Oxford. The front of Magdalen Hall, about which the least said the soonest mended. On the left, further on, All Souls, which seems to have been built by the same happy hand winch built the new courts of St. John’s Cambridge, (for they are about equally bad). On the right, the Clarendon and the Schools, blocking out the western sky. Still more to the right, a bit of Exeter, and all Brazenose. In front the Radcliff, the third dome in England, and, beyond, the straight facade of St. Mary’s, gathering its lines upward ever, till, tired of window and buttress, of crocket, finial, gargoyle, and all the rest of it, it leaps up aloft in one glorious crystal, and carries up one’s heart with it into the heaven above.

Charles Ravenshoe and Marston. They stood side by side on the pavement, and their eyes roamed together over the noble mass of architecture, passing from the straight lines, and abrupt corner of the Radcliff, on to the steeple of St. Mary’s. They stood silent for a moment, and then Marston said —

“Serve him right,”

“Why?” said Charles.

“Because he had no business to be driving tandem at all. He can’t afford it. And, besides, if he could, why should he defy the authorities by driving tandem? Nobody would drive tandem if it wasn’t forbidden.”

“Well, he is sent down, and therefore your virtue may spare him.”

“Sent down!” said Marston, testily, “he never ought to have come up. He was only sent here to be pitch-forked through the schools, and get a family living.”

“Well, well,” said Charles; “I was very fond of him.”

“Pish!” said Marston. Whereat Charles laughed uproariously, and stood in the gutter. His mirth was stopped by his being attacked by a toothless black and tan terrier, who was so old that he could only bark in a whisper, but whose privilege it was to follow about one of the first divinity scholars of the day, round the sunniest spots in the town. The dog having been appeased, Charles and Marston stood aside, and got a kindly smile from the good old man, in recognition of their having touched their caps to him.

“Charley,” said Marston, “I am so glad to hear of your going on so well. Mind you, if you had stuck to your work sooner, you would have had more than a second in Moderations. You must, and you shall, get a first, you know. I will have it.”

“Never, my boy, never; ” said Charles; “I haven’t head for it,”

“Nonsense. You are a great fool; but you may get your first.”

Thereupon Charles laughed again, louder than before, and wanted to know what his friend had been eating to upset his liver. To which Marston answered “Bosh!” and then they went clown Oriel Lane, “And so by Merton,” as the fox-hunters say, to Christ Church Meadow.

“I am glad you are in the University eight,” said .Marston; “it will do you a vast deal of good. You used to over — value that sort of thing, but I don’t think that you do so now. You can’t row or ride yourself into a place in the world, but that is no reason why you should not row or ride. I wish I was heavy enough to row. Who steers today?

“The great Panjandrum.”

“I don’t like the great Panjandrum. I think him slangy. And I don’t pardon slang in any one beyond a very young bachelor.”

“I am very fond of him,” said Charles, “and you are bilious, and out of humour with every one in heaven and earth, except apparently me. But, seriously speaking, old man, I think you have had something to vex you, since you came up yesterday. I hav’n’t seen you since you were at Ravenshoe, and you are deucedly altered, do you know?”

“I am sure you are wrong, Charles. I have had nothing — Well, I never lie. I have been disappointed in something, but I have fought against it so, that I am sure you must be wrong. I cannot be altered.&rdq............