etriment of young wheat and
new-made fences; or by the reading-men, who, in their innocence, make
pertinacious visits in search of strawberries and cream in the month of
March, or call for the twentieth time to enquire the nearest way to
Oxford, (being ignorant of all topography but that of ancient Rome and
Athens;) or whether they regard all gownsmen as embryo parsons and
tithe-owners, and therefore hereditary enemies; whatever be the reason,
it generally requires some tact to establish any thing like a friendly
relation with a farmer or his wife in the neighbourhood of the
university. However, Mrs Nutt was an exception; and nothing could exceed
the heartiness with which she set out her best wheaten bread and rich
Gloucester cheese, and particular ale--an advance towards further
acquaintance which we met with due readiness. In short, so well were we
pleased with the good dame's hospitable ways, and her old-fashioned
house, and even with her good-humoured loquacity, that our first visit
was not our last. The farmer himself, a quiet, good-natured, honest
yeoman of about sixty, who said very little indeed when his wife was
present, (he had not much chance,) but could, when disposed, let out
many a droll story of "College Gents" in bygone days, when he was a
brewer's apprentice at Abingdon, came, by invitation, to taste the
college tap, and carried home in each pocket a bottle of wine for "the
missus."

When John Brown, Esquire, found his intentions of wintering within the
walls of ---- so unexpectedly defeated, he cast about diligently in his
own mind for a resting-place for himself, his books, and a nondescript
animal which he called a Russian terrier. Home he was determined not to
go--any where within the boundaries of the University, the College were
equally determined he should not stay; and we all settled that he would
fix himself for the vacation either at Woodstock, or Ensham, or
Abingdon; the odds were in favour of the latter place, for John was a
good judge of ale. It was not, therefore, without considerable
astonishment that one morning, at breakfast in my room, after devouring
in rigid silence a commons of broiled ham for two, and the last number
of _Pickwick_, (John seldom laughed, but read "Boz" as gravely as he
would Aristotle,) we heard him open his heart as follows:--

"I say, old fellow, where do you think I am going to put up this
vacation?"

"Really, John, you're such an odd fellow it's impossible to