~242~~quickly be forgotten. Thus ended the spread--and now having taken more than my usual quantity of wine, and being withal fatigued by the varied amusements of the evening, I would fain have retired to rest: but this, I found, would be contrary to good fellowship, and not at all in accordance with _college principles_. "We must have a spree" said Echo, "by way of finish, the rum ones are all shipped off safely by this time--suppose we introduce Blackmantle to our _grandmamma_, and the pretty _Nuns_ of St. Clement's." "Soho, my good fellows," said Transit; "we had better defer our visit in that direction until the night is more advanced. The old don{30} of----, remember, celebrates the Paphian mysteries in that quarter occasionally, and we may not always be able to _shirk_ him as effectually as on the other evening, when Echo and myself were snugly enjoying a _tete-a-tete_ with Maria B----and little Agnes S----{31}; we accidentally caught a glimpse of _old Morality_ cautiously toddling after the pious Mrs. A--ms, _vide-licet_ of arts,{32} a lady who has been regularly matriculated at this university, and taken up her degrees some years since. It was too rich a bit to lose, and although at the risk of discovery, I booked it immediately _eo instunti. 'Exegi monumentum aere perennius_'--and here it is." 30 We all must reverence dons; and I'm about To talk of dons--irreverently I doubt. For many a priest, when sombre evening gray Mantles the sky, o'er maudlin bridge will stray-- Forget his oaths, his office, and his fame, And mix in company I will not name. _Aphrodisiacal Licenses_. 31 Paphian divinities in high repute at Oxford. 32 Pretty much in the same sense, probably, in which Moore's gifted leman Fanny is by him designated Mistress of Arts. And oh!--if a fellow like me May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal your degree, My divine little Mistress of Arts. For an account of Fan's proficiency in astronomy, ethics, (not the Nicomachean), and eloquence, see Moore's Epistles, vol. ii. p. 155. ~243~~ [Illustration: pge243] "An excellent likeness, i'faith, is it," said Eglantine; whose eyes twinkled like stars amid the wind-driven clouds, and whose half clipped words and unsteady motion sufficiently evinced that he had paid due attention to the old laws of potation. "There's nothing like the _cloth_ for comfort, old fellows; remember what a man of Christ Church wrote to George Colman when he was studying for the law. 'Turn parson, Colman, that's the way to thrive; Your parsons are the happiest men alive. Judges, there are but twelve; and never more, But stalls untold, and Bishops twenty-four. Of pride and claret, sloth and venison full, Yon prelate mark, right reverend and dull! ~244~~