As for us, we are jogging along, _semper eadem_,--that is, worse and worse.

Dear Cecil Cavendish, our gifted friend, slight of limb and soft of voice, has been rusticated for immersing four bricklayers in that green receptacle of stagnant water and duckweed, yeleped the "Haha." Roper, equally unlucky, has taken to reading for honors, and obtained a medal, I fancy,--at least his friends shy him, and it must be something of that kind.

Belson--poor Belson (fortunately for him he was born in the nineteenth, not the sixteenth century, or he'd be most likely ornamenting a pile of fagots) ventured upon some stray excursions into the Hebrew verbs,--the professor himself never having transgressed beyond the declensions, and the consequence is, he is in disgrace among the seniors.

And as for me, a heavy charge hangs over my devoted head even while I write.

The senior lecturer, it appears, has been for some time instituting some very singular researches into the original state of our goodly college at its founding.