is-as indeed he looks-somewhat out of his element amid this merry and frivolous crowd; but he looks upon the discomfort as a duty to his family, and he congratulates himself upon the circumstance that a year more must pass before another June comes round. As for entertaining his nieces actually at Commemoration, nothing will induce him to do that: so he effects this kind of compromise with their tastes for academical dissipation, and gives them just a foretaste of these gaieties -a piece of diplomacy upon which we congratulate him, and for which the young ladies ought also to be thankful, for reasons mentioned above-sua si bona norint.

Other fellows of Colleges there are younger indeed by much, as well as certain more sapient undergraduates, who knowing well, from painful experience, the utter misery of entertaining friends at Commemoration, transfer their hospitality to the fortnight preceding it. So that altogether there is no lack of muslin dresses, of bright young faces, or of opportunity for ruining oneself in the matter of gloves: for what young lady ever witnessed a boat race without wishing to back her opinion in Houbigant's wares?

Well, the race is over now; we do not much care who has bumped whom, whether Trinity heads the river, or Corpus, or Queen's: and we are not going to attempt to relate the marvellous struggle between Brasenose and Exeter, which took place at the Gut, or at Sander's barge. It is quite enough to know that the contest is ended, and that we may stroll Mitre-wards, or, if you like it best, into College, where we shall doubtless find some hospitable undergraduate who will give us a cool draught of Moselle cup, or of the more homely bitter, for our fauces begin to grow arida. As

we re-enter the High Street we hear the echoing of a horn, we look down, and in the dusk of the evening see the St. Ambrose College Cricket drag driving towards us, while we ourselves have taken up our station on the St. Ambrose steps. And here the Eleven with their friends alight. They have won their match, have

dined on their ground, and are generally in high feather. Ah, there is another drag! Come from the same haunt of cricketers, and as we stand here, yet another. The place is alive with them, and very pleasant indications of undergraduate animation they are-indications, moreover, which, had we deferred our visit till the time when Commemoration was in full swing, we should never have seen. It is almost dark now, but the air seems full of life for all that.

As we stand on the St. Ambrose steps we think we recognize a form of an old college friend-a very great intimate indeed in the days when Plancus was Consul. He comes nearer; it is, it is, old Jones; but he is not alone; on his arm there trips a neat, nattily-dressed, little form.

'Jones, old fellow,' we say, as we greet him, 'is that you?'

As Jones returns our salutation, he introduces us to the little figure we had already noticed, which belonged to no less a person than Mrs. Jones.

'You see,' he tells us, 'I have come up from Hocus-cum-Pocusby-the-by I have the living-to take my masters (i. e. the degree of M.A.), and as I never could stand Commemoration, I chose this, as I think, the pleasantest of all times, and I have brought my wife with me. Will you come and see me go through the formality at nine A.M. to-morrow?'

We promise, and Jones passes on. As we return to the Mitre we find a number of letters awaiting us from different townsmen who have known us years ago in our undergraduate days, and who also let lodgings, wanting to know whether we should like capital accommodation for Commemoration. On this point we have already enunciated our opinions, so that they need not be reiterated here.

We are in the schools quad, faithful to our appointment with Jones. We could not have timed our visit thither better, for not only shall we have the opportunity of witnessing the conferring of the degrees, but we see a host of youths who are at

present engaged in endeavouring to pass the ordeal which must inevitably be undergone before those degrees can be received. As we pass through the large quadrangle we meet on every side a variety of whitechokered youths just on the point of entering the schools: some are in for 'Greats,'—such in the slang of the place is the final examination for degree called-others for moderation. The expression of the different countenances which greet us is a genuine study. There is the languidly confident, or seemingly quite careless passman, who wanders up to the door, chats with a friend or two, and then walks in; there is the nervous candidate, who busies himself to the last moment with mastering, or endeavouring to master, some mysterious memoria technica, which contains in a few unintelligible words the chief points of the ethics, or the principal facts of the Testament history. But we take leave of these and hurry to the building where degrees are to be given.

Making our way in through a troop of undergraduates, some to turn out full-fledged B.A.s, who stand round the door discussing the class list, the prospect of So-and-so getting his fellowship, and of the approaching Commemoration being gay, or the reverse, we discern Jones, in the midst of several other incipient M.A.s struggling into a bachelor's gown, hired by him, with the regulation rabbit-skin hood, for a modest consideration, of the obliging clerk of the schools, who stands close by. He beckons us to his side, and we walk out of the vestibule into Convocation House itself. We take up our position close by Mrs. Jones, who has come to see her lord and master achieve the last honours that the University can bestow upon him, unless, indeed, Jones, in days yet to come, receives the honorary degree of D.D., or D.C.L.-a contingency, which, looking back on our old chum's academical achievements, we mentally decide with ourselves is the reverse of probable. Convocation House itself is imposing, rather from the dignity of the ceremonies celebrated within its precincts, than for the aspect of the

This

mere edifice. Up and down either sides are ranged long oaken benches placed there for the benefit of those who may wish to witness the ordinance undergone. At the top of the room-for room it really is-on a species of throne slightly elevated above the remainder of the floor, is seated the Vice-Chancellor, supported on his left and right by the two Proctors. At the bottom stand the Deans of different Colleges, who introduce to the said Vice-Chancellor the undergraduates and graduates of their respective colleges, who are aspirants for the various degrees. We must suppose that all the fees have been paid in the above-mentioned ante-room to a certain academical dignitary who is ensconced in a little oaken box. being done nothing remains but to be formally presented to the virtual head of the University, and to be saluted a Bachelor, Master, Doctor of Divinity, or whatever other title may have been assumed. As it happens, there are a good many degrees to be conferred to-day. The first who go up to the Vice-Chancellor, and after a long beatification pronounced upon them by him, depart glorying in the appendage of D.D., are two country schoolmasters, and one or two old rectors. Next come the masters-a formidable batch. The Dean of Balliol' is the name called out by the University officer on the right hand of the Proctor, and the Dean of Balliol accordingly makes his appearance. Then ensues a slight Latin colloquy between himself and the Vice-Chancellor, finally he presents his different charges; they kneel down, after having gone through the formality of taking an oath to the effect that they will never conspire against the Church or Queen, and, rising up, depart. After a little waiting the Dean of St. Tristram brings forward our friend Jones, who, submitting to the same ceremony, takes upon himself the same obligations, has his head patted by the Vice-Chancellor, and is told that he has the academical sanction 'to dispute and to teach, and to do everything else in this University which properly appertains to the degree of Master of Arts'

-for the benefit of our lady readers we translate the Latin formula. Mrs. Jones looks on approvingly. Jones walks up to her where she is seated on the spectator's bench, takes her out, and as he makes his exit is met by his old college scout, who has furnished himself with a master's gown for his former part proprietor. The process known as tipping is gone through, and the Rev. Mr. Jones leaves Convocation House, having enjoyed thoroughly being up for his master's -not, be it known, so much for the sake of the additional dignity with which it has endowed him, as for the opportunity he has had of meeting old college friends, scattered, in their different occupations, to the four winds of heaven, who once in a way have again met together, bent on one and the same mission. These are the times at which A. comes across B. after having lost sight of him for four or five or any number of years. All this time A. has been working away in his country parish, and B. has perhaps been grinding at law in the vain expectation of briefs, or has possibly been losing his health and his liver under Indian suns. As the friends greet each other outside Convocation House, many are the hurried notes compared as to how the intervening time since they last met as undergraduates struggling to get through the schools has been spent. What has become of Smith? what of Leserton? and has any one heard anything of Gibbs-you remember Gibbs? and where are you living now, Thistleton? and do you know anything of Manning, who used to live in the rooms opposite you? It is wonderful how speedily old associations are revived under the shadow of these familiar towers.

But let us linger behind for a moment and glance at those who are at this present instant in statu pupillari, but who before many minutes are over will have thrown aside the bib-like undergraduate's gown for the long flowing sleeves of the costume worn by the B.A. That gentleman rather older in appearance than most of his compeers, who is being conducted in front of the Vice-Chancellor by the Dean of his

College, is none other than Mr. Messiter. To-day is really the proudest of his life; for he has at last safely established himself beyond the reach of all examiners and examinations. Nearly seven years ago he matriculated at Oriel, but if you look for his name in the University Calendar you will find that it no longer figures among the list of members of Bishop Whateley's old College, but that he has retired to St. Alban's Hall. The meaning of the change? Well, our friend Messiter has been unfortunate in his schools-in plain English he has failed on various occasions quite to satisfy the examinatorial standard. He has been plucked at least three times for everything for which he has gone in; and so the fellows and tutors of Oriel recommended him to retire into the private life of a hall. But at last he is through; and when, a week since, Messiter gained his testamur for his final schools, the news went like wildfire throughout the circle of his rather numerous academical friends. Even when the long-wished-for little piece of oblong paper which certified the joyful fact was brought to Messiter by a trusty friend, who had frequently been on the same errand, but with very different results before, he could scarcely believe his eyes. If you scrutinize him closely at this present moment it is possible to see that he is not completely at his easenot indeed that he has not by this time realized the blissful truth of his having done for ever with 'those wretched schools,' but because there are certain other circumstances connected with his University career which make him feel anxious to have fairly clutched the B.A. within his grasp. For Messiter, like a good many other of his friends who have protracted their stay at the pleasant University of Oxford, and who have spared nothing to make their time as pleasant as is reasonably possible, has managed to contract a considerable crop of bills. And at the last several of his tradesmen turned, as he expressed it, 'rusty' and demurred to his proceeding to his degree: a step, by-the-by, which the representatives of Oxford commerce have it quite in their power to adopt

with respect to undergraduates pecuniarily embarrassed. The process is very simple. The creditor, whosoever he may be, has but to pluck the gown of the Proctor who walks once up and once down the floor of Convocation House, as the names of the different incipient B.A.s are read aloud. The banns are forbidden, and the ceremony is stopped. Hence, too, by the way the real etymology of that mysterious word plucking.' But Messiter has managed matters with the skill of a financier and a diplomatist; he has made arrangements with his tradesmen, and he believes that all is right. And so, in spite of his previous misgivings, at the last moment, turns out to be the case.

Messiter's name is called out aloud: no one interposes, and in the twinkling of an eye the object of his ambition is reached, and the B.A. robe assumed.

We will turn for one moment more to another gentleman who is on the point of grasping the same dignity as that which Messiter has just achieved, and whose personal appearance is very different from that of any of those around him. An undergraduate he is, certainly: we know as much from his gown and the company amongst which he is; but in other respects his semblance is emphatically clerical. What is he? who is he? why is he there? Now the real fact is this: our friend yonder is a clergyman, it is true— is, in fact, none other than the curate of

Mudbury-cum-Littleton, the Rev. Barney Bloker. But he was ordained under exceptional circumstances. Industrious when at college to a proverb, he fared considerably worse than the idlest of his fellow-students with the examiners. Not all his suits of rusty black, nor his spectacles, nor his thin lank hair, nor his general ungainliness of aspect, managed to procure for him a testamur in the degree schools. Meanwhile term after term flew by, and Bloker, senior, after having long and patiently cherished the dream that his immaculate son was possessed of genuine talent, began, when the plucks' followed fast upon each other, to entertain not wholly unreasonable suspicions as

to his powers, and to suggest, that as education was such long and such expensive work, he should give it up, and in reality take up his place at the tail of the paternal ploughshare, whose honours he had vindicated so well at the University. But at this communication the heart of Bloker, junior, began to faint within him: he had only 'greats' to pass, and why should he not stay on till the last terrible obstacle was surmounted? His ambition was for the church, and into the church he was determined, if possible, he would go. Meanwhile, on a sudden, a most felicitous opportunity of effecting a compromise presented itself. By a piece of marvellous good luck, Bloker met with a country rector who wanted a curate would Bloker come? 'How could he,' helplessly he replied, 'without having taken his degree?' 'Oh!' responded the genial ecclesiastic, that we can easily manage. If you will but promise the bishop and myself that, after being ordained, you will pass your schools, I have no doubt that I can use my influence with his lordship to ordain you.' Bloker, overjoyed, leapt at the proposal. The Bishop of B was not as strict as others of his order, and the consequence was that in three months' time after the colloquy ensued, Bloker was able to prefix the title of 'Reverend' to his name. Still there were those dreadful schools which must be gone through. Bloker went up once from his curacy and failed: a second time, and with the same result. But when 'greats' next came round, Bloker began to wax desperate, and after evening service one Sunday night he informed his rector

I am going up to Oxford tomorrow, and I have made up my mind not to return till I have passed my examination.'