6 do not prefer obtaining these necessaries from London, which I should rather advise. · Of course you will not think of allowing an Oxford fellow to 'build' your coats, although I think I can point out to you a snip' here and there in the University who will do' your trowsers, &c. indifferently well. In case of temporary indisposition I should recommend you to apply to Tuckwell or Wingfield; and I think I may add," said he, with a little hesitation," I think I may add, that it is considered 'correct' to pay your surgeon. There is a wide difference betwixt a fee and a bill, as you or I may have occasion to know some of these days. On this principle I never begrudge whatever I may be called to pay to professional men, whether parsons or lawyers, doctors or dragsmen. I have the pleasure of knowing excellent, jolly fellows in all these lines. But if ever I should have to choose amongst them, the box' for me! "As to tavern bills, tandems, and other expenses forbidden by the University, you need not give yourself much uneasiness on these scores, as they dare not sue you in any other than the Vice-Chancellor's Court, which never fails to pare down their bloated items with a most retributive justice; and if you feel any reluctance to make use of this protection, I would have you regard yourself not so much as an individual, as a member of a body which, in the gross, affords these worthies ample pickings. You will find that you are charged about four times as much for those prohibited amusements at Oxford as elsewhere. If, therefore, you can afford to be generous as well as just, you pay your bill, and have the pleasure of thinking that you have saved the reputation as well as the purse of some two or three of your less fortunate brethren. If you are poor, you have only to recollect some rich friend who has acted as scapegoat for you, and your conscience, believe me, will easily accept of the excuse." With such words of wisdom as these, and repeated applications to the contents of his invaluable flask, the time was whiled away until our vehicle rattled merrily over the stones of Magdalen-bridge. Under happier auspices the beauty of the scene would have given me unmixed pleasure. A brilliant moonlight had not yet yielded to the dawn, and the learned city lay robed in that soft placid light which best becomes her peculiar beauties. As it was, the influence of the scene was not altogether lost upon me; I began to think I had sinned against the glorious genius of the place by associating scenes of dissipation and folly with its majestic buildings and tranquil groves. Perhaps the sickening fumes of half a dozen cigars and the flavour of that most rare and delicious liqueur had something to do with my repentance. Be that as it may, I was by no means so much enamoured of the society of my fast friend as at the commencement of my journey, and was very content to find my way to a dormitory at the Angel, to sleep away the effects, and, if possible, the recollection of the follies which I had enacted on that memorable journey. THE BURIAL OF THE BRUCE'S HEART. THE body of Robert Bruce was buried at Dunfermline. His heart, in accordance with his dying request, was borne by Lord James of Douglas to Spain, on its way to Palestine. Considering, however, that he should there, in the words of Froissart, " employ his time and journey according to the late king's wishes," he took the field against the Saracens in company with Alphonso, king of Spain, and "fell while attempting to rescue Sir William St. Clair of Roslyn, who shared his fate. Robert and Walter Logan, both of them knights, were slain with Douglas. His few surviving companions found his body in the field, together with the casket, and reverently conveyed them to Scotland. The remains of Douglas were interred in the sepulchre of his fathers, in the church of Douglas, and the heart of Bruce was deposited at Melrose."-Lord Hailes' Annals of Scotland. Onward to its resting-place, Mournfully and slowly, With sad eye and reverent pace, Bear the relic holy! As for a departed soul Bid the mighty death-bell toll, In Dunfermline's cloisters gray, Sadly hath the death-chant rung,— Raise it now again! Low at first and softly stealing; Louder now and louder pealing, Wake the solemn strain! Through the dim aisle swelling free,-- It hath travers'd many a land Many a lying Infidel , Bit the dust ere Douglas fell :- Bless'd old Scotland's banner flying Over Bannockburn! Pile no marble's costly gloom Where the relic sleepeth :— Simple be the hallow'd tomb As the heart it keepeth! Blazon'd scroll and graven stone Such bright spirit needeth none :— Shrin'd in ev'ry Scottish heart,— Link'd to Scottish story By a chain no time can part, Liveth Bruce's glory! THE RAMBLER. A REVELLER at a masquerade, bedecked with an allunwonted nose, spectacles, whiskers, and moustache, is at liberty to perpetrate, either by word or deed, any extravagance which the passing moment may suggest, without being "written down an ass" in the opinions of his surrounding mummers: or even, should he be so deemed by the more cynical, he has yet the advantage of continuing, if he will, so impenetrably disguised, that no Diogenes among them can go forth and proclaim his "local habitation and his name" to the ears of the most folly-scolding, though most foolish, multitude. In a somewhat similar predicament are we of the craft, whose badge is, not a bloody hand, but an inky thumb, and whose weapon, "the gray goose wing," is employed in a warfare less bloody, though more universal, than when of old it guided the shafts of our archers to the hearts of the foes of England. Lashed, indeed, we may be, but it is our own fault if we betray "the raw.” We can, if we will, defy discovery; we stand at pleasure a mere nominis umbra;" nay, with a tolerable quantity of brass, we can even join the cry against our very selves, and be the first to give tongue at the finding of our own errors. We take up our position in a beautiful "coign of vantage:" the sonorous "We," that never-sufficiently-tobe-estimated privilege of monarchs and authors, is to us "a tower of strength :" there is in us nothing tangible. Shadows are we, yet striking more terror to the soul than the substance of ten thousand." We are like the voice of a skilful ventriloquist, coming whence we like, and saying what we please. Our words in the public ear are as the tones of a ghost, whose wondering 66 |