A Magic Word
ByClaire Hughes
Pages 2

There are no days like the first two or three of the Michaelmas term at Oxford. 1 The air is crisp, the autumn sunshine is mellow, the trees in the University parks have not yet begun to lose their leaves. The city has awakened to new life and vigour with the overwhelming influx of youth, and the college quadrangles, for sixteen weeks given up to sight-seers and American tourists, are once more trodden by undergraduates.