far below them to relish their superior standard in sterling merit.  But there are still in our universities, if not elsewhere, some who are content to be the last of the Goths in the estimation of the multitude, who cannot see the Isis, or Cherwell, or the reedy Cam, without feelings of which the crowd knows nothing; who can dream away an hour in the avenue of Christ Church, and almost conjure spirits from the depths of the grave to realize the pictures of imagination, which are there always invested with purity and holiness, so much do external things impress their character on our imaginings.  This is the true poetry of life, neither found in the haunts of fashion, nor among the denizens of Cornhill or St. Giles’.  The good and deep things of the mind, the search into the secrets of nature, the sublimest truth, the purest philosophy of which man has to boast, has proceeded from those who were inhabitants of such seats of learning.  It is impossible to state the precise amount of assistance which genius and learning may derive from the ease and peace enjoyed in such a university.  They are inestimable to the student from association, tranquillity, and convenience.  The very “dim religious light” of college rooms are solicitations to reflection.  Then there are the conveniences of first-rate professors, and access to the writings of the learned in all ages.  Thus some who professed a distaste for a university life, have returned to it again, and made it the arena where they have conquered a lasting reputation—­such, for example, was the case with Gray the poet.

The increase of knowledge, and consequently of morality, is the great aim of such a noble establishment as this; and the rewards and honours dispensed there are bestowed in proportion to the industry and good conduct of those who receive them.  If the offences of freshmen outside the walls be unvisited by the university from wariness in the offenders, or the impossibility of controlling them, they are certain to meet with a just estimation of their demerit here; and, as before noticed, this is perhaps the best mode of repressing them.  The assistance derived by the industrious student from the university itself is invaluable.  The very locality is an aid to progress.  Where can there be places more favourable for thought than those noble buildings, ancient halls, and delightful walks?  Everything invites to contemplation.  Magdalen always seemed to me as if soliciting the student’s presence in a peculiar manner.  A favourite resort of mine, at certain times, was the road passing the Observatory, leading to Woodstock.  But of all the college walks, those of Magdalen were the more impressive and attractive.  It appeared to embody the whole of the noble city in its own personification, as a single word will sometimes express the pith of an entire sentence.  The “Mighty Tom” in the olden time, even of Walter de Mapes, if its metal was then out of the ore, never sounded (then perhaps not nine) but the midnight hour, to that worthy