orm such exquisite settings to many of the
venerable grey, gabled buildings, were as neat and as bright as
hands could make them. Cooks, butlers and their assistants were
bestirring themselves in kitchen and buttery, under the direction
of bursars jealous of the fame of their houses, in the
preparation of the abundant and solid fare with which Oxford is
wont to entertain all comers. Everything the best of its kind, no
stint but no nonsense, seems to be the wise rule which the
University hands down and lives up to in these matters. However
we may differ as to her degeneracy in other departments, all who
have ever visited her will admit that in this of hospitality she
is still a great national teacher, acknowledging and preaching by
example the fact, that eating and drinking are important parts of
man's life, which are to be allowed their due prominence, and not
thrust into a corner, but are to be done soberly and thankfully,
in the sight of God and man. The coaches were bringing in heavy
loads of visitors; carriages of all kinds were coming in from the
neighbouring counties; and lodgings in the High-street were going
up to fabulous prices.

In one of these High-street lodgings, on the evening of the
Saturday before Commemoration, Miss Winter and her cousin are
sitting. They have been in Oxford during the greater part of the
day, having posted up from Englebourn; but they have only just
come in, for the younger lady is still in her bonnet, and Miss
Winter's lies on the table. The windows are wide open, and Miss
Winter is sitting at one of them; while her cousin is busied in
examining the furniture and decorations of their temporary home,
now commenting upon these, now pouring out praises of Oxford.

"Isn't it too charming? I never dreamt that any town could be so
beautiful. Don't you feel wild about it, Katie?"

"It is the queen of towns, dear. But I know it well, you see, so
that I can't be quite so enthusiastic as you."

"Oh, those dear gardens! what was the name of those ones with the
targets up, where they were shooting? Don't you remember?"

"New College Gardens, on the old city wall, you mean?"

"No, no. They were nice and sentimental. I should like to go and
sit and read poetry there. But I mean the big ones, the gorgeous,
princely ones, with wicked old Bishop Laud's gallery looking into
them."

"Oh! St. John's, of course."

"Yes, St. John's. Why do you hate Laud so, Katie?"

"I don't hate him, dear. H