celebrities looked down upon the wondering eyes! Bishop and knight, king and duchess--there they stared! How the light streamed through the coloured windows! Who could tell? Perhaps one day, Frank thought, when he was a rich man, he might have that one vacant window filled, or some of his descendants might present to the college a portrait of Sir Francis Ross, attired in wig and gown, one of Her Majesty’s--or rather, perhaps, His Majesty’s--judges, if not Lord Chancellor. He started abruptly from his dreams, and came back to the first rung on the ladder that was leading to such prospective fame. There before him stretched three lines of tables and benches down the length of the hall. Across the end, on a slightly-raised daïs, ran another table, where the handsome chairs indicated beings superior to undergraduates. It was, in fact, the High table, where the Master and Fellows dined, and any resident Masters of Arts who cared to do so. This morning it was devoted to the more serious purposes of examination. Ten ink-bottles, fifteen blotting-pads, fifteen sheets of white paper printed, with a few sheets of blue paper and two or three quill pens lying by each: that was the fare this morning--“the feast of reason” that was in such strong contrast to the “flow of soul” that would grace the table at six o’clock that evening. One of the junior Fellows was in charge of the examination. He was reading the _Times_ as Frank and his companions entered, sitting on the table, with his legs dangling in a graceful attitude of studied negligence. He took no notice of the victims, till the Porter had conducted them to the table and motioned them to take seats. Then he looked up from his newspaper and said,-- “You will have till half-past twelve. Write your names clearly; and please bear in mind that we expect answers from both books of Euclid.” Then he resumed his newspaper and adopted a more dignified attitude. Frank looked at his questions. Eleven in all; some definitions, six propositions from the first book, and four from the second. He wrote his name at the head of his paper, and made a great blot in doing so. His hand grew hot. He dashed at the first definition,-- “_A circle is a plane figure contained in one straight line._” His pen spluttered warningly at the word _straight_. A blot fell, and fell luckily on the fatal word. He tore up the paper and commenced again.