s associated with the Abbot of
Misrule, in the stories of the Middle Ages. It is this smack and
suggestion of antiquity, of unnumbered such occasions in the misty
past, when the student was half-scholar and half-ruffian, which make
the permitted license of to-day not only tolerable, but in a sense
even venerable. The good-humor and general acceptance on both sides,
by chaffers and chaffed, testified to recognized conditions; and there
is about a hoary institution a saving grace which cannot be
transferred to _parvenus_. Practised in a modern Cis-Atlantic seat of
learning, as I have seen it done, without the historical background,
the same disregard of normal decorum becomes undraped rowdyism--boxing
without gloves. The scene and its concurrences at Oxford have been
witnessed by too many, and too often described, for me to attempt
them. I shall narrate only my particular experiences. I had been
desired to appear in full uniform--epaulettes, cocked hat, sword, and
what is suggestively called "brass-bound" coat; swallow-tailed, with a
high collar stiffened with lining and gold lace, set off by trousers
with a like broad stripe of lace, not inaptly characterized by some
humorist as "railroad" trousers. The theory of these last, I believe,
is that so much decoration on hat and collar, if not balanced by an
equivalent amount below, is top-heavy in visual effect, if not on
personal stability. Whatever the reason, it is all there, and I had it
all at Oxford; all on my head and back, I mean, except the epaulettes.
For to my concern I found that over all this paraphernalia I must also
wear the red silk gown of a D.C.L. It became evident, immediately upon
trial, that the silk and the epaulettes were agreeing like the
Kilkenny cats, so it was conceded that these naval ornaments should be
dispensed with; the more readily as they could not have been seen. In
the blend, and for the occasion, my legal laurels prevailed over my
professional exterior.

In the matter of dress my life certainly culminated when I walked
up--or down--High Street in Oxford with cocked hat, red silk gown, and
sword, the railroad trousers modestly peeping beneath. It must be
admitted that the townsmen either had more than French politeness, or
else were used to incongruities. I did not see one crack a smile;
whether any turned to look or not, I did not turn to see. My
hospitable escort and myself joined the other expectants before the
Sheldonian Theatre, where