We drove pleasantly back to Oxford, passing Sanford, and Cowley, and Iffley, and stopping at the Church of Littlemore, which has been lately much improved, and in which we found service going on. A drive into Oxford, from almost any direction, cannot fail to please, so inspiring is the sight of the city itself, and our return from Littlemore afforded, at least to myself, some new and charming views of its prominent features, which were now becoming quite familiar. For several days I lingered in the bewitching society of the University, sharing its hospitalities, and daily revelling in the inspection of its curiosities and antiquities. With what a spell does the enjoyment of those mornings and evenings revive in my fancy as I write. A breakfast-party at Merton, the cool breeze of the morn coming in at the windows, fragrant from the meadows; an extemporary lunch in the crypts of St. John’s, tapping the college beer, and inspecting the ancient masonry of its Gothic vaults, once the substructions of a monastery; a dinner in the lordly hall of Magdalen, with dessert and conversation in the Common-room; an evening party at Oriel, among wits, and poets, and divines! Who would not allow that such are substantial pleasures, realizing “those Attic nights, and refections of the gods,” of which our fancy is full, in the earlier enthusiasm of classical pursuits! And then the discourse was so animating and refreshing. No hackney talk of dull common-place sentiment, or of small-beer literature; but a roving, haphazard, review of grave and gay together; a deep and earnest discussion of religious themes; a sprightly dash into politics; quick questions and replies about America, and republics, and democracies; illustrative quotations of a fresh and spontaneous character, often garnished with some ingenious misapplication, or original supply of words, for the sake of sport; a sharp debate about the civil wars; a dissection of Macaulay; a clever story of old Parr; and reviving anecdotes of Oxford and old times; with a glow of kindly and religious feeling in all, without cant or ostentation; these were the filling up of successive days and nights in those halls and chambers of dear, dear Oxford, which I cannot remember without a grateful thrill, and which I can only put aside from covetous regret, by calm faith that “it is more blessed to give than receive.” After all, it is in every way more worthy of a Christian, to toil in the wilderness, than to recline in the bowers, and to enter into the labours of by-gone generations. Yes—dear as are the delights of a life in academic shades, and unparalleled as are the advantages of mind and body with which Oxford ennobles her children, I would prefer a Divinity chair at Nashotah, to a fellowship at Magdalen, or to the richest benefice which the University can bestow. It is hazardous to enjoy too much; and how great the responsibility in such a world as this, of receiving anything for which we may fail to