It has been decided that half the value of
the ship, and her cargo (the latter will all be
saved), shall be divided among the hovellers
employed. This will yield each man a dividend
of about twelve pounds. Considering
the dangers they have encountered, and the
fatigue they have undergone, few will think
the amount of remuneration excessive.

CRUMPLED ROSE-LEAVES AT ST.
BONIFACE.

"FOR he's a jolly good Fellow, For he's a
jolly good Fellow, For he's a jolly good Fellow,
Which nobody can deny," were the
appropriate words that rang like joy-bells in my
ears, one Christmas time, at the conclusion
of my own Fellowship dinner at St. Boniface.
They were chorused by two dozen of as
pleasant companions as ever scholar had—
men, for the most part, who had lately
arrived, or who were about to do so, at the
same wished-for goal as myself; friends
whom, for the future, instead of being
separated from, I should be still more closely
connected with; in-dwellers of the same old.
walls, sympathisers in the same audits,
diners at the same high-table, players at the
same social rubber, for ever. A morbid
desire to be original prevented me from
saying in acknowledgment that this was the
proudest moment of my life—but it really
was. I had reached the summit of the slippery
collegiate pole, and the fat of the land
was fairly within my grasp. I had only to
keep myself alive and pure from the deadly
sin of matrimony, in order to move slowly,
glacier-like, increasing as I moved, to the
awful throne of wardenship itself. Think of
me, John Jones of Llangothlen, being translated
even to the same sphere as that
wherein that monarch of his species sat,
sublime! And so it was now become
possible that I might be king myself; that I,
too, might ask undergraduates to evening
parties at the wardenry, and look them out
of their chairs should they venture to sit
down!

Nor even the next morning did my position
appear less enviable. The sun came
streaming through the mighty window of
my college rooms on dark oak panelling and
chairs of oak, shining on many a volume
with the college arms in gold, and on the
massy candlestick, the college plate, given
for a gift to me and the like of me three
centuries ago. The huge room communicated
with a lesser one, and that with a lesser
still, and on the other side lay the
bedchamber, a Fellow's bedchamber, for one.
Without was the pillared court, silent except
for dreamy echoes from the cloisters that ran
round it; and in the centre a plot of greenest
grass on which no foot except a Fellow's or a
lord's might dare to tread; an unseen fountain
murmured somewhere by; a score of
clocks, half-way to heaven, gave quarter to
the hours—though time was a good deal
killed in college, too—and near and far over
the ancient town the bells seemed pealing:
"Well done, young Johnny Jones, Don of St.
Boniface," for ever. "I congratulate you,
Jack," or, "Mr. Jones, this is nothing more
than I expected," were the salutations of
comrades and waiters for a month to come;
and our great cousin Griffith-ap-Jones,
lineally descended from Cadwallader-ap-
Jones, the original bard of Mr. Gray, and
who had sworn never to forgive my father for
teaching me English, wrote me a letter with
his own hand, all consonants, to give me good
luck in Welsh.

That what is called public opinion—the
ideas, that is, of people who have not got
Fellowships—rather underrated my good
fortune, was nothing to me. I had been long
enough at an university where honorary
degrees are conferred upon hereditary titles
with despatch, and rat-killing young noblemen
take precedence of the wisest and most
reverend, at hall and chapel, to know very
well how to despise the radicals; while, as
for getting servile or forming too humble an
opinion of myself, that, the example of his
warden, and the comparison of his own
phrenological developments and facial angles
with those of the aristocracy who year by
year and cheek by cheek should sit by him
at the same high-table, would, I knew,
prevent any Fellow of St. Boniface from becoming.

When I stepped down-stairs on that first
morning, and read my name, swollen to
twice that of a simple scholar's, painted up
on the doorway, with the collegiate title of
Mr. grandly before it, perhaps I needed
something to take me down a peg or two; at
all events, I got it. I was reading these
pregnant words again and again, for they
sounded just like poetry, when I heard
a couple of voices in the next rooms
discoursing upon me and my good fortune.

"Poor Jenny Jones! " said one. " Well,
I'm glad they gave it him after all."

"Yes, the dear old leek, and so am I,"
rejoined the other; "but they do say it was
the nearest shave for it that ever Fellow
had."

There were no more real steps to descend,
but I felt about thirteen inches shorter as I
took my way along the cloisters, without
having the heart to cross the grass-plot,
That second voice was my own familiar
friend's; the voice which, in proposing my
health the evening before, had said that
everybody knew how his talented friend had
distinguished himself in the late examination,
and that any eulogium upon my mathematical
genius would be superfluous. Everybody
knew, did they? I protest I felt like
Mr. Pope's celebrated liquor with the pop out
of it. "How vain are all the distinctions of
this world!" thought I, as I walked with
heavy step into the Fellow's bowling-green,
" Alas! this Garden of Eden, which I have