Mary Magdalen's Church.

The streets of Oxford! What scenes have been enacted there! Kings and
queens have paced them between cheering crowds; town and gown have
surged and struggled up and down their length, till from the highest
point at Carfax the water was turned on from Nicholson's old conduit
just to cool their ardour. Now and again a hush has fallen on all the
city, and from St. Mary's booms a minute-bell. Shops are half-closed and
flags half-masted. Then through the silent streets winds a black-robed
procession, half a mile in length, and one of Oxford's best-known sons
is carried to his rest. Or, maybe, all is bright with pleasure-seeking
crowds and ladies decked in all their bravery, and just a glimpse is
caught of scarlet and of black, with gleam of silver mace, as the
Vice-Chancellor's procession goes to give degrees. Or, just once more, a
line of Oxford cabs--who does not know the Oxford cab?--each with
unlicensed number of undergraduate fares, goes to the sound of rattle
and of song to speed the departure from his Alma Mater's arms of one who
has outstepped the limits of her patience.

So it goes on: a varying scene of dignity and ribaldry, taking each
other's place from time to time. But most often through all the years
the streets are filled with those who, day by day, come in from all the
country round, bringing their produce, seeking what they lack, and all
oblivious of the learned life of Oxford.

But there are so many people, to whom the human interest in the fairest
city counts for more than all the rest, that it is time to wander among
the quadrangles, the halls, the chapels, and the other ancient fabrics
that speak of the university life of Oxford. As we pass in through many
a massive gateway, tread many a stone-paved path, climb many an old oak
stair worn by the feet of many generations, it is strange if no strand
of sentiment puts us in touch with some of those who have passed that
way before.

And first to Merton, oldest of university colleges. It is almost sad to
write the words, for it is hard not to feel a pang of regret that the
charming old tale, once indeed confirmed by the Court of King's Bench
itself, that King Alfred founded University College in the High Street
years before any other was suggested, is a myth. The men of "Univ" have
at least the consolation that the tradition has existed, and if, in
spite of hard facts, they cling to the romance, there will be few to
blame them. It