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Chapter 3

THE SETTING

Yet, O ye spires of Oxford! domes and towers!

Gardens and groves! Your presence overpowers

The Soberness of reason; till, in sooth,

Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange,

I slight my own beloved Cam, to range

Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet;

Pace the long avenue, or glide adown

The stream-like windings of that glorious street-

An eager novice robed in fluttering gown!

William Wordsworth, 1820

Oxford trains scholars of the real type better than any other place in the world. Its methods are antiquated. It despises science. Its lectures are rotten. It has professors who never teach and students who never learn. It has no order, no arrangement, no system. Its curriculum is unintelligible. It has no president. It has no state legislature to tell how to teach. And yet-it gets there. Whether we like it or not, Oxford gives something to its students, a life and a mode of thought, which in America as yet we can emulate but not equal.

Stephen Leacock, 1922

Town and Gown

What was this university to which Rhodes wanted to send his scholars? Oxford was the oldest university in the English-speaking world. Just how old remains a matter of dispute. Some diehards still claim that the university can be traced to 872, when King Alfred the Great supposedly recognized a group of scholars in the city. Nearly all authorities today, however, agree that the real establishment of the university dates to around 1200. The first residential colleges were established in the mid-thirteenth century. Even this point, however, raises some debate. Still today three of the colleges-Merton, University, and Balliol-vie for the honor of being the oldest.¹

By 1900 the number of colleges had grown to twenty. In addition to the three oldest, some of the other more venerable or largest included the following: New College, which was indeed “new” when it was created in 1379; All Souls, founded in 1438, perhaps the only college in the world that has no students (its members being engaged primarily in research); Magdalen, founded in 1458, perhaps best known to tourists because of its extensive deer park and gardens; and Christ Church, founded by Henry VIII in 1546, a cathedral and bishop's residence as well as a college.

From its origins, the residential college system has given Oxford (and Cambridge) its distinctive flavor. In many ways, as several authors have said, the university is merely a holding company for the colleges. The latter have always been independent institutions, each with its own governing body, buildings, endowment, and faculty. Down to the present day it is the college, not the university, which occupies most of a student's daily life. One is admitted to the university at the start, in the matriculation ceremony. During the years to follow one might attend some lectures provided by the university or participate in one of the university athletic matches against Cambridge or other universities. Moreover, it is the university that administers final examinations and grants degrees. Yet the “university” in 1900, and still in many respects today, represented a faint abstraction compared to the concrete reality of the colleges.

Nearly all of the colleges were huddled next to one another near the urban center. The city of Oxford had been a thriving market town and administrative center since the Middle Ages. Prior to the advent of Morris Motors, the local economy was dominated by handicrafts and cottage industries. The city's location was ideal, for it was about as centrally located as one could get – both in geography and trade. About fifty miles northwest of London, Oxford borders the River Thames and is on or near many of the major roads linking southern and northern England. The coming of canals and railroads made it even easier to reach. Oxfordshire had been an area known for its beautiful, though not especially prosperous, farmlands. Immediately to the west, however, is the region known as the Cotswolds, which in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was world-famous for the quantity and quality of the wool it produced. That trade has dwindled in the twentieth century, but the charming Cotswold villages remain. With names like Bourton-on-the-Water, Chipping Campden, and Upper (and Lower) Slaughter, still today they are a favorite retreat for tourists. Most of their cottages are built with the famous golden limestone from the local quarries. That same “Cotswold stone” was used for many of the Oxford colleges as well as for the Duke of Marlborough's palace at Blenheim.

Matthew Arnold called Oxford the city of “dreaming spires.” Even today, despite the noxious incursions of motor traffic and modern architecture, one is overcome with the beauty of the city. When one looks at it from nearby Boar's Hill or Port Meadow, it almost seems that the entire town is composed of medieval steeples and towers. The main thoroughfare, the High Street, curves its way along the colleges, churches, and shops and remains one of the most impressive avenues in all of Britain.

Through the late nineteenth century the yearly editions of the Baedeker guide to England described Oxford as “on the whole more attractive than Cambridge to the ordinary visitor” and advised the traveler to “visit Cambridge first” or “omit it altogether if he cannot visit both.”² In James Hilton's 1933 novel Lost Horizon, when one of the characters first sees Shangri-La he sighs wistfully and says it reminds him of Oxford. To be fair, one must admit that Cambridge has more than its share of admirers who prefer it to Oxford. Certainly both college towns possess enough majesty and quaintness to seduce both students and tourists.

When the first American scholars arrived in Oxford in the fall of 1904 they would have had difficulty finding the “university.” Most of the buildings belonged to the separate colleges. Each college resembled a medieval castle, with high walls surrounding it on all sides and one main entrance. This entrance was the porter's lodge, staffed by a head porter, a deputy head porter, and so on down the line. Though the streets outside might be bustling with traffic, life inside the college was serene. Depending on the size of the college, there might be one or several quads, each one with a dizzying array of gardens. Most of the students lived in college during at least two of their three years of study. Most of their tutors also lived in college. Until the late 1870s all college fellows had to be unmarried, and a high proportion of them were Anglican clergymen. The teaching fellows resided in two or three-room flats that were scattered around the residence halls. In 1904 more than half of the college fellows still fitted the old mold. The other, “modern” faculty lived in apartments or houses elsewhere in the city-this was especially true for those who had families. The colleges had no accommodations for married persons.

This mingling of students and faculty was at the heart of what Cecil Rhodes wanted to impart to his scholars. An Oxford education was about more than just book learning. It provided an environment in which students and teachers lived, studied, dined, and socialized together. Most students played on one or more of their college sports teams in intramural contests against the other colleges. If everything worked well, life in such a closed community built character, stimulated discussion and reflection, and produced lifelong friendships.

Oxford was thought to combine all good features of a large university and a small college. The total student body numbered about three thousand at the turn of the century. The colleges offered an intimate atmosphere and individualized instruction, whereas the university furnished a comprehensive library (the Bodleian), science laboratories, and lecture halls. The university also provided a governing apparatus through which the colleges could work in common. The titular head of the university was the chancellor, whose position was largely ceremonial. The person who actually managed the day-to-day affairs was the vice-chancellor, who generally was selected from the heads of the colleges. The vice-chancellor worked closely with the Hebdomadal Council, which functioned as a type of cabinet. Two other, larger bodies also governed university affairs. Congregation consisted of members of the administrative and academic staff who held M.A.'s from the university; this body acted as the university's parliament, voting on all major changes. Finally, there was Convocation, the name given to the body of all Oxford M.A.'s whose names were listed in the college books. By 1900 the powers of this last body had waned, being limited to the right to vote in a handful of occasional elections – for example, selecting a new chancellor or a new professor of poetry. This administrative machinery continues in effect down to the present day.

The Oxford M.A. has never been an academic degree. Rather, it gives one a kind of permanent membership in the university as a corporation. There are three requirements for obtaining this degree: one must have graduated with an earned degree (the B.A. or some higher level); one must wait until twenty-one terms after matriculation-in other words, about five years after graduation; and one must pay a nominal fee. These three criteria having been met, one can apply for and receive the M.A.

The basic teaching method in the colleges was the tutorial. There were some lectures provided by the university, but these were strictly optional-which meant that students tended to ignore them, unless the particular lecturer was an especially fine speaker. An old, standard joke in Oxford was that the invention of the printing press had made lectures unnecessary, but that respect for tradition kept anyone from abolishing them.

In the standard tutorial, a student went once each week to his tutor's rooms in college. In a one-on-one encounter the student read an essay he had written based on readings of the previous week. The tutor would stop him occasionally to ask questions or to poke holes in the student's evidence or logic. There were no grades, no quizzes, no midterm examinations. Nor was there an accumulation of credits earned by the taking of separate, semester-long courses. At the end of the first year there might be a preliminary examination. As long as a student passed that, he was authorized to continue. At the end of the third year (or in some courses of study, the fourth) there would be several days of essay examinations. The examinations were administered and graded by a panel appointed by the university. In other words, the tutor did not examine and grade his own student. This arrangement encouraged a tutor and his student to feel that they were partners rather than antagonists. This same system operates to this day.

When a student performed splendidly in his final examinations, this reflected well on him as well as on his tutor and college. Most students obtained an “honours” degree, which was divided into four classes. Only a small percentage of students managed to get a “First” in their examinations. This was equivalent, in the United States, to graduating magna or summa cum laude. Achieving a “Second” was respectable, but a “Third” was cause for dismay. The lowest passing grade was a “Fourth,” which was something the recipient might try to hide for the rest of his life. Below this were the students who obtained mere pass degrees, those who failed their examinations, and those who departed before completing their studies.

The tutorial system gave great freedom to students. They were in “class” only one or two hours per week. If they wished to do well, they had to discipline themselves through hours of solitary reading and writing in their rooms. Of course, this system also posed great dangers. A carefree student might very well spend his three years sleeping, drinking, and socializing. Or a student might have the misfortune to end up with an unsuitable tutor. Usually a college had only one faculty member for each field of study. Thus, for example, the tutor in modern European history might be a renowned expert in his specialty as well as a caring mentor who worked closely with his students. On the other hand, he could also be a mediocre scholar, a heavy drinker, and an odious tyrant. In the latter case a student could very well be “stuck” for his entire three years. The English born Canadian humorist Stephen Leacock once described the system this way:

…I gather that what an Oxford tutor does is to get a little group of students together and smoke at them. Men who have been systematically smoked at for four years turn into ripe scholars…. A well-smoked man speaks and writes English with a grace that can be acquired in no other way.³

The areas of study for which one could obtain a B.A. degree at the turn of the century were largely the traditional ones that had been the heart of Oxford's greatness. The number one field, both in terms of fame and in the number of students, was Literae Humaniores, or “Greats” as it was called. This was a rigorous program of study in classical Greek and Roman literature, philosophy, and history. Greats was widely considered to be the very best course for the training of the mind. An extraordinarily high percentage of the statesmen and bureaucrats who administered the British Empire were “Greats” men.⁴ Oxford's other strengths lay in the fields of philosophy, theology, law, modern history, and modern literature. Oxford still looked with skepticism at such new fields as psychology, engineering, and sociology and consequently had few offerings in these areas. In biology, chemistry, and physics Oxford was, by its own admission, far behind the better American universities.

When the forty-three American Rhodes Scholars of 1904 reached Oxford they encountered not only an educational system radically new to them but also a bewildering array of unfamiliar customs and terms. One's teacher was a “tutor.” This tutor usually also was a permanent fellow of the college. These fellows or tutors might also be called “dons.” The academic year was divided into three terms, each of eight weeks. The fall term (October to December) was called “Michaelmas,” the winter term (January to March) was “Hilary,” and the summer term (April to June) was “Trinity.” One did not “major” in a field, but rather “read” it. Final examinations were “Honours Schools” or simply “schools.” If one referred to the college dons as a group or to their meeting rooms, one used the term “SCR” (Senior Common Room). Student government or the main student meeting room was the “JCR” (Junior Common Room). The dons who took meals in the college hall sat at “High Table,” on an elevated platform. Elaborate ceremonies often occurred as the dons entered the hall for a meal. At Queen's College, for example, there were two trumpet blasts, one to the east and one to the west. After dinner in the evening, each college's dons retired to the SCR for coffee, port, sherry, and snuff. The heads of the colleges had their own particular titles: master, warden, principal, dean, president, rector, or provost. A student's non-academic adviser was his “moral tutor.” A student who was temporarily expelled was “rusticated.” The fees owed to a college for room, board, and other charges were “battels.” The area near the college kitchen where one could purchase food supplies for one's room was the “buttery.” When an undergraduate attended evening meal in college, was outside the college after dusk, or went to tutorials, he wore either a commoner's or a scholar's gown. The special outfit worn at matriculation and when taking examinations was “subfusc.” The university police who patrolled the city streets at night to ensure the good behavior of students were “bulldogs.” (Until 1868 the bulldogs had authority over everyone on the streets of Oxford at night. There are stories about them arresting prostitutes and bullying them in Latin.⁵) Alumni were called “old members,” and alumni reunions were “gaudies.” All students, dons, and other residents of the City of Oxford were “Oxonians.”

If these and other terms were not enough, there were also a myriad of abbreviations, nicknames, and odd pronunciations. St. Edmund Hall, actually a college but called a hall, was “Teddy Hall.” Christ Church was a college but was never called one. Instead, it was usually referred to as “ChCh” or “House.” Hertford College was pronounced “Hartford” or “Harford,” but never “Hurtford.” Magdalen College and the bridge adjacent to it were pronounced “Maud-lin.”-though a couple of blocks away Magdalen Street and the Church of St. Mary Magdalen were “Mag-de-lin.” The similarly named college in Cambridge also was “Mag-de-lin.” One of the two rivers flowing through Oxford was the “Isis” – known as the Thames everywhere else. The other river was the Cherwell – pronounced “Char-well.”

The rowing contests in the early spring were “Torpids,” but the similar races in early summer were “Eights.” All the rowing contests were “bumping races” or “bumps.” (There were too many boats to fit across the narrow Isis, and so the boats were strung out in single file. The aim was to bump the boat in front of one's own, thereby advancing in the standings.) Most of the colleges owned punts, which, like Venetian gondolas, were propelled by long poles. The student in charge of his college's punts was the “admiral of the fleet.” Whereas an American varsity athlete won a “letter,” his counterpart in Oxford won a “blue.” This entitled a student to wear a coveted blue jersey, blue blazer, blue scarf, blue necktie, or blue hat-band. (Oxford was dark blue, Cambridge light blue.) Blues were awarded only to athletes who made the university team for a match against arch-rival Cambridge. A full blue was awarded in cricket, football (i.e., soccer), rugby, rowing, and track. Half-blues were awarded for sports like tennis, golf, boxing, and fencing. A half-blue article of clothing had white stripes over a blue base.

Rhodes Scholars and other foreigners in Oxford might not understand even a word of the ceremonies that occurred at the beginning and end of their years in Oxford. Matriculation and graduation occurred in Christopher Wren's magnificent Sheldonian Theatre. Most of the words uttered by the university's chancellor and other dignitaries were in Latin. Newly arrived Americans would also discover that their class year was determined by the date when they entered Oxford not when they graduated.⁶

Tradition reigned supreme. A story regarding New College is probably apocryphal yet accurately illustrates the Oxford state of mind. Sometime in the nineteenth century it was discovered that the beams in the roof above the dining hall were full of beetles and rotten. The college council despaired at finding old oak trees that would provide replacements of a suitable caliber. One of the younger fellows ventured to suggest that the college might own forests containing the right kind of trees. (Like several of its counterparts, New College possessed vast tracts of land throughout the country.) College officials contacted their chief forester, who had not visited Oxford for many years. His response went something like, “Well, sirs, we was wonderin' when you'd be askin'.” He then revealed that some years after the college was founded in the fourteenth century a grove of oaks had been planted to replace the beams in the college hall. For over five hundred years the chief foresters had tended the grove, awaiting word that new beams were needed.

Early in the twentieth century many hallowed customs were still retained in full force. At Magdalen whenever a don passed away the college slaughtered one of its deer and served it for dinner. Magdalen was the center of each year's May Morning celebrations, when at 6:00 a.m. on the first of May choristers sang from the top of the college tower, to the delight of the throngs below. Every third year the Lord Mayor of Oxford inspected the medieval city wall that ran through New College; since the fourteenth century the college had been permitted to use the wall as part of its structure in return for keeping it in good repair. On the fourteenth of January in the first year of each century there was a ceremony called “All Souls Mallard.” The warden led a torch-lit procession through the grounds of All Souls, searching for a mallard which, supposedly, had been startled out of a drain when the college was being constructed. In the other ninety-nine years of each century the “Mallard Song” was sung at the college gaudy. Except for the bulldogs and the slaughter of deer, these customs and terms remain little changed today.

During its eight centuries of existence, the university had experienced its ups and downs. In the high and late Middle Ages, its philosophers, theologians, and jurists were the equal of any at the University of Paris or other renowned centers of scholarship on the continent. On the other hand, the eighteenth century marked a low point. Standards sank to abysmal depths, with many of the tutors paying more attention to the comfortable perquisites of life as an Oxford don than to maintaining high standards for themselves and their students. The future economist Adam Smith spent six years at Balliol in the 1740s. Only rarely did any tutor inquire about his activities, and so he spent most of his time reading whatever he chose. Once he was nearly expelled when someone discovered that he owned a book unfit for undergraduates: David Hume's A Treatise on Human Nature. His contemporary Edward Gibbon called his fourteen months at Magdalen College “the most idle and unprofitable” of his entire life.⁷ The nineteenth century, however, witnessed a revival. By 1900 on the whole Oxford was again equal or superior to the best institutions in the United States and on the continent.⁸

The list of its graduates was indeed impressive. Over the centuries they included Roger Bacon, Thomas Wolsey, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Donne, Thomas Hobbes, Robert Boyle, John Locke, Jonathan Swift, John Wesley, Samuel Johnson, Percy Bysse Shelley (who was expelled from University College in 1811 after publishing “The Necessity of Atheism”), John Henry Newman, Charles Dodgson (Lewis Carroll), T.E. Lawrence, Oscar Wilde, and J.R.R. Tolkien. Sixteen of the thirty-two men who had served as prime minister in the period from the 1720s to 1900 were Oxford graduates, and traditionally Oxford represented a majority of each prime minister's cabinet. From 1604 to 1950 the university also elected its own two members of Parliament. Given Oxford's preeminence in academe, government, and other fields, it is not surprising that when one began one's studies there one “went up.” An expelled student was “sent down.” The person who successfully graduated “went down.”

The value of an Oxford education both for the students and for the nation did not always go unquestioned. On the one hand, the statesman William Gladstone believed that “To call a man an Oxford man is to pay him the highest compliment that can be paid to a human being.” On the other, the writer Max Beerbohm admitted, “When I was growing up, I was an amiable, studious, and well-mannered youth. It was only Oxford that made me insufferable.”⁹ Because of the university's sometimes overblown sense of importance, George Bernard Shaw argued that Britain would be better off if both Oxford and Cambridge were razed.

Traditionally, Oxford was a sort of finishing school for the scions of noble or wealthy families. In college one would get a smattering of learning but also gain social polish and make valuable friends. The great majority of students thus were content to obtain a gentleman's “Second” or “Third.” Most of the “Firsts” were won by scholarship students. These were usually the bright, ambitious sons of lower-middle or working-class families. They had won any of the dozens of open scholarships offered by the colleges.

One additional feature that could not escape the notice of any visitor to Oxford was the utter masculinity of the place. The students, the dons, and even the housekeepers were male. This idiosyncrasy would not have puzzled most of the new arrivals, for many of the American colleges and universities from which they came, especially those along the eastern seaboard, were also male-only.

There were female students in Oxford. They were, however, “in” but not quite “of” the university. Between 1878 and 1893 five women's colleges had been founded. They were Lady Margaret Hall, Somerville College, St. Hugh's College, the Society of Oxford Home Students (later renamed St. Anne's College), and St. Hilda's College. These institutions existed in a kind of academic limbo. They were farther from the city center than their male counterparts. They were also poorer. Some of the twenty men's colleges, by contrast, owned tens of thousands of acres throughout the country plus entire blocks of real estate in Oxford and London. Women were permitted to attend most of the university lectures, and they could sit for the same examinations taken by their male counterparts. During these occasions, however, they sat apart, were carefully chaperoned, and could not speak to the men. Moreover, the university did not grant degrees to the women; they had to be content with diplomas granted by their colleges.¹⁰

Settling In

In October 1904 the first class of American Rhodes Scholars arrived in Oxford shortly before the start of Michaelmas term.¹¹ Nearly all of them had sailed together from Boston in the S. S. Ivernia. This sailing party was the beginning of a tradition that would last nearly eighty years. In their days on board ship they would form strong bonds with each other. Many of these friendships would last not only through their Oxford years, but also through their careers.

On board the Ivernia the scholars found awaiting them a message sent by President Theodore Roosevelt. He offered his congratulations and also reminded them that they had an obligation to uphold the best traditions of American scholarship and culture.¹² The nervousness that many of them already had about this new scholarly experiment was thus compounded by the knowledge that their government would be looking over their shoulders.

At sea the young men were objects of curiosity to their fellow passengers, who wanted to see these perfect specimens of American youth. After the first awkward day of trying to live up to their image, most of them resorted to beer and cards. One of the poker groups acquired the name Chianti Club, and it continued its regular sessions after arrival in Oxford.¹³

In 1904 and most years thereafter, the group was met at the Southampton or Liverpool docks by the Oxford Secretary, who then escorted them by train to Oxford. For nearly thirty years the Briton who greeted them as they disembarked from the ship was the avuncular Francis Wylie. After arrival at the Oxford train station he dispatched them by cab to the porters' lodges of their respective colleges. Frank Aydelotte (1905) later recounted how he and two other scholars first entered Brasenose College. At the lodge they asked whether they should report to someone and were told that they might see the vice-principal, one Dr. Bussell. After climbing his staircase they found “a man with a red and white schoolboy complexion and a monocle, wearing a very high choker collar.” Aydelotte announced “We are the new Rhodes Scholars.” Glancing through his monocle Bussell exclaimed in a squeaky falsetto voice, “How quaint.” Surprised and embarrassed, but also amused, they quickly retreated, realizing that they had encountered a “character.” They also realized that they had committed their first of many faux pas. It was indeed quaint for newcomers to make an occasion of their arrival in a place where to be casual and unimpressed was the standard behavior.¹⁴

Just as Cecil Rhodes hoped that Americans would come from all regions of the United States, so too he expected that they would be spread throughout the colleges in Oxford. If too many ended up in one college, this would deter them from mixing thoroughly with British students. Starting in 1904 and continuing to today, newly appointed scholars were asked to list several colleges in order of preference. Most of the young men knew little or nothing about Oxford and selected those colleges they had heard were the oldest and most prestigious. This set a tradition that has, with slight changes, carried through to the present time. The colleges that were most popular among the Americans through the first half of the century were Christ Church, Balliol, Merton, Exeter, and Lincoln.¹⁵ Most Rhodes Scholars failed to obtain their first choice in college. Furthermore, no college was obligated to accept a Rhodes Scholar. As things developed, what happened was that most colleges accepted one or two per year. Francis Wylie also did his best to distribute the scholars as widely as possible.

With the exception of Aydelotte and his companions, Rhodes Scholars generally went straight from the lodge to their rooms. They had several surprises awaiting them. Residential halls in the older colleges were not arranged in “floors,” where dozens of students had rooms extending down long hallways. Instead, the traditional Oxford arrangement was staircases. Every few yards along the outside of the building there was a doorway leading up a staircase. On each landing, extending up three or four floors, there were perhaps two or three doors, each one leading to a student's rooms. On average there were about a dozen students in each staircase.¹⁶

Upon reaching the correct door in the proper staircase, the student then encountered his second surprise: his “scout.” This was usually an older, formally-dressed gentleman, whom they assumed to be a college administrator. To their shock they discovered that this man called them “Sir.” He was, in effect, the manservant for the “gentlemen” of his staircase. Each scout was a college employee but also depended heavily on end-of-term tips from his charges. The scout awoke each man at around 7:30 a.m. on weekdays and brought breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea to each student's room. The scout also tidied up the rooms each day and ran errands around town – e.g., taking clothes to the cleaners or purchasing food and other supplies.

Immediately after weathering the shock of having a scout, the Rhodes Scholar discovered that he would have two, or sometimes three, rooms at his disposal. The usual two-room allotment, known as a “set,” included a bedroom and a sitting room. One ate, studied, and entertained in the latter.

The euphoria induced by having two rooms for oneself alone was soon tempered by disappointments. Rhodes Scholars learned that the furniture in the rooms usually belonged to the previous occupant. One had to purchase it in order to keep it. The Americans also discovered that other immediate expenditures were required, such as sending the scout out to purchase plates, cutlery, towels, and other incidentals. There was a fireplace in each room, for which the scout would need to purchase coal. The rooms might be impressively large, but students soon realized that they were cold and drafty. Worse than that, the antique residence halls also possessed antique plumbing-or, more often, no plumbing at all. In hundreds of diaries and letters home, the pioneer Rhodes Scholars bemoaned the fact that toilets and bathtubs might be located in quads at the opposite end of the college. The Americans thus discovered what English public schoolboys already knew: education and the building of character were not meant to occur in an environment of warmth and convenience.¹⁷

NOTES

1. The best, most detailed account is the multi-volume History of the University of Oxford, published by Oxford University Press, gen. ed. T. H. Aston. The early period is covered in the first two volumes: J.I. Catto, ed., The Early Oxford Schools (1984) and J.I. Catto and Ralph Evans, eds., Late Medieval Oxford (1993).

2. Baedeker's Great Britain (London, 1887), 30.

3. Stephen Leacock, “Oxford As I See It,” Harper's, May 1922, 741.

4. Symonds, Oxford and Empire, 31, 35, 189–91.

5. Jan Morris, Oxford (Oxford, 1978), 56.

6. One of the best guides to the terms and customs of Oxford is Christopher Hibbert, ed., The Encyclopedia of Oxford (London, 1988).

7. TAO, 43 (1956): 7.

8. In addition to the aforementioned History of the University of Oxford, one should consult John Prest, ed., The Illustrated History of Oxford University (Oxford, 1993).

9. TAO, 54 (1967): 10.

10. Brian Harrison, ed., The History of the University of Oxford. Vol. 8: The Twentieth Century (Oxford, 1994), 345–49; Amery, My Political Life, I:45.

11. As their selection process was less complex, scholars from Germany, South Africa, and Rhodesia were the first to arrive, in the fall of 1903.

12. TAO, 50 (1963): 65; 52 (1965): 126.

13. TAO, 37 (1950): 66, 54 (1967): 103.

14. Blanshard, Aydelotte, 58.

15. Aydelotte, American Rhodes Scholarships, 133; Elton, First Fifty Years, 66–67.

16. Most residence halls built since the latter part of the nineteenth century are arranged by floors rather than staircases.

17. Elton, First Fifty Years, 80; Blanshard, Aydelotte, 59–60; TAO, 66 (1979): 123.