merits of mutton and laudanum and the obscure products of scrivenage.
Nor, conversely (as they say at Cambridge), is it certain, or even
likely, that the difference between a butcher or a doctor is the
difference between Kirke White and Keats. And this talk about
"University" poets seems somewhat otiose unless it can be shown that
Cambridge and Oxford directly encourage poesy, or aim to do so. I am
aware that somebody wins the Newdigate every year at Oxford, and that
the same thing happens annually at Cambridge with respect to the
Chancellor's Prize. But--to hark back to the butcher and
apothecary--verses are perennially made upon Mr. Lipton's Hams and
Mrs. Allen's Hair Restorer. Obviously some incentive is needed beyond
a prize for stanzas on a given subject. I can understand Cambridge men
when they assert that they produce more Wranglers than Oxford: that is
a justifiable boast. But how does Cambridge encourage poets?


Calverley.

Oxford expelled Shelley: Cambridge whipped Milton.[A] _Facit
indignatio versus_. If we press this misreading of Juvenal, Oxford
erred only on the side of thoroughness. But that, notoriously, is
Oxford's way. She expelled Landor, Calverley, and some others. My
contention is that to expel a man is--however you look at it--better
for his poesy than to make a don of him. Oxford says, "You are a poet;
therefore this is no place for you. Go elsewhere; we set your aspiring
soul at large." Cambridge says: "You are a poet. Let us employ you to
fulfil other functions. Be a don." She made a don of Gray, of
Calverley. Cambridge men are for ever casting Calverley in our teeth;
whereas, in truth, he is specially to be quoted against them. As
everybody knows, he was at both Universities, so over him we have a