He awakens you every morning by playing with your bath, and is a perpetually recurring background to the sweet disquiet of your last half-hour in bed. In serving you, he serves himself; and late in the day he is to be seen with a wallet on his back, bent under such “learning’s crumbs” as half-empty wine-bottles and jars of Cooper’s marmalade. In these matters he has a neat running hand, without flourishes. No man has the air of being so much as he the right hand of fate. When he drinks your wine and disappoints a joyous company, when he assumes your best cigars, and leaves only those which were provided for the freshman of taste--so inevitable are his ways that you can only hope sarcastically that he liked the fare. He appears to have a noble scorn of cash, when he asks for it; and you are bound to imitate. All the wisdom of the wise is cheap compared with his manner of beginning a speech with, “If you please, sir, it is usual for freshmen to, ...” while he is dusting your photographs. He is blessed with an incapacity to blush. His politics are those of the majority; his religion has something in common with that of all men. He could be conscientiously recommended for a post in a temple niche or a street corner, with the inscription “For twenty years a mate at sea, and blinded in the pursuit of my duties,” or “Crippled in childhood.” He is equalled only by his “boy,” who is perhaps older than himself. I remember one such. I should like to have known his tailor, who must have had a genius for style, for fitting aptest clothes for men. His coat was as many-pocketed as Panurge’s, and as wonderful. Its bulges and creases were an epitome of----; its “hang” might serve as the one true epitaph, if suspended over his tomb. With all his faults, he had that toleration which the vicious often extend to the good, but do not often receive in return. He was a fellow of infinite wiles that were wasted but not thrown away in a world of three or four quadrangles and a buttery. Full of traditions, he was their master, not their prey; and though he was the shadow of great names, he seemed conscious of being their inheritor too. For he had served men who had got fellowships and even Rugby or rowing Blues. With leading cases out of this mighty past he defended his misdemeanours and supported his proposals. In vain he toiled after time; he was always a generation behind. If a man failed in “Smalls” or Divinity, he was told that Mr.----, the “Varsity three-quarter,” did no less, and Mr.----, who rowed at Henley and was sent down after a bonfire, was ploughed four times. “Lightly like a flower” he wore his honours, tyrannising over men who never got Blues and were never sent down, and smiling away awe and ridicule alike. “I never saw nor shall see such men as Pirithous, ...” he might have said; it mattered little to him; and even Pirithous was only respected after many years, when he had become an investment of the “boy’s.” He quoted