‘That was to be the great business of his college life—with the securing of a high connection for its end—not a very heroic end, eh, Fan? But, to do him justice, he had no more natural turn for study in any shape—classics, history, philosophy, or philology, than nineteen out of twenty of his chosen patrons had developed in their more favourable circumstances, or than had been shown by the whole of his father’s journeymen bakers with their adverse surroundings. But, there was not any more harm in him than being the wrong man in the wrong place, which is not a very uncommon or heinous transgression, though being that, he was a mean little flunkey. But the fault was not altogether his, and he was good-natured and soft-hearted; though he was idle, I never heard he was vicious. They said afterwards that he was liked in his native town, and had been a good son and brother. ‘The fact of his father’s disgraceful trade had been kept in strict concealment, and did not come out for some time. But when it did, the enormity of the offence—though one would say that most people are personally indebted to bakers who mind their business—together with the low deceit of the concealment, proved far too much for any poor popularity Tom Neaves had attained. The fellows he was amongst could not get over the “rank impudence” of his intrusion into their college, yet I should not wonder though they imagined they admired Thackeray—“Less of a cad, you know, than Dickens”—and knew something about George Osborne and “Figs.” They judged Neaves deserved to be punished, and they sat upon him to give him his deserts, and above all to get rid of him, as the officers of a crack regiment sometimes agree to compel a wretched subaltern who is not of their set, and so is not fit for their mess, to exchange or sell out. Of course in both cases the affair is so managed as not to attract the attention or force the interference either of a superior officer or a dean, and only what are considered legitimate weapons are used against the common enemy. Mind, Fan, I do not pretend that Neaves was without blame; and I am perfectly aware that the young fellows who led the attack against him, in their very contempt, did it more in thoughtlessness than in malice. A few of them dropped his acquaintance summarily, as they were perfectly at liberty to do. But the greater number settled to make him their butt till he should endure it no longer. They assailed him with a perpetual storm of allusions to his origin and practical jokes on his father’s trade. They inquired gravely his opinion on dinner rolls. They smuggled loaves into his gown. They showered as much flour upon him from the windows of their rooms when he crossed the quad as ever was scattered from a costermonger’s cart on a Derby day, or a Roman balcony during the carnival. No doubt the wit of these gentlemen was not very high-bred or unique in its expression; but what was lacking