s of the surrounding rooms pleasantly broken by
carved chimneys, grey turrets, and quaint gables--all these Mr. Pen's
eyes drank in with an eagerness which belongs to first impressions; and
Major Pendennis surveyed with that calmness which belongs to a gentleman
who does not care for the picturesque, and whose eyes have been somewhat
dimmed by the constant glare of the pavement of Pall Mall.

Saint George's is the great College of the University of Oxbridge, with
its four vast quadrangles, and its beautiful hall and gardens, and the
Georgians, as the men are called wear gowns of a peculiar cut, and give
themselves no small airs of superiority over all other young men.
Little Saint Boniface is but a petty hermitage in comparison of the huge
consecrated pile alongside of which it lies. But considering its size
it has always kept an excellent name in the university. Its ton is very
good: the best families of certain counties have time out of mind sent
up their young men to Saint Boniface: the college livings are remarkably
good: the fellowships easy; the Boniface men had had more than their
fair share of university honours; their boat was third upon the river;
their chapel-choir is not inferior to Saint George's itself; and the
Boniface ale the best in Oxbridge. In the comfortable old wainscoted
College-Hall, and round about Roubilliac's statue of Saint Boniface (who
stands in an attitude of seraphic benediction over the uncommonly good
cheer of the fellows' table) there are portraits of many most eminent
Bonifacians. There is the learned Doctor Griddle, who suffered in Henry
VIII.'s time, and Archbishop Bush who roasted him--there is Lord
Chief Justice Hicks--the Duke of St. David's, K.G., Chancellor of the
University and Member of this College--Sprott the Poet, of whose fame
the college is justly proud--Doctor Blogg, the late master, and friend
of Doctor Johnson, who visited him at Saint Boniface--and other lawyers,
scholars, and divines, whose portraitures look from the walls, or whose
coats-of-arms shine in emerald and ruby, gold and azure, in the tall
windows of the refectory. The venerable cook of the college is one of
the best artists in Oxbridge (his son took the highest honours in the
other University of Camford), and the wine in the fellows' room has long
been famed for its excellence and abundance.

Into this certainly not the least snugly sheltered arbour amongst the
groves of Academe, Pen now found his way, le