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I found, with some mortification, that, according to my marks, the second wrangler ought to have the first prize. I therefore put aside the papers until the day before the decision. I then took an unmarked copy of my questions, and put new {33} numbers for their respective values. After very carefully going over the whole of the examination-papers again, I arrived almost exactly at my former conclusion.

      〈REMARKABLE AGREEMENT.〉

      On our meeting at the Vice-Chancellor’s, that functionary asked me, as the senior professor, what was my decision as to the two prizes. I stated that the result of my examination obliged me to award the first prize to the second wrangler. Professor Airy was then asked the same question. He made the same reply. Professor Lax being then asked, said he had arrived at the same conclusion as his two colleagues.

      The Vice-Chancellor remarked that when we altered the arrangement of the University Examiners, it was very sat­is­fac­tory that we should be unanimous. Professor Airy observed that this sat­is­fac­tion was enhanced by the fact of the remarkable difference in the tastes of the three examiners.

      The Vice-Chancellor, turning to me, asked whether it might be permitted to inquire the numbers we had respectively assigned to each candidate.

      I and my colleagues immediately mentioned our numbers, which Professor Airy at once reduced to a common scale. On this it appeared that the number of marks assigned to each by Professor Airy and myself very nearly agreed, whilst that of Professor Lax differed but little.

      On this occasion the first Smith’s prize was assigned to the second wrangler, Mr. Cavendish, now Duke of Devonshire, the present Chancellor of the University.

      The result of the whole of my after-experience showed that amongst the highest men the peculiar tastes of the examiners had no effect in disturbing the proper decision.

      I must now return to my pursuits during my residence at Cambridge, the account of which has been partially interrupted by the history of my appointment to the Chair of Newton.

      Whilst I was an undergraduate, I lived probably in a greater variety of sets than any of my young companions. But my chief and choicest consisted of some ten or a dozen friends who usually breakfasted with me every Sunday after chapel; arriving at about nine, and remaining to between twelve and one o’clock. We discussed all knowable and many unknowable things.

      〈GHOST CLUB—EXTRACTORS.〉

      At one time we resolved ourselves into a Ghost Club, and proceeded to collect evidence, and entered into a considerable correspondence upon the subject. Some of this was both interesting and instructive.

      At another time we resolved ourselves into a Club which we called The Extractors. Its rules were as follows—

       1st. Every member shall communicate his address to the Secretary once in six months.

       2nd. If this communication is delayed beyond twelve months, it shall be taken for granted that his relatives had shut him up as insane.

       3rd. Every effort legal and illegal shall be made to get him out of the madhouse. Hence the name of the club—The Extractors. {35}

       4th. Every candidate for admission as a member shall produce six certificates. Three that he is sane and three others that he is insane.

      It has often occurred to me to inquire of my legal friends whether, if the sanity of any member of the club had been questioned in after-life, he would have adduced the fact of membership of the Club of Extractors as an indication of sanity or of insanity.

      〈SHYNESS—CHESS.〉

      During the first part of my residence at Cambridge, I played at chess very frequently, often with D’Arblay and with several other good players. There was at that period a fellow-commoner at Trinity named Brande, who devoted almost his whole time to the study of chess. I was invited to meet him one evening at the rooms of a common friend for the purpose of trying our strength.

      On arriving at my friend’s rooms, I found a note informing me that he had gone to Newmarket, and had left coffee and the chessmen for us. I was myself tormented by great shyness, and my yet unseen adversary was, I understood, equally diffident. I was sitting before the chess-board when Brande entered. I rose, he advanced, sat down, and took a white and a black pawn from the board, which he held, one in either hand. I pointed with my finger to the left hand and won the move.

      The game then commenced; it was rather a long one, and I won it: but not a word was exchanged until the end: when Brande uttered the first word. “Another?” To this I nodded assent.

      How that game was decided I do not now remember; but the first sentence pronounced by either of us, was a remark by Brande, that he had lost the first game by a certain move of his white bishop. To this I replied, that I thought he was {36} mistaken, and that the real cause of his losing the game arose from the use I had made of my knight two moves previously to his white bishop’s move.

      We then immediately began to replace the men on the board in the positions they occupied at that particular point of the game when the white bishop’s move was made. Each took up any piece indiscriminately, and placed it without hesitation on the exact square on which it had stood. It then became apparent that the effective move to which I had referred was that of my knight.

      Brande, during his residence at Cambridge, studied chess regularly several hours each day, and read almost every treatise on the subject. After he left college he travelled abroad, took lessons from every celebrated teacher, and played with all the most eminent players on the Continent.

      At intervals of three or four years I oc­ca­sion­al­ly met him in London. After the usual greeting he always proposed that we should play a game of chess.

      I found on these occasions, that if I played any of the ordinary openings, such as are found in the books, I was sure to be beaten. The only way in which I had a chance of winning, was by making early in the game a move so bad that it had not been mentioned in any treatise. Brande possessed, and had read, almost every book upon the subject.

      〈SIXPENNY WHIST.〉

      Another set which I frequently joined were addicted to sixpenny whist. It consisted of Higman, afterwards Tutor of Trinity; Follet, afterwards Attorney-General; of a learned and accomplished Dean still living, and I have no doubt still playing an excellent rubber, and myself. We not unfrequently sat from chapel-time in the evening until the sound {37} of the morning chapel bell again called us to our religious duties.

      I mixed oc­ca­sion­al­ly with a different set of whist players at Jesus College. They played high: guinea points, and five guineas on the rubber. I was always a most welcome visitor, not from my skill at the game; but because I never played more than shilling points and five shillings on the rubber. Consequently my partner had what they considered an advantage: namely, that of playing guinea points with one of our adversaries and pound points with the other.

      〈EXPEDITIONS TO THE FENS.〉

      Totally different in character was another set in which I mixed. I was very fond of boating, not of the manual labour of rowing, but the more in­tel­lec­tual art of sailing. I kept a beautiful light, London-built boat, and oc­ca­sion­al­ly took long voyages down the river, beyond Ely into the fens. To accomplish these trips, it was necessary to have two or three strong fellows

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