, 1886-01-01
A THOUSAND TO FIVE.


the looks and tho narrow foot bridge
which for convenience Is placed across
the flood gates that you may pass to
the opposite bank Of the Thames. The
antique city lies still TO your right with
its spires, and domes, and college
towers, which stand out in the clear
cut, dark uprights against the wintry,
gray sky, or, in the blue haze of sum
mer mist, appear as If dressed in purple
gauze.
The bank on which you stand has a
wide foot path, which narrows as you
recede from the city. Here the river
deepens slightly, while a few yards far
ther on the stream grows so shallow
that rank though not unpictures iue
weeds and water flowers spring up to
greet the eye.
In the early morning or on summer
evenings true admirers of the beautiful
never miss f~requenting this spot. Low
ers, the invalid. the weary student-all
alike here find rest and long to breathe
in an air that seems to stir into lifo
everything in the vicinity.
II was the day after the oxford and
Cambridge boat race. At the former
university things were unusually quiet,
though b crews were far from dis
c%ouraged. At the latter there was high
glee. After many successive years OF
struggling and defeat Cambridge had
once more won the day. The fates had
decided in her favor.
Yet a few earnest cockswains and
trainers might be seen in busy CONVEX
sations at the various newly-painted
and gilded lighthouses, and not q few
canoes and gigs had demanded an OPEN
ing OF the locks that morning. Still
the marked excitement and hustle of
the three preceding days had now all but
died away. A soler air pervaded every
thing. song-birds from their boughs
but twittered slightly and seemed TO
glance askance at passers-by.
Yes, Jack, that was the bet.
"%Frightful odds, WASH I itf' chimed in
Bently knoll.
But say, old fellow, do tell us that
tale, pursued the first speaker, a stall
wart among the three young crack oars
men of the first Oxford crew.
He addressed Paul Clifton. They
were seated with elbows on knees and
bali reclining over the rail OF Magdalen
college boat-house. All were attired in
loose blouses, sleeves tucked up, white
boating trousers, and canvas shoes.
Paul Clifton, or Capt Cliff" as his
companions sometimes called him, was
the oldest Fellow in Jesus college. With
a forehead largely intellectual though
pinched in face, and slightly stopped, he
was deemed the largest hearted fellow
in all Oxfordshire. The whole faculty
loved him and the meanest undergrad
uate in his presence had no fears.
I'm a whale IL you fellows don't bore
a man, . was the reply, accompanied
with the best natured of grins.
But say, Cliff, we chaps never heard
that story, and, then, you tell it so
we'll"
A slap between the shoulders, and
Paul coughed. All laughed heartily
and the old scholar began:
We'll, my lads, you must know that
Maud Caveliers, as VIZ called her, was
in her own right one OF the noblest.
wealthiest, prettiest, and proudest lad
les in all Oxon. She had seen ~ beau
tiful summers ana the winters could
not have been very severe, for they had
left nothing cold or ugly or OBJ ,ection-
able in her nature. Yet, as / said, she
was proud, and she had a right to be.
\ es, she was n gem OF a girl-a regular
darling. Both Ter parents were dead,
and her uncle, with whom she lived,
was dean Of M~agdalen college and one
among the most indulgent of old gen
tlemen.
Throughout our university city Lady
Maud wal the rage and alteration o.
young and old. / have heard it said
that, like a morning star, she lit the
path Of many a poor professor and care
worn afndQpf Thau did mt Ill l1r,
her, for the simple reason that they
dared not. But II did the fellows good
to sit in their windows and see her fioat
past on her customary morning walk.
tell you my lads, and Clifton struck
his brawny thigh as if TO emphasize
what he said, there are some women
who are to the earth as angels, and to
marry them Is in part TO spoil them.
Such vas Lady Maud. Love was in the
air she exhaled, and tenderness seem d
to wait from the very folds of her gar
ment whittier she moved.
We'll, it was Just twenty. seven years
ago, and Christopher Lund wa the
poorest undergraduate at Jesus college.
So poor that the chapel mice Stunned
his scanty apartment and ran a~tfrighted
into their holes at his approach. Yet
by h,s pen he managed TO maintain him
self at college and in a large measure
helped to support an invalid sister at
an ineurable home in Wales. He was
a quiet. earnest, honest fellow, and we
all pitied him and, without his know
ing it, helped him in a hundred little
ways.
Next to my room and domiciled in
luxury lived young Tankerville, the
CrGsus of our college. His fathers in
h%eritance had but fallen to him some
months before, and he deserved It. He
was a capital fellow, large hearted,
empty headed, and brimfull Of sport.
His pocketbook was ever open. Many
a struggling fellow who went to
bed at night worrying over the
expenses of the morrow woke up
in the morning to find placed between
the leaves Of his Latin or Greek exer.
else book a small note on the Bank Of
England. At first such unusual ben
efcence puz led us, but we very soon
discovered its true author.
. 9
1T was one of those sultry July
mornings at the date referred to when
Lund, Tankeryille, myself, ana Ave
other chums stood under a broad tree
near the main gate OF the now Botanic
gardens. Through the branches and
short shrubs we could all but sec Mag
dalen College bridge We had turned
out for an airing that morning. Cigars
were lighted and anecdotes OF interest
were being told, when suddenly the
con ersation turned and the subject OF
our remarks became the belle and First
Lady in Oxon.'
Hold cried T~snkerville, pointing
In the direction Of the bridge. w by,
there she is. Speak Of nm angel and
'She rarely ever appears, / reioined
Happiness anu Health.