e by inspiration in the society of ladies."

"Then they can never be agreeable, for you say they never see
ladies."

"Not with the bodily eye, but with the eye of fancy."

"Then their agreeableness must be all fancy."

"But it is better to be agreeable in fancy than dull in reality."

"That depends upon whose fancy it is. To be agreeable in your own
fancy is compatible with being dull in reality as--"

"How you play with words! I see you won't leave me a shred either
of fancy or agreeableness to stand on."

"Then I shall do you good service. I shall destroy your
illusions; you cannot stand on illusions."

"But remember what my illusions were--fancy and agreeableness."

"But your agreeableness stood on fancy, and your fancy on
nothing. You had better settle down at once on the solid basis of
dullness like the dons."

"Then I am to found myself on fact, and try to be dull? What a
conclusion! But perhaps dullness is no more a fact than fancy;
what is dullness?"

"Oh, I do not undertake to define; you are the best judge."

"How severe you are! Now, see how generous I am. Dullness in
society is the absence of ladies."

"Alas, poor Oxford! Who is that in the velvet sleeves? Why do you
touch your cap?"

"That is the Proctor. He is our Cerberus; he has to keep all
undergraduates in good order."

"What a task! He ought to have three heads."

"He has only one head, but it is a very long one. And he has a
tail like any Basha, composed of pro-proctors, marshals and
bull-dogs, and I don't know what all. But to go back to what we
were saying--"

"No, don't let us go back. I'm tired of it; besides you were just
beginning about dullness. How can you expect me to listen now?"

"Oh, but do listen, just for two minutes. Will you be serious? I
do want to know what you really think when you hear the case."

"Well, I will try--for two minutes, mind."

Upon gaining which permission, Tom went off into an interesting
discourse on the unnaturalness of men's lives at. Oxford, which
it is by no means necessary to inflict on our readers.

As he was waxing eloquent and sentimental, he chanced to look
from his companion's face for a moment in search of a simile,
when his eyes alighted on that virtuous member of society, Dick,
the factotum of "The Choughs," who was taking his turn in the
Long Walk with his betters. Dick's face was twisted into an
uncomfortable grin; his eyes were fixed on Tom and his companion;
and he made