"Nonsense! I want you to know them; come, along, Wilton; you are not going to escape me in this way; and here comes Maurice, the very man I want. Who is that tall fellow with him?" he added hastily, in a low tone, as the two undergraduates approached, one of them with a pleased recognition of Charles and his friend. "I'll introduce you if you like," had been Mr. Wilton's reply, and as the four gentlemen met and exchanged a friendly greeting, Charles found himself returning the bow of the stranger, who was being named to him as "Mr. Henry Halford, of Queen's." "I think we have met before, Mr. Herbert," said Henry, with a smile, "we were fellow pupils at Dr. Mason's." "To be sure, I thought the name was familiar," exclaimed Charles, holding out his hand, "but how was I to recognise our famous Grecian as a tall undergrad. with whiskers; but I remember the face now." And then the two gentlemen stood talking over olden times until Horace Wilton reminded Charles Herbert that he had but a few minutes to spare if he wished to reach the station in time to meet his friends, and persisting in wishing him "Good-by," started him off. Hasty promises were made to meet on the morrow, hasty farewells uttered, and then Charles Herbert found himself proceeding alone at a rapid rate towards the station. He had, however, several minutes to wait on the platform before the train slowly drew up, and then from a window of a first-class carriage he recognised the bright, intelligent face of his cousin Mary. In a few moments the door of the carriage was opened, and a proud, fond welcome from the son whom the mother had not seen for so many months almost brought tears in Mary's eyes. "Are you tired? Shall we walk to the hotel, and leave the boxes for a porter to bring?" were the eager questions readily assented to at last, and then Charles Herbert, taking possession of his cousin's arm, led the way to his hotel. Perhaps, to a stranger, no period of time at Oxford can be more fraught with interest than the week in which the yearly commemoration is held. The town no doubt appears more dull by contrast during the long vacation, but in full term time the streets seem redolent of learning; the grave don walking with stately step, as if conscious how far above all other is the power conferred by knowledge and mental superiority; the severe-looking proctor, with his black velvet-trimmed gown adding to his appearance of stern, gloomy determination to be the punisher of evildoers; the youthful freshman, who wears his new honours with shy pride, contrasted with the careless indifference of his more experienced companion, who, carrying a number of musty-looking volumes under his arm, seems quite unconscious that his gown is in rags, or that the cane is visible at one or more corners of his cap. The yearly commemoration at Oxford certainly presents a scene of excitement scarcely equalled, from the peculiar features of the place, the period, and the principal actors.