“Well, to return to the subject—I own that I was surprised and hurt when a former Professor of Greek actually confounded the Æolic form of the _plusquam perfectum_ of so common a verb as——” “Yes, John, I know all about that, and how it spoiled your breakfast. But about the boys, the boys, John”? “And again, as to the delicate sub–significance, not the well–known tortuousness of _παρά_ in composition, but——” “Confound it, John. Theyʼve got all their things packed. Theyʼll be here in a moment, pretending to rollick for our sakes; and you wonʼt tell me what you think of them”. “Well, I think there never were two finer fellows to jump a gate since the days of Castor and Pollux. ‘_Hunc equis, illum superare pugnis._’ You remember how you took me down for construing ‘_pugnis_’ wrongly, when we were at Sherborne”? “Yes, and how proud I was, John! You had been at the head of the form for three months, and none of us could stir you; but you came back again next day in the fifth Æneid. But here come the villains—now itʼs all over”. And so the boys went away, and their father could not for his life ascertain what opinion his ancient friend had formed as to the chances of their doing something good at Oxford. Simple and straightforward as Mr. Rosedew was, no man ever lived from whom it was harder to force an opinion. He saw matters from so many aspects, everything took so many facets, shifting lights, and playing colours, from the versatility of his mind, that whoso could fix him at such times, and extort his real sentiments, might spin a diamond ring, and shave by it. He had golden hopes about his “nephews”, as he often called them, but he would not pronounce those hopes at present, lest the father should be disappointed. And so the boys went up to Oxford, half a moon before the woodcocks came. CHAPTER VII. I do not mean to write at large upon University life, because the theme has been out–thesed by men of higher powers. It is a brief Olympic, a Derby premature, wherein to lose or win depends—training, health, ability, and industry being granted—upon the early stoning or late kernelling of the brain. Without laying claim to much experience, any one may protest that our brains are worked a deal too hard at the time of adolescence. We lose thereby their vivific powers and their originality. The peach throws off at the critical period all the fruit it cannot ripen; the vine has no such abjective prudence, and cripples itself by enthusiasm.