Henry Craik, ed. English Prose. 1916.
Vol. I. Fourteenth to Sixteenth Century
John Gibson Lockhart (1794–1854)
From Peter’s Letters
W—— and I were great friends during the first terms I spent at Jesus. He had gone to school at Harrow with my brother Samuel, and called on me the very day I entered. What a life was ours in that thoughtless prime of our days! We spent all the mornings after lecture in utter lounging, eating ice at Jubb’s, flirting with Miss Butler, bathing in the Cherwell, and so forth. And then after dinner we used to have our fruit and wine carried into the garden (I mean at Trinity), and there we sat, three or four of us, sipping away for a couple of hours, under the dark refreshing shade of those old beechen bowers. Evensong was no sooner over, than we would down to the Isis, and man one or sometimes two of Mother Hall’s boats, so run races against each other or some of our friends, to Iffley or Sandford. What lots of bread and butter we used to devour at tea, and what delight we felt in rowing back in the cool misty evening—sometimes the moon up long ere we reached Christ Church meadows again. A light supper, cheese and bread and lettuces, and a joyous bowl of bishop, these were the regular conclusion. I would give half I am worth to live one week of it over again. At that time W—— and I, Tom Vere of Corpus, and one or two more, were never separate above three or four hours in the day.