In the windows overlooking the quadrangle are boxes of brilliant flowers, above which the smoke of a pipe comes curling out. At Harvard some fellows have geraniums in their windows, but only the very rich; and when they began the custom an ancient graduate wrote one of those communications to the _Crimson_, saying that if men put unmanly boxes of flowers in the window, how can they expect to beat Yale? Flower boxes, no sand. At Oxford they manage things so that anybody may have flower boxes; and their associations are by no means unmanly. This is the way they do it. In the early summer a gardener’s wagon from the country draws up by the college gate, and the driver cries, “Flowers! Flowers for a pair of old bags, sir.” _Bags_ is of course the fitting term for English trousers--which don’t fit; and I should like to inform that ancient graduate that the window boxes of Oxford suggest the very badge of manhood. As long as the English twilight lingers, the men will sit and talk and sing to the mandolin; and I have heard the fellows sitting and talking all night, not turning in until the porter appeared to take their names at roll-call. On the eve of May day it is quite the custom to sit out, for at dawn one may go to see the pretty ceremony of heralding the May on Magdalen Tower. The Magdalen choir boys--the sweetest songsters in all Oxford--mount to the top of that most beautiful of Gothic towers, and, standing among the pinnacles,--pinnacles afire with the spirituality of the Middles Ages, that warms all the senses with purity and beauty,--those boys, I say, on that tower and among those pinnacles, open their mouths and sing a Latin song to greet the May. Meantime, the fellows who have come out to listen in the street below make catcalls and blow fish horns. The song above is the survival of a Romish, perhaps a Druidical, custom; the racket below is the survival of a Puritan protest. That is Oxford in symbol! Its dignity and mellowness are not so much a matter of flowering gardens and crumbling walls as of the traditions of the centuries in which the whole life of the place has deep sources; and the noblest of its institutions are fringed with survivals that run riot in the grotesque.