the most magnificent in its endowments. And here we are at once arrested by its Chapel, beyond all question the most splendid architectural object of the kind, not only in Cambridge but in England, and, perhaps, in Europe. "They dreamt not of a perishable home, Who thus could build." This glorious building attracts attention as soon as we enter Cambridge, and wherever we turn our steps as we wander about the streets. We have deferred visiting it till now; but assuredly it will be the first object to which the stranger will bend his way. The foundation-stone of this chapel was laid by proxy for Henry VI., in 1447; but the building was little advanced at his death; the greater part of it was erected during the reign of Henry VII., who contributed £10,000 towards its construction; but it was not completed till the eighteenth year of his successor's reign (1534). It is the standard example of what is called the Perpendicular style of Gothic architecture. The designer is believed to have been one Close, or Klaus, the father of Nicholas Close, Bishop of Lichfield. This building occupies the whole northern side of the vast quadrangle of the college. Some idea may be formed of its general appearance from our sketch (Engraving), but only a faint conception of its majesty can be so obtained. Its noble proportions may aid the imagination somewhat. The extreme length is 316 feet; the breadth 84 feet; the height, to the summit of the battlements, 101 feet; to the top of the turrets, 146 feet. In form it is a simple oblong; but the parts are so admirably broken as to prevent anything like formality. The walls are supported by huge buttresses, the whole space between which is occupied by the windows, of which there are thirteen on each side, and each window is about 50 feet high. Below the windows is a series of chantry chapels, nine on each side of the building. The walls are everywhere profusely adorned with carvings-the Tudor badges, the rose and portcullis, with the crown above, are sculptured in bold relief on every prominent part, from the sides of the door-ways to the very summits of the turrets; and the royal arms are also very frequently repeated. By moonlight the appearance of the chapel is "beautiful exceedingly;" the grand proportions are thrown into magnificent masses of light and shade, while the sculpture on the surface assumes the appearance, under its strange influence, of a singularly rich and quaint fretwork. But, grand as is the exterior, the inside is infinitely more impressive. The vast area is spanned by an enormous stone roof, every portion of which is covered with the richest groin-work, of the kind called fan-tracery; and this wondrous roof, nearly 300 feet long, and 45 feet broad, is suspended some 80 feet aloft, unsupported by a single pillar. Every part of the edifice tends to deepen the impression produced by the first view of it. The walls are entirely covered with carvings; the light is subdued by the richly-coloured glass through which it enters, and plays quaintly with the elaborate sculpture. Well might our great poet exclaim, as he gazed upon it, "What awful perspective! while from our sight With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide Their portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light." The windows must be examined carefully. They are of the rarest worth. The great east window is of course the most important. It is divided into two principal divisions, an upper and a lower, and by the upright mullions into nine inferior ones. In these are six paintings of the Crucifixion of Christ and the circumstances that preceded and followed it. The twenty-six side windows are also filled with stained glass. Each of these, like the east window, is divided into an upper and lower compartment; and these are subdivided into five perpendicular compartments. The central division is in each occupied by the figures of a prophet and an evangelist; in the side compartments are painted representations of events chiefly in the Life of Christ, and the occurrences in Old Testament history which were believed to have foreshadowed them. In every instance the type occupies the upper part of the window, the antitype the lower. Two subjects of each class are represented in every window. Often, of course, the resemblance is exceedingly fanciful, and sometimes the subject is inexplicable, but even then they are interesting as characteristic of the period in which they were painted. They are of the time of Henry VIII.; the agreement for their execution bearing date, April, 1526. The designs have been attributed, but on insufficient grounds to Albert Durer. There is a good deal of ability displayed in the composition, while the colouring is of the most vivid and glowing kind. The only window which is uncoloured is that of the west end of the chapel; and why it was not painted is unknown, as the agreement still remains for "glazing and setting up one window in the east end of the church and one in the west end. . . . with good clean sure and perfect glass, and orient colours and imagery of the story of the old law, and of the new law." How these windows escaped destruction during the Commonwealth period is quite astonishing. Their preservation is believed to be due to Whichcote, the provost of King's, who had a good deal of influence with the Puritans; but it is not a little surprising that he should have been able to save pictures such as these. If we had not grievous proof in the mutilated relics of many a glorious work that their feelings were steeled against every such impression, we could almost fancy that the wondrous beauty of the place overawed the spirits, and abashed even the bitterness of these iconoclasts. Be the cause what it may, they have been saved, and the whole place remains - perfect. The fellows have caused the windows to be carefully taken down, cleaned, and where injured repaired, a work requiring great skill and patience-as will be supposed when we add that the cost of cleaning each window is about £300. One window is taken down at a time, and until it is replaced the next remains undisturbed. The window at the north-east corner has quite recently had a new painting inserted in one of the divisions, which had before been blocked up: the subject is the Elevation of the Brazen Serpent, and is an adaptation of the well known painting by Rubens-it is a good picture, but we think it unfortunate that it was not made more conformable to the style of those in the other windows. We must quit this Chapel: not, however, without quoting Wordsworth's fine sonnet on the Interior-the allusion in the first line is of course to Henry VI. Tax no the royal saint with vain expense, Of white-rob'd scholars only-this immense And glorious work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lors So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense But before we return to the quadrangle we must first ascend the narrow staircase that runs up the northwestern turret, and gaze over the town and surrounding country from the chapel leads. On our way we may turn aside to look a little more closely at the stone roof. We can pass along the top of it and admire its mechanism-there is a favourite college tradition that Sir Christopher Wren was wont to come hither yearly to study the problem of its structure. Above the stone roof is another of chesnut, of most substantial construction; the space between the two roofs is sufficient to allow a man to walk upright. Owing to the flatness of the country, the view from the leads embraces a very wide range. Ely cathedral is distinctly visible. The halls and colleges of Cambridge are spread out in a manner that renders their topography much more comprehensible than a perambulation of the streets, but we cannot say much for their beauty as thus seen. The other buildings of King's College are modern and rather substantial than beautiful. The royal founder intended the college buildings to surround a quadrangle of which the chapel was to form one side. The other buildings were not erected, but the plan still remains in the possession of the college authorities. The fellows and scholars were lodged in mean buildings till the early part of last century, when it was determined to erect a more commodious edifice. Gibbs was the architect employed, but instead of carrying out the original design, he erected a building on the west side of the quadrangle of an entirely different character. In 1824 the incongruity was increased. Wilkins was directed to complete the quadrangle, which he did by carrying a screen along the east side, and erecting a hall, library, and other buildings on the west. The building of Gibbs was in the Italian 'classic' style, that of Wilkins is in the spurious Gothic of his own invention: the effect of the whole is painfully incongruous. Considered apart from the other buildings Gibbs's structure would be a noble looking pile; but the other is bald and mean. Hall is the best part of it, being a tolerably close imitation of Crosby Hall, but it may serve as a proof of the 'feeling' of Wilkins for Gothic architecture to mention that he had the open timber roof—a really fine one of oak-covered with white paint. The Time and space warn us that we must run hastily over the remaining colleges. One more we must stay at. The gloomy looking building in St. Andrew-street, opposite to Petty Cury, is Christ's College, the college in which John Milton was educated. Genteel writers of the last century, who appear to have always rejoiced most when they could most degrade a great name, were fond of relating that Milton suffered some indig a sight of it, but are too little skilled in such matters to venture an opinion upon its authenticity. The principal deviation in the features from the ordinary portraits of Milton, consists in a greater fulness of the lower part of the face. It appears to have been taken when he was between forty-five and fifty years of age. Another of the choice treasures of the college is a manuscript of Milton's. The other colleges we must pass by. We cannot visit even Sidney Sussex, where Oliver Cromwell was a student; "entering himself there," as Carlyle expresses it, "curiously enough, of all days on the same day as Shakspere, as his monument still testifies, at Stratford-on-Avon, died." There is nothing of him retained at this college worth going out of our way to look after, and no traditions worth listening to. Chaucer's college, Clare Hall, is a neat set of buildings, but none are of the old poet's time. The situation is a very pleasant one. Pembroke may be visited for the sake of Thomas Gray, who spent all the latter years of his life in it, in a sort of learned indolence, reading, and making preparations for writing, but alwavs delaying to write. In his Letters he is constantly making querulous allusions to "the quiet ugli nities here, and they fancied that a passage of uncertain meaning in one of his Latin poems, countenanced them in their slander. We need hardly say that, though still often repeated, the assertion is utterly without foundation. If the passage above refered to might at the first glance seem to warrant such a conclusion, other passages in both his Latin and English prose works must entirely remove the supposition. His memory appears to have been from the first and until now warmly cherished here. Whatever of general interest attaches to Christ's College is owing to Milton's connection with it, and the members duly estimate the honour that his name has confered upon them. Tradition has preserved little respecting his residence here. His rooms if they remain are not remembered. The fellows' garden is what is most deserving inspection on its own account, and it contains what is connected with the name of the great poet. A mulberry tree which stands in the middle of one of the lawns, is known as Milton's Mulberry-tree, and the fellows have received, in succession from a date that cannot be much posterior to Milton's day, the tradition that it was planted by him. They may of course be mistaken, but they without exception believe the tradition. The tree is evidently a very old one, and is only keptness of Cambridge," and complaining of being "ennuyé from decay by extraordinary care. Several years ago to the last degree" there-" yet doing nothing." Gray about half of it was blown down in a storm, but the called this college "quite a nest of poets." A great torn part was carefully covered with lead, and al- many have been nourished in it-Spenser and Crashaw though weakened by the loss of so large a portion, the among others; and it boasts of a famous list of theoremainder appears likely to survive for many years. logians. Emmanuel is known as the Puritan College. The trunk is now a mere shell, but is carefully propped It was founded on Puritan principles by Elizabeth's up, and still annually produces a goodly crop of fruit. minister, Sir William Mildmay; and the original Attempts have been made to raise seedlings from it, but eaven had so well worked, that from it most of the they have not been very successful: a couple of young heads of other colleges were appointed in the Commonones however are growing close by it. The gardens of wealth period, when the old masters were displaced. the college are very beautiful-perhaps the most There is nothing particularly puritanical about it now. beautiful in the University. The stately horse-chesnut It is situated in St. Andrew-street; and if the stranger trees were doubtless here when Milton was a student, thinks fit to visit it-though there is nothing remarkand we may easily fancy that he not unseldom passed able about it-he may, after having done so, as well an hour under their shade. About forty years ago one go on to Downing College, in order to look at the was blown down in a severe storm; it somewhat newest college in the University: he will not care to spoiled the mass of foliage, but that was atoned for by see it a second time. Downing College is wholly the its opening through the gap a view of the turrets of production of our own day. It was designed by WilKing's College and some other of the collegiate edifices.kins; and, as it does not once in an age fall to the lot (Engraving.) A favourite amusement of the fellows in most of the colleges is the good old after-dinner game of bowls, and there are bowling-greens in many of the fellows' gardens. That at St. John's is an excellent one, but this at Christ's is the best in the University-did John Milton ever play at bowls here? We should say yes. We may mention, that there is preserved in the Combination-room a bust of the blind bard, which is believed to be contemporary. Vertue supposed it to be the work of Pierce; and Brand Hollis, to whom it formerly belonged, of Abraham Simon, both of whom lived in Milton's day. Some artists accustomed to take casts from the life, say that it is moulded from an original cast, as there are impressions of the pores of the skin that are only to be found in such works. The cast is not shown to the public; we have been favoured with of an architect to design the whole of a large college, he doubtless put forth all his powers. It is his masterpiece. Probably there was never at any time, in any part of Europe, a college erected so perfectly devoid of everything that any one could possibly conceive to be either graceful or appropriate. That Wilkins could contrive a building ugly beyond expectation, every Londoner has painful experience in the National Gallery; but the marvellous depth of the poverty of his artistical conception can only be understood by one who has seen Downing College. The central portion of the edifice has not been erected; and it is devoutly to be desired that it never may be at least according to the original design. It was some time since proposed to purchase the property, and convert it into the erminus of the railway, when the thing must have been pulled down; as it would have been impossible to tolerate such a structure for even such a purpose. But, unhappily, the negociation failed. There is one comforting circumstance the college is placed in such an out-of-the-way situation, that no one is compelled to see it. When he has examined the college buildings, the visitor must return to the College Walks. They will afford him a delightful stroll. In their way they are quite unique. Beautiful as are the Walks of Oxford, it may be questioned if these do not surpass them. They are straighter and more formal, but certainly have a more academic air. The backs of most of the larger colleges are turned towards the walks, and nowhere else do the buildings present so striking or so beautiful an appearance as from them; indeed, the magnitude and character of the colleges can hardly elsewhere be appreciated. The walks, as we have said, are laid out in avenues of limes, and elms, and horsechestnut; and the various Gothic buildings form a succession of delightful combinations with the masses of rich foliage. Between the walks and the colleges "Camus, reverend sire, comes footing slow." and adds not a little to the picturesqueness of the scenery. Along these walks-i.e., between King's and Queen's Colleges-the river is crossed by some halfdozen bridges, of various and some of them of very superior design. The river is indeed but narrow, and does, as Milton says, "come footing slow"-so slow that the motion is scarcely perceptible; but there are seldom wanting a number of pleasure-skiffs to enliven it. On a summer's afternoon the walks have a very characteristic appearance: they are crowded with students of course in the collegiate habits-who saunter slowly about the groves; or lie along the gently-sloping banks of the river, stretched in every conceivable attitude-some that it would puzzle a Cruikshank to copy, and utterly exceed his imagination to invent: but all the students, whether alone and book-in-hand, or in companionable groups, seem bent on taking their ease. In the evening the walks present quite a different aspect; they are at their gayest then. They are the favourite evening lounge of both the town and the University. Not only sage fellows and promising students, but lovely maidens and grave matrons come hither in the evening-time to enjoy these shady avenues-and the society of each other. And then, too, the river is literally alive with boats and merriment. The expert boatsman then exerts his best skill-the idle looker-on cracks his best joke; altogether the scene is exquisitely characteristic. To one who can appreciate a scene of enjoyment it is very delightful to spend an hour or two here. Looking from the centre of King's College Bridge the scene is really a very interesting one. The river crowded with wherries of every colour, the walks with the collegians in their black and purple gowns, and ladies in dresses of rainbow hues, the trees and buildings glowing and darkening under the declining sun :-all make up a scene such as no other place-not even Oxford-can show, and such as will dwell in the memory. The visitant who wishes to see something more of the amusements of Cambridge, may stroll down to Jesus' Green to the Boat-houses; and he will be fortunate if he arrives there in time to see the start of a rowingmatch. He must have some courage if he ventures to follow it along the meadows among the crowd of rushing and shouting partisans-each, as he runs, roaring at the top of his voice the name of his college crew; but he will miss an odd sight if he does not so venture. He should by all means see the 'bumping.' If, how ever, his taste does not incline him to take interest in aquatic sports, he may spend an odd half-hour--somewhere between two and four is the best time-in the University cricket-ground, Parker's Piece. To one who has never been present at a college match, the enthusiasm of Cambridge students is a thing worth witnessing. But we must turn to the town. The town has no buildings of its own to show-or at least none making the smallest pretension to architectural display. The town is a corporate body, governed by a mayor, and had, at the last census, 23,455 inhabitants; but its public spirit, if it have any, finds vent some other way than in adorning the streets. The churches are, some of them, interesting. St. Mary's is the University church; and the University sermon is preached in it every Sunday during Term-time. The stranger who is in Cambridge on a Sunday, generally attends the afternoon sermon, in order to see something of the University magnates. Two other services are also attended by the stranger with especial interest. The choral service at King's College Chapel in the morning, and at Trinity in the evening. To both of these the admission is, necessarily, by tickets, which must be procured at the porters' lodges on the preceding day, or early on the Sunday morning. We mention this, because we have known of several who have stayed the Sunday at Cambridge especially to attend these services, and have been unable to obtain admission, through ignorance of the arrangement. We cannot help saying, that we think a little more pliability in the rules would be as well-at any rate in the case of strangers. The other churches must be left unnoticed; but the round church of St. Sepulchre's, whose restoration caused such an angry and unhappy controversy a year or two back, should be inspected. It is one of the most remarkable objects in Cambridge. All the restorations have been most scrupulously conducted; and it is now a beautiful little place, particularly in the inside, and conveys a clearer notion of a church of the olden time than can often be obtained. One or two other churches also deserve a visit. All Saints', opposite the gate of St. John's College, contains the well-known bas-relief, by Chantrey, to the memory of Kirke White. St. Benet's, the church of which Thomas Fuller was some time incumbent, also contains some interesting monu ments, as, indeed, do most of the churches. The Castle, spoken of in a former page, is wholly gone. We have already said enough of its history; but we may here vary our dry matter-of-fact pages with a wild legend that is related concerning it by some of our older writers, and has been employed by Sir Walter Scott in his 'Marmion'. Thus it runs :-One evening a stranger knight was entertained in Cambridge Castle. The dinner was over, and the wine and the story flowed freely in the castle-hall. One tale especially attracted the attention of the guest. On the summit of what is now called Gogmagog-hill, is one of the circular earthworks, called encampments by antiquaries, but which in those days were universally ascribed to supernatural power. Within this enclosure it was said unearthly beings were wont nightly to assemble. More than once casual wanderers had been unwittingly observers of their proceedings; one part of which, as all agreed, was the appearance of a knight, clad in complete armour, and mounted on a war-horse of unusual size and jetblack in colour, who formally challenged to deadly combat any mortal who should approach the mystic enclosure. Osburn, for that was the stranger's name, at once resolved to undertake the perilous adventure. Without disclosing his intention he withdrew from the company, and, summoning his faithful squire, set out on his way. The sun had already gone down, but his good steed quickly carried him over the intervening half-dozen miles; and ere the night had fairly closed in he found himself within the dread boundary. He fought, and, by the help of his patron saint, conquered the demon knight, though not without receiving some wounds in the contest. He returned to the castle, bringing the black horse with him as a proof of his victory. This brave knight met a triumphant welcome. While he was feasted in the hall, the horse was fastened in the court-yard with strong cords, and watched by a large part of the company. From the midnight hour the magic steed raged with increasing violence, till as cock-crew it burst its bonds and vanished. Ever after, on the anniversary of that night, the victor's wounds broke forth afresh at the very hour on which he received them from the spear of the demon knight. The site of the Castle is occupied by the County Courts a very neat building of recent erection. A mound, called Castle Hill, on which the keep formerly stood, remains, and should be ascended, for the excellent view of the town obtained from its summit. At the back of St. John's College Garden is a curious old barn-like building, now used as a lumber-store, about which some rather choice bits would attract the eye of the architectural antiquary. But it is also otherwise interesting. Traditionally it is said to be the place in which the companions of Gislebert (see page 376) taught. It is also said that Erasmus gave his Greek lectures in it. We are unable to vouch for the truth of either story. It is a singular old building: some think it formed part of one of the old hostels: it is sometimes called Merton Hall, but is generally known as the School of Pythagoras. Though the buildings belonging to the town are too mean to attract attention, the conduit in the Marketplace will not escape notice. It is not very ornamental, certainly, and it reflects little credit on the authorities that it is not made as it easily and at no great cost might be; but it is useful, and has some claim to our regard. It is the benefaction of a very famous Cambridge man-Hobson, the most celebrated of carriers— the Baxendale or Chaplin of his day; whose memory has been embalmed in almost the only jocose verses of our great epic poet; and whose name has come down to our own time, as a household word, in one of the most familiar of proverbs. Milton's 'Lines on the University Carrier, who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reason of the Plague,' are of course well known: "Here lies Old Hobson; Death hath broke his girt, And so on. The Bull here spoken of was the inn of that name in Bishopsgate-street, London, where in the days of the Spectator, Hobson stood "drawn in fresco, with an hundred-pound bag under his arm, with this inscription upon the said bag: 'The fruitful mother of an hundred more.'" The proverb arose thus :-To his trade of carrier Hobson added that of letting out horses on hire-a practice he is said to have originated. "Mr. Hobson kept a stable of forty good cattle, always ready and fit for travelling; but when a man came for a horse, he was led into the stable where there was great choice, but he obliged him to take the horse which stood next to the stable-door, so that every customer was supplied according to his chance, and every horse ridden with the same justice: from whence it became a proverb, when what ought to be your election was forced upon you, to say, 'Hobson's choice'-this or none" (Steele, Spectator, No. 509.) While in the market-place the stranger will perhaps look around the market, and if he does he will be sure to notice the only remarkable commodity in it-the butter, which instead of being in the short thick pieces in which he is accustomed to see it, is here rolled out into lengths of a yard to the pound, and about the thickness of a walking-stick; a peculiarity adopted, or continued, on account of. the convenience with which it allows the butter to be divided into the 'sizes' used in the colleges. One of the most striking peculiarities in Cambridge For a town of 20,000 is the silence of its streets. inhabitants its quietness is very noticeable. Nor is the surprise excited by the circumstance lessened by recollecting that above 2,000 young men are assembled here, beyond the observation of their friends, with, in most cases, a plentiful supply of money, and just at the most unrestrainable period of life. It at any rate speaks well for the decorous habits of the students, and the discipline of the University. From what is often said in popular works, we might be tempted to believe the two Universities to be little better than nurseries of |