own college, All Souls, has ever so many pinnacles, and
we kept an architect on purpose to watch which of them were unsafe and
had to be restored or replaced by new ones. Every one of these
pinnacles cost us about fifty pounds, and at every one of our meetings
we were told that so many pinnacles had been tested, and wanted
repairing or replacing. Many years ago, when I was spending the whole
Long Vacation at Oxford, I could watch from my windows a man who was
supposed to be testing the strength of these pinnacles. He was armed
with a large crowbar, which he ran with all his might against the
unfortunate pinnacle. I doubt whether the walls of any Roman castellum
could have resisted such a ram. I spoke to some of the Fellows, and
when the builder made his next report to us, we rather objected to the
large number of invalids. He was not to be silenced, however, so
easily, but told us with a very grave countenance that he could not
take the responsibility, as a pinnacle might fall any day on our
Warden when he went to chapel. This, he thought, would settle the
matter. But no, it made no impression whatever on the junior Fellows,
and the number of annual cripples was certainly very much reduced in
consequence.

It is true that Oxford has always loved what is old better than what
is new, and has resisted most innovations to the very last. A
well-known liberal statesman used to say that when any measure of
reform was before Parliament, he always rejoiced to see an Oxford
petition against it, for that measure was sure to be carried very
soon. It should not be forgotten, however, that there always has been
a liberal minority at Oxford. It is still mentioned as something quite
antediluvian, that Oxford, that is the Hebdomadal Council, petitioned
against the Great Western Railway invading its sacred precincts; but
it is equally true that not many years later it petitioned for a
branch line to keep the University in touch with the rest of the
world.

Many things, of course, have been changed, and are changing every year
before our very eyes; but what can never be changed, in spite of some
recent atrocities in brick and mortar, is the natural beauty of its
gardens, and the historical character of its architecture. Whether
Friar Bacon, as far back as the thirteenth century, admired the
colleges, chapels, and gardens of Oxford, we do not know; and even if
we did, few of them could have been the same as those which we admire
to-day.