179 



A VISIT TO OXFORD. 



Lo ! Alma Mater rears her reverend head 

 Unfolds the portal of her awful courts, 

 Where nurs'd by science, future fame resorts ; 



***** * 



Pleased we behold the bright'ning fuel blaze, 

 And hot repast that gives content and ease ; 

 The cloth remov'd, with blessing for our fare, 

 We next the jug of cordial punch prepare, 

 Or purple claret. 



G. FITZGERALD. 



IT was on a fine autumnal Monday morning that I 

 found myself on the front seat of the outside of an 

 Oxford coach, immediately behind the coachman, 

 with my fishing rod between my knees> and my 

 basket properly secured to the iron of one of the 

 coach-lamps. I wanted a little relaxation, and, 

 therefore, determined to make that celebrated seat of 

 learning Oxford, my head quarters for a few days. I 

 anticipated the pleasure of wandering, with my rod 

 in my hand, along the banks of the Thames or the 

 I sis, or of visiting some of the little trout streams a 

 few miles distant from it. I was indifferent as to 



