ccidental
fragment of an obsolete period--a period when scholars dined on "a penny
piece of beef," and slept two or three in a room at the foot of the
Fellows' beds. All honour to Saint Werner's; all honour to the great,
and the wise, and the learned, and the noble whom she has sent forth
into all lands; all honour to the bravery and the truthfulness of her
sons; all honour to the profound scholars, and able teachers, and
eloquent orators who preside at her councils; she is a Queen of
colleges, and may wield her sceptre with a strong hand and a proud. But
are there not some among her subjects who are deaf to the sounds of calm
advice?--some who are so blind as to love her faults and prop up her
abuses?--some who daub her walls with the untempered mortar of their
blind prejudice, and treat every one as an enemy who would aid in
removing here and there a bent pillar, and here and there a crumbling
stone? (These words were written some time ago. I trust that since
then all causes of offence, if they ever existed, have long been
forgiven and forgotten.)

And now let all defenders of present institutions, however bad they may
be--let all violent supporters of their old mumpsimus against any new
sumpsimus whatever, listen to a conversation among some undergraduates.
It may convince them, or it may not--I cannot tell; but I know that it
had a powerful influence on me.

Bruce was standing in the Butteries, where he had just been joined by
Lord Fitzurse and Sir John D'Acres, who by virtue of their titles--
certainly not by any other virtue--sat among reverend Professors and
learned Doctors at the high table, far removed from the herd of common
undergraduates. With the three were _Mr_. Boodle and _Mr_. Tulk, (the
"Mister" is given them in the college-lists out of respect for the long
purses which have purchased them, the privilege of fellow-commoners or
ballantiogennaioi), who enjoyed the same enviable distinction and happy
privilege. By the screens were four or five sizars; a few more were
scattered about in the passage waiting, whilst the servants hurriedly
placed the dishes on the table set apart for them; and Julian was
chatting to Lillyston, who chanced at the moment to have been passing
by.

"Who is that table for?" asked D'Acres, pointing through the open door
of the hall.

"Oh, that's for the sizars," tittered the feeble-minded Boodle, who
tittered at everything.

"S-s-sizars!" stammered Lord Fitzurse. "Wh