6 self for the future to a sober trot; the Seniority' was merciless, and was pleased to consider his apologies impertinence, and banishment inevitable. "The days passed swiftly on, and more than one letter had assured Neville that his beloved was in excellent health, and was looking forward with confidence to a quick and happy re-union. In one, indeed, she had alluded to some ill-omened dream, but that only in a light and jesting way, and all save that were full of bright hopes and encouragement. Meanwhile the examinations having commenced, all were surprised at the sudden change in Neville's manner; he appeared cheerful, and even gay, and although severe study had left his body still weak, his mind had recovered its wonted vigour, and success seemed certain. The day of trial arrived at length, and the final examination commenced; crowds were present to witness its result: clearly, and without effort, was each difficulty solved, readily each explanation given, and when amidst a murmur of approbation Neville left the Schools, friends had rushed off in every direction to proclaim his triumph, for such indeed it was, while he himself, insensible to the congratulations that poured in, fell fainting into the arms of Lethbridge. Nature had been taxed to the utmost; but excitement, like a noble steed, had borne him safe and victorious through every peril, nor sunk exhausted till the stake was won. "A tall thin physician, and a short fat apothecary, managed to squeeze themselves into the closet, by courtesy denominated Mr. Neville's room.' Rest and quiet were all that were necessary for the patient's recovery; but for the sake of appearances, and other considerations, which it would be impertinent to scrutinize, a detachment of phials was sent in, containing some very pretty-looking pink draughts, all which were with great regularity well shaken' and thrown out of window every four hours. Removal, however, at present was out of the question; so Lethbridge insisted on conveying in person the joyful intelligence to the Stiffburys. Down stairs he rushed, crossed the Quad, like a rocket, knocked two aged bedmakers into their respective slop-pails, and demolished in his course a corpulent Scout with a brace of wild ducks and an apple pie, the intended luncheon of the Rev. Matthew Marrowfatte. In a quarter of an hour he was on horseback, and on his road to London; such being the exhilaration of his spirits, that in his confusion he positively paid the turnpike at the foot of Magdalen bridge. Three horses did he leave with evident symptoms of fatigue and depression; the fourth, all steaming and covered with mud and foam, brought him to the door of Oliver Stiffbury. 64 Somebody has said that there are no such things as trifles in this world, and oftentimes, indeed, circumstances unnoticed and insignifi. cant, are the pivots upon which turn the most momentous events of human life. Had Lethbridge arrived but three minutes sooner, Mr. Robert Sims, the footman, would not have doffed his livery coat, and entered upon his ablutions; had he been three minutes later, that functionary's fingers would have been clarified; the coat, glittering in its embroidery of parsley and butter, resumed, and the door opened, ere :he vibrations of its knocker had faded from the ear; as it was, however, the impatient Lethbridge knocked and rang, and rang and knocked, at first alternately, and at last both together. 'D-n it,' he muttered, as after a delay of some minutes he was admitted, I'll teaze them for this.' 6 "Sir Oliver started not a little at the extraordinary appearance of his visiter, and slightly departing from the perpendicular, for the caricaturist of his ancient coat deserved no warmer welcome, coldly re. marked, "You bring us news from Oxford, I presume, Mr. Leth. bridge ?" "I do, sir,' gravely responded that gentleman, confirmed by the hauteur of the baronet in his resolve of having a little fun;' then throwing as much extemporaneous melancholy as possible into his countenance, he added in a most lugubrious tone, And I grieve to say that intense study has so shattered the constitution of our poor friend, that nature was unable to sustain him longer; he fainted when the very crisis of his fate-' "He was interrupted by a loud and appalling scream, and Ellen Stiffbury, tearing her long black tresses, rushed from the adjoining apart. ment. "-Was happily passed,' exclaimed Lethbridge, in alarm. 'The dream! the dream!' she shrieked, and fell "It was too late. senseless at his feet. "When Montagu Neville returned to town he found his betrothed a maniac, and his friend a voluntary exile; it was Tom Lethbridge's last joke, and the baronet was right.' "Nonsense!" said Mr. St. John Phipps. "It is but too true," replied the Bachelor, folding up the papers he had been referring to; "and," added he, "when my father brought me down for matriculation, I accompanied him to these very rooms, and here we found an elderly gentleman; what little remained of his hair was perfectly white; his cheeks were sunken, and his form bent; his eye, however, retained its brilliancy, but its restless fire told that all was not well within. He at once recognized my father, and they conversed some time upon old college recollections. The mild sad tone of that old man's voice will dwell in my memory, for many a long year. As I afterwards became more at home in the University, I found that my father's friend was well known here by the sobriquet of The Odd Fellow.' His habits were inoffensive, but eccentric; he never entered the Com. mon-room, visited none, and received no guests himself; he had 'passed' several valuable livings that had fallen to his option, and had not left Oxford for many years, but alike during term-time and vacation inhabited this old belfry tower. "About three years ago my father unexpectedly entered my apart. ment; he had been summoned to the death-bed of his old friend. He arrived just in time to witness the last struggle, and Montagu Neville expired in his arms. "Do you mean to say that he actually died here ?" hastily inquired the undergraduate. "In that very bed," was the reply. "Thank you: good night!" said Mr. Henry St. John Phipps, and snatching up his cap and gown, he descended the stairs three at a time, and rushed to his own rooms. At his friend's dejeûner next morning the freshman was returned "non est inventus;" a small three-cornered note occupied his place, and contained his apology. "Mr. Jubber's muffins were excruciatingly good, but he could not eat them under the very nose of the ghost of that demned 66 ODD FELLOW." "DALTON." TO OUR READERS. Mr. Ainsworth will commence a new story, in our next number, under the title of GUY FAWKES, which will be, like "Oliver Twist" and Jack Sheppard," illustrated by George Cruikshank. Jack Sheppard, by the same Author, will be continued from month to month, until it be completed in our pages. Among other attractions to be given to the future numbers of this periodical work, the Rev. Mr. Gleig, the celebrated Author of the "Subaltern," will constantly contribute to its pages. A new story will be commenced in our next number from the pen of a popular Author, under the signature of "Mask." It will be called "COLIN CLINT," and will be illustrated by George Cruikshank. Articles will also appear forthwith by the following popular writers; Mrs. Trollope, Samuel Lover, Esq., Dr. Maginn, J. A. Wade, Esq., Tyrone Power, Esq., Haynes Bayly, Esq., George Hogarth, Esq., Captain Medwin, Charles Whitehead, Esq., Harrison Ainsworth, Esq., Mrs. Gore, M. Le Gros, "Father Prout," Henry Mayhew, Esq., "The Old Sailor," G. Dance, Esq., Mrs. Torre Holme, J. Hamilton Reynolds, Esq., Richard Johns, Esq., "Joyce Jocund." In our present number will be found a contribution from the pen of a distinguished Author, whose productions even without the signature of T. M. would be immediately recognized. THOMAS INGOLDSBY, who has so powerfully aided us from the commencement by his unrivalled "Legends," promises to give us in future numbers more of his productions, which are always so popular. In the present number will be found the commencement of a story by "Quip," called "Vincent Eden, or the Oxonian," which will in future be illustrated by George Cruikshank. "The Isis," with which the Author of this story was connected, will for the future be incorporated with our Miscellany. FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A PARENT TO A CHILD, AGED TWO YEARS AND TWO MONTHS. MY CHILD, To recount with what trouble I have brought you up,-with what an anxious eye I have regarded your progress,-how late and how often I have sat up at night working for you,—and how many thousand letters I have received from, and written to your various relations and friends, many of whom have been of a querulous and irritable turn -to dwell on the anxiety and tenderness with which I have, (as far as I possessed the power) inspected and chosen your food; rejecting the indigestible and heavy matter which some injudicious but well-meaning old ladies would have had you swallow, and retaining only those light and pleasant articles which I deemed calculated to keep you free from all gross humours, and to render you an agreeable child, and one who might be popular with society in general,-to dilate on the steadiness with which I have prevented your annoying any company by talking politics,—always assuring you that you would thank me for it yourself some day when you grew older,-to expatiate, in short, upon my own assiduity, as a parent, is beside my present purpose, though I cannot but contemplate your fair appearance-your robust health, and unimpeded circulation (which I take to be the great secret of your good looks,) without the liveliest satisfaction and delight. It is a trite observation, and one which, young as you are, I have no doubt you have often heard repeated, that we have fallen upon strange times, and live in days of constant shiftings and changes. I had a melancholy instance of this only a week or two since. I was returning from Manchester to London by the Mail Train when I suddenly fell into another train—a mixed train-of reflection, occasioned by the dejected and disconsolate demeanour of the Post Office Guard. We were stopping at some station where they take in water, when he dismounted slowly from the little box in which he sits in ghastly mockery of his old condition with pistol and blunderbuss beside him, ready to shoot the first highwayman (or railwayman) who shall attempt to stop the horses, which now travel (when they travel at all) inside, and in a portable stable invented for the purpose, he dismounted, I say, slowly and sadly, from his post, and looking mournfully about him as if in dismal recollection of the old road-side public house-the blazing fire -the glass of foaming ale-the buxom handmaid and admiring hangers-on of tap-room and stable, all honoured by his notice; and, retiring a little apart, stood leaning against a signal-post, surveying the engine with a look of combined affliction and disgust which no words can describe. His scarlet coat and golden lace were tarnished with ignoble smoke; flakes of soot had fallen on his bright green shawl-his pride |