disputations, relieved at intervals by
theatrical shows. It is all brilliant and light-hearted; a weight has
been taken from the country.

Then comes a vision of such times as Oxford has never seen before or
since. The city is in turmoil. The whole countryside is alive with
troops. There is civil war. The University is for the King, the townsmen
(had they their way) are Roundheads to a man. Citizens in scant numbers,
scholars in profusion, are working at the trenches to fortify the place.
What with these trenches across from the Cherwell past Wadham and St
John's and so by St Giles' Church, to the Isis on the north, and from
Folly Bridge, through Christ Church meadows and Merton gardens (where
the remains can still be seen) to Magdalen on the south, and with the
numerous rivers and conduits which form so many natural moats on west
and east, the city soon becomes impregnable. To-day such puny efforts
would be ludicrous, but in those times of cannon balls which could
scarcely pierce a two-inch board, they more than suffice, did he for
whom the work was done but have a better heart.

In Christ Church and in New College quads there is a sound of drums and
tramping feet as the bands of pikemen and halberdiers furnished by the
students are busily at drill. Magdalen Bridge is fortified. On the great
tower hard by stones have been heaped to hurl upon a passing enemy, but
are destined to be never used.

Now there is a fresh stir. The bands of armed students march through all
the streets, finally parade the High, and disband at the Divinity
School--a demonstration to impress the townsmen and encourage the royal
guests.

Side by side with all this warlike preparation, and mingled with the
martial ring of steel and discipline of troops, Oxford presents an
aspect of frivolity unequalled except by an Eights' Week of to-day. The
Queen has her Court at Merton, and the city is full of ladies of high
degree. Their flounces and their furbelows are everywhere, and daily
they congregate in Christ Church meadows and Trinity Grove, to hold
revels displeasing to the Heads of Houses, who fear for the youth in
their charge, and a mockery to their own hearts, which are anxious
enough. Their dresses may be fine, but they themselves are lodged in
garrets, and they miss the dainty fare to which they are accustomed. And
all the while the wit and learning of the University knows little
diminution. It takes, perhaps, a lighter and more courtly ton