scholars, who were to be summoned to dinner by the sound of a trumpet; when
the fellows, clothed in scarlet robes, were to sit and eat, while the poor
scholars, kneeling in token of humility, were to dispute in philosophy. The
kneeling, disputing, and scarlet robes have been discontinued, but the
trumpet still sounds to dinner. There are usually about 300 members on the
books of this college.

Lower down the High-street is All-Souls, whose two towers are picturesque
centres of most views of Oxford. The buildings are various in character and
merit, and well worth examination. The grand court was designed by Hawksmoor
rather on the principles of a painter than an architect; he wished it to make
a good picture with the existing buildings, and he succeeded. All-Souls is
composed entirely of fellows, who elect from other colleges gentlemen whose
qualification consists in being "bene nati, bene vestiti, et moderater docti
in arte musica."

With so easy a qualification as that of being well born, well dressed, and
able to sing the Old Hundredth Psalm, Old King Cole, or Kilruddery, it may be
imagined that All-Souls has never done anything to disturb the minds of
kings, cabinets, or reviewers, or even of the musical critics. Pleasant
gentlemanly fellows, when they do get into parliament it is usually as the
advocates of deceased opinions. Had Joanna Southcote been genteel, the
fellows of All-Souls and some other colleges would have continued Joanna
Southcotians fifty years after her decease.

All-Souls, too, has its legend and its commemorative ceremony. The diggers
of the foundations found in an old drain a monstrous mallard, a sort of
alderman among wild ducks, thriving and growing fat amid filth. On being
cooked he was found first-rate, and, in memory of this treasure-trove and of
the foundation-day, annually on the 14th January the best mallard that can be