Altogether “there were giants in those days;” and, without controversy, a casual class, containing more than a score of such; illustrious names as are here registered, must be memorable.  The lecture-room was next to Christ Church Hall, where that delicate shaft supports its exquisite traceried roof; the book was “Aristotle’s Rhetoric,” illustrated by each reader with quotations, a record whereof is still penes me, and the lecturer, now no longer living, was that able and accomplished classic, the Reverend Robert Biscoe.

My college days are full of recollections of men, since become famous in literature, art, science, or position:  of these the principal are already recorded as having been members of the Aristotle class.  Let me add here, that I lived for three weeks of my first term in the gaily adorned rooms in Peckwater of the wild Lord Waterford; and afterwards in Lord Ossulston’s, both being then absent from college; that Frank Buckland and his bear occupied (long after I had left) my own chambers in Fells’ Buildings; that I was a class-mate and friend of the luckless Lord Conyers Osborne, then a comely and ruddy youth with curly hair and gentle manners, and that I remember how all Oxford was horrified at his shocking death—­he having been back-broken over an arm-chair by the good-natured but only too athletic Earl of Hillsborough in a wine-party frolic; that Knighton, early an enthusiast for art, used to draw his own left hand in divers attitudes with his right every day for weeks; and that some not quite unknown cotemporary used to personate me at times for his own benefit.  As he has been long dead, I may now state that he was believed to be Lord Douglas of Hamilton.  Here is the true story.  One day the Dean requested my presence, and thus addressed me:  “I have long overlooked it, Mr. Tupper, but this must never occur again:  indeed I have only waited till now, because I knew of your general good conduct.”

“What have I done, Mr. Dean:  be pleased to tell me.”

“Why, sir, the porter states that this is the fifth time you have not come into college until past twelve o’clock.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dean; there is some mistake:  for I have never once been later than ten.”

“Then, Mr. Tupper, somebody must have given your name in the dark:  and I request that you will do your best to discover who did this, and report it to me.”

As I failed to do it, after some days, again the Dean sent for me; and finding after question made that I pretty well guessed the delinquent but declined to expose him, the Dean kindly added—­“This does you credit, sir,” and I left.  A few days passed, and I was brought up again with “I think you are intended for the Church, Mr. Tupper.”  As well as I could manage it, I stammered out that it was impossible, as I could not speak.  Then he said he was sorry for that, as he meant to nominate me for a studentship.  This, however, never came to pass, and so the matter dropped; until Dean Gaisford succeeded Dean Smith, and Joseph lost his Pharaoh.