GOWN AT LAST.
So now it was all over--all the work and anxiety. The taking of
his degree remained, and--Commemoration. It was Thursday when the
class-list appeared. The following Sunday was Show Sunday, the
semi-official commencement of the festivities. He telegraphed to
his father: “Have got a second. You must come up for Commem. I hope
to put on my gown on Thursday.” He telegraphed to Rose. He wrote a
long letter to his mother by that night’s post, begging her to bring
one of his sisters and Rose. He wrote to Rose herself. He was in a
whirl of excitement, and to conceal his emotion he ordered an elegant
summer suit, which he did not in the least require, at a most obliging
tailor’s not a hundred yards from St. Mary’s Church. So obliging was
he, in fact, that it is matter of history that when a certain wealthy
and aristocratic Irishman, in a flow of unbounded extravagance,
ordered him to “send in his whole shop,” the tailor, with undisturbed
equanimity, replied, “Certainly, sir! What time would you like it?”
The receipt of Frank’s letter, and the request that his mother would
bring Rose, produced a little commotion. His father still tried to
pooh-pooh the notion of an engagement; but his mother, who had Frank’s
confidence, maintained that, as far as the two were concerned, the
engagement was a reality, and that it only waited the formal consent
of the parents and the means to marry. So it was at last decided that
Mr. and Mrs. Ross, and Frank’s elder sister, Mary, would go. The Vicar,
glad of an excuse to visit Oxford again, agreed to join the party
and bring Rose. And Rose herself--well, there was no need to ask her
consent. On Friday morning a telegram was despatched to Frank, telling
him they were coming on Saturday evening, and giving him directions to
secure lodgings; and Mary and Rose were together most of the day and
evening, arranging, selecting, altering, and making various articles of
adornment for the coming gaieties.
Pembroke concert had taken place on Thursday, Queen’s on Friday, and
there was nothing for Saturday. But that was no loss to Frank’s party,
for they were all too tired for any gaiety after their long journey.
By a fluke--for he was late in looking for lodgings--he found some
disengaged rooms in Grove Street; and the shady little corner, so close
to the sunny, busy High, was most pleasant and convenient. After supper
the Vicar went down to Christ-Church to “look up” some old friends,
still in residence as Senior Students,[14] and the rest strolled by
Merton to the river. Mr. and Mrs. Ross, not caring to trust themselves
to the boat which Frank had chosen, wandered round the paths by the
Cherwell, and, after losing themselves by the Botanical Gardens,
eventually got safe to Grove Street. Frank rowed Rose and Mary down
to Sandford, where he gave them tea in the little inn overlooking the
lock, and then took them round to see the lasher that has been so fatal
to many bright young lives.
Coming home, he pointed out to them all the spots of interest and
importance to the rowing man. The tavern at Iffley where the last of
the Eights starts in the races; the Green Barge, at the entrance to
the “Gut;” the Gut itself, that terror of young coxswains; the Long
Bridges; the White Willow where the boats make their final crossing
to the Berkshire bank on the journey home. Every spot had its little
history. Here, in the first Torpids, he had nearly “caught a crab.”
There his crew had made their final “spirt;” here they had bumped
Brasenose, when the coxswain would not acknowledge the bump. There
“bow” broke his oar, and nearly pitched out of the boat. Yonder,
strolling quietly down the Berkshire bank, was Harvey, the Humane
Society’s man. There was old George West on the Brasenose barge; there,
just above, was Timms, the “Father of the Crews,” leading a quiet time
of it, now that the “Eights” and the “Sculls” and “Pairs”[15] were
over. Frank took the girls into the ’Varsity barge, and showed them
the pictures of the old “oars,” who had rowed for Oxford at Henley
and Putney; and told them what little legends had come down to him of
Chitty and Meade-King, Arkell and Warre, Morrison and Woodgate; and,
coming to later times, of Tinney, Willan, Yarborough, and Darbishire,
the famous four who, besides their glories at Putney, licked the
Yankees from Harvard; and, in later times still, of Leslie and Houblon,
Edwards-Moss and Marriott. They were all heroes to Frank--these “brutal
rowing men,” as Mr. Wilkie Collins deems them--these savages whose only
glory is their brute strength. It has been said that English battles
have been won in the Eton playing-fields. Possibly the Isis and the
Cam have as much as anything to do with the feats of dogged endurance
and quiet pluck that have made Alma and Inkerman, Isandula and Rorke’s
Drift, immortal names in the annals of warfare.
On Sunday they all went to St. Mary’s. The Vicar’s gown admitted the
ladies to the seats appropriated to the wives of the Masters of Arts,
and Mr. Ross to the seats of the Masters themselves. Frank, being still
_de jure_ an undergraduate, had to retire to the upstair gallery.
The church was crowded. People were even standing in the aisles. The
sermon, by a silver-haired professor with a cherubic face, was a
discourse on friendship, delivered, if somewhat monotonously, with a
delicate utterance and in a delicate phraseology that was quite too
charming; and if it formed a rather strange contrast to the anathemas
thundered by rural Boanerges to placid congregations in sweltering
country churches, the contrast was a pleasing one rather than otherwise.
“Well,” said Mr. Ross as they emerged into the High, “that’s an odd
sort of sermon, eh, Vicar?”
Mr. Ross was a very sound lawyer, but he had not travelled much, nor
had he heard many sermons other than those of his friend the Vicar. The
Vicar smiled, and continued his explanations to Mrs. Ross of certain
allusions to Oxford celebrities made by the preacher. Frank also, to
whom his father appealed, had only a commonplace comment to make. His
studies not having been philosophical, he could not go into raptures
over every utterance of the new Plato.
The church was even more crowded, if that were possible, in the
afternoon, in spite of the awkwardness of the hour (two o’clock) and
the heat of the day. And what an assemblage of famous men was present!
Gladstone and Tyndall, Lord Selborne and Huxley, Forster and Sir
Stafford Northcote, Sir William Harcourt and the Oxford Conservative
member, all sitting amicably side by side, listening to one of those
eloquent attacks on men of science which satisfy and please those for
whom they are not needed, and only amuse those whom they are intended
to convince.
After the sermon the Vicar and Mr. Ross betook themselves to the
Union, to read the papers over a cup of coffee; and about a quarter
to five Frank started with his mother, sister, and Rose, to Magdalen
Chapel. Tickets had been, of course, difficult to get, and with all
his exertions he had only been able to secure two for the choir, and
two for the ante-chapel. The two former Mrs. Ross and Mary took,
without any resistance, for they knew that Rose would be happier to
be with Frank. How many husbands and wives come back in after-years
to Oxford, to go over again all the old days, to revisit all the old
spots, to find one particular tree the same, save, like themselves, a
little older; to sit in the same chapel, and listen perhaps to the very
same anthem they had listened to when they were boy and girl, sung by
different voices, but for them the same; to pass the same surly porter,
whose favour can only be purchased; to see the same placid gardener
tidying up the velvet grass under the grey walls; to hear the same
bells ringing; and, with it all, to feel as young as ever!
Frank and Rose, as they sat in the dim ante-chapel, under the great
brown window that sheds such a strange light over all, thought neither
of the past, for that was eclipsed, nor of the future, for that was
uncertain, but just lived in the present. And if he did hold her hand
during most of the service, nobody saw him, and therefore nobody’s
feelings were outraged.
Another happy pair emerged from another dim corner of the ante-chapel,
when the service was over--Crawford and the little lady, who doubtless
has not been forgotten, best known by the title “Blue-eyes.” She, too,
had in attendance on her a mother and sister; and they, too, had been
sitting in the choir. So that altogether, when the introductions took
place in the cloisters, all mentally agreed that the party was a most
symmetrical one--two mothers, two sisters, and two pairs of lovers.
After dinner at their respective lodgings the two parties met in Grove
Street, and went to the Broad Walk to see and contribute to the show of
visitors. The Vicar pronounced a melancholy eulogium on the glories of
past Show Sundays, from which the present was a sad falling-off, caused
chiefly as he explained by the indiscriminate admission of the “Town,”
and the consequent absence of the “Gown” element. His hearers, however,
having no historic past with which to contrast the present, though they
listened submissively to his diatribes, enjoyed themselves immensely,
stared at everybody, wondered, and questioned.
All the morning of Monday, Frank was engaged at a committee meeting
of the Masonic Fête, of which he was a steward: and as he and one or
two others were decidedly opposed to the general plan of disposal of
tickets, the meetings were not so peaceable as hitherto; he used to
return hot, tired, and annoyed. But Rose’s presence soon restored him
to his wonted equanimity.
On Monday afternoon there was a concert given by the Philharmonic
Society in the Sheldonian Theatre, and after a hurried tea he took his
party to the river to see the procession of boats. He had tickets for
them for the ’Varsity barge, and having got them good seats at the
lower corner, next to the Brasenose barge, hurried off to his own barge
to put on his boating clothes. To Rose and Mary, who had never seen
any river-boat except the “tubs” at Porchester, the long slender craft
were objects of much wonder, and they thoroughly enjoyed the sight of
the many “Eights” and “Torpids” rowing up and saluting Paul’s, the head
boat, which lay close under the ’Varsity barge. The cox--a facetious
young gentleman--could not resist the pleasure of shouting every
few minutes, “Eyes in the boat!” as he caught the eyes of his crew
wandering to the many fair faces that were looking down at them from
beneath the awning.
One by one the boats rowed up--it is to be feared not in the best
style, for the crews were for the most part mere “scratch” affairs got
together hurriedly for the procession, in the absence of the regular
men who had gone down. One by one they rowed up to the post opposite
to the ’Varsity barge, “easied,” and then, standing up, raised their
oars and saluted the head boat, “Well rowed, Paul’s!” to commemorate
the honour of the May races. Rose felt quite flattered, and took to
herself half the honour at least that was being given to Frank’s boat.
The proceeding repeated by some forty boats was growing somewhat
monotonous, when, to the intense delight and half-terror of the ladies,
one Eight upset--on purpose, of course; and there was much merriment
over the intentionally assumed danger and frantic efforts to get out of
the crowded water. When all the boats had saluted, they turned at Folly
Bridge (with what difficulty coxswains know to their cost), and dropped
down the stream to their respective barges.
Those who embark on the festivities of Commemoration have not much time
to spend in dreaming. Rose would fain have gone down the river quietly
in the cool of the evening; and yet--and yet--the thoughts of dancing
were perhaps sweeter.
Back to the town streamed the crowds: some to the Wadham concert;
some to rest before dressing for the University ball; many to summon
up their strength and energy for both. Among the latter were Mrs. Ross
and Mary, Rose and Frank. The fathers dined at Christ-Church, and spent
a cosy evening in the Common Room--the Vicar chatting away unceasingly
with old friends, and Mr. Ross making a very pleasant and amused
listener.
It was a lovely evening, and most of the people walked to Wadham--one
of the many things that struck the country folks as strange and yet
pleasant. The concert was held in the College Hall, beautifully
decorated for the purpose. After the first part, every one adjourned
to the gardens, where refreshments were served in a large tent, and
then wandered about, enjoying the cool air till the second part began.
Frank and his party did not return to the Hall, but went to the Corn
Exchange, to the University ball. And what a night they had! He and
Rose forgot to count how many times they danced together. Mary had
partners in abundance, for Frank’s friends were there in great force;
and they were all longing for a dance with Rose, but had chiefly to
console themselves with Mary, for Frank could not spare many dances.
However, from Mary’s happy face, as they walked down the High in the
sweet early morning air, Frank inferred that the consoling process had
been not unpleasant for all parties concerned.
Tuesday morning brought the much-needed rest, taken by some in chairs
at home, by others in punts on the river (Frank and Rose preferred the
latter). Tuesday afternoon--the flower-show held in the gardens of
New College. A Commemoration flower-show is more than a flower-show.
In fact, the flowers are almost the last thing regarded. Tuesday
evening--New College concert, always one of the best, and the Masonic
ball. Rose and Mary again in much request, but the former too deeply
engaged to Frank to be able to spare many dances. To this ball Mr.
Ross, being a Mason, went as a matter of course, and he even succeeded
in enticing the Vicar. The latter had a lurking love of vestments,
but Porchester gave him no encouragement; here, however, seeing the
aprons and scarves, and the cloaks of the Templars, he thought he
might satisfy his love. He would be a Mason, and though unable to
disport himself in picturesque attire to his congregation in church, he
might do so to his heart’s content to his brethren in the secrecy of
lodge-meetings, or the publicity of such a ball as this. So strongly
was he enamoured of the notion, that over supper, in a quiet corner
with Mr. and Mrs. Ross, he asked that gentleman to propose him for
election at a lodge in a town not far from Porchester, of which he was
Worshipful Master.
Then came Wednesday, the day of Encænia, or Commemoration of the
Founders and Benefactors. Who that has ever been present in the crowded
Sheldonian Theatre can forget the scene? The jostling, pushing,
squeezing that begins before ten o’clock, though the proceedings
themselves seldom begin before noon; the pause and quiet, till the
boldest undergraduate starts the chaff; the grave faces of the
officials as they hand the ladies to their seats, half amused, half
angry, when told by some wag in the gallery “not to squeeze her
hand;” the cheers for everybody and everything that the occasion
suggests--“the ladies in pink,” “the ladies in blue,” “the ladies who
are engaged;” the groans for this statesman, the cheers for the other,
for the ’Varsity Boat Club, the ’Varsity Eleven, the popular Proctors.
Then the chaff becomes more personal. “When is the Vice-Chancellor
coming?” “Poor old man, he’s nervous.” “Has the Senior Proctor gone
to Aylesbury?” (alluding to the Christ-Church grinds and the Senior
Proctor’s failure). “_Dissolvimus hanc Convocationem_,” uttered in
imitation of the Vice-Chancellor, and causing much amusement among
the Masters of Arts and others familiar with the phrase. Just then a
very white-headed gentleman enters the area, and is met with shouts of
“White hat!” “Turn him out!” For a long time the object of the shouts
is perfectly oblivious. At length he puts on his hat, and is of course
greeted with “Hats off!” How long the uproar would have continued is
hard to say, had not a huge paper fool’s-cap, with D.C.L. written
on it, been let down from the gallery. The white-headed gentleman
blessed the circumstance. The cap fluttering downwards paused, either
by accident or design, exactly opposite one of the galleries where a
Master of Arts on duty as Proproctor for the occasion was standing,
and was waved gently within a few feet of his face. “Put it on, sir!”
now came from all sides of the upper gallery; and somebody leaning
from above the Vice-Chancellor’s chair, seizing the opportunity of a
second’s lull, said in a sedate voice, “_Admitto te ad gradum Doctoris
in jure civili_.” All this time the intended recipient of this most
dubious honour was making frantic clutches at the cap, which it is
needless to state was bobbed up and down in front of him, while “Let
him have it!” “He knows what fits him!” greeted his indignation, which
now scarcely knew bounds. He dashed upstairs to find the offender;
but, just as his head appeared, the cap dropped into the area, and
his efforts to discover the author of the offence were fruitless. The
entry of the Vice-Chancellor, followed by the Doctors and Proctors and
various distinguished visitors, and the pealing of the organ, turned
the thoughts of the undergraduates, and under cover of the music and
applause the irate Proproctor beat an ignominious retreat. His conduct
was not only unpopular among the undergraduates, but was condemned by
senior and junior graduates alike.
The Vice-Chancellor, having taken his seat, opened Convocation with
the usual Latin speech. Dr. Bryce, Regius Professor of Civil Law, then
presented a number of distinguished men--bishops, judges, statesmen,
soldiers, poets, and historians--and in introducing each alluded in
brief Latin speeches to the peculiar merits that had called for the
honorary degree of D.C.L.--the highest honour which the University can
confer. After this the Creweian oration was delivered by the Public
Orator; but as he spoke in an indistinct voice, and in Latin, the
interesting allusions he made to past and present were scarcely even
heard, much less understood. He took the chaff hurled at him with
profound good humour, and ignoring the various injunctions to “Speak
up,” and “That will do, sir--now translate!” hurried bravely on, and
finished amid cheers of satisfaction. Then came the various prize
poems and essays, to none of which, except to the Newdigate, was the
slightest attention paid. But the Newdigate, though an exceptionally
good poem, was badly read, and most of the cheers were ironical--all
sorts of absurd constructions being at once fixed upon various lines.
The Masonic Fête on Wednesday afternoon was very delightful, but they
were getting tired of the incessant gaiety; and so was the Magdalen
concert and Christ-Church ball on Wednesday night; but they had had
enough of concerts and enough of dancing, and all their energies and
interest were centred in Thursday morning, when Frank was to take his
degree--a far important event to Rose than the conferring of honorary
D.C.L. on all the bishops, judges, statesmen, and soldiers put together.
It may be convenient here to enumerate roughly Frank’s expenses during
his three years’ academical career. It will be remembered that his
life has been that of an ordinary undergraduate. Its cost is therefore
considerably in excess of that of a great many. It is also considerably
below the level of comfort and luxury which in some cases folly
induces, and in others is justified by adequate means. He came to
Oxford not for intellectual advantages only, nor for social advantages
only, but for both. He wished to be neither a spendthrift nor a “smug,”
and he has been neither.
COLLEGE EXPENSES.
(_a_) First outlay
£ _s._ _d._ £ _s._ _d._
Caution money 30 0 0
Furniture at a valuation 30 0 0
Glass, china, &c. 9 19 6
Cap and gown 1 2 6
Books, sundries, and travelling expenses 10 0 0
-----------
£81 2 0 81 2 0
-----------
(_b_) Terminal
Tuition 7 7 0
Establishment charges 6 0 0
Room rent 3 10 0
Battels, eight weeks, say at £2 16 0 0
Coals, taking term with term 2 0 0
Laundress 1 1 0
------------
£35 18 0
Gratuities to servants 2 0 0
------------
£37 18 0×9[16]=341 2 0
------------
(_c_) On taking degree of B.A. 5 0 0
UNIVERSITY FEES.
(_a_) Matriculation 2 10 0
(_b_) Examination Fees
Responsions 1 0 0
Moderations 1 10 0
Rudiments of Faith and Religion 1 0 0
Honour School of Jurisprudence 1 10 0
(_c_) On taking degree of B.A. 7 10 0 15 0 0
EXTRA TUITION.
“Coach” for Moderations 10 10 0
Reading party to Switzerland 50 0 0
“Coach” for Jurisprudence,
six terms, the College
paying half, 60 gs.--30 gs. 31 10 0 92 0 0
PERSONAL EXPENSES.
Wines and groceries }
Clothes and travelling expenses } 70 0 0
Books and stationery } For three years 210 0 0
Subscriptions to clubs and societies }
EXTRA ACADEMICAL.
Inner Temple
Entrance form 1 1 0
Stamps 25 1 3
Fees 10 5 2
Lecture fees 5 5 0
------------
£41 12 5 41 12 5
------------
Annual fees, four terms at 1 6 1 5 4 4
On Thursday morning, having paid to the Dean the necessary College
fee, and from him obtained a certificate of twelve terms’ residence,
Frank, duly attired in cap and gown, white tie, and the statutable
garments “of a subfusc hue,” proceeded to the Apodyterium of the
Convocation House. There he paid the University fee, and showed to the
Registrar the testamurs gained in Moderations and the Rudiments of
Faith and Religion, and a certificate of his having been placed in the
second class in the Honour School of Jurisprudence.
These preliminaries over, he met his party and took them into the
Convocation House. There, having waited for half an hour, in a crowd
that made moving impossible, and speaking almost a difficulty, the
impatient spectators were informed that Convocation was removed to the
Sheldonian Theatre, a piece of information certainly welcome, but one
which they thought might have been given them before.
Perhaps it need not be said that four hearts at least were filled
to overflowing as Frank went up with several other Paul’s men to be
presented by the Dean to the Vice-Chancellor, and at least one pair
of bright eyes shone the brighter for the tears that would rise up in
them. And then with what pride Frank slipped on his gown and tipped his
scout, William, the customary sovereign, and what a happy party sat
down to lunch in Paul’s! Crawford was there, the new Fellow of Queen’s,
not yet grown donnish and distant; and little Blue-eyes too was there,
who had made firm friends with Rose, with whom she talked with pride of
their two lovers.
In the evening the young people went to Nuneham, Rose and Mary sitting
in the stern, Blue-eyes in the bows, where she paddled in the water
like a very child; Crawford and Frank rowing. Mary had brought her
sketching-book, and when they had had tea in the Moss Cottage, and a
stroll was proposed, nothing could induce her to accompany the others.
She wanted to sketch the rustic bridge and the river, and plenty of
time she found for the purpose. For surely never were folks so long
as Rose and Frank, Blue-eyes and Crawford, in walking through the
lovely Nuneham woods. Like the bright June leaves that hung over them,
life was young, and fresh, and bright; sobered, not saddened, by the
twilight of earnest thoughts of the work that lay before them. Oxford
had done her best for these two sons of hers; had not soured them; had
not robbed them of their early faith; had not taught them to posture as
the disciples of creeds as meaningless as they are cold and dead; had
not inflated them with the notion that Oxford thought leads England and
therefore the world; had not elated them with their academical success;
but was sending them forth full of energy and full of hope, with the
belief that life, that stern hard battle, was beginning and not ending
with the winning of a degree.
THE END.
LONDON: GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
FOOTNOTES
[1] The subjects at other colleges are much the same, but the standard
of excellence required varies. No. 2 is usually omitted.
[2] At most colleges a reduction is made for scholars and exhibitioners.
[3] At some colleges quarterly.
[4] The titles given to the different Heads of Colleges vary. There
is the Warden of New College, the Provost of Oriel, the President of
Trinity, the Master of Balliol, the Principal of Brasenose, and the
Rector of Exeter.
[5] College bills.
[6] Responsions are obligatory on all except those who have passed
either the Previous Examination at Cambridge, or the Oxford and
Cambridge Schools’ Examination. There are five separate subjects
of examination, in each of which a candidate must satisfy the
Examiners (who, in this case, are called “Masters of the Schools”).
The principle of compensation is not recognized; failure in any
one subject rendering a candidate liable to a “pluck” (commonly
called “plough”). Subjects:--(1) Algebra: Addition, Subtraction,
Multiplication, Division, Greatest Common Measure, Least Common
Multiple, Fractions, Extraction of Square Root, Simple Equations
containing one or two unknown quantities, and problems producing such
Equations; or Geometry--such an amount as shall be equivalent to that
which is contained in Euclid I., II. (2) Arithmetic--the whole. (3)
Latin and Greek Grammar. (4) Translation from English into Latin prose;
it is sufficient if the Latin be grammatically written, without being
elegant in style; three or four violations of the simple rules of
Latin Syntax (commonly called “howlers”) will “plough” a candidate.
(5) One Greek and one Latin Author; candidates are free to offer any
standard classical authors, but the selection is usually made from the
following list:--Homer: any five consecutive books; Æschylus: any two
of the following plays--Agamemnon, Choephoræ, Eumenides, Prometheus
Vinctus, Septem contra Thebas. Sophocles: any two plays. Euripides:
any two of the following--Hecuba, Medea, Alcestis, Orestes, Phœnissæ,
Hippolytus, Bacchæ. Aristophanes: any two of the following--Nubes,
Ranæ, Acharnenses. Thucydides: any two consecutive books. Xenophon:
Anabasis, any four consecutive hooks. Æschines: In Ctesiphontem.
Virgil: (1) the Bucolics, with any three consecutive books of the
Æneid; or (2) the Georgics; or (3) any five consecutive books of
the Æneid. Horace: (1) any three books of the Odes, together with a
book of the Satires, or of the Epistles, or the Ars Poetica; or (2)
the Satires with the Ars Poetica; or (3) the Epistles with the Ars
Poetica. Juvenal: the whole except Satires II., VI., IX. Livy: any two
consecutive books, taken either from Books I.-V., or Books XXI.-XXV.
Cæsar: De Bello Gallico, any four consecutive books. Sallust: Bellum
Catilinarium, and Jugurthinum. Cicero: (1) the first three Philippics;
or (2) De Senectute and De Amicitia; or (3) four Catiline orations,
with the oration Pro Archia. The books most commonly chosen are
Euripides,--Hecuba, and Alcestis; and one of the combinations in Virgil
or Horace.
[7] Moderations or First Public Examination will be explained in due
course.
[8] Turl Street. High Street is “the High;” Broad Street, “the Broad,”
in Oxford vernacular.
[9] The new Debating Hall, now (October) almost complete, will provide
ample accommodation for visitors.
[10] Now--_O tempora! O mores!_--defunct.
[11] The customary fee for a term’s private tuition, consisting of
three lessons weekly, of one hour each.
[12] Steeplechases.
[13] Affectionate abbreviation for Slapoffski, unrivalled in Oxford,
and not unknown outside.
[14] Senior Students at Christ-Church correspond to Fellows at other
Colleges.
[15] _I.e._ races for sculling-boats and pair-oars.
[16] Three years contain twelve legal terms, but only nine of payment,
the Easter and Act terms being virtually one in matter of residence.
End of Project Gutenberg's Oxford Days, by Frederic Edward Weatherly