutionary apes. The sickly atmosphere has suffused a morbid humor over the whole frame, and left the social body little more than ‘the empty and bloody skin of an immolated victim.’
“We pass by the ordinary incidents of alienation, which are too numerous, and too evanescent to admit of detail. But seasons and circumstances of great alarm are not readily forgotten. We have witnessed, and we have felt, my friends, a political convulsion, which seemed the harbinger of inevitable desolation. But it has passed by with a harmless explosion, and returning friends have paused in wonder, at a moment’s suspension of friendship. Mingled with the factitious mass, there was a large spice of sincerity which sanctified the whole composition, and restored the social body to sanity, health, and increased strength and vigor.
“Thrice happy must be our reflections could we stop here, and contemplate the ascending prosperity and increasing vigor of this religious community. But the one half has not yet been told,—the beginning has hardly been begun. Could I borrow the language of the spirits of wrath,—was my pen transmuted to a viper’s tooth dipped in gore,—was my paper transformed to a vellum which no light could illume, and which only darkness could render legible, I could, and I would, record a tale of blood, of which the foulest miscreant must burn in ceaseless anguish only once to have been suspected. But I refer to imagination what description can never reach.”
What the author referred to in this last paragraph no one knew, nor did he ever advance any explanation of these strange words.
Near the close of his discourse, he said: “Standing in the place of a Christian minister among you, through the whole course of my ministrations, it has been my great and leading aim ever to maintain and exhibit the character and example of a Christian man. With clerical foppery, grimace, craft, and hypocrisy, I have had no concern. In the free participation of every innocent entertainment and delight, I have pursued an open, unreserved course, equally removed from the mummery of superstition and the dissipation of infidelity. And though I have enjoyed my full share of honor from the scandal of bigotry and malice, yet I may safely congratulate myself in the reflection, that by this liberal and independent progress were men weighed in the balance of intellectual, social, and moral worth, I have yet never lost a single friend who was worth preserving.”—pp. 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 11.