There are in the college grounds three gates, which lead to as many of the courts. One, erected by the Doctor in 1565, has the Latin inscription over it, Humilitatis, meaning, this is the gate of Humility. The second was built in 1567. This has two inscriptions, one on each side. One is Virtutis, the gate of Virtue. On the other side is Jo Caius possuit Sapientiæ, "John Caius built this in honor of Wisdom." The third is inscribed Honoris, the gate of Honor, and was built in 1574. On the north wall of the chapel is an inscription to the founder of the college. It is in Latin, a free translation of which is as follows: "Virtue our Death survives. I was Caius, aged 63, Died July 29, Anno Domini 1573." Dr. Caius gave to the college a beautiful Caduceus, or silver mace, ornamented with four twining serpents; it is two feet and a half long, and, by his direction, is borne before the master at the principal college festivities.

This has been marked as the Medical College of Cambridge, and has produced a long roll of eminent physicians, among whom is William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of blood, in 1657. It has also produced several antiquarians, who were distinguished for their valuable researches. Among her eminent men may be named Sir Thomas Gresham, founder of the Royal Exchange, London,—died 1579; also the distinguished Bishop Jeremy Taylor, 1667.

The next in order, the fifth, is Trinity Hall. This is the only college which retains its original designation of hall. A few years ago there were three others so called, Pembroke, Clare, and St. Catherine's. The first of these changed appellation about thirty years ago; the two latter quite recently, to avoid being confounded with the private halls contemplated in the University act, but afterwards changed to hostels. This college was one of the hostels for the accommodation of students, but was purchased by John de Cranden, Prior of Ely, for the monks to study in; and in the year 1350 it was obtained of the prior and convent of Ely by William Bateman, Bishop of Norwich, with the lands thereto appertaining, who constituted it a "perpetual college of scholars of canon and civil law in the University of Cambridge;" and, in accordance with the founder's intentions, it is particularly appropriated to the study of civil law.

It is situated on the banks of the river, and has three courts. The eminent men are Stephen Gardiner, a distinguished Bishop of Winchester, died 1555; Lord Howard of Effingham, commander against the renowned Spanish Armada, 1573; Thomas Tusser the poet, and author of the somewhat celebrated "One Hundred Points of Good Husbandry," 1580; and, above all, the distinguished Earl of Chesterfield, Philip Dormer Stanhope, 1773. Among the bright lights of modern times may be named the late Lord Lytton, the novelist, poet, and statesman; and also Sir Alexander Cockburn, Lord Chief Justice of England, who took so conspicuous a part in the controversy between England and America concerning the Alabama Claims.

The sixth is Corpus Christi. Two ancient Saxon guilds were united to form it, and in 1352 King Edward II. granted a license for its founding. This college has one modern and elegant building, the corner-stone of which was laid July 3, 1823. All its appointments are grand. It has in its museum some plate that is very old and curious; an antique drinking-horn, presented to the guild of Corpus Christi, in 1347, by John Goldcorne; the cup of the Three Kings,—a small bowl of dark wood mounted with silver; thirteen silver-gilt spoons, terminated by figures of Christ and the apostles; an elegant salt-cellar nearly a foot high; a magnificent ewer and basin; and a cup with a cover weighing 53 ounces.

Among her eminent men are the justly renowned Mathew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, died 1575; Christopher Marlowe the dramatist, 1593; John Fletcher, the dramatist, and colleague with Beaumont, 1625; and Archbishop Tennison of Canterbury, 1715.

The seventh is King's. This royal and very magnificent institution arose from the munificence of the meek but unfortunate King Henry VI., who endowed it in 1443. His misfortunes prevented him from carrying out designs which would have made it greatly excel any other college. It was aided, however, by Edward IV. and Richard III., but it was reserved for his thrifty nephew, Henry VII., by devotions in his lifetime and by his will, to provide funds for the completion of the noble edifice.

However pressed for space, we must employ enough to speak of the remarkable chapel, which is one of the great objects of attraction at Cambridge, and one of the most interesting buildings in Christendom. It is of what is known as the perpendicular Gothic architecture. Its length is 316 feet. The corner-stone was laid by Henry VI., July 25, 1446. The work progressed till 1484, when it came to a standstill for want of funds; but in 1508 Henry VII. took it in hand, contributing £5,000, and his executors bestowed £5,000 more in 1513. It was not till July 29, 1515, in the seventh year of Henry VIII., that the exterior was finished. This was just 69 years from its commencement. Nothing more was done till 1526, when arrangements were made for the fine painted glass windows. The elegant screen-work and elaborate oak stalls were put up in 1534. All this work is very curiously carved, and was done when Anne Boleyn was queen; the west side is ornamented with several lover's knots, and the arms of Queen Anne impaled with those of the king. On this screen, in the old cathedral style, is the organ, which is of very large capacity, and in 1860 £2,000 was expended on it.

It would be next to an impossibility to adequately describe this magnificent interior. It is of very great height, and the ceiling is of fan-tracery of the most elaborate design of open-work cut in stone. Arms of all the kings of England, from Henry V. to James I., are here. The painted glass windows, twenty-five in number, are remarkably large, and for brilliancy of color and artistic design are surpassed by none in the world. They represent Old and New Testament scenes. The designs are entirely English, and the date of their manufacture ranges from 1516 to 1532, so that the very latest is more than 346 years old, or 88 years before the Pilgrims set sail for America. Choral service is performed in the chapel every afternoon. The grounds are very grand, and too much cannot be thought or said of this institution.

Among her eminent men were Robert Woodlark, founder of St. Catherine College; Sir Francis Walsingham, secretary of state to Queen Elizabeth; Bishop Pearson, author of the celebrated "Exposition of the Creed;" and Sir Robert Walpole, the renowned and royal minister of state.

We cannot leave these grounds without asking the reader to go with us to the great and single-arch stone bridge,—King's Bridge,—and for a moment enjoy the grand views to be had from it. To the right is to be seen the front of the Fellows' Building and the west end of the great chapel. Immediately in front is Clare College, with its picturesque bridge. The bridges and avenues make a grand view, bounded in the distance by the grounds of Trinity College. On the other side the view is of a more retired character. In the distance to the left are the spires and turrets of Queen's College, and extending along the side of the river is the terraced walk and quiet shady grove of the same institution. The venerable avenue at right-angles with this, tradition has long pointed out as the favorite walk of Erasmus; and in deference to this tradition the University purchased it of the town, by whom it was doomed at one time to destruction.

Queen's College is the eighth in order. This, in its architecture, history, and plan, is one of the most picturesque and interesting of all the colleges. It was founded in 1448 by Margaret of Anjou, consort of Henry VI., who, amidst a career perhaps one of the most troubled and chequered on record, found time and means to emulate the example of her royal husband, and, while he was erecting King's College, became the foundress of this. The civil wars interrupted the work, but Andrew Doket, the first master, by good management secured the patronage of Elizabeth Woodville, consort of Edward IV., who set apart a portion of her income for its endowment, and she has since been annually celebrated as a co-foundress.

Among the things of especial interest is a sun-dial, said to have been made by Sir Isaac Newton; and next is the Erasmus Court and tower. When the erudite and ingenious Erasmus visited England, at the invitation of his friend Bishop Fisher, then Chancellor of the University, he chose this college as his place of residence, "having his study," says Fuller, "at the top of the southwest tower of the court now called by his name." This college, like many others, has gardens and fine grounds on both sides of the river. They are connected by a wooden bridge of one span,—an ingenious piece of carpentry, and frequently called the Mathematical Bridge. To the right of this is the Grove, a most inviting place for quiet meditation. The terraced walk on the banks of the river is a delightful spot, shaded by lofty overhanging elms, at the end of which a striking view is obtained beneath the great stone arch of King's Bridge.

The eminent members here, or a few of the vast lot, were John Fisher, the master of the college and Bishop of Rochester, who was beheaded 1535; Thomas Fuller, D. D., the great Church historian, 1561; Dr. Isaac Milner, master, and Bishop of Carlisle, 1820; and Samuel Lee, the eminent linguist, 1852.

On the opposite side of the street is the ninth college, St. Catharine's, founded in 1475, by Robert Woodlark, D. D. The chapel was consecrated 1704, by Simon Patrick, Bishop of Ely. The especially eminent men here are John Bradford, martyred 1555; John Strype, the learned ecclesiastical historian, 1737; and Benjamin Hoadley, Bishop of Winchester. It was he who gave rise to what is known as the celebrated Bangorian Controversy, in 1761.

The next college in order of date, the tenth, is Jesus. It has a most rural situation and pleasing aspect, for it is located back some distance from the road, and is charmingly surrounded with gardens, which give it a very domestic character.

As a general thing, the main college buildings at Cambridge are out, bounding the street or road; but this one is beautifully situated as named, and its retired position is said to have called forth the remark of James I., that if he lived at the University he would pray at King's, eat at Trinity, and study and sleep at Jesus. It occupies the site of an old Benedictine nunnery, dedicated to St. Rhadegund, founded in the reign of Henry II. Towards the close of the fifteenth century the nuns became notorious for their dissolute lives and extravagance; and in a few years the buildings fell into decay, and their remains were so wasted that only two nuns were left. At this period John Alcock, Bishop of Ely, determined to convert it into a college; and in 1497 he obtained letters-patent to put the college into possession of the property belonging to the nunnery, and the latter institution was dissolved.

The college has four courts, and its chapel is second only to that at King's College. Among its ancient men were Cranmer the martyr, burnt at Oxford 1556; Lawrence Sterne, the author of "Tristram Shandy," 1768; and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1835.

The next, and the eleventh, is Christ's. This was founded 1456, by Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond, and mother of Henry VII. It arose out of a hostel called God's House, which had been endowed by Rev. William Byngham of London in 1442. In 1505, Lady Margaret obtained a license from her own son, Henry VII., to change its name to Christ's College, and endow it. The library contains 9,000 books, among which are many that are ancient and very valuable; there are also a great number of manuscripts and curious old works, particularly a splendid copy of the Nuremburg Chronicle in Latin, printed in 1494. The college also possesses some beautiful old plate, which belonged to the foundress, especially two exquisite saltcellers, engraved with Beaufort badges, and a set of Apostle spoons. The garden is very tastefully laid out, and contains a bowling-green, a summer-house, and a bath; but the great attraction of all others to visitors is the celebrated mulberry-tree planted by John Milton when he was a student. The trunk is much decayed, but the damaged parts are covered with sheet lead. It is banked up with earth covered with grass, being also carefully propped up, and every means used for its preservation; though so aged, it is still vigorous, and produces excellent fruit. From the southeast of this garden most charming views are had through the foliage, of King's College Chapel and other buildings. Among the eminent men were Latimer the martyr, 1557; John Milton, 1674; Archdeacon Paley, author of the Evidences, 1805; and Francis Quarles, author of the Emblems, 1644.

Our next, and twelfth, is St. John's, and derives its name from a hospital dedicated to St. John the Evangelist, founded in the reign of Henry II., which occupied the site of the present college. It was founded, like the one last named, by Countess Richmond, mother of Henry VII. After having founded Christ College, she was induced by Bishop Fisher of Rochester to found this. In 1505 she took measures for converting St. John's Hospital into a college, but various causes prevented its being done in her lifetime; but she added a codicil to her will empowering her executors to carry out her design. She died June 29, 1509, and the college was opened July 29, 1516. Rich endowments, made since, have raised it considerably above the original design, and it now ranks as second college of the University.

The new chapel is one of the most elegant structures in the kingdom. The corner-stone was laid in 1864. It was from designs by Scott, and cost £53,000. It is 193 feet long, and 52 feet wide, divided into chapel proper and ante-chapel. The tower is 163 feet high including the pinnacles. It is very massive, and is open on the inside to a height of 84 feet. As at King's College, attempts at full description must not be made. It is enough to say that the finish of the interior is extravagantly elegant, and that the windows are remarkable for their wealth of imagery, and brilliant color. We will venture to say that the ceiling of the great chapel is vaulted in oak, in nineteen bays, decorated by a continuous line of full-length figures, and by scrollwork in polychrome. In the central bay at the east end is a representation of Our Lord in Majesty. The other eighteen bays contain figures illustrating the eighteen Christian centuries after the first one, and are indescribably grand in design and execution. They are mainly devoted to representation of the bishops, college-founders, or of her most eminent men, and we give the ninth century panel as an illustration. It portrays Henry Martyn, missionary of India, William Wilberforce, statesman, William Wordsworth, poet, Thomas Whytehead, missionary to New Zealand, Dr. Wood, Master of St. John's College and Dean of Ely.

Passing out of the third court by an archway on the south side, a picturesque old bridge of three arches leads us to the college walks and gardens, which are more pleasantly laid out and more diversified than any others of the University; from them a fine view is obtained of the library and bridge of Trinity College. These walks consist of a series of terraces, and retired paths encompassing meadows, which are planted with fine trees, among which are some stately elms. Beyond these is the Fellows' Garden, or Wilderness, a large piece of ground containing a bowling-green; and the trees are planted in such order as to resemble, when in leaf, the interior of a church. These grounds are said to have been laid out by Matthew Prior, the poet. Of her eminent ones may be named the famous Ben Jonson, 1637; Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, beheaded 1641; Mark Akenside and Henry Kirk White, poets, who died 1770 and 1806.

The thirteenth is Magdalen, which occupies a portion of the site of a Benedictine priory, established about 1430. On the suppression of monasteries by Henry VIII. this college would soon have become extinct, had not Lord Audley of Walden procured in 1542 a grant of it, and a charter to establish on its site a college to be named St. Mary Magdalen College. It has but two courts, and the first is next the street.

Among the matters of especial interest is the library of Samuel Pepys, Esq., who died in 1703, and left his whole collection of books and manuscripts to this college. In the library is that curious and inexpressibly interesting manuscript, the original of the celebrated Diary of Mr. Pepys. We confess that nothing in any of the college libraries was of so much interest as were these works of the gossipy Pepys, and so while at this college it was our good fortune to examine the original manuscripts of the remarkable Diary in six volumes, about eight inches or so square, and two inches thick. If we say that the short-hand resembles almost strictly any of our present styles of phonography, with here and there a word fully written out, we give the best possible idea of it. All is exceedingly clean and free from any blot or blemish, and just such as may be imagined would have been prepared by the nice Pepys. The Diary was to us, before, one of a few choice books; and now since we have seen his work, and his portrait by Sir G. Kneller, we are more than ever if possible in mood to think well of him who has written as none but he could or would write.

The distinguished personages of this college, besides Pepys, are Bryan Walton, Bishop of Chester and editor of the Polyglot Bible, who died in 1661; Dr. James Dupont, the celebrated Greek Professor, and master of the college, 1679; and that other learned divine and college master, Dr. Daniel Wheatland, 1740.

The fourteenth is Trinity, and without question this is the noblest collegiate institution of the kingdom, whether we regard the number of its members, or the extent and value of its buildings, or the illustrious men who have been educated within its walls. A large volume might be written in relation to these, and then but a synopsis be given. It is composed, or rather was organized, of others,—St. Michael's House, founded in 1324, King's Hall, in 1337, and Physwick's Hostel, the most important institution of that kind in Cambridge, and with this was included, six other minor hostels. These, in 1546, were surrendered to Henry VIII. as a preparatory step to the founding of one magnificent college, and he by letters-patent, Dec. 19, 1546, founded this in honor of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, and endowed it with very considerable possessions; but his death in a few weeks after stopped whatever further he may have contemplated. His son and successor Edward VI. issued the statutes of the college, and his daughter, Queen Mary, considerably augmented its endowments.

The courts, five in number, are very elegant and full of interest, but we must pass all by, simply stating that what is called the Old Court is said to be the most spacious quadrangle in the world and is in dimensions as follows, for the four sides respectively, omitting inches, 287 feet, 344 feet, 256 feet, and 325 feet, giving an area of 79,059 square feet.

There is nothing done in the preparation of this series of articles that demands a greater sacrifice of inclination to the contrary than does this abrupt termination of what would be a long and interesting statement, but limited space forbids even the record of full regrets. Of thousands of eminent men here educated may be named the illustrious philosophers Bacon and Newton, who died in 1626, 1727; also Crowley, Dryden, Byron, and Crabbe, poets; Dr. Isaac Barrow, the learned divine; Richard Porson, the eminent Greek critic and scholar; and Lord Macaulay, the historian and essayist; and we cannot well refrain from adding that there also was educated England's greatest modern poet, Alfred Tennyson.

Having begun a somewhat extended description of the colleges composing this famed university, we are devoting more space to them than at first anticipated, but feel justified, as the subject is one of great interest to us all, our own University City being most intimately related to it; and so we speak of the remaining of the seventeen colleges before we proceed to speak of other items of interest.

The next in order, the fifteenth, is one of very great moment to us of New England, for our interests are so closely connected with it; and that is Emanuel, which occupies the site of a dissolved monastery of Dominicans, or Black Friars. On the dissolution of monasteries this site was granted to Edward Ebrington and Humphrey Metcalf, of whose heirs it was purchased by Sir Walter Mildmay. This distinguished statesman was one of the most eminent adherents of what were termed Puritanical principles; and, with possibly the idea of establishing a nursery of those doctrines, in the year 1584 he obtained from Queen Elizabeth a charter for the incorporation of this college.

No college of the University has done so much toward deciding the fortunes, and it may be said the existence of New England, as has this. Established in 1584, which was but 29 years after the burning of the martyrs at Smithfield and Oxford, and coming into existence as it were in spite of those deeds of darkness, it became the one of all others to which those stanch men and advancing ones would send their sons, and a grand and mighty power was wielded, and strength and even respectability were given to the movement. This college is intimately connected with our history; and New England will not have done her duty, nor availed herself of a good privilege that is hers, till in these college-grounds she has erected a memorial to those determined and worthy men who did so much for New England.

John Robinson, the Pilgrims' minister, who was to have come to America the next spring but who died before his eyes could be gladdened by the sight, was educated at Emanuel. To our disgrace be it said, his dust to-day moulders in the soil of Holland, without so much as a plain slab to tell of his resting-place; and only as the guide in the church informs one, in reply to a request to be pointed to the spot, is the resting-place of the great departed ever seen.

Thomas Shepard and Henry Dunster, the latter our Harvard's second president,—these also to-day in their death, as they did in life, honor this as their Alma Mater.

The library contains 20,000 volumes, and some very rare and valuable manuscripts. The building itself was for nearly a century the college chapel; but so much of the Puritan element was here, that the chapel proper was never consecrated. Little however, did this trouble the worshippers, but the contrary was the case. By-and-by the church was in the ascendant, and then, in 1677, a new chapel had been built from designs by the celebrated Wren, "built due east and west," and all the appliances came of a non-dissenting church, consecrated by Bishop, and from then till now in good established use.

Here were educated William Sancroft, the renowned Bishop of London at the time of building St. Paul's Cathedral, and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, in 1693; Sir William Temple, statesman and essayist, 1700; and Dr. Parr, 1825. This, with the next college to be described, was considered by Archbishop Laud, as a very dangerous institution, and he designated the two as nurseries of Puritanism.

That sister college—the sixteenth, Sidney Sussex—was built on the site of a monastery of Gray Friars. On the subjugation of their institution it was granted by Henry VIII. to Trinity College, of whom it was purchased by the executors of Frances, daughter of Sir William Sidney, and widow of Thomas Radcliffe, third Earl of Sussex; who, by will dated Dec. 6, 1588, bequeathed £5,000 and some other property to found this college, and the corner-stone was laid May 20, 1590. The building was completed in three years, and the college at once took a high rank and good standing. It will always be celebrated for its connection with Oliver Cromwell, who entered here as a student April 26, 1616, at the age of seventeen, and on the college books is the following record:—

Oliverus Cromwell Huntingdoniensis admissus ad commeatum siciorum Aprilis vicesimo sexto, tutore mag Ricardo Howlet.

An amusing interpolation in a different and later handwriting appears, and speaks of him as:—

Grandis impostor; carnifax perditissimus, etc.

His father dying the next year, and leaving no property, the son was obliged to leave college; but, as Bishop Burnett was pleased to say, "some Latin stuck to him." His room was one in which is an Oriel window, on Bridge Street. There is in the master's lodge a fine portrait of the great Protector, made near the close of his life, and it is said to be remarkably faithful to the original. The long coarse gray hair is parted in the middle and reaches venerably to the shoulders. The forehead is high, majestic, and bold, and has a deeply marked line between the eyes, which are gray, and suggesting the repose of a vast power. The complexion is high-colored, mottled, and the features are large and rugged like the nature of the man himself; but it has—now that the feverish dream of his eventful life has declined—come to appear to have, by new interpretations and as seen through new mediums, a calm, dignified, and, some would say, a benevolent look. It is enough for one college that for a year Cromwell was her foster-child.

And now, for centuries, founding at Cambridge ends. Puritanism has set the world astir. The church, reformed as she prided herself to be, had her hands full to look after the already educated ones, and so no more founding of colleges for a long time was to be done; and we bridge over the chasm of 121 years, till, in 1717, Sir George Downing qualifiedly devised several valuable estates for the founding of a college within the precincts of the University; and so this is the seventeenth, and the last in order.

He died in 1749. The sole inheritor of the property died in 1764, and left the estates to his lady; but the terms of Sir George's will being that if his heirs died without issue the property was to go to the founding of a college as named, the estate was claimed by the University; and after years of litigation the validity of the will was established, and the seal was affixed to the charter of the new college, Sept. 22, 1800.

The corner-stone was laid with great ceremony, May 18, 1807, and it was opened in May, 1821, or more than 225 years from the date of the opening of the next one preceding it. The date of the founding of the first one, St. Peter's, being 1257, a period of 564 years intervened between the establishment of that first and this last one; and in all, from then till now, 626 years have passed, or more than a third of all the time since the birth of Christ.

However pleasant it would be to pass in review a few of the thoughts that come as it were demanding attention, we must pass all. Replete with interest are these two great centres of learning, Cambridge and Oxford, England's Yale and Harvard. How the destinies of men and nations, the civilized world over, have been not only influenced, but made and controlled by their influence! What hallowed grounds are these classic walks amid these trees, by the River Cam! How interesting are these venerable weather-worn walls, these courts, these half-destroyed stairs of stone, rasped away, and deep into, by feet of men distinguished and great in all the departments of intellectual life!

It was our intention to have spoken extendedly of the government of these institutions, and of many things pertaining to them, but we must refer the reader to the more appropriate sources of information for that. We would have spoken also of those grand old dining-halls, of which every college has one. Some of them are many centuries old, with quaint rich finish of old English oak, high open-timber roofs, fine windows, and grand old portraits adorning their walls. These halls are museums of interest inexpressible. Here are the very benches on which the boys sat, the greatest men of earth in embryo. The libraries, with their mementoes, their curious and rare old articles and books and paintings! How well we know that not one of our readers, who has not seen these things, can even approximately comprehend what we write. The old and new chapels! What repositories of greatness, and what charms inhere!

We would have spoken of great things outside the University, for there are many that are indeed great, and they crowd themselves up now, if for nothing more, for an honorable mention. The Fitzwilliam Museum has grand picture-galleries, and works of art and antiquity incredible; the building itself is a marvel of good architecture. Old St. Benedict's Church, one of the most perfect examples of Saxon architecture in England, is a thousand years old, with an extremely ancient burial-ground surrounding it. Old and grand St. Edward's was erected in 1350,—533 years ago. Here Latimer preached. How venerable and calm, interesting to admiration, is its little cemetery, 500 years old. The Church of St. Mary the Great, begun in 1478, completed in 1519, was towerless till 1608; and in the 130th year later arose the grand and imposing tower we now behold. That classical structure, the University Library, has 230,000 printed books and 3,000 manuscripts, of every language and tongue,—all this in addition to the 17 other libraries of the respective colleges! The great Geological Museum is excelled by none in the world; St. Michael's Church, built in 1324, is elegant now and in grand repair; as one has expressed it, "the old structure is to-day the most seemly and creditable in the town." The ancient Round Church consecrated in 1101, and afterwards restored, in a sense is itself a worshipper, as well as a place of worship for humanity.

We must speak of that curious fragment of architecture of the twelfth century, the School of Pythagoras. How quaint, how more than ancient! And we can only speak of—and, as it were, by the act slight that other antiquity—Barnwell Priory, founded in 1112, by old Payne Peverd, for Augustine canons. Once a place of magnificence, it declined, with none to care for it. At length a single department remained, and now that has come to the ignominious use of a common private stable. The Anatomical Museum, and the fine Botanical Gardens of thirty-eight acres, deserve mention. They shall have that much; they deserve volumes in their praise.

In closing a list of these objects of interest we name only one more, the Hobson Conduit. This is one of the things of general interest, for the students of the University for 200 years have looked upon it time-and-time-again. It is an octagonal structure, monumental in design, crowned with a cyma-recta dome, and having niches in each of the principal sides. Below these is a moulded octagonal section, resting on a square plain base. It was built in 1610, and stands at the city end of an artificial water-course leading from a place called the Nine Wells, three miles distant, and supplies the city with water. From the Hobson Conduit pipes distribute it over the place. Hobson's name is closely connected with Cambridge. He was born here in 1544, and is said to have been the first person in the kingdom who adopted the system of letting out horses for hire, and history says he did a flourishing business with the University students. He made it an unalterable rule that every horse should have an equal portion of rest as well as labor, and would never let one go out except in its turn; hence the celebrated saying often heard nowadays, when more than two hundred years old, repeated in America, "Hobson's choice,—this or none." He died Jan. 1, 1631, and though he had attained the patriarchal age of eighty-six, his death is attributed to his being obliged to discontinue his journey to London, while the plague was raging in Cambridge, and to this fact Milton alludes in the two humorous epitaphs he wrote on him.

There is one matter of interest yet remaining to be spoken of, and that relates to the government of the University. As before named, there are in all seventeen colleges. Each is an independent body, but is subject to the code of laws of the University, and in their administration all bear their share. The principal officer of the University is the Chancellor. His power is, strange to say, only nominal, and is, at that, delegated to a Vice-Chancellor elected annually from one of the heads of colleges. He is considered for the year the governor of this literary commonwealth. On all official occasions he is preceded by three Esquire Bedells, each bearing a large silver mace. There are next, elected annually, two Proctors, to attend to the discipline of the students of all the colleges, and assist in the general management of the University. Next is the Public Orator, who acts as the mouthpiece on all public occasions. We next have what are called Syndices, who are members of committees chosen to transact all special University business. There are many other minor officers, but those are the more important. The members of the University are, like our own, divided into two great orders, graduates and undergraduates, or those who have taken their degrees, and those who are yet students, and not graduated.

Each college also has its head, or, as we term it, President. At this University they are termed Masters, or sometimes, though less generally, Heads. Then, each has more or less members who are called Fellows. These are such as are maintained by the college revenues. Next are Pensioners; these are the ordinary students, who simply pay their own expenses, receiving no pecuniary advantage from the college. What are termed Scholars are students who, having displayed superior attainments, are elected by examination to have rooms rent free, payments of money, and other advantages, as a good and honorable residence and welcome at their Alma Mater. Finally are the Sizars. These are students of limited means, who have their commons free, and receive other emoluments. It may be well to mention that each college has its own peculiar undergraduate's gown, and that most of the degrees and faculties are distinguished by different costumes. The total number of members of the University is about 8,000. The University sends to the House of Commons two members, who are chosen by the collective body of the senate.

The revenues of the separate colleges are large, and derived from endowments and fees; but those of the University are small and rarely exceed £5,500 a year. The students are divided into four classes: Noblemen, who pay £50 caution money; Fellow-Commoners, who pay £25, and who receive their name from their privilege of dining,—having their commons at the table of their fellows; Pensioners, who pay £15, and form the great body of the students not on the foundation; and Sizars, who pay £10 and are students whose poverty prevents their taking advantage of many of the privileges of the University, though they are not shut out from any of its educational facilities. Sizars were once obliged to perform the most menial offices, but for many years this custom has been abolished. The matriculation fees for these classes of students are respectively as follows, £16, £11, £5. 10s., and £5. 5s.

There are various degrees of payment for tuition, according to the degree and condition of the members, and slightly varying in the several colleges. The annual, unavoidable average expenses of an undergraduate or student are about £70, or $350. There are in the University 430 fellowships tenable for life, but in most cases conditioned upon taking holy orders within a given period, and their value varies from £100 to £300 per annum. Since the days of Newton, Cambridge has been the chosen seat of mathematical science, but the tendency to make it a stronghold of learning in all the various branches has been increasing of late years.

It would be a pleasing work to follow on and give more extended notes of this great seat of learning. One while here is conscious that he is in no common place, for on this spot many of the mighty and really influential of earth began their great careers. No equal quantity of the earth's surface has been trodden by greater men than have walked here, and reverently we take our leave of the famed place, well conscious of what we have not spoken of.

The returns of 1880 gave the number in college as 1,399; 1,409 in lodgings; total, 2,808.

The following returns, compiled by the University Marshals, show the present number of residents at the various colleges, and also the number of unattached students. In the returns, graduates as well as undergraduates are included.

We now take our departure for London, completing the round trip which has employed twenty days inclusive. No like number can ever be filled with more satisfaction, or be replete with a greater interest. The route gone over is in all respects one that the experience has proved admirable and to be relied upon, as giving a sample of the best things that England and Scotland have to exhibit.

CHAPTER XX.

LONDON—WINDSOR—STOKE POGES.

We are now, at 10.30 a. m., back in London, after a ride of two hours from Cambridge. The old charm of London still remains. It never would grow old. We have two days left, before we start for the continent, and employ them to the best advantage we can. The first, and a very natural act, is to go to our banker's in Philpot Lane, for letters and papers from home, and also to obtain some of that, the love of which one of old thought the root of all evil. Next, home to our old lodgings at No. 46 Woburn Place, for reading documents and writing replies. Next we take an omnibus ride down through High Holborn to Newgate Street, and alight near St. Paul's. It's full time that we go there again, and to worship in our own way. Delighted even more than at first, we find ourselves unable to comprehend it. First views are never as comprehensive as later ones.

A feast of contemplation here, and then a walk through Cheapside, to view once more the Fire Monument. It stands in Fish Street and was built to commemorate the great fire of 1666. In design it is first a platform, on which is a pedestal 21 feet square, with a moulded base 28 feet square. It has a bold cornice, and all, to the top of this, is 40 feet high. On the top of this pedestal is a Roman Doric column, and above all is a vase, or urn, with what was designed to represent a flame issuing out of its top. The flame is gilded, and the entire monument is 215 feet high, or but five feet less than ours at Bunker Hill. It is so located that, should it be laid down lengthwise in a certain direction, extending from its present location, it would exactly reach the spot at which the fire originated in Pudding Lane.

Here we stop by the way to remark that in London the idea—and no bad one—prevails of retaining old familiar names. Philpot Lane is yet the cognomen for the place of eminent bankers. Mincing Lane is the seat for certain kinds of merchandise traffic. Fish Street retains its name as at the time of the fire; and Piccadilly, Cheapside, Paternoster Row, High Holborn, and Crutched Friars are, to most Americans, even as common as household words.

The monument is built of the white Portland sandstone; and inside, Bunker Hill Monument like, are circular stairs, 345 in number, leading to the iron gallery around on top of the capital of the great column. This gallery was inclosed some years ago with iron-work from the top of the rail, up some 8 feet, and covered at the top, forming an iron cage to prevent people from throwing themselves off with suicidal intentions, as was at times done. The great pedestal at the base contains in its four panels bas-reliefs, commemorative of the fire and events connected with the structure's erection. The monument is open daily, and for a small fee visitors are admitted to the gallery cage, from which very commanding views are had of the larger part of Old London, as well as the River Thames, and many outlying places in all directions. As from the top of the cathedral, the prospect is charming, and one is delighted as he views and contemplates this largest city of the world, more than two thousand years old, spread out below him; and how as by magic comes the thought that, from this elevated position, kings, queens, the most renowned ones of the old world and the new, have, as we are doing, looked out upon and been lost in contemplation of the scene!

The monument was built from designs furnished by Sir Christopher Wren. It was begun in 1671, and finished in 1677. It is justly esteemed as the noblest column in the world, being 24 feet higher than the Trajan Column at Rome. Next a walk to London Bridge, where, as Pepys would have said, "by boat to Westminster." As stated in our other remarks on London, this is an exceedingly pleasant way to travel from one part of London to the other; the boats ply often and thousands thus travel. And next, another tour through the grand old Abbey, and about the vicinity of Parliament House and Westminster Bridge; and so the day was well filled up. As at first, very interesting are these London rambles.

Friday, we are ready to take steam-cars for the famed city of

WINDSOR,

for which we start at 9 a. m. The ride of 23 miles is through well cultivated lands. The best of England are these fine suburbs. For 2,000 years have these same fields been cultivated, but they seem new and as virgin soil to-day. They are not povertized by continual takings-off and no returns, but manures are applied, constant attention is paid, and grand results come.

At length arrived, we find ourselves in the pretty rural city, with a population of 11,769. It is situated on the right bank of the Thames, and presents a very neat appearance, with a smart enterprising condition everywhere apparent. The streets are well paved and lighted, and while there is little that is antique to be seen, yet it is interesting from its look of substantial and finished appearance. Here, at the seeming centre of the place, or at least in the midst of a solid population, is the famed Windsor Castle, and of course this is what we have especially come to see. It is the occasional residence of the Queen, and the buildings cover twelve acres of ground, being surrounded by a terrace on three sides, which is 2,500 feet in length. They stand in an enclosure called the Little Park, which is four miles in circumference, and connected on the south by a long and remarkably fine avenue of trees with the Great Park, which is 18 miles in outline; and then again west of this is the Windsor Forest, having a circuit of 56 miles. Windsor has long been a seat of residence for royal blood, for here resided the Saxon kings before the Norman Conquest. The present castle however is less ancient, as it was founded by William the Conqueror, who died Sept. 9, 1087. It was, however, largely rebuilt by order of Edward III., under the supervision of William of Wykeham, the celebrated Bishop of Winchester, who was architect of the remarkably elegant nave of his cathedral, and died Sept. 24, 1404. The antiquity of the castle is from these dates readily seen; and we may add that one of the reasons which induced us so often in these articles to give dates of the death of important individuals, was to enable the reader to have data as regards the age of buildings, or of the time of occurrence of events narrated. Various repairs were made after that; but, so far as general arrangement and design are concerned, no changes were made for centuries, and they so continued till 1824-8, when new work was done and all put in complete condition under the superintendence of Sir Jeffrey Wyatville.

Visitors are freely admitted to the grounds and the castle, and a company is always present, thousands availing themselves of the privilege. We enter through the gateway from the city thoroughfare, which, as stated, is here very populous, and is even a commercial part of the place.

Not far inside the grounds, which here are simply macadamized, with no tree or shrub or grass lawn present, we first visit the grand St. George's Chapel, strongly reminding one of the chapel of King's College at Cambridge. The interior is magnificent, with lofty columns and arches, splendid traceried-stone, vaulted ceiling, a rich altar-screen, and stall-work of oak. It has no transepts, but, like the prototype named, is one long, high, and not over-wide room.

Beneath the chancel is what is called the Royal Vault, in which are the remains of Henry VI., died 1471; Edward IV., 1483; his queen, Margaret of Anjou, 1481; Henry VIII., 1547; Jane Seymour, his wife, 1537; Charles I., 1649; George III., 1820; his wife, Charlotte Sophia, 1817; George IV., 1830; his daughter, the Princess Charlotte; and later, the Duke of Kent, the Duke of York, William IV. and his queen, and other members of the royal family.

"Very royal dust this, and in great quantity," says an intense and high civilization; but, stript of its outward insignia, the royalty has gone, for no more is their dust respected by the great laws of nature, than is that of the beggar who sues for an humble pittance at the church door. The great destroyer makes all equal. Death is indeed a great leveller. The king in his marble sarcophagus is a beggar; and the beggar, uncoffined, it may be, in his common earth-grave, is a king. Harriet Martineau has well said:—

All men are equal in their birth,
Heirs of the earth and skies;

All men are equal when that earth
Fades from their dying eyes.

At the rear of St. George's is an ancient chapel, but of late refitted on the interior as a mausoleum, or place of burial, of the late Prince Albert, and in a style of magnificence rarely seen and never excelled. This was done at the expense and order of Queen Victoria. The finish around the room, for a quarter of its great height, is of very elaborate workmanship of marbles of various colors; and above this are beautiful Gothic windows of painted glass, the most brilliant and costly in the kingdom. The room may be 40 feet wide, 75 feet long, and 40 feet high; and at one end is the altar, and a most elegant cenotaph to the especial memory of the worthy Prince. Astonishingly magnificent is all.

We pass from the chapel to the great Central Tower. This is on a mound of earth, and may be fifty feet in diameter and as many feet high. From the top may be seen miles of the surrounding country, and all is indescribably grand. Off some miles, and quietly nestling, embowered in trees, is Newstead Abbey, where Byron received his rudimentary education; and in another direction, five miles away, are two objects of remarkable interest. One is the famous Eton School, one of the celebrated academical institutions of England. The other, to us Americans, if the statement is true, is a place yet more interesting,—the mansion-house, with its ample grounds, once occupied by William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania. Yet a mile beyond is another spot of great fame and renown, the burial-place of the poet Thomas Gray; and so in sight is the identical old church, to which he refers in his Elegy:—

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping Owl does to the Moon complain

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

A guide, stationed on the flattish roof of the great tower, is glib of tongue, telling of this and that thing to be seen. As he goes around with his company the entire circuit of the parapet, a part of the statement is that he has been stationed here now for eleven years. He likes Americans, he says, and can tell them the moment they appear in view. He thinks them very intelligent; but is amused, he adds, when he asks them where William Penn was buried, for not a man or a woman of them knows. We of course were a source of amusement to him, and were pleased to be the innocent cause of his mirth. Anything, consolingly we thought to ourselves, to break the monotony of his life; and so we were happy in the thought of the contribution we had made, and so unwittingly.

Down from this, and a walk about the premises, to here and there look over the walls, on the scenes outside and below. A guide came up, and, informing us that he was one of the appointed ones, we submitted; and so he became the fifth wheel to our coach. We were, however, taken in,—the first time and the last in our journey. When we went to the door of the castle proper we found he must remain outside, or we must pay for his admission. We thought we could find our way to the gate without him, and so we were rid of our encumbrance, though not without a tilt of large words in strong Saxon.

That door passed, we were in the waiting-room; and soon our turn came, and that of about a dozen others, to make a tour of the place. Certain rooms only are open to visitors. A portion of the structure is devoted to the private uses of the Queen and the royal family; but the reception-room, banquet-hall, and many semi-private rooms, most elegantly furnished, are open to visitors, and the articles exhibited are many of them of great value, having belonged to former kings and queens. The guide passes through these rooms with his company, explaining, as he passes, that this room is used for such a purpose, or was occupied as a sleeping-room by King So-and-So, or his queen, and that the furniture is now precisely as it was at the time of their death.

All is very interesting. But never is the situation or fact fully comprehended. To enjoy the sights and be entertained in these royal apartments, once so very private, and into which no common visitor was permitted to enter, is one thing; but to realize the great fact is another. How strange that these domicils of kings, and of the high blue-blood of the great realm of England, should come to be museums, gratifying the curiosity of American republicans, the very antipodes of all that is royal or monarchical.

After a very pleasant stay inside the buildings, we take a look at the exterior and the grounds. The latter, so far as seen by the visit we made, were simply bare, macadamized squares, but just outside the walls, on the other sides, are the great and elegant park-grounds, arenas, gardens, ponds, waterfalls, fountains, fine old tree-shaded walks; and every production that brain can devise or wealth procure has been lavished on these acres. The building called Windsor Castle is a vast deal more than a single edifice; and so, in considering it, let not that mistake be made. It is composed of many parts, or portions, with large open courts, or squares, wholly or partially surrounded by the buildings. The latter are quite irregular in outline, and none of them are very high; but there are a plenty of square and round towers of different sizes, with battlements around their tops, of castle-like finish, and a variety of windows, to give it the castle look. If any mistake was made by us in advance, it was to anticipate too compact a building, and not enough of great extent,—one too old and ancient in appearance, and of too high an elevation. From the rise of ground on which the castle stands, the whole is conspicuous from many points on the railway, for miles distant; and the view of the granite-like colored structure—clean, large in extent, very irregular in outline of upper part as seen from these points, the whole beautifully embosomed in thick foliage of trees—presents a charming effect. When the Queen is present, which is for a few weeks at a time at intervals, a large flag floats from the top of the great tower, and that is evidence of her royal presence.

We pass out of the great gate and are again in a seemingly republican street, and things resume an American aspect and appearance. Another dreamish condition we have been in, and now seem back on the substantial ground of common humanity and, we may add, common sense. We breathe freer, and as we think the whole scheme over, of the work doing by John Bright, by Gladstone, and a host of others,—when we remember that now for the first time in English history all of the people, think, talk, and act,—we know the outcome will be good and an advance be made.

Having been alternately filled with admiration and disgust,—with indescribable charm and wonder, and with grand anticipations of the good time coming,—we say "Another dream-day has come and is passing," and we reluctantly move on and ruthlessly tear ourselves away from these bewitching conditions and contemplations; and now at 3 p. m. are ready for a visit to the famed Stoke Poges. Ever memorable, and to all coming time it will be, as the spot made classic by Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard."

At 3.30 p. m. we leave the castle gate, and negotiate for our team to Stoke Poges, a place of very uneuphonious name, but classic and known the civilized world over. Teams for hire are in abundance, and are with their drivers in waiting for employment. The appearance of a stranger, especially if an American, is a signal for an attack. We had long since learned the art of management of a case of the kind at Montreal and Quebec in our own country, and the flank movement is to appear to be in want of anything but a team. One must work up alongside the boundary line of fact and truth; and the tendency is to at times cross it and get over on the other side. When taking most notice, and doing best work of selecting, the Yankee, to appearance, never did hire a team, and never will. To make the story short we will say that without a beating down as regards price, but to accommodate the driver, who was spoiling to carry us for $3.00,—when at first he, with all his fellows, made a mistake, and asked $5.00,—we were at length seated in his team; and, while the army of other drivers were retiring crestfallen, were being trundled in the heavy English top-buggy, top turned back, and were being grandly transported through the pretty streets of Windsor, out among the fine gardens, and half-metropolitan, half-suburban scenery, on our way to Stoke.

Never will be forgotten that inspiring ride, for all the way it was through charming scenery. At times over broad thoroughfares, in which the refinement of a high civilization had for 500 years concentrated; then into narrow lanes finely hedged on their sides, shaded by grand old elms and ever-fragrant lindens, sweet in their good foliage and new blossoms; and so on and on—new scenes charming, the clear air invigorating, thoughts of Old England inspiring—we, after the ride of three miles, are at one of the great seats of academical education—the famed Eton School, as well known, and for centuries it has been, as any college at Cambridge or Oxford. This, and that at Newstead Abbey, the old London St. Paul's, the Blue-Coat School, and the Westminster one, are a part of England's history and are as renowned as the soil itself. What a charm there is to the story of Eton and Rugby! The grounds are ample, well laid out, and contain fine old trees and shrubbery,—few or no houses encroaching, or in the neighborhood; the whole territory has a very retired and rural appearance. There is nothing however of the very antique or ancient look such as we anticipated. As a whole, all was to us, with our pre-conceived idea, too modern and new. The buildings are of brick. They are somewhat broken in outline and design, but suggested a factory-like appearance. How many poets, philosophers, and men in all the learned walks of life here fitted for the great universities! How very renowned and sacredly classic are these grounds! We would stop by the way and enumerate, but must forbear and pass on to the more immediate object of our tour; for off in the distance, charmingly embowered in trees, is the sharp-pointed spire of the poetically immortalized church, resting on its "ivy-mantled tower." The spire is built of a whitish stone and is very sharply pointed. How alluring and attractive it is, how entrancing is the thought that about it, and so near us, is the "yew tree's shade," of which the pensive poet speaks!

We ride on, and pass down into the old lane leading to Lord Taunton's park; we go into his carriage-path, and how charming the finish of everything, and what sublime repose! We pass along and arrive on our left at a pleasant, homelike cottage, with a neatly kept yard in front. How familiar the scene! Honest old hollyhocks, delicate petunias, gorgeous marigolds, sweet mignonette, and such things as are intensely American, and countryish at that, are in profusion. The arrival of a team—and many come every day—is the signal for a buxom, rosy-cheeked damsel to come out of the cottage and open the gate. No remarks by her. She does not comprehend the scheme. All is mechanically done, and is a result of usage and every-day life. If she thinks at all, it is to wonder why the visitors come. A lesser thing never comprehends a greater. To her, as to any one without a proper standard, as Wordsworth said,—

A primrose by a river's brim,
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.

The fence across our road, of which she opens the gate, is of open-work, iron, plain paling, and encloses one side of the churchyard of which Gray wrote:—

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,

Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

It is an enclosure of perhaps two acres, and simply fenced in from a large grazing-field. The place is by no means solitary in appearance, though no house save the cottage is near it, or in near view, for it is out in the full sunlight, and has for company and suburbs, fine groves, lawns, distant hills, and every accompaniment of good rural character. As Whittier says of our New England burial-grounds,—

With flowers or snowflakes for its sod,
Around the seasons ran,

And evermore the love of God
Rebuked the fear of man.

The ground inside has a very clean and well-kept, though not especially ancient look. There are many gravestones, and but few monuments. A wide modern path, or carriage-way, leads from the gate to the church itself. The latter, which is perhaps 500 feet from the gate, has a very ancient look. It is low, and built of small flintstones. The roof is very high and presents two gable-ends, with a large Gothic window in each; at the other end two gables are also shown, with one some higher than the other. The tower is at the extreme right of the building, up at the farther end, and outside of and against the high part before named. It is square, quite large for its height, having a battlement around the top, and every part of it is so covered with ivy as to expose no portion of the stonework to view. The spire above this is very clean, and of a whitish stone. A large portion of the church itself is covered, or mantled, as Gray expressed it, with ivy; and it may here be added that the ivy is of the common, dark, substantial-leaved kind that we so commonly cultivate in pots, or, in the warmer parts of our country, on the outside of buildings. Who can stand in this place, gazing on this ancient church as the poet Gray many a time did, and not think of that terse and expressive line of the great poem, where he speaks of the quietness of the evening:—

And all the air a solemn stillness holds.

The famed "yew-tree's shade" is here, for at our left, as we pass up the great path, or driveway, and near the end of the church which is on our right, with little more than the path named between it and the great tree, the latter stands sentinel-like, as it has stood for a century,—its dark, sombre, fanlike horizontal branches reaching almost to the ground, and throwing pall-like shadows over our way. The side walls of the enclosure on two sides, and near the church, are of brick, and their tops and parts of their sides are grandly covered with ivy; and to the right, in the adjoining lot, are trees and thick shrubbery; and we are again reminded of Whittier, where he says of one of our country burial-grounds:—

Without the wall a birch-tree shows
Its drooped and tasseled head;

Within, a stag-horned sumach grows,
Fern-leaved, with spikes of red.

Under the large window of the left gable-end, the one nearest the road, and up five or more feet from the ground, is a marble slab, some fifteen inches high and two feet long, which bears the following inscription:—

Opposite to this stone, in the same tomb upon which he has so feelingly recorded his grief at the loss of a beloved parent, are deposited the remains of Thomas Gray, the author of the Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. He was buried August 6, 1771.

The mother was memorable for her sorrows and her devotion to her family. Her husband was selfish, morose, passionate, and tyrannical. The mother kept a little china-shop to help educate her son. He wrote, for her tombstone in this burial-ground, as follows:—

Here sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, widow: the careful, tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her.

Beautiful in all its conditions was this churchyard; and while we were here the birds sang merrily, and the sounds of summer and the odor of a new fresh vegetation made it a paradise complete. That quiet and repose, usual to a spot so removed from the "busy haunts of men," this hamlet of the dead, seemed to underlie all, and the "calm retreat" was all we had anticipated.

As we pass out of the gate and into the outlying field, to the left is a stately stone monument, not long ago built to the poet's memory. It is of good design, and on it are befitting quotations from his poetry; but after all we were sorry to see it. The churchyard, the church itself, the ivy-mantled tower, the Elegy, these are his better monument. He needs no other. It were foolish to "gild refinèd gold or paint the lily." It is well to say of these, as was said for the great architect of St. Paul's, Sir Christopher Wren, "If you seek his monument, look around you."

It should be stated, in passing, that another spot claims, and with some little show of reason, that it, and not this, is the famous "country churchyard;" but, after giving thought to the matter, it appears that till new evidence to the contrary is produced, this spot will have the honors.

As the Elegy has made this place celebrated, and immortalized its name as well as that of its composer, it may be well to say that when Gray had completed it, he handed his manuscript to friends, but he himself doubted its merits, and conscientiously thought it weak and too sentimental. Others, however, saw its value, and, to the author's astonishment, so great was its fame, that on being published, it was soon translated into Greek, Latin, Italian, Portuguese, French, German, and even into Hebrew.

He was born in Cornhill, London, Dec. 26, 1716. On the 30th of July, 1771, while at dinner, he was attacked with convulsions, and died a few days after, in his 55th year.

Of his memorable prose remarks we give but one selection, which shows the industrious habits and inside life of the man. He said:—

I am persuaded the best way of living is always to have something going forward. Happy are they who, if they cannot do anything greater, can create a rosebush or erect a honeysuckle.

As we think of this we are reminded of the like opinion held by the great Daniel Webster, who entertained so much regard for the Elegy that he had portions of it read to him but a few hours before his departure. When the statesman was once asked what was in his opinion the best way to enable one to be comfortable during the heat of summer, he replied: "Always have something to do. Keep busy, and you'll have no time to think of the heat."

It is said of General Wolf, that while he was floating on the River St. Lawrence, on the evening of Sept. 12, 1759,—the night before his memorable attack on Quebec, in which on the next day he lost his life,—he was beguiling an hour in reading Gray's poems, and closing the book, said: "I had rather be the author of that poem, the Elegy, than to be the captor of Quebec."

We now turn our feet homeward, and as our carriage passes, we take a distant look, perhaps half a mile away, of the old mansion and grounds once occupied by William Penn, or at least in which he is said to have resided. Of the proof of this we may say that we have none, aside from the assertion of the guide stationed on the tower at the castle and of people who reside in the region. Our history of the great man is somewhat meagre concerning his last days. One of his last official public acts in America was to aid in making our Philadelphia a city, the charter of which was signed Oct. 28, 1701. He soon after returned to England, and was for the next succeeding years involved in much trouble on account of his business matters in Pennsylvania, by reason of the vicious conduct of his son, to whom he had intrusted his affairs, and commissioned to act as his representative. And then as now, troubles never come singly; for after his already eventful life, at the age of 64 a new and grievous trouble was in store for him. At this time died his trusted friend and agent in London, a Quaker by the name of Ford, who left to his executors false claims against Penn to a very large amount. Conscious of his integrity, and to avoid the extortion, he suffered himself to be committed to the Fleet Prison in London. This was in 1708, and he remained there a long time, till finally released by his friends, who, as best they could, compounded with the creditors. In 1712 he made arrangements with the crown for a transfer of his rights in Pennsylvania, receiving from it $60,000. He soon after was afflicted with paralysis; and though living yet six more years, and experiencing other shocks which greatly impaired his vigor and faculties, especially his memory and power of motion, he finally died at Ruscombe, Berkshire, July 30, 1718, at the age of 74, and was buried in Jordan, a Quaker burial-ground, near the village of Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire.

In passing we remark that, during the plague at London in 1665, Milton made Ruscombe his residence, and that here he finished his great poem, "Paradise Lost." And who can say how much of the coloring of the celebrated poem is not to be attributed to the trouble the people of London, as well as the great bard, were, in consequence of the plague, experiencing? This parish is about twenty miles north of Stoke Pogis, in the county of Buckingham, as before named.

We took our team back for Windsor, and train from there to London, arriving at 8.30 p. m.,—well repaid for our labors of the eventful day, if labor which was a perpetual pleasure can be so called. For the first time in one's life, being at and seeing Windsor Castle and the seat of the great Elegy! A great thing doing and done! A long breath, and no befitting remark; only silence, thankfulness, and contemplation avail.