does--only pained surprise at what displeased him; he never censured the
morals or manners of people as a Cambridge man might have done. Out of
the University pulpit no Oxford man would dream of scolding people for
their morals. After a year of failure he fell into a decline. His
parents became alarmed. They hinted that his ill success was due to his
damned condescension (the father was of course a Cambridge man). I too
suggested in a mild way that a more ingratiating manner might produce
better luck with editors. At last his health broke down, and a wise
family physician was called in. After studying the case for some months,
Aesculapius (he was M.B. of Cambridge) divined that ill success rather
than ill health was the provocative; and he related to the patient (this
is becoming like an Arabian Night) the following story:

'A certain self-made man, confiding to a friend plans for his son's
education, remarked: "Of course I shall send him to Eton." "Why Eton?"
said the friend. "Because he is to be a barrister, and if he did not go
to Eton no one would speak to him if they knew his poor old father was a
self-made man. Then he will go to Cambridge." "Why not Oxford?" said
the friend, who was a self-made Oxford tradesman. "Because then he would
never speak to me," replied the first self-made man.'

My friend from that moment recovered. He became more tolerant; he became
successful. He became a distinguished dramatist. He justified his early
promise.

There is in this little story perhaps a charge of snobbishness from which
Oxford men are really entirely free. They are too conscious of their own
superiority to be tuft-hunters, and I believe miss some of the prizes of
life by their indifference towards those who have already 'arrived.' Yet
they appear snobbish to others who have not had the benefit of a