these was their formal reception
into the University, when they trooped after the Senior Tutor through
gothic mazes and in some beautiful and remote room received from the
Vice-Chancellor a bound volume of Statuta et Decreta Universitatis. This
book they carried back with them to college, where in many rooms it
shared with Ruff's Guide and Soapy Sponge's Sporting Tour an
intellectual oligarchy. Saturday morning was spent in meeting the Warden
at the Warden's Lodgings, where they shook hands with him in nervous
quartets. Michael when he discussed this experience with his fellows
fancied that the Warden's butler had left a deeper impression than the
Warden himself. On Sunday afternoon, however, when they gathered in the
hall to hear the annual address of welcome and exhortation, the great
moon-faced Warden shone undimmed.

"You have come to Oxford," he concluded, "some of you to hunt foxes,
some of you to wear very large and very unusual overcoats, some of you
to row for your college and a few of you to work. But all of you have
come to Oxford to remain English gentlemen. In after life when you are
ambassadors and proconsuls and members of Parliament you will never
remember this little address which I have the honor now of delivering to
you. That will not matter, so long as you always remember that you are
St. Mary's men and the heirs of an honorable and ancient foundation."

The great moon-faced Warden beamed at them for one moment, and after
thanking them for their polite attention floated out of the hall. The
pictures of cardinals and princes and poets in their high golden frames
seemed in the dusk faintly to nod approval. The bell was ringing for
evening chapel, and the freshmen went murmurously along the cloisters to
take their places, feeling rather proud that the famous quire was their
quire and looking with inquisitive condescension at the visitors who sat
out of sight of those candle-starred singers.

In hall that night the chief topic of conversation was the etiquette and
ritual of the first J. C. R. wine.

Michael to his chagrin found himself seated next to Mackintosh, for
Mackintosh, cousin though he was of the sparkish Lonsdale, was a gloomy
fellow scornful of the general merriment. As somebody had quickly said,
sharpening his young wit, he was more of a wet-blanket than a
Mackintosh.

"I suppose you're coming to the J. C. R.?" Michael asked.

"Why should I? Why should I waste my time trying to keep so