Those who live among beautiful surroundings and in constant touch with works of art are often apt to take their privileges for granted. Members of Trinity are proud of the buildings of the College and the grounds in which they are placed, and most of us know something of their history and characteristic features. But with our art treasures there is less general acquaintance, and so perhaps it may not be out of place to jot down a few notes on some of them—chiefly pictures and plate—in which I take pleasure.

Of the contents of the library I say nothing, for a volume would be needed to describe them even briefly. The illuminated manuscripts and the early printed books attract most attention, but there are numerous other subjects in which the library must be ranked among the most important in Great Britain. I have often been told by undergraduates that they have never been in the building except once when they signed the Admission Book. That is true enough of some men, but those who are interested in rare and famous books and yet never visit the Library neglect exceptional opportunities.

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Of oil portraits—in all nearly two hundred—of former members of the College, we own a valuable collection, and they illustrate in a remarkable way how many distinguished men have been educated here. Identification is easy as labels are placed on most of the pictures. Unfortunately we have no gallery in which they can be shown. Some are put in the hall, some in the master’s lodge, some in the combination room, and some in the library, lecture-rooms, etc. Those in the lodge are set off well, but the others are not hung to advantage.

About twenty-five years ago a proposal was made to raise subscriptions for an art gallery to be built along the edge of the river starting from the present north end of the library and extending over the land now occupied by the master’s stables and the end of his garden. At that time the proposal did not receive much favour, but now I sometimes wonder if we were wise in putting the plan on one side. Certainly we have more canvasses than we can exhibit satisfactorily. The hall, too, would look a more dignified apartment if the pictures, except for one or two on the dais, were taken away: recently their temporary removal was necessitated by repairs to the woodwork, and the improvement in the appearance of the room was noticeable. The general effect of such a clearance may be judged by a visit to the hall of the Middle [106] Temple in London. The dimensions of the body of that hall are the same as ours, but instead of pictures on the side walls, each small oak panel bears an armorial shield: these harmonise well with the architectural lines of the building. Where, as is the case with our neighbours at StJohn’s, the panelling is low and there is above it a big stretch of stone or painted wall, pictures add to the effect, but this is not the case where the panelling is high.

Of all our pictures I suppose the one which attracts most attention is that of HenryVIII which hangs over the dais at the north end of the hall: it was given us by Robert Beaumont, who held the mastership from 1561 to 1567. The artist was Hans Eworth, a Dutchman who lived in London circ. 1543–75, and worked with or under the influence of Antonio Moro: the portrait was taken from or founded on that of the king in the fresco painted by Holbein in 1537 on a wall of the privy chamber in Whitehall palace. This fresco, which was destroyed in the fire of 1698 and till then deservedly treated as one of the art treasures of London, contained portraits of HenryVII and HenryVIII with their queens, Elizabeth of York and Jane Seymour. Holbein’s studies for the heads of the two kings have been preserved, and are at Chatsworth and Munich. Most of the extant portraits of HenryVIII are copied from or founded on this fresco. Signs [107] of deterioration in the fresco were noticeable in the reign of CharlesII, and by his orders it was copied by RemÉe, a French painter then resident in London. The original fresco was on each side of and above a fireplace or window. Instead of depicting this, the artist represented this space as occupied by a pedestal containing an inscription: his delineation of the faces of the sovereigns is poor, but he has preserved Holbein’s general design. Two copies of the reproduction are extant, one of which is in the royal collection and the other at Petworth.

Hardly less notable than the presentation of our founder, and far more valuable, is the charming portrait by Joshua Reynolds of the duke of Gloucester (1776–1834) as a boy: the duke was a cousin of GeorgeIII and afterwards chancellor of the University. Reynolds wrote in his diary that the boy sat for his portrait in March 1780 when he was four years old, and that the finished picture was delivered in January 1788—the charge for it being a hundred guineas. Horace Walpole praised it, but thought it “washy,” an opinion not shared by modern critics who esteem it one of Reynolds’s masterpieces. The picture was left to the College in 1843 by the will of the duke’s sister, the Princess Sophia, with a request that it should be hung in the hall. The legacy was due to the good offices of a freshman of the time—the Hon. Douglas Gordon, [108] son of George, fourth earl of Aberdeen. He described the circumstances attending the gift as follows:

When I went up to Trinity in 1842, I used to see a great deal of the princess.... [I was then] a freshman full of admiration for my College of which I used to boast. One day the old princess shewed me the picture, ... and asked if I thought it would look well in the Hall. On my saying what a boon it would be, she very graciously said “You can tell Mr Whewell that I will leave it to the College through you, and I hope you will see this picture placed in a good position.” At her death I took it down to Trinity where I was still an undergraduate.

The portrait of queen Mary on the other side of the dais is a Spanish copy of Antonio Moro’s famous picture which hangs in Madrid. The original is said to have been given to Philip after his engagement to her; it presents her as a woman of strong character but far from beautiful. When the marriage took place, it was unkindly said by a Spanish courtier that whatever were the faults of his master, it must at least be admitted that he recognized the obligation of a gentleman to keep his word.

Of other pictures in the hall those of Tennyson (1809–92) painted in 1890 by G.F.Watts, of the earl of Essex (1566–1601) painted in 1590, of Isaac Newton (1642–1727) painted in 1725 by John Vanderbank, and of Francis Bacon (1561–1626) copied from VanSomer’s portrait in Gray’s Inn are [109] specially noticeable. Newton and Barrow (together with Pearson who is mentioned below) played a leading part in the intellectual life in the University towards the close of the seventeenth century, but I need not talk here about this. Barrow, who was a mathematician and divine, had a ready wit. When, previous to his admission to holy orders, he was examined on his faith, the dialogue is said to have been as follows:—Chaplain: Quid est fides? Barrow: Quod non vides. Chaplain: Quid est spes? Barrow: Magna res. Chaplain: Quid est caritas? Barrow: Magna raritas. On which his questioner retired in dudgeon, and reported that there was a candidate for ordination who would only give him “rhyming answers to moral questions”: but the bishop had the sense to recognize that truths can be expressed in rhyme as well as in prose, and Barrow was ordained.

A very pleasing picture is that reputed to be of Byron: this looks like a Raeburn, though it is ascribed to Thomas Lawrence: its history is doubtful, but the absence of any peculiarity in the ear is prima facie evidence that it is not of Byron. Another striking portrait is that of W.H.Thompson (1810–1886) painted in 1881 by Hubert vonHerkomer. When Thompson saw the completed portrait of himself, he is said to have remarked, “Do I really look as if I held the world so cheap” and in a print of it in the house of one of my friends, this is inscribed [110] on the frame. I ought also to call attention to the window portrait of Richard, duke of York (1411–60), the father of EdwardIV and RichardIII, which probably comes to us from King’s Hall.

Among other paintings, which at present hang on the hall panelling, are portraits of the following famous members of our College:—Edward White Benson (1829–96) archbishop of Canterbury, Isaac Hawkins Browne (1706–60), Arthur Cayley (1821–95), the earl of Derby (1826–93), Michael Foster (1836–1907), Francis Galton (1822–1911), the earl of Halifax (1661–1715), Fenton John Anthony Hort (1828–92), Richard Claverhouse Jebb (1841–1905), Joseph Joachim (1831–1907) the musician, Thomas Jones (1756–1807), Joseph Barber Lightfoot (1828–89) bishop of Durham, Frederick Denison Maurice (1805–72), James Clerk Maxwell (1831–79), viscount Melbourne (1779–1849), Matthew Raine (1760–1811), Adam Sedgwick (1785–1873), Henry Sidgwick (1838–1900), Charles John Vaughan (1816–97), Brooke Foss Westcott (1825–1901) bishop of Durham, John Westlake (1828–1908), and William Whewell (1794–1866).

Of these, Raine, Jones, Halifax and Hawkins Browne lived in the eighteenth century. The last-named is known to fame through having caused a change in the family reigning in the two Sicilies. In fact, coming to Naples in his travels he danced [111] at a court ceremony “with such inconceivable alacrity and vigour” as to provoke universal amusement and amazement: in particular the queen’s laughter was so immoderate that a miscarriage ensued. On such events may the histories of dynasties and empires turn! He is described on this occasion as pirouetting in a “dress of volcano silk with lava buttons”: perhaps it is in this costume that he is depicted on our walls. Having related this anecdote I must in fairness add that he was a poet of considerable ability, a good talker in an age when the standard of conversation was high, and an excellent judge of wine. Most of the portraits are, however, of celebrities of the Victorian age. Of these, Melbourne and Derby were politicians; Benson, Hort, Lightfoot, Vaughan, and Westcott represent the church; Westlake was a lawyer; Jebb a scholar; Maurice and Sidgwick represent ethical philosophy; while Cayley, Foster, Galton, Maxwell, Sedgwick, and Whewell, were men of science.

Among the canvasses above the panelling are portraits of Richard Bentley (1662–1742) the scholar, Edward Coke (1549–1634) the lord chief justice, Cowley (1618–67) the poet, John Dryden (1631–1701) the poet, the earl of Macclesfield (1666–1732), John Pearson (1613–86) bishop of Chester, Robert Smith (1689–1768) the mathematician, and John Wilkins (1614–72) bishop of Chester. Wilkins is [112] now almost unknown but he wrote some interesting books, notably one on the ciphers employed in the civil war of the seventeenth century. Another work of his on the possibility of a journey to the moon, provoked the duchess of Newcastle to ask him where she could find a place to bait if she tried the journey: “Madam,” said he, “of all the people in the world I least expected that question from you, who have built so many castles in the air that you may lie every night in one of your own.”

The pictures in the large combination room of Isaac Newton by Thomas Murray, and of Matthew Prior (1664–1721) by Godfrey Kneller are good: the former came to us from a descendant (Mrs Ring) of Newton’s favourite niece, and its history is given in a letter from Charles Simeon to Mansel, master of the College at the time of the gift. The other canvasses are too big for a private apartment, but the portraits of the “proud” duke of Somerset (1662–1748) by Nathaniel Dance, the marquess of Granby (1721–70) by Joshua Reynolds, the duke of Gloucester by John Opie, the marquess of Camden (1759–1840) by Thomas Lawrence, the duke of Grafton (1760–1844) also by Lawrence, and the duke of Sussex (1773–1843) by James Lonsdale, are of some repute: to these there was added in 1915 a portrait of Arthur J.Balfour by P.A.LaszlÖ deLombros.

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Of the peers mentioned above the names of Granby and Somerset are still well known. Granby fought in the Culloden campaign, was colonel of the blues (horse guards) at Minden, 1759; commander of the British contingent in the campaigns of 1760, 1761, and 1762; and in 1766 became commander-in-chief of the army. Delighting in danger, which even when in supreme command he deliberately sought, brave to a fault, an excellent cavalry leader, rich and lavishly generous, he was the idol of the public, and witnesses to his popularity remain in the numerous public-houses scattered far and wide over England which bear his name and arms. Somerset was of a very different type, being a stupid man whose power was chiefly derived from his enormous landed possessions. To the Somerset properties he added, by his marriage with the sole heiress of the earls of Northumberland, the great estates of the Percies. He held the chancellorship of the University for the extraordinary term of sixty years. His title of the “proud duke” commemorates only his arrogance, and was derived from the fact that even to speak to anyone in a menial position was regarded by him as a condescension. His servants were trained to understand his wishes by signs, and numerous footmen surrounded him when in the streets so as to avoid the risk that any people of the lower classes should approach or address him. [114] Perhaps the best known of the stories of his pretensions refers to his remark to his second wife who once called his attention to something by touching him with her fan (or according to another version kissed him without asking his leave), “Madam,” said he, drawing himself apart, “my first wife never dared to take such a liberty, and she was a Percy.” As another illustration of his character I may add that he deprived one of his daughters of £20,000 because she had sat down in his presence without asking his leave.

In the lodge there are numerous portraits of former masters of the College, and obviously this is the proper place for such a collection. It is not complete, twelve past masters being unrepresented, but portraits of two of these (namely Wilkins and Pearson) hang in the hall. The most notable picture in this series is that of Nevile, which is properly given the place of honour over the mantelpiece in the dining room which he built. He holds a paper in his right hand, and I like to think that this is intended to suggest the letter which Elizabeth on her death-bed entrusted to him to take to Scotland, informing James VI of that kingdom that she designated him as her successor. In this room too are portraits of Porson and Thompson with whose memories so many excellent academic stories are associated, but I must not linger over these. In [115] the drawing room the most striking portraits are those of queen Elizabeth by Mark Gerrard, the duke of Gloucester (1776–1834) in his undergraduate robes by George Romney, and queen Mary probably by Hans Eworth. The painted panels in the entrance hall often escape attention, but are worth looking at, especially in the case of the portraits of EdwardIII, HenryVII, Elizabeth of York, Mary of Scotland, EdwardVI, and queen Mary. The collection of portraits, formed by Dr Butler, of Trinity men who have held judicial appointments is also interesting, but is not generally accessible to visitors.

The pictures in the lecture-rooms and on the walls of the staircase leading to them form a sort of overflow collection, and though of unequal merit, a few are worth attention. There are also some pictures of merit in the library among which I note in particular portraits of Tennyson and Lightfoot.

The engravings of former members of the College placed in the small combination room will repay study. There are at present between one hundred and fifty and two hundred here, but there are many more in portfolios in the library. Several of these have been acquired in recent years through the generosity and knowledge of John Charrington.

The painted glass in the hall shows numerous coats of arms, and anyone acquainted with heraldry [116] will find here a rich field of study. The windows could have been filled over and over again with the arms of former famous members of the College, but the matter has been managed in a haphazard way, and many distinguished sons of the House are unrepresented. In spite of some bad glass the collection is interesting. Perhaps however any further account of it here would be more technical than would be justified in a paper like this. Of other glass in the College, the windows in the chapel are typical of the art of 1870, and are only moderately satisfactory. The window at the south end of the library, executed in 1775, was made by Peckitt of York, after a design by Cipriani: it illustrates some curious points in the history of the art of stained glass, but the design is impossible, and the scheme of colour atrocious.

Sculpture, unless it is absolutely first rate, does not represent a man as well as portraiture. The number of pieces of statuary of the first class in Great Britain is small, and in the possession of such pieces the College is extraordinarily fortunate. The statue of Newton, with its proud inscription “Newton qui genus humanum ingenio superavit,” in the antechapel by Roubiliac—“the marble index of a mind for ever voyaging through strange seas of thought alone”—is of the highest merit. It was described by Chantrey as “the noblest of [117] English statues,” and I have never seen any modern piece of statuary anywhere which can be ranked superior to it: the man lives and almost moves. Thorwaldsen’s statue of Byron, rejected by the authorities of Westminster Abbey on account of his alleged atheistical opinions, which stands in the library, and that of Bacon in the antechapel may also be reckoned among examples of first-class statuary. Of these three pieces two are by foreigners. There are also in the antechapel statues of Barrow, Macaulay, Whewell, and Tennyson, and in the library a large number of busts. The statues of EdwardIII on the clock tower, of HenryVIII, JamesI, Anne of Denmark, and Prince Charles on the great gate, and of queen Elizabeth on the queen’s gate are interesting, though not to be reckoned as works of art.

Old Silver Plate has a peculiar beauty. We have some fine specimens though they are fewer and later than from our history we should expect. Most of the pieces are kept in the butteries, and can be seen by visitors. Twice a year anyone entering the hall will see the junior bursar there with all the plate spread before him checking it by his lists, a pretty spectacle which always suggests to me the picture of the king “in his counting house counting out his money,” and formerly in “May-week” typical pieces were set out on show in the hall.

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We have a catalogue of the plate—a large and valuable collection—owned by King’s Hall in the fifteenth century, and we may reasonably suppose that this, as well as the plate belonging to Michael-House, came in due course to us; all this has gone with the possible, but doubtful, exception of a censer boat now in the library. We know also that some plate was given us in Tudor and early Stuart times: of this, only five pieces remained to us at the restoration. I take it however that until well into the eighteenth century people were accustomed to regard plate, other than pieces of historic interest, as a convenient way of keeping portable wealth in a form which could be easily turned into coin, and its dispersion in times of emergency when money was wanted is not surprising.

It was customary for noblemen and fellow-commoners to present plate to the House when they completed their academic career: their caution-money being commonly employed for or towards the purpose. After the restoration, thanks to this graceful practice, our possessions of this kind grew rapidly. Unfortunately a good many of our pieces were lost through two burglaries, one in 1795 and the other in 1798; for instance, no less than fifty-five drinking cups some of great beauty were then taken. During the eighteenth century, in colleges and throughout the country, large numbers of [119] “standing pieces” of plate were melted down, and the metal used to make spoons and forks; this accounts for the disappearance of some of our treasures of an earlier date. Until 1870 new pieces continued to be added in large numbers: in that year the College abolished the general admission of noblemen and fellow-commoners, holding that distinctions of rank were undesirable in academic life; and since then our collection has increased only by special gifts or by purchase.

Of our pre-commonwealth plate the oldest pieces are two silver-gilt flagons, dated 1607–08, given us in 1636 by John and Bernard Stuart, sons of the duke of Lennox, then about sixteen and fourteen years old. There is in the small combination room a charming print of Vandyke’s portrait of the brothers: both boys were killed during the Civil War, John at Edgehill and Bernard at Rowton Heath. Whistles are placed in the handles of these flagons, so they must have been originally intended for secular use, but they have been included, as far back as our records go, among the communion plate: perhaps the spouts were added when the vessels were placed in the chapel. Our next earliest piece is the handsome cup, dated 1615–16, given us by Nevile probably in 1615: it was originally silver-gilt. The fourth of these pieces is a bursarial rose-water basin and ewer dated 1635–36. We owe it to Ambrose [120] Aykerod who was bursar in that year: his arms are engraved on the cup, and the inscriptions on it refer to vows and pledges by him which are now inexplicable. The only other early piece which survived the Civil War was a cup given by John Clarkson between 1610 and 1620 and known from its inscription “Pauper Johannes Dictus Cognomine Clarkson Hunc Cyathum Dono Gratuito Dedit” as the “Pauper Joan Pot”: this was stolen in 1798. Clarkson had matriculated as a sizar in 1553, obtained a scholarship in due course, and graduated B.A. in 1560.

Apart from the four pieces mentioned above, the most striking objects in our collection are the rose-water basins and ewers, the Duport standing salt, the standing or loving cups, the tankards, and the punch-bowls.

We have several notable rose-water basins and ewers. The earliest of these is the set given by the earl of Kent in 1662 to commemorate the passing of the Act of Uniformity. The date is given by a quaint double chronogram: and the central inscription ????? a???ata ? ??a? ???? reads alike forwards and backwards. Another beautiful set is that given by the duke of Buckingham in 1671, the circumference of the basin being over seven feet. The visitor should also notice a set of 1740 bequeathed by David Humphrey, and a set of 1748 [121] given by William John Bankes. Another set consists of a basin of 1716 given by John Bennet, with a graceful ewer probably made about 1675. This ewer must have been originally a “standing cup” since a whistle is placed in the handle, but a spout was added between 1789 and 1810 with the intention of turning it into a flagon: on it are engraved the Trinity and Westminster arms, and in an early catalogue it is called the Busby cup: its donor is unknown.

There is a curious custom at the high table connected with these dishes. At the end of dinner on ordinary nights, before grace is said, a rose-water dish with an empty ewer is placed before the fellow sitting at the head of each table. I conjecture that this dates from a time when napkins and forks were unknown, and diners were accustomed to rinse their hands in water before rising from the table. Now the appearance of the empty ewer is only a sign that dinner is over. At feasts the ewer contains rose-water which is poured into the dish and passed round the table.

We have a fine specimen of a standing salt in a piece associated with the name of James Duport. Its breadth is nearly ten inches, and its height, without the handles, seven inches. It was these massive salts, and not “trencher salts,” that were originally used to divide the company into those [122] that sat above and below the salt; and in the middle ages the standing salt was generally the most valued single piece in the house and the chief ornament on the table. The medieval specimens usually have a cover to protect the salt, and the handles in specimens like ours are said to have been introduced for a similar reason, as a napkin can be twisted round them so as to cover the salt, and thus save it from dust. Our specimen bears the inscription e?ete e? ea?t??? ??a? ?a? e????e?ete e? a???????, together with a statement that it was given by Duport. Probably his gift was made in 1665, when he left the College on his appointment as master of Magdalene. The piece, however, bears the hall-mark 1733–34; here, and in some other cases, it would seem that the original piece was exchanged for a new one, perhaps when repairs were required, and it was the custom in such circumstances to engrave the old inscription on the new piece of plate.

In spite of our losses at the end of the eighteenth century some fine drinking cups and covers still remain in our possession. Notable among these is one of 1691–92 given by Charles and George Firebrace, one of 1697–98 given by Henry Boyle, and one of 1711–12 given by John Verney. We have also a cup and cover of 1726 given by the earl of Sandwich, another of 1729 given by Samuel Husbands, [123] another of 1763 given by John Damer, another of 1771 given by George Augustus Henry Cavendish, another of 1776 given by William Greaves, and another of 1780 given by the earl of Mexborough. To these I may add the Lyndhurst silver-gilt cup and cover of 1876–77 given by Sir Theodore Martin. All these are fine specimens of silversmith’s work, and can be used at feasts as loving cups, with the ceremonial customary to such drinking.

The tankards with lids form another striking group of plate, but the larger ones which contain three quarts or more must be regarded as being decorative rather than useful. Conspicuous among these pieces is one, probably made about 1670, given by Thomas Taylor, one of 1698–99 given by Peter Pheasaunt, one of 1699–1700 given by Thomas Alston, one of 1700–01 given by Thomas Bellot, one of 1739–40 given by Thomas Foley, one of 1746–47 given by Francis Vernon, one of 1751–52 given by Charles Paulet, one of 1757–58 given by Edward Fitzgerald, and one of 1762–63 given by Hans Sloane. There is also a fine collection of ale plate. Of the smaller tankards, stoups, and drinking cups there are innumerable specimens. I will not dwell longer over our other pieces. Suffice it is to say that of punch-bowls there are three or four fine specimens of the eighteenth century, as also various snuff-boxes, silver trays, etc. Of candlesticks [124] there are between two and three hundred, many of them beautiful pieces of work. Of ordinary domestic plate the stock is large.

There is also a good deal of plate which has been given or assigned for use in the lodge: this includes the Perry silver-gilt dessert service. In the chapel plate besides the flagons already mentioned there are two silver-gilt patens of 1661–62, associated in the early catalogues with the names of John and Bernard Stuart; also an alms-dish of 1673, and an altar cross given in 1894 and said to be of Spanish renaissance work.

I add some particulars of thirteen challenge pieces of plate owned by the Boat and Athletic Clubs: of these, five belong to the First Trinity Boat Club, and eight to the Athletic Club. These pieces are of recent make and their chief interest comes from the inscribed names of the successive holders.

Trinity men will recollect that there are various races arranged each year by the First Trinity Boat Club, the winners of which receive pots or other prizes, and that in five of these events, the winners, in addition to receiving the special prizes, hold challenge pieces on which are engraved the names of past winners. These challenge pieces are: A two-handled silver chased cup and stand (hall-mark 1836), held by the winner of a sculling race (the [125] Macnaughten Sculls) rowed in the Michaelmas Term, open to all members of the Club who have not previously won it or the University Colquhoun Sculls. A two-handled silver cup and stand (hall-mark probably 1857 or 1858), which came to the club from the now defunct Second Trinity Boat Club, held by the winner of a sculling race (the Baines Sculls) rowed in the Lent Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the Macnaughten Sculls or the University Colquhoun Sculls. Silver oars (hall-mark 1860) held by the winners of a pair-oared race (the Wyatt Pairs) rowed in the Michaelmas Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the University Magdalene Pairs. Silver oars (hall-mark 1861) which came to the Club from Second Trinity, held by the winners of a pair-oared race (the Dodington Pairs) rowed in the Lent Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the Wyatt Pairs or the University Magdalene Pairs. Silver Sculls (hall-mark 1897) held by the winners of a double sculling race (the Taxis Sculls) rowed in the Easter Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the University Magdalene pairs.

Similarly among the sports arranged each year by the Trinity Athletic Club are seven events, the winners of which in addition to receiving special prizes, hold challenge pieces of plate on which are [126] engraved the names of past winners. These challenge pieces are: A half-fluted silver bowl and plinth (hall-mark 1887) held by the winner of the mile race. A half-fluted silver bowl and plinth (hall-mark 1899) held by the winner of the half-mile race. A silver chased claret jug with handle (hall-mark 1886) held by the winner of the quarter-mile race. Four silver candlesticks (hall-mark 1899) held by the winner of the hundred yards race. A two-handled half-fluted silver cup (hall-mark 1888) held by the winner of the hurdles race. A two-handled silver bowl (hall-mark 1896) held by the winner of the long jump. A silver salver (hall-mark 1896) held by the winner of the high jump. Finally there is a two-handled silver chased cup and plinth (hall-mark 1892) held by the man who scores most marks in the various events.

It may be thought that I have occupied too much space in giving bare lists of pieces of plate, but the shapes of some of the pieces are so good and the surface of old silver, when carefully tended, has such a beautiful texture that I believe it may be worth calling the attention of any interested in such things to some of our possessions of this kind. Only societies and families with continuous records dating from a distant past can show such collections.