My college is one of the smallest in the University.  Last night in Hall I sate next a distinguished man, who is, moreover, very accessible and pleasant.  He unfolded to me his desires for the University.  He would like to amalgamate all the small colleges into groups, so as to have about half-a-dozen colleges in all.  He said, and evidently thought, that little colleges are woefully circumscribed and petty places; that most of the better men go to the two or three leading colleges, while the little establishments are like small backwaters out of the main stream.  They elect, he said, their own men to Fellowships; they resist improvements; much money is wasted in management, and the whole thing is minute and feeble.  I am afraid it is true in a way; but, on the other hand, I think that a large college has its defects too.  There is no real college spirit there; it is very nice for two or three sets.  But the different schools which supply a big college form each its own set there; and if a man goes there from a leading public school, he falls into his respective set, lives under the traditions and in the gossip of his old school, and gets to know hardly any one from other schools.  Then the men who come up from smaller places just form small inferior sets of their own, and really get very little good out of the place.  Big colleges keep up their prestige because the best men tend to go to them; but I think they do very little for the ordinary men who have fewer social advantages to start with.

The only cure, said my friend, for these smaller places is to throw their Fellowships open, and try to get public-spirited and liberal-minded Dons.  Then, he added, they ought to specialize in some one branch of University teaching, so that the men who belonged to a particular department would tend to go there.

Well, to-day was a wet day, so I did what I particularly enjoy—­I went off for a slow stroll, and poked about among some of the smaller colleges.  I declare that the idea of tying them all together seemed to me to be a horrible piece of vandalism.  These sweet and gentle little places, with a quiet, dignified history and tradition of their own, are very attractive and beautiful.  I went and explored a little college I am ashamed to say I had never visited before.  It shows a poor plastered front to the street, but the old place is there behind the plaster.  I went into a tiny, dark chapel, with a high pillared pediment of carved wood behind the altar, a rich ceiling, and some fine columned alcoves where the dignitaries sit.  Out of the gallery opens a venerable library, with a regretful air of the past about its faded volumes in their high presses, as though it sadly said, “I am of yesterday.”  Then we found ourselves in a spacious panelled Hall, with a great oriel looking out into a peaceful garden, embowered in great trees, with smiling lawns.  All round the Hall hung portraits of old worthies—­ peers, judges, and bishops,