During my first year there was a fire in the adjoining college of Trinity Hall, and I helped to put out the fire. The story circulated, but of course was a fable, that Dr. Webb had gone out in alarm lest Clare Hall should become ignited. Men were shouting for buckets, and asked him if he had any at the Lodge. "Buckets! Buckets!" he was reported to have said. "No, I have none, but here are my shoes."
He always wore shoes and white stockings.
The tutor was Atkinson, who on Webb's death became Master. He was a quiet, a good and unassuming man, for whom I entertained a great respect,
My private tutor was Rayne, a kindly man; but he could do little with me, because of my defective classical training; still, what Greek I know, I owe to him.
I think that our fellows were very honourable, worthy men, but I heard little, and knew less of them.
Our Dean was named Wolfe; he laboured all day at his piano to acquire ability to play. But he had not obtained flexibility of fingers when young, and all his performance was a stumbling over the notes. He attributed this to the instrument, and was periodically changing pianos. He had one specially constructed with a double keyboard, before he was able to play on a single one, making the music more confounded than ever.
He was very latitudinarian in his opinions—theologically—not otherwise. He was unmarried, and had a living somewhere in the country, which he visited periodically. Liberal as he was theologically, his liberality did not extend to sharing his bath with the domestic servants. So he gave strict injunctions to his housekeeper never to use it. He had been away from his Vicarage for ten days. On his return, he saw by the moisture of the sponge and of the back-brush, and the reduction in size of the soap, that the bath had been used.
Highly incensed, he sent for his housekeeper. When she appeared, with a flushed countenance he said: "Sarah! I gave strict orders that my bath was not to be employed. I see plainly that during my absence you have been revelling in it. Now, I have no objection to your ablutions, to your washing yourself all over, to your soaping and sponging ad libitum, and exercising yourself with a back-brush—but not with mine. I see but too
