OXFORD.

We now begin a tour through the central part of England, in a northerly direction towards Scotland, for we intend to see England with unusual thoroughness. Our first place of sojourn is Oxford, where we arrive at 3.30 p. m., Saturday, May 25, having had a two and half hours' ride from London. The place presents a rural appearance, trees and gardens being interspersed among the buildings. Nowhere is there a commercial look, for it is emphatically a university town, and dependent mainly for support on its colleges. It was made a seat of learning at an early day, and is thus referred to by Pope Martin II. a. d. 882. Situated between the rivers Cherwell and Isis, it has a population of 31,544, and is irregularly built, with many narrow and crooked streets. Many of the buildings are old, yet in good repair. Tradition says that this was a favorite resort of Alfred the Great.

In one of the public streets the martyrs Latimer, Ridley, and Cranmer were burned. The spot is opposite Balliol College, and marked by a very imposing brown sandstone Gothic monument about thirty feet high, erected in 1841, from designs by Gilbert Scott.

Latimer and Ridley were led to the stake Oct. 16, 1555. A bag of gunpowder was fastened about the body of the former,—probably as an act of charity, to hasten his death,—and so he died immediately. While being bound, he said to his companion: "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out." It never has been extinguished, and will continue to "shine brighter and brighter, to the perfect day."

Latimer and Ridley, John Rogers, who was burned at Smithfield, Feb. 4 of the same year, and Cranmer, burned in Oxford March 21, 1556, were graduates of Cambridge, the rival university of Oxford. These two distinguished seats of learning are to England what Harvard College and Yale are to New England. Cambridge has long been recognized as liberal and reformatory in tendency, while Oxford has prided herself on her conservatism. Dean Stanley, in a late speech, ventured the remark that Cambridge was celebrated for educating men to be martyrs, and Oxford for burning them. Cranmer was a fellow-laborer with Latimer and Ridley. He was arrested and cited to appear at Rome within eighty days, but could not do so, and was condemned as contumacious. He was at first firm, but the fear of death overcame him and he recanted, and repeated his recantation many times, but without avail. In his last effort he declared that he had been the greatest of persecutors, and comparing himself to the penitent thief, humbly begged for pardon; but in spite of all, on March 21, 1556, Queen Mary—who had a bitter hatred towards him, as did the bishops, who were resolved not only on his degradation but his death—directed him to prepare for the stake. A recantation was given him, which he was ordered to read publicly to the spectators. He transcribed and signed it, and kept a copy, which he altered, making a disavowal of his recantations. After listening to a sermon, he finally avowed himself a Protestant, declaring that he would die in his old faith; that he believed neither in papal supremacy nor in transubstantiation, proclaiming that the hand which had signed his recantation should be the first to suffer from the fire. He was taken to the spot where Latimer and Ridley were burnt the October before, and died like them, his death adding light to the candle which could never be put out. As the flames rose about him he thrust in his right hand, and held it there till it was consumed, crying aloud, "This hand hath offended; this unworthy right hand." His last audible words were, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit."

The city has been for centuries one of great respectability and repute, and Charles I. once made it his headquarters. The cathedral attached to Christ's College is on the site of a priory, founded in the eighth century. It is Gothic, of the style of the twelfth century, and has a spire 146 feet high. This is one of the five cathedrals of England having spires; but it is, however, only a remnant of a church which, probably, when entire, had little merit. St. Peter's is the oldest church in Oxford; but St. Mary's is also venerable, and has a steeple 180 feet high.

The Bodleian Library, opened in 1602, contains three hundred thousand volumes. There is connected with the library a museum containing many portraits of distinguished people. In this room, among other prominent objects of interest, is an oaken chair, once a part of the ship in which Sir Francis Drake made his celebrated voyage around the world. He set sail from Plymouth, England, Dec. 13, 1577, over three hundred years ago, and reached home again in November, 1580. He died and was buried at sea, near Puerto Bello, Dec. 27, 1595.

The poet Cowley, in 1662, composed the following verse, which is engraven on a silver plate and affixed to the chair:—

To this great ship, which round the Globe has run,
And matched in race the chariot of the sun,
This Pythagorian ship (for it may claim
Without presumption, so deserved a name)
By knowledge once, and transformation now,
In her new shape this sacred port allow.
Drake and his ship, could not have wished from Fate,
An happier station, or more blest estate;
For lo! a seat of endless rest is given,
To her in Oxford, and to him in Heaven.

Here is exhibited the lantern used by Guy Fawkes in the memorable plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament, Nov. 5, 1605. It is an ordinary lantern, with holes through the tin. In fact, it is precisely like those used in New England fifty years ago.

The college buildings are mostly built of yellowish sandstone, now bedimmed with age, and many of them are much decayed. They are unlike our college buildings, being constructed with an imposing faÇade, through whose centre is an arch, under the second story, opening into an enclosed quadrangle. These quadrangles vary in dimensions, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet square, and the students' rooms open into them. Out of the quadrangle nearest the street, similar arches may often lead into other quadrangles in the rear of the first, or at its sides; so that the establishment may be extended, in a series of buildings, without losing its primal characteristics.

These roofless squares have velvet grass, with wide walks around the outside, against the buildings, and cross-paths leading to the doorways and arches. Scrupulously clean is every inch of college ground in Oxford. Not a piece of paper litters the lawn; and many students have flower-pots at their windows. Fuschias, petunias, nasturtiums, and geraniums were abundant. The buildings vary in design, but are all three or four stories high. Some of them are built out flush; and others have corridors, cloister-like, under the second story, around their quadrangles.

Connected with many colleges are large parks, for centuries used as places of academic resort. They have avenues and trees like Boston Common, and the main avenue at Merton College has a circuit miles in length. Too much cannot be said in praise of those classic grounds. Flower-plats are cultivated, and fine shrubbery; and there are brooks, embankments, and bridges. In a word, if paradise ever was lost, much of it has here been regained. It is no stretch of the imagination to think that Milton, educated amidst similar grounds at Cambridge, was on their account more inclined to meditate on "Paradise Regained."

The antiquity of Oxford as a seat of learning is undisputed. It is so referred to by Giraldus Cambrensis, in 1180, more than seven hundred years ago. Vacarius, a Lombard, lectured here on civil law, about the year 1149. The first use of the word University (universitas), in this sense, appears in a statute of King John in 1201. It was applied to similar institutions in Paris, in an ordinance of Pope Innocent III., bearing date 1215. The place was so recognized as a desirable resort for persons of education, that Wood, its principal historian, says: "At one time there were within its precincts thirty thousand persons claiming to be scholars, though of course not all belonging to the university." Its first charter was granted by Henry III. in 1244.

On the 10th of February, 1355, a disturbance occurred,—or what in our day would be designated a rebellion,—which ended in an edict from the Bishop of Lincoln, whose diocese included Oxford, that thereafter there should be annually celebrated in St. Mary's Church a mass for the souls of those who were killed, and that the mayor, two bailiffs, and sixty of the principal citizens should be present and offer a penny each at the great altar, in default of which they were to pay one hundred marks yearly to the University. The penance was afterwards mitigated, but was not abolished till 1825; so that, in some form, it remained for nearly five hundred years.

Passing over many interesting facts, we name the colleges in the order of their foundation.

The University comprises twenty colleges: University, founded 1249; Balliol, 1263 to 1268; Merton, 1264 (removed from Malden in 1274); Exeter, 1314; Oriel, 1326; Queen's, 1340; New, 1386; Lincoln, 1427; All Souls, 1437; Magdalen, 1456; Brazenose, 1509; Corpus Christi, 1516; Christ Church, 1546-1547; Trinity, 1554; St. John's, 1555; Jesus, 1571; Wadham, 1613; Pembroke, 1620; Worcester, 1714; Keble (by subscription, as a memorial to Rev. John Keble), 1870. The number of undergraduates for the year 1873-4 was 2,392; the whole number of members on the books was 8,532. The college buildings are located near each other, though they extend over an area of at least a square mile. Three or four are sometimes on a single street, their grounds adjoining. The undergraduates in each college average one hundred and twenty—or if all the students and members be included, the average is four hundred and twelve: numbers, which are small when compared with those of our leading American colleges.

These colleges are in most respects as independent of each other as if they were in different towns. Each has its own Master, or, as we should say, President. It governs its own affairs to the minutest detail, but acts always in subordination to certain regulations made by the Council of Management, which is composed of all the Masters.

No institutions have exerted a greater influence on the world than this and its companion at Cambridge.

As we walked along the shadow of these venerable walls, beneath the shade of their old trees, or sat beside the gently flowing streams; as we went into the dining-halls and looked upon the portraits of renowned men and upon their heraldry; as we sat on the benches which had been occupied by eminent men; as in the chapels we were inspired with new reverence for things great and good; as we wandered at will—at this time of college vacation—from close to close, and remembered the name and fame of the ecclesiastics, poets, historians, philosophers, scientists,—new school and old, High Church, Low Church, and No Church,—and thought of the six hundred years of results since the charter and first foundation,—we felt that Oxford was inexpressibly great.

The fine weather—which, as we say at home, was apparently settled—enabled us, for the first time since our landing, to dispense with overcoats; but, as the sequel proved, only for an hour.

The new foliage, the odor of flowers, the birds, the familiar croak and incessant wheeling of the rooks, seemed part and parcel of the premises, as if, like the trees and buildings, they had been there for a century.

We attended worship at St. Peter's, heard the service read, not intoned, and listened to a matter-of-fact sermon, about as well delivered as the average of sermons at home; and at 5.30 p. m., of this same Sunday, were ready to move on to Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of Shakespeare. Our visit was in vacation time, but many students remained in the city, and we noted their fine physique. None of them were puny, and hardly one had the "student's look." They were good specimens of Young England, square-built, solid, healthy, and stocky. Uniformity of size, demeanor, and conversation prevailed. With the pleasantest memories of Oxford, so admirably adapted to its great purposes, we moved out of the station towards the home of one who did so much to make great thoughts the common property of literature and life.