e rule, the breaking of which he knew could not be
overlooked. He was slovenly in his dress, and when spoken to about
these and other irregularities, he was in the habit of making such
extraordinary gestures, expressive of his humility under reproof, as
to overset first the gravity and then the temper of the lecturing
tutor. When he proceeded so far as to paste up atheistical squibs on
the chapel doors, it was considered necessary to expel him privately,
out of regard to Sir Timothy Shelley, the father, who came up at once.
He and his son left Oxford together."

No one would recognize in this picture the University of Oxford, as it
is at present. _Nous avons change tout cela_ might be said with great
truth by the Heads of Houses, the Professors, and Fellows of the
present day. And yet what the Highland lady, or rather the Highland
girl, describes, refers to times not so long ago but that some of the
men we have known might have lived through it. How this change came
about I cannot tell, though I can bear testimony to a few survivals of
the old state of things.

The Oxford of 1848 was still the Oxford of the Heads of Houses and of
the Hebdomadal Board. That board consisted almost entirely of Heads of
Houses, and a most important board it was, considering that the whole
administration of the University was really in its hands. The
colleges, on the other hand, were very jealous of their independence;
and even the authority of the Proctors, who represented the University
as such, was often contested within the gates of a college. It is
wonderful that this old system of governing the University through the
Heads of Houses should have gone on so long and so smoothly. Having
been trusted by the Fellows of his own society with considerable power
in the administration of his own college, it was supposed that the
Head would prove equally useful in the administration of the
University. A Head of a House became at once a member of the Council.
And, on the whole, they managed to drive the coach and horses very
well. But often when I had to take foreigners to hear the University
Sermon, and they saw a most extraordinary set of old gentlemen walking
into St. Mary's in procession, with a most startling combination of
colours, black and red, scarlet and pink, on their heavy gowns and
sleeves, I found it difficult to explain who they were. "Are they your
professors?" I was asked. "Oh, no," I said, "the professors don't wear
red gowns,