John Evelyn, whom we have seen at Oxford, also visited Cambridge, and has left us notes of the state in which he found the University. He describes St. John's as being an edifice well built of brick, and having the best library of any of the colleges, with ornaments of pietra commessa (marble inlaid of various colours), and containing amongst its curiosities "a vast old song book" and other MSS., and a portrait of Archbishop Williams. Trinity was renowned for its quadrangle, which our diarist, however, considered inferior to that of Christ Church, Oxford, although he acknowledged that the fountain was graceful, and that the chapel and library were fair: the illuminated MSS. and the other antiquities greatly interested the Royalist visitor. King's College Chapel, with its groined stone roof, answered his expectation. Clare Hall, of "new and noble design," but "not finished;" Peter House having "a delicate chapel;" the fine college of Sidney; Catherine Hall, "a mean structure;" Emanuel, a "zealous house;" Jesus College, "one of the best built, but in a melancholy situation; and" Christ's College, the modern part, of "exact architecture," are all noticed: but Cambridge evidently was eclipsed in Evelyn's estimation by the glories of his own Alma Mater. He pronounces the schools "despicable," the public library "mean:" but he has a word of praise for the market-place of the town, and for "old Hobson, the pleasant carrier's beneficence of a fountain."[277]

After what has been said of John Dell, no one can form a favourable idea of the state of Caius College under his administration. But other heads of Houses were persons of a very different stamp. Dr. Thomas Hill, master of Trinity, and Dr. John Arrowsmith, master of St. John's, were both old-fashioned Puritans. Both were decidedly Presbyterian. Both were Evangelical and devout, and both, fired with religious zeal, were anxious for the spiritual welfare of the University. Neither of them, perhaps, possessed much scholarship or any refinement of taste, and their quaint writings, long since forgotten, seem to be such as the most intense admirers of quaintness could hardly read now-a-days with any interest—yet they alike encouraged theological studies, and valued learning as an indispensable pre-requisite for a good Divine. Dr. Lazarus Seaman, also a Presbyterian—who had succeeded Dr. Cosin as master of Peter House—appears from Wood's testimony to have been skilled in Oriental languages, in casuistry, and in the history of ecclesiastical controversies. He had even won favour from Charles I., when attending him in the Isle of Wight, as one of the Parliamentary Commissioners. Dr. Tuckney, another Presbyterian—who had succeeded Dr. Holdsworth in the mastership of Emanuel, and afterwards Dr. Arrowsmith in the mastership of St. John's—when exhorted to have regard to the godly in his elections, replied, with a dash of humour—"No one should have greater regard to the truly godly than himself, but he was determined to choose none but scholars; adding, they may deceive me in their godliness, they cannot in their scholarship."[278] The number of Presbyterians at Cambridge, as compared with Oxford, is accounted for by the fact that the change at Cambridge occurred at the beginning of the wars, when the Presbyterians were in power, and that the change at Oxford took place at the end of the wars, when the Independents were in the ascendant. Under the circumstances, Oxford would naturally be more of an Independent, and Cambridge more of a Presbyterian University.

Dr. Minshall, a Conformist at the Restoration—chosen, according to the statutes, master of Sidney, on the death of Dr. Ward—held that post for life with a high reputation. Dr. Simpson, as master of Pembroke, acquitted himself with a love of learning, and a zeal for godliness corresponding with his oration at the commencement of 1653; he died in 1658 with joy befitting his holy life.

The college presidents at Cambridge during the Commonwealth best known to fame are Witchcot, Lightfoot, and Cudworth.

On the ejection of Dr. Collins—who would not take the Engagement—Dr. Witchcot became provost of King's. Neither a Presbyterian, nor an Independent, he held Episcopal views, with extreme moderation; and afterwards conformed to the Church of the Restoration, as he did to the Church of the Commonwealth. He had never sworn to the Covenant; he probably looked upon the Engagement simply as a bond of political submission; and on the whole, he seems to have belonged to the class of persons who do not hold the Divine right of any particular form of ecclesiastical government, but decide that question upon grounds of expediency;—adopting what they consider to be the best practical method for propagating the principles and promoting the morals of Christianity. The few posthumous publications of this Divine, collected by his admirers, are not sufficient to support his fame, which arose no doubt from his preaching and conversation, his candour and catholicity, his amiableness and benevolence. Witchcot's reputation is a striking example of the power of personal influence. "He had great credit," says Burnet, writing many years afterwards, "with some that had been eminent in the late times, but made all the use he could of it to protect good men of all persuasions. He was much for liberty of conscience; and being disgusted with the dry, systematical way of those times, he studied to raise those who conversed with him to a nobler set of thoughts, and to consider religion as a seed of a deiform nature (to use one of his own phrases). In order to this he set young students much on reading the ancient philosophers, chiefly Plato, Tully, and Plotinus; and on considering the Christian religion as a doctrine sent from God, both to elevate and sweeten human nature, in which he was a great example, as well as a wise and kind instructor."[279] A man must have had some extraordinary qualities to produce such influence, and to create such a reputation, leaving them behind for years afterwards surrounded by such a lustrous halo.

Dr. Brownrigg had been ejected from Catherine Hall as a non-Covenanter, and Dr. Spurstow, who had succeeded him there, was subsequently dismissed for refusing to take the Engagement.[280] The vacancy thus occasioned was supplied by the appointment to it of Dr. Lightfoot. Lightfoot, who has been already mentioned as one of the Assembly of Divines, surpassed both his predecessors at Catherine Hall in depth of learning and literary repute. Whilst his Erastian opinions would remove difficulties out of the way of his submission to the changes which occurred in the government of the Church and the University—his extraordinary attainments as a Rabbinical scholar, and the wide range of his general knowledge, eminently fitted him for the high scholastic position which he attained at Cambridge. Perhaps no other Englishman ever possessed such a consummate acquaintance with the whole range of Hebrew and Biblical literature, so far as it existed in his own time; and although his works bear a somewhat varied and fragmentary appearance, and include questions of chronology, as well as enquiries into texts and versions, comments and paraphrases—they all relate more or less to that which was the great object of his life—a harmony of the four Evangelists, and the elucidation of the sacred narrative from the writings of the Rabbis. We are not aware of any other writer who has done so much in the same way to aid the study of the New Testament.[281]

The brilliant reputation of Dr. Cudworth—who succeeded the Episcopalian Dr. Pask—in the mastership of Clare Hall, and who afterwards held the mastership of Christ's college, is almost enough, in some respects, to eclipse the lustre of the other two. Like his contemporary, Lightfoot, he addicted himself much to the study of Hebrew antiquities, having been in the year 1645 chosen Regius Professor of Hebrew; and, also like both Lightfoot and Witchcot, he entertained very broad views of ecclesiastical polity; but his unrivalled acquaintance with Plato and the Platonists, and with the Alexandrian philosophers and fathers, was a peculiar distinction which has made him a sign and a wonder ever since. His "Intellectual System" is a marvel in literature. Yet, strange to say, though it be the most patient sifting Atheism ever received, this book from its candour, and its honest scrutiny into everything which can be advanced against the fundamental truth of all religion, brought upon the author the most cruel and absurd attacks—attacks which proceeded so far that he was even charged with holding the very Atheism which his prodigious powers and resources had been employed to overturn. This unrighteous controversy however, is, after all, but a specimen of the blinding fury which even in our own day inspires certain persons—as ignorant as they are honest—in their championship of orthodoxy, and in their suspicion of error. It also illustrates the prejudice and malignity often existing in the hearts of bigots against persons, who with the deepest convictions of truth, combine a candid disposition, a tolerant temper, and a charitable judgment of their adversaries.

At the same time there existed at Cambridge a noted band, including men of great learning, intellect, and piety—who sympathized with Lightfoot, Witchcot, and Cudworth—especially with the last two, in their more select studies, and in their most generous sentiments. Simon Patrick, Fellow of Queen's, was a man whom the turn of his mind—though more devout and practical than speculative—did not prevent from appreciating and admiring the endowments and culture of his more gifted friends. Henry More—the Platonist and mystic, and a disciple of Descartes, with his "Song of the Soul," and his "Conjectura Cabalistica"—written at the request of a Quaker—full of admiration for Pythagoras—remained Fellow and Tutor in Christ's college, although he was offered the mastership of that foundation before it fell to the lot of Cudworth. But in the same direction, John Smith, fellow of Queen's, went far beyond Simon Patrick and Henry More—combining as he did much of the practical piety of the first, with all the speculative genius of the second. His sermons are extraordinary productions, full of deep and comprehensive thought; which, whilst tinged with mysticism, are truly Evangelical, and eminently adapted to build up a holy life.

Burnet remarks respecting the individuals whom we have named, "All these, and those who were formed under them, studied to examine further into the nature of things than had been done formerly. They declared against superstition on the one hand, and enthusiasm on the other. They loved the constitution of the Church, and the Liturgy, and could well live under them. But they did not think it unlawful to live under another form. They wished that things might have been carried with more moderation. And they continued to keep a good correspondence with those who had differed from them in opinion, and allowed a great freedom both in philosophy and in divinity. From whence they were called men of latitude, and upon this, men of narrower thoughts and fiercer tempers fastened upon them the name of Latitudinarians. They read Episcopius much; and the making out the reasons of things being a main part of their studies—their enemies called them Socinians. They were all very zealous against Popery. And so, they becoming soon very considerable, the Papists set themselves against them to decry them as Atheists, Deists, or at best Socinians."[282]

It is curious to find such men in the very heart of a Puritan age. They were founders of a new order of religious thought, new, at least, in reference to the mental habits in general of that period. They did not assail Puritanism, nor, indeed, assume an attitude of opposition to other good men of any class—they preferred to build up rather than to pull down, to heal rather than to wound; but certainly their sympathies did not run in Puritan lines. They appreciated the eminent piety of many contemporaries of that school, and they lived with them upon terms of friendship; but, for their own part, they maintained broader views of theology than did their brethren. Their interest in the study of Plato and Plotinus, and their elevation of what is moral over what is merely intellectual gave to their method of enquiry, and to the conclusions which they reached, a certain cast, which plainly distinguished them from the kind of teaching found in the Westminster Confession, and in the standard works of the Puritan Divines.

Differences have always obtained in the mode of contemplating Christianity, according with various types of mind and with various descriptions of culture and circumstances. Aristotelian and Platonic forms of thought, so obvious in theological history, are amongst its common facts; and when we recollect that such forms are the inevitable consequences of original varieties in the intellectual nature of mankind, they appear also to belong to its greatest mysteries. Occasionally overlooked, even by philosophers, and habitually forgotten by controversialists, the remembrance of them is so important, that if forgotten, the changes and collisions which occur in the progress of theological enquiry—whether in primitive, mediæval, or modern times—must remain unintelligible. And the spectacle of the logical dogmatist on the one hand, and the sentimental mystic on the other, deriving different impressions from the same object—and then looking each other in the face, with expressions of marvellous surprise, that they cannot both see one and the same thing in one and the same way—can never be explained by those who do not keep before them the fact just noticed. As there were different ineradicable idiosyncracies in Clement and Tertullian, in Origen and Augustine, in Bernard and Abelard, in Bonaventura and Thomas Aquinas, in John Tauler and John Calvin—so there were idiosyncracies equally ineradicable in John Smith and John Owen, in Ralph Cudworth and in Richard Baxter. The influence of circumstances in reference to the Cambridge school coincided with the intellectual character of the members, and contributed to the development of its theological peculiarities. Early education, the stimulus derived from other minds, in some respects very different, and the reactions consequent upon the unfolding of tendencies to their furthest extreme, are all to be reckoned amongst the factors of religious opinion. The theology of the men to whom we now refer was partly the result of that training which they had received in Greek philosophy, and which had formed part of the Cambridge system in their early days[283]; and of that study of the Greek fathers, which had been promoted, perhaps, by the example of Andrewes; partly, also, it was a reaction both against the stiff ritualism of the Laudian party, and against the rigid and severe doctrinalism of the Puritans. A good example of what constituted the pith of the teaching which we have briefly noticed, occurs in an introduction to "Smith's Select Discourses," written by his friend, Dr. John Worthington.[284]

Godliness he explains as signifying "infinitely more than a power to dispute with heat and vehemency about some opinions, or to discourse volubly about some matters in religion, and in such forms of words as are taking with the weak and unskilful; more than a power to pray without a form of words; for these and the like may be, and frequently are done by the formal and unspiritual Christian; more than a power to deny themselves in some things that are easy to part with, and do not much cross their inclinations, their self-will, their corrupt designs and interests, nor prejudice their dear and more beloved lusts and pleasures, their profitable and advantageous sins; and more than a power to observe some lesser and easier commands, or to perform an outward obedience arising out of slavish fear, void of inward life and love, and a complacency in the law of God." And further, he dwells with delight on "the mighty acts and noble achievements of the more excellent, though less ostentatious Christians, who, through faith in the goodness and power of God, have been 'enabled to do all things through Christ, knowing both how to abound, and how to be abased;' enabled to overcome the world without them, and the love of the world within them; enabled to overcome themselves—and for a man 'to rule his own spirit' is a greater instance of power and valour than 'to take a city,' as Solomon judgeth;—enabled to resist the powers of darkness, and to quit themselves like men and good soldiers of Jesus Christ—giving many signal overthrows to those lusts that war against their souls, and to the mightiest and strongest of them, the sons of Anak; and by engaging in the hardest services of this spiritual warfare, wherein the Pharisaical boasters dare not follow them, they shew that there is a spirit of power in them, and that they can do more than others."[285]

Yet, whilst we are quite disposed to do justice to these admirable individuals, we cannot but discover in the later effects of their example some things which must be exceedingly deplored. Their breadth of charity was followed by an amount of latitudinarianism with which they themselves were not chargeable. And their attempts to determine and establish the higher position of what is moral, in comparison with what is intellectual in Church life and in Church creeds, led ultimately to an inexcusable neglect of the distinctive doctrines of Christianity. The profitableness of virtue, and the reasonableness of religion, became the all-absorbing themes. Hard, dry Rationalism, bearing a Christian name, with never-ending discussions on evidences, appears throughout the first half of the eighteenth century as a development of the weak side of the Cambridge divinity in the seventeenth.

Between this and the Oxford theology of the Commonwealth period, a remarkable contrast presents itself. The most distinguished Oxford Divines then were Owen and Goodwin. Howe—who in genius and feeling was far less remote than they were from Cudworth and Smith, and who possessed a still nobler intellect, and also presented a life of still rarer beauty than either of his fellow Independents—was but a young man at the time of which we speak, and could exercise no such influence as belonged to the Dean of Christ Church and the President of Magdalen. The theology of these two Divines was Puritan to the core, and whilst betraying Puritan defects, it exhibited, in a high degree, Puritan excellencies. It sometimes assigned to a really subordinate theory the place belonging to a supremely important fact; it failed to distinguish adequately between Divine premises and human inferences; also it was deficient in sympathy with pure thought, spiritual desire, and honest endeavours after goodness beyond its own circle; and it lacked that breadth of sympathy which was cultivated by the Cambridge worthies, which redounded so much to their honour. But then let it be remembered, that on the part of the Oxford Puritans there existed a loyalty to that which is peculiar, and characteristic in the Gospel of Christ—a loyalty which redeemed their worst weaknesses. They loved the Gospel as a message of free mercy to the children of Adam, as a revelation of redeeming grace through the mystery of the cross; and they dwelt largely, emphatically, and in a way not to be misunderstood, upon what makes the New Testament a book of life and joy to conscience-stricken men. And the veins of gold running through their works rendered them a mine of wealth a hundred years afterwards, when people impoverished by Rationalism flocked to it as to a spiritual California. Indeed, the Methodism ultimately fixed outside the establishment by Whitefield and the two Wesleys—who were all three nurtured at Oxford—was largely dug out of Puritan beds of Christian ore. In the largest measure, and in the directest way, this was the case with Whitefield's theology. With respect to John Wesley, although Oxford Puritanism was not without influence upon his mind, yet that influence was less direct than it seems to have been in the history of his Calvinistic friend, and in Wesley's case it was certainly mixed with powerful ingredients which were derived from Cambridge sources. The school of Divines just noticed stood high in his estimation,[286] and he was affected by them not only through the perusal of their writings, but likewise through the medium of an eminent disciple of theirs—William Law, who was one of Wesley's personal friends.

Still more decidedly the Evangelicalism of the last century fostered within the establishment by Romaine, and Berridge, and Venn, was derived from the influence of Owen and his companions; and thus defects attaching to the theology which had sprung up at Cambridge were supplied by the theology which had been cherished and promoted at Oxford. Too long these schools of thought have stood apart. Is not the time come for uniting evangelical faith and zeal, as decided and fervent as were those of Owen and Goodwin, with a sympathy for all truth—with a recognition of the relations of Christianity to the entire universe of thought—with a catholic charity in judging other men—and with an estimate of the supremacy of spiritual goodness, in no respect less broad, but in every respect more healthy than that which prevailed in some of the colleges within the University of Cambridge two hundred years ago?

We shall terminate, without endeavouring to complete the list of Cambridge notabilities, by simply mentioning Edward Stillingfleet, Fellow of St. John's, afterwards Bishop of Worcester; David Clarkson, Fellow of Clare, an eminent Nonconformist Divine; John Tillotson, who succeeded Clarkson in his Fellowship, and at last attained the Primacy; Francis Holcroft, another Fellow on the same foundation, occupying, along with Tillotson, a chamber over the college gate—and distinguished alike by his attainments and by his sufferings for conscience' sake; John Ray, the well-known naturalist, Fellow of Trinity; and William Cave, the author of "Primitive Christianity," who graduated in the year 1656, and who died Canon of Windsor.

A new University was attempted. The Grand Jury of the county of Durham, at the summer assizes in the year 1650, presented a petition to Parliament, praying that lands of the Dean and Chapter not then sold might be granted for founding a college of students in that city. After the winter assizes of 1651-2, another petition from the Grand Jury was dispatched to Westminster, pressing the subject upon the attention of the legislature. The project went to sleep a while; and then, in the year 1656, Oliver Cromwell—who had from the first favoured the plan, in spite of characteristic remonstrances from George Fox—issued an ordinance for a collegiate establishment in the Palatinate. The credit of the suggestion is due to gentlemen of the county: the merit of proceeding to carry it into effect to the Lord Protector. Lambert, Montague, and Rouse—a Committee of his Highness's council—had recommended the scheme as of great advantage to the northern parts of England, both in reference to promoting the preaching of the Gospel, and the wise education of young men; and in accordance with the recommendation, the ordinance ordained and appointed the institution under the name of the Master or Provost, Fellows and Scholars of the College in Durham, of the foundation of Oliver, Lord Protector of the Commonwealth. It was to occupy the site of the Deanery, Prebendal houses, Cathedral Church, and Castle, and to continue a College for ever. The charter authorized one Provost, two Preachers or senior Fellows, and twelve other Fellows—four to be Professors, four to be Tutors, four to be Schoolmasters. Moreover, it created twenty-four scholarships. Philip Hunton was nominated Provost, and was to receive above £200 per annum out of the rich Rectory of Sedgefield, in the Bishopric of Durham, besides holding the living of Westbury, in Wilts, whence he was ejected in 1662. A concise treatise, "Concerning Monarchy," published by this person in the year 1643, entitles him, in the estimation of some, to be considered a worthy precursor of Sidney and Locke—of which, at least, this proof appears, that the book was burnt in the school quadrangle of Oxford in 1683.[287] To William Spinage, Fellow of Exeter, Oxford—"a good Divine," "a great philosopher and disputant," and "a man of much integrity and zeal"—and to Joseph Hill, Fellow of Magdalen, Cambridge—a popular tutor, and a zealous Proctor—were assigned the positions of first Preachers or senior Fellows. Thomas Vaughan, John Kister, Robert Wood, and John Peachil—all University graduates—were to be the first four Professors. Nathaniel Vincent—pronounced by Wood a "considerable scholar," described by Calamy as serious, humble, godly, of sober principles, and great zeal and diligence, and known as the author of several practical treatises—was appointed one of the first four Schoolmasters.[288]

The Cathedral Church, Churchyard, and Free School, with the unsold estates of the Dean and Chapter, and an annual revenue, in addition, of £900 out of certain manors, rectories, and impropriations, constituted the endowment. Moreover, the library of books, the manuscripts, and the mathematical and other instruments belonging to the Cathedral were made over to the same institution. The Provost, Fellows, and Scholars were to be a Corporation for purchasing and holding property, having a common seal, and to be governed by laws made by the Lord Protector and his Council. The ordinance gives a long list of visitors, including Sir Thomas Widdrington, Speaker of the House of Commons, Lords Fairfax, Grey, Wharton, and Falconbridge, Sir Henry Vane, and Sir Arthur Haselrig. Amongst the clerical visitors occur the names of the eminent Edward Bowles of York, and of Richard Gilpin—a name of great honour in the north. Like Bernard Gilpin, who was of the same family, he refused the bishopric of Carlisle, and like that illustrious preacher and parish priest, he was preeminent for pastoral diligence and for pulpit eloquence.[289] The Corporation of the College was empowered to set up "a printing press and a rolling press," and to buy "paper, iron, tin, and letters," free of customs. The right was granted of printing Bibles, and of licensing books for publication, together with the monopoly of all works issuing from their press. The Provost, Fellows, and Scholars were to be exempt from "watching, warding, or mustering, or any hue and cry," and from all civic and rural offices, from that of mayor down to that of scavenger. They were also exempted from all customs, and their horses were not subjected to any liability—as the charter expresses it—"to ride post." The instrument bears date the 15th of May, 1657.[290] The next year Oliver Cromwell died, upon which came a petition to the Protector Richard, praying that he would complete what his father had begun. But opposition arose on the part of Oxford and Cambridge. They petitioned against a third University, and especially against conferring degrees—which, by the way, is a power not mentioned in any part of Oliver's ordinance. The whole project of course fell to the ground at the Restoration.

Sir William Petty, in a letter to Hartlib, Milton's friend, proposed a third University in the Metropolis, and also a school for all classes—none to be excluded by reason of the poverty and inability of their parents; "for hereby," says the writer, "many are now holding the plough which might have been made fit to steer the State."[291] The unsuccessful schemes of the Commonwealth have been accomplished, to some extent, in our own time, in the Durham and London Universities, and it is to the credit of the men of that day that they anticipated the wisdom of posterity.

Before closing this chapter, we may glance at certain ancient foundations in which religion was blended with chivalry and with education. The order of the Garter disappeared. One of the Canons of St. George's Chapel, Windsor, in the reign of James I., had dwelt with intense admiration upon its worship and service. God was there daily and continually served—said this writer in a spirit of amazing superstition—like a God with the greatest magnificence, and with all means of devotion, such as music and outward ceremonies. The knights had made solemn vows for the protection of the Church, and the relief of orphans and widows. There the grounds of their courage and fortitude were laid, and with sacrifices of silver and gold, they offered their hearts to the Most High. Thus the Canon painted in glowing colours the installations which he had witnessed in the gorgeous chapel within the castle precincts—not forgetting to notice the blue coats and chains of gold worn by the attendants. Indeed, it had been a display little in harmony with Protestantism, and it all vanished like "the baseless fabric of a vision" under the touch of the Presbyterian Parliament.[292] Deans, Canons, Minor Canons, and Clerks were ejected, with only liberty left "to carry forth all their goods, utensils, household stuffs, and books to their several abodes." The furniture and decorations of the Chapel were seized; Edward the Fourth's coat of mail, with its gold, and pearls, and rubies, being amongst the most valuable portions of the spoil. The church plate, handed over to the treasury at Guildhall, went into the melting pot, and was coined into money to pay the soldiers. The sacred edifice, cleansed of "all such matters as are justly offensive to godly men," was used for a lecture, set up "to be exercised every Lord's Day, in the afternoon, to begin when other sermons usually end, and one day in the week." Yet after this ecclesiastical revolution so little was the building injured, that, when one June day in 1654, Evelyn and his wife drove down to Windsor in a coach and four, he alluded in his Diary to "the church and workmanship in stone" as "admirable."

The old public schools of England,—whose glory it is to unite Christian instruction with classical learning—were ecclesiastical foundations; and these, under the rule of Parliament, and during the reign of the Protector, met with little interruption and sustained no real injury. Eton, after a temporary suspension of its statutes, had, in the year 1645, its former usages restored; and the election of scholars then recommenced "in manner as had theretofore been accustomed."[293] Francis Rouse—who translated the Psalter into English verse, who was one of the Protector's Council, who became Speaker of the Little Parliament, and who obtained a seat in Cromwell's House of Lords—had been Provost of the College from the time of the ejection of Dr. Stewart in the year 1644. Rouse died in 1658, and was buried at Eton with much pomp. Upon the consequent occurrence of a vacancy, Whitelocke, then Constable of Windsor Castle, by the advice of his friends, endeavoured to secure the vacant office—which he described as "a thing of good value, quiet and honourable, and fit for a scholar;" but on applying to his Highness, the candidate found the place reserved as "a bait for some others."[294] Nicholas Lockyer, an Oxford man, one of Oliver's chaplains, received the appointment.

The election of scholars at Westminster had, in the year 1645, been vested in Commissioners, and also in the Master of the school, the Master of Trinity, Cambridge, and the Dean of Christ Church, Oxford—if "the said Dean were not a delinquent." The ordinance would give to Dr. Owen, when he presided over Christ Church, the rights with regard to the school which had been exercised by such dignitaries of old. In the Act of April, 1649, for the sale of ecclesiastical property, the foundations of Westminster, Winchester, and Eton were expressly excepted from its operation.[295] The old Westminster school-room, with its chesnut roof—which once covered the dormitory of the monks of St. Peter—had its rows of boys (Puritans amongst the rest), under the tuition of Puritan teachers, occupying the forms and studying their Latin primers, as in days of yore. The then Head Master, appointed about 1639, was no other than the famous Richard Bushy, whose portrait—reminding one a little of the spare-looking but keen-eyed Richard Baxter—still adorns the Deanery. There he wielded his ferule for fifty-seven years, not sparing the rod lest he should spoil the child.[296] One of his under-masters was the once well-known but now forgotten Edward Bagshawe, an Oxford student, who had shewn himself a turbulent and domineering person, not only in his college, but in the University—where he disturbed the Vice-Chancellor "with interposed speeches without formalities, and with his hat cocked," in which guise he was wont to read his catechetical lecture. But Master Richard Busby would not allow in office such a "pragmatical and ungrateful" personage, and therefore "outed" him in 1658, when Littleton, a Christ Church man, was put in his room.[297] The revenues of the public schools of England were more or less affected by the disturbances of the period, but in other respects they seem to have held on the even tenor of their way.