THE OXFORD COUNTRY

THE BOTANIC GARDENThe Garden is surrounded by a wall, commenced in 1632, pierced by several noble gateways one of which shows to the left of the picture.The entrance gateway fronting the High Street was designed by Inigo Jones.The Garden is a favourite promenade and spot for rest; Magdalen Tower is seen to great advantage through its grand trees.

THE BOTANIC GARDEN

The Garden is surrounded by a wall, commenced in 1632, pierced by several noble gateways one of which shows to the left of the picture.

The entrance gateway fronting the High Street was designed by Inigo Jones.

The Garden is a favourite promenade and spot for rest; Magdalen Tower is seen to great advantage through its grand trees.

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see all the young Fellows froze with envy, stand centinel in their niches, like the figures of the Kings round the Royal Exchange. And the old Dons who would take no more notice of one at another time than a bishop of a country curate, will come cringing, cap in hand, to offer to show the ladies the curiosities of the College—when the duce knows they only want to be nibbling.”

Those who liked not these things had at least as good an opportunity of quiet work as to-day. A separate set of rooms for each member of a college had gradually become almost universal in the eighteenth century; and the great outer door or “oak” shut off those who wished from the rest of the world. Shelley was so pleased with that impervious door that he exclaimed: the oak “is surely the tree of knowledge!” The simplicity of the quarters within, before much of undergraduate social life was passed in their rooms, would astonish modern eyes, if we may judge from contemporary cuts, that show a few chairs, a small table with central leg, a cap and gown on the wall, an inkhorn hanging by the window, a pair of bellows and tongs by the fire, and over the mantel-piece a picture or mirror. But there the undergraduate was safe from duns “with vocal heel thrice thundering at the gate,” and, let us hope, from dons, in colleges where they came round at nine in the evening, to see that he kept good hours. Dibdin tells us that, as he closed theCuriosities of Literature, he saw the Gothic battlements outside his window “streaked with the dapple light of morning.” Ten years later, in the first year[Pg 484]of the nineteenth century, Reginald Heber, then at Brasenose, looked out from his window and saw the fellows of All Souls’ thundering the “All Souls’ Mallard” song—

Griffin, Turkey, Bustard, CaponLet other hungry mortalls gape on,And on their bones with stomachs fall hard.But let All Souls men have the Mallard.Hough the blood of King Edward, by ye blood of King Edward,It was a swapping, swapping mallard—

carrying torches and inspired with canary as they sang. No one appears to have heard the song again. And with that sound old Oxford life died away.[Pg 485]

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Lætissimus umbra.And the eye travels down to Oxford’s towers.

Thewalls of Oxford are tufted with ivy-leaved toadflax, wallflower, and the sunny plant which botanists call “inelegant ragwort.” They form a trail from the villages, upon wall after wall, into Ship Street and Queen’s Lane, by which the country may be traced. In the same way, the city may be said to steal out into the fields. Not only do we read the epitaph of a forgotten fellow in a quiet church, and mark a resemblance to Merton or Lincoln in the windows of an old house in North Hinksey Street, but the beauty of the windy Shotover plateau, with its slopes of hyacinth and furze, and the elmy hills of Cumnor and Radbrook, are haunted and peopled by visions of the distant spires. They give that mild, well-sculptured country a soul. Even when the city is out of sight, its neighbourhood is not to be put by. Everywhere it is a suspected presence, a hidden melodist. Whether in memory or anticipation, it is, on all our walks, “like some grave thought threading a mighty dream.[Pg 488]”

I could wish that an inexorable Five Mile Act had kept it clear of red brick. Newman and Ruskin hinted at the same. I know not how to describe the spirit which turns a few miles of peaceful southern country into something so unique. But if I mention a wood or a stream, let the reader paint in, as it were, something sweet and shadowy in the distance, with his imagination or recollection; let it be as some subtle perfume in apot pourriwhich makes it different from all others.

There is a beautiful, sloping acre, not far from Oxford, which a number of great elms divide into aisles and nave, while at one end a curving hawthorn and maple hedge completes them with an apse. Towards Oxford, the space is almost shut in by remote elms. On one side I hear the soft and sibilant fall of soaking grass before the scythe. The rain and sun alternating are like two lovers in dialogue; the rain smiles from the hills when the sun shines, and the sun also while the rain is falling. When the rain is not over and the sun has interrupted, the nightingale sings, where the stitchwort is starry amidst long grass that bathes the sweeping branches of thorn and brier; and I am now stabbed, and now caressed, by its changing song. Through the elms on either side, hot, rank grasses rise, crowned with a vapour of parsley flowers. A white steam from the soil faintly mists the grass at intervals. The grass and elms seem to be suffering in the rain, suffering for their quietness and solitude, to be longing for something, as perhaps Eden also dropped “some natural tears” when left a void. A potent, warm, and not quite soothing[Pg 490][Pg 489]

OXFORD, FROM SOUTH HINKSEYElms and willow trees fringe the slope of the hills leading to the valley, in which the city shows sparkling in the morning sunlight.Commencing from the west or left side of the picture, we see the tower and lantern of All Saints’, with the dome of the Radcliffe Library telling dark against the sky; then come the University Church of St. Mary, Tom Tower, and the stretch of buildings of Christ Church, with the Great Hall of the College, the Cathedral spire finishing the group.Merton Tower stands detached to the east.The almost level line of the horizon, with the trees bordering the river to Iffley, frame as beautiful a group of buildings as any to be seen in England.Farm sheds show under the willow trees to the left.The time is the early morning of a summer day.

OXFORD, FROM SOUTH HINKSEY

Elms and willow trees fringe the slope of the hills leading to the valley, in which the city shows sparkling in the morning sunlight.

Commencing from the west or left side of the picture, we see the tower and lantern of All Saints’, with the dome of the Radcliffe Library telling dark against the sky; then come the University Church of St. Mary, Tom Tower, and the stretch of buildings of Christ Church, with the Great Hall of the College, the Cathedral spire finishing the group.

Merton Tower stands detached to the east.

The almost level line of the horizon, with the trees bordering the river to Iffley, frame as beautiful a group of buildings as any to be seen in England.

Farm sheds show under the willow trees to the left.

The time is the early morning of a summer day.

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perfume creeps over the grass, and makes the May blossom something elvish. I turn and look east. Almost at once, all these things are happily composed into one pleasant sense, and are but a frame to a tower and three spires of Oxford, like clouds—but the sky is suddenly cloudless.

I suppose that ivy has the same graceful ways on all old masonry, yet I have caught myself remembering, as if it were unique, that perfect ancient ivy that makes an arcade of green along the wall of Godstow nunnery. And in the same way, above all others I remember the pollard willows that lean this way and that along the Oxford streams—like prehistoric sculpture in winter, but in summer a green wave and full of voices. Never have I seen sunsets like those which make Wytham Wood and Marley Wood great purple clouds, and the clouds overhead more solid than they. How pleasant are Cherwell and Evenlode, and those angry little waters at Ferry Hinksey! When I see the rain a white cloud and Shotover Hill a grey cloud, I seem never before to have seen the sweetness of rain. October is nowhere so much itself as among the Hinksey elms, when the fallen leaves smell of tea (and who that loves tea and autumn will cast a stone?). The trees, whether they stand alone or in societies, are most perfect in autumn. Something in the soil or climate preserves their farewell hues as in a protracted sunset. Looking at them at nightfall, it is hard to believe that they have been amidst ten thousand sunsets and remained the same; for they ponder great matters, and not only in[Pg 494]the autumn, but in May, when the silence is startled by the gurgling laughter of the hen cuckoo. When spring comes into the land, I remember a mulberry that suspended its white blossom, among black boughs, over a shining lawn at the edge of the city; and the bells that in March or April seemed to be in league with spring, as we heard them from the fields. And how well a conversation would grow and blossom between Headington and Wheatley or Osney and Eaton! Some that loved not the country would flourish strangely in wisdom or folly as the roads rose or fell, or as the grey oak stems of Bagley Wood began to make a mist around us. The only incidents, in twenty miles, were the occasional sprints of one who was devoted to a liver, or the cometary passing of one on a bicycle that sangLe Roi d’Ivetotas if it were a psalm containing the whole duty of man. And how a book—even a “schools” book—taken on the river or the hills, would yield a great sweetness to alternate handlings and laughter of several companions; or, if it were a dull book, might be made to yield more than its author ever meant. I have ever thought that the churchyard with a broken cross at Hinksey, and the willows below and the elms above, if one takes George Herbert there, is a better argument for the Church than Jewel and Chilling worth, if the old yew had not seemed the priest of some old superstition still powerful.

No one can walk much in the Oxford country without becoming a Pantheist. The influence of the city, the memories, the books he is fresh from, help the indolent[Pg 496][Pg 495]

OXFORD FROM HEADINGTON HILLThe elm trees of the “Grove” of Magdalen College show to the extreme left of the picture. The buildings of the College do not appear.To the right of the “Grove” are the two spires of the Cathedral and the University Church of St. Mary, with the Radcliffe dome and the “Schools” tower farther on.The view is looking west, at sunset in corn harvest.

OXFORD FROM HEADINGTON HILL

The elm trees of the “Grove” of Magdalen College show to the extreme left of the picture. The buildings of the College do not appear.

To the right of the “Grove” are the two spires of the Cathedral and the University Church of St. Mary, with the Radcliffe dome and the “Schools” tower farther on.

The view is looking west, at sunset in corn harvest.

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walker, who is content to sit under a hedge and wait for the best things, to make his gods. The lanes are peopled with no fairies such as in Wales and Ireland nimbly feed the fantasy, which here, in consequence, is apt to take flight in wonderful ways. I remember one (and Ovid was not at all in his mind) who was all but confident that he saw Persephone on flat pastures and red ploughlands, gleaming between green trees, when the hawthorn was not yet over and the roses had begun, and the sapphire dragon-fly was afloat, on the Cherwell, as the boat made a cool sound among the river’s hair, betwixt Water Eaton and Islip. On the quiet, misty, autumn mornings, the hum of threshing machines was solemn; and there at least it was a true harmony of autumn, and the man casting sheaves from the rick was exalted—

Neque iliumFlava Ceres alto nequiquam spectat Olympo.

Everywhere the fancy, unaided by earlier fancies, sets to work very busily in these fields. I have on several afternoons gone some way towards the beginning of a new mythology, which might in a thousand years puzzle the Germans. The shadowy, half-apprehended faces of new deities float before my eyes, and I have wondered whether Apollo and Diana are not immortal presences wheresoever there are awful trees and alternating spaces of cool or sunlit lawn.... In the lanes there seems to be another religion for the night. There is a fitful wind, and so slow that as we walk we[Pg 500]can follow its path while it shakes the heavy leaves and dewy grass; and we feel as if we were trespassing on holy ground; the land seems to have changed masters, or rather to have One. Often I saw a clean-limbed beech, pale and slender, yet firm in its loftiness, that shook delicately arched branches at the top, and below held out an arm on which a form of schoolboys might have sat,—rising out of fine grass and printing its perfect outlines on the sky,—and I could fancy it enjoyed a life of pleasure that was health, beauty that was strength, thought that was repose.

The Oxford country is rich in footpaths, as any one will know that goes the round from Folly Bridge, through South Hinksey, to the “Fox” at Boar’s Hill (where the scent of wallflower and hawthorn comes in through the window with the sound of the rain and the nightingale); and then away, skirting Wootton and Cumnor, past the “Bear” (with its cool flagged room looking on a field of gold, and Cumnor Church tower among elms); and back over the Hurst, where he turns, under the seven firs and solitary elm, to ponder the long, alluring view towards Stanton Harcourt and Bablock Hythe. He may take that walk many times, or wish to take it, and yet never touch the same footpaths; and never be sure of the waste patch of bluebell and furze, haunted by linnet and whinchat; the newly harrowed field, where the stones shine like ivory after rain; the green lane, where the beech leaves lie in February, and rise out of the snow, untouched by it, in polished amber; the orchard, where the grass is[Pg 501]gloomy in April with the shadow of bright cherry flowers.

One such footpath I remember, that could be seen falling among woods and rising over hills, faint and winding, and disappearing at last,—like a vision of the perfect quiet life. We started once along it, over one of the many fair little Oxford bridges, one that cleared the stream in three graceful leaps of arching stone. The hills were cloudy with woods in the heat. On either hand, at long distances apart, lay little grey houses under scalloped capes of thatch, and here and there white houses, like children of that sweet land—albi circum ubera nati. For the most part we saw only the great hawthorn hedge, which gave us the sense of a companion always abreast of us, yet always cool and fresh as if just setting out. It was cooler when a red-hot bicyclist passed by. A sombre river, noiselessly sauntering seaward, far away dropped with a murmur, among leaves, into a pool. That sound alone made tremble the glassy dome of silence that extended miles on miles. All things were lightly powdered with gold, by a lustre that seemed to have been sifted through gauze. The hazy sky, striving to be blue, was reflected as purple in the waters. There, too, sunken and motionless, lay amber willow leaves; some floated down. Between the sailing leaves, against the false sky, hung the willow shadows,—shadows of willows overhead, with waving foliage, like the train of a bird of paradise. Everywhere the languid perfumes of corruption. Brown leaves laid their fingers on the[Pg 502]cheek as they fell; and here and there the hoary reverse of a willow leaf gleamed in the crannied bases of the trees. A plough, planted in mid-field, was curved like the wings of a bird alighting.

We could not walk as slowly as the river flowed; yet that seemed the true pace to move in life, and so reach the great grey sea. Hand in hand with the river wound the path, until twilight began to drive her dusky flocks across the west, and a light wind knitted the aspen branches against a silver sky with a crescent moon, as, troubled tenderly by autumnal maladies of soul, we came to our place of rest,—a grey, immemorial house with innumerable windows.[Pg 503]

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Manyhave written in praise of Oxford, and so finely that I have made this selection with difficulty. I have excluded the work of living men, because I am not familiar with it. Among that which is included will be found passages from the writings of one who was at both Universities, John Lyly; of two who were at Cambridge only, Dryden and Wordsworth; of two who were at neither, Hazlitt and Hawthorne; and of several brilliant lovers of Oxford whose faith was filial and undivided. Almost all the quotations have wit or beauty enough to defend them, even had they been less apposite: their charm is redoubled in this place, since they are in Oxford’s praise. They are worthy of a city which a learned German compares with the creations of Poussin and Claude. But they are in no need of compliment. I could only wish that I had put down nothing unworthy of their blessing. I have; and so they stand in place of epilogue, where they perform the not unprecedented duty of apology.[Pg 506]

“There are also in this Islande two famous Universities, the oneOxford, the otherCambridge, both for the profession of all sciences, for Divinitie, phisicke, Lawe, and for all kinde of learning, excelling all the Universities of Christendome.“I was myself in either of them, and like them both so well, that I meane not in the way of controversie to preferre any for the better in Englande, but both for the best in the world, saving this, that Colledges inOxenfordare much stately for the building, andCambridgemuch more sumptuous for the houses in the towne, but the learning neither lyeth in the free stones of the one, nor the fine streates of the other, for out of them both do dayly proceede men of great wisdome, to rule in the common welth, of learning to instruct the Common people, of all singuler kinde of professions to do good to all. And let this suffice, not to enquire which of them is the superior, but that neither of them have their equall, neither to ask which of them is the most auncient, but whether any other bee so famous.”John Lyly.

“I was myself in either of them, and like them both so well, that I meane not in the way of controversie to preferre any for the better in Englande, but both for the best in the world, saving this, that Colledges inOxenfordare much stately for the building, andCambridgemuch more sumptuous for the houses in the towne, but the learning neither lyeth in the free stones of the one, nor the fine streates of the other, for out of them both do dayly proceede men of great wisdome, to rule in the common welth, of learning to instruct the Common people, of all singuler kinde of professions to do good to all. And let this suffice, not to enquire which of them is the superior, but that neither of them have their equall, neither to ask which of them is the most auncient, but whether any other bee so famous.”

John Lyly.

“Where the Cherwell flows along with the Isis, and their divided streams make several little sweet and pleasant islands, is seated on a rising vale the most famous University of Oxford, in Saxon Oxenford, our most noble Athens, the seat of the English Muses, the prop and pillar, nay the sun, the eye, the very soul of the nation: the most celebrated fountain of wisdom and learning, from whence Religion, Letters and Good[Pg 507]Manners, are happily diffused thro’ the whole Kingdom. A delicate and most beautiful city, whether we respect the neatness of private buildings, or the stateliness of public structures, or the healthy and pleasant situation. For the plain on which it stands is walled in, as it were, with hills of wood, which keeping out on one side the pestilential south wind, on the other, the tempestuous west, admit only the purifying east, and the north that disperses all unwholesome vapours. From which delightful situation, Authors tell us it was heretofore call’dBellositum”—Camden.

Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth!In whose collegiate shelter England’s FlowersExpand, enjoying through their vernal hoursThe air of liberty, the light of truth;Much have ye suffered from Time’s gnawing tooth:Yet, O ye spires of Oxford! domes and towers!Gardens and groves! your presence overpowersThe soberness of reason; till, in sooth,Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchangeI slight my own beloved Cam, to rangeWhere silver Isis leads my stripling feet;Pace the long avenue, or glide adownThe stream-like windings of that glorious street—An eager Novice robed in fluttering gown!Wordsworth.

“King James, 1605, when he came to our University of Oxford, and, amongst other edifices, now went to view that famous Library, renewed by Sir Thomas Bodley, in imitation of Alexander, at his departure brake out into that noble speech, If I were not a King, I would be an University man; and if it were[Pg 508]so that I must be a prisoner, if I might have my wish, I would desire to have no other prison than that Library, and to be chained together with so many good Authorset mortuis magistris. So sweet is the delight of study, the more learning they have (as he that hath a Dropsy, the more he drinks the thirstier he is), the more they covet to learn, and the last day isprioris discipulus; harsh at first learning is,radices amaræ, butfructus dulces, according to that of Isocrates, pleasant at last; the longer they live, the more they are enamoured of the Muses.Heinsius, the keeper of the Library at Leyden in Holland, was mewed up in it all the year long; and that which to my thinking should have bred a loathing caused in him a greater liking.I no sooner(saith he)come into the Library, but I bolt the door to me, excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all such vices, whose nurse is idleness, the mother of ignorance, and Melancholy herself; in the very lap of eternity, amongst so many divine souls, I take my seat, with so lofty a spirit and sweet content, that I pity all our great ones, and rich men that know not this happiness.”The Anatomy of Melancholy.

The Anatomy of Melancholy.

But by the sacred genius of this place,By every Muse, by each domestic grace,Be kind to wit, which but endeavours well,And, where you judge, presumes not to excel.Our poets hither for adoption come,As nations sued to be made free of Rome:Not in the suffragating tribes to stand,But in your utmost, last, provincial band.If his ambition may those hopes pursue,Who with religion loves your arts and you,[Pg 510][Pg 509]

THE OLD ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM AND SHELDONIAN THEATREThe Old Ashmolean Museum, with its noble entrance, stands to the left of the picture; on the right side is part of the south front of the Sheldonian Theatre.An entrance to the enclosure from Broad Street is seen between the thermes and a part of the north side of the street.The collection of the Old Ashmolean Museum is removed to the Taylor Institution.

THE OLD ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM AND SHELDONIAN THEATRE

The Old Ashmolean Museum, with its noble entrance, stands to the left of the picture; on the right side is part of the south front of the Sheldonian Theatre.

An entrance to the enclosure from Broad Street is seen between the thermes and a part of the north side of the street.

The collection of the Old Ashmolean Museum is removed to the Taylor Institution.

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Oxford to him a dearer name shall be,Than his own mother university.Thebes did his green unknowing youth engage,He chooses Athens in his riper age.Dryden.

“Rome has been called the ‘Sacred City’—might notourOxford be called so too? There is an air about it, resonant of joy and hope: it speaks with a thousand tongues to the heart: it weaves its mighty shadow over the imagination: it stands in lowly sublimity, on the ‘hill of ages,’ and points with prophetic fingers to the sky: it greets the eager gaze from afar, ‘with glistening spires and pinnacles adorned,’ that shine with an eternal light as with the lustre of setting suns; and a dream and a glory hover round its head, as the spirits of former times, a throng of intellectual shapes, are seen retreating or advancing to the eye of memory: its streets are paved with the names of learning that can never wear out: its green quadrangles breathe the silence of thought, conscious of the weight of yearnings innumerable after the past, of loftiest aspirations for the future: Isis babbles of the Muse, its waters are from the springs of Helicon, its Christ Church meadows, classic, Elysian fields!—We could pass our lives in Oxford without having or wanting any other idea—that of the place is enough. We imbibe the air of thought; we stand in the presence of learning. We are admitted into the Temple of Fame, we feel that we are in the Sanctuary, on holy ground, and ‘hold high converse with the mighty dead.’ The enlightened and[Pg 514]the ignorant are on a level, if they have but faith in the tutelary genius of the place. We may be wise by proxy, and studious by prescription. Time has taken upon himself the labour of thinking; and accumulated libraries leave us leisure to be dull. There is no occasion to examine the buildings, the churches, the colleges, by the rules of architecture, to reckon up the streets to compare it with Cambridge (Cambridge lies out of the way, on one side of the world)—but woe to him who does not feel in passing through Oxford that he is in ‘no mean city,’ that he is surrounded with the monuments and lordly mansions of the mind of man, outvying in pomp and splendour the courts and palaces of princes, rising like an exhalation in the night of ignorance, and triumphing over barbaric foes, saying, ‘All eyes shall see me, and all knees shall bow to me!’—as the shrine where successive ages came to pay their pious vows, and slake the sacred thirst of knowledge, where youthful hopes (an endless flight) soared to truth and good, and where the retired and lonely student brooded over the historic, or over fancy’s page, imposing high tasks for himself, framing high destinies for the race of man—the lamp, the mine, the well-head whence the spark of learning was kindled, its stream flowed, its treasures were spread out through the remotest corners of the land and to distant nations. Let him who is fond of indulging a dream-like existence go to Oxford, and stay there; let him study this magnificent spectacle, the same under all aspects, with the mental twilight tempering the glare of noon, or[Pg 515]mellowing the silver moonlight; let him not catch the din of scholars or teachers, or dine or sup with them, or speak a word to any of its privileged inhabitants; for if he does, the spell will be broken, the poetry and the religion gone, and the palace of enchantment will melt from his embrace into thin air!”

Hazlitt.

“Oxford ... must remain its own sole expression; and those whose sad fortune it may be never to behold it have no better resource than to dream about grey, weather-stained, ivy-grown edifices, wrought with quaint Gothic ornament, and standing around grassy quadrangles, where cloistered walks have echoed to the quiet footsteps of twenty generations,—lawns and gardens of luxurious repose, shadowed with canopies of foliage, and lit up with sunny glimpses through archways of great boughs,—spires, towers, and turrets, each with its history and legend,—dimly magnificent chapels, with painted windows of rare beauty and brilliantly diversified hues, creating an atmosphere of richest gloom,—vast college halls, high-windowed, oaken-panelled, and hung around with portraits of the men in every age whom the University has nurtured to be illustrious,—long vistas of alcoved libraries, where the wisdom and learned folly of all time is shelved,—kitchens (we throw in this feature by way of ballast, and because it would not be English Oxford without its beef and beer) with huge fireplaces, capable of roasting a hundred joints at once,—and cavernous[Pg 516]cellars, where rows of piled-up hogsheads seethe and fume with that mighty malt-liquor which is the true milk of Alma Mater: make all these things vivid in your dream, and you will never know nor believe how inadequate is the result to represent even the merest outside of Oxford.”—Hawthorne.

“Beautiful city! so venerable, so lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our century, so serene!

There are our young barbarians, all at play!

And yet steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her gardens to the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Age, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection,—to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from another side?—nearer, perhaps, than all the science of Tübingen. Adorable dreamer, whose heart has been so romantic! who hast given thyself so prodigally, given thyself to sides and to heroes not mine, only never to the Philistines! home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs, and unpopular names, and impossible loyalties! whose example could ever so inspire us to keep down the Philistine in ourselves, what teacher could ever so save us from that bondage to which we are all so prone, that bondage which Goethe, in his incomparable lines on the death of Schiller, makes it his friend’s highest praise (and nobly did Schiller deserve the praise) to have left miles out of[Pg 517]sight behind him—the bondage ofWas uns alle bändigt,DAS GEMEINE!She will forgive me, even if I have unwittingly drawn upon her a shot or two aimed at her unworthy son; for she is generous, and the cause in which I fight is, after all, hers. Apparitions of a day, what is our puny warfare against the Philistines, compared with the warfare which this queen of romance has been waging against them for centuries, and will wage after we are gone?”

Matthew Arnold.

THE ENDPrinted byR. & R. Clark, Limited,Edinburgh.[Pg 518]

[Pg 519]

A COMPANION VOLUME TO ‘OXFORD’ IN MESSRS. BLACK’S SERIES OF BEAUTIFUL BOOKSCAMBRIDGEByM. A. R. TUKE JOINT AUTHOR OF ‘ROME’ IN THE SAME SERIESPainted byW. MATTHISONSQUARE DEMY 8vo (9 × 6¼ INCHES), BOUND IN CLOTH, GILT TOP, CONTAINING 77 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR FACSIMILE(Post free,20/6) PRICE20/-NET (Post free,20/6)SOME PRESS OPINIONS“Miss Tuker’s careful monograph has more abiding claims than those of a mere gift-book or souvenir.... She has produced a book of no little literary charm and of considerable character and individuality.”—Daily Telegraph.“Mr. William Matthison’s charming coloured illustrations count for much in the volume’s attractiveness.... All are painted with a richness and sobriety of colour that accords well with the inner associations of the subject. With both text and pictures so good, the book will take a Cambridge man both by the head and by the heart.”—The Scotsman.“The author has compiled most industriously what almost amounts to a handbook to the University.... This volume is illustrated delightfully in colour by Mr. William Matthison, whose art has realised and conveyed fully the beauty of the ‘Backs,’ and of college exteriors and interiors.... A book of much fascination and interest.”—The Globe.“The book is satisfying. We feel we have seen Cambridge, and come away with a comfortable sense of having accumulated a number of interesting facts.”—Daily Mail.[Pg 520]PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK. 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE. LONDON, W.OTHER VOLUMES ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN FULLEYLOVEMIDDLESEXPainted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.Described byA. R. HOPE MONCRIEFFCONTAINING 20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOURSQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOPPrice 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)“Mr. Fulleylove’s score of pictures are beautiful, and combined with Mr. Moncrieff’s descriptions, should make many readers of this volume determine to see for themselves the neglected beauties of the nearest of the Home Counties.”—Daily Telegraph.THE TOWER OF LONDONPainted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.Described byARTHUR POYSERCONTAINING 20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOURSQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOPPrice 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)“To ramble about in these places with so well-informed and chatty a guide is a real pleasure, and Mr. Fulleylove’s delicate colour-sketches, many of which take the reader yet closer to the unknown parts of the Tower, form another attraction of this interesting volume.”—Westminster Gazette.WESTMINSTER ABBEYPainted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.Described byMRS. A. MURRAY SMITHCONTAINING 20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOURSQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOPPrice 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)“The authoress has written well already of the wonderful old Abbey, and her present text makes an admirable setting for a score of Mr. Fulleylove’s deft and artistic water-colour sketches, reproduced as they are, vividly and faithfully.”—Pall Mall Gazette.EDINBURGHPainted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.Described byROSALINE MASSONCONTAINING 21 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOURSQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOPPrice 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)“The pictures are exceedingly beautiful, Mr. Fulleylove’s work being reproduced by the three-colour process in an exceedingly fine way. The letterpress, written by the daughter of Dr. David Masson, provides full and interesting reading, in which every one will delight.”—Edinburgh Evening News.THE HOLY LANDPainted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.Described by The Rev.JOHN KELMAN, M.A., D.D.CONTAINING 92 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS, MOSTLY IN COLOURSQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOPPrice 20s. net(Post free, 20/6)“We do not suppose that there has ever been brought together before such a large and meritorious group of illustrations of scenes and people of Palestine.... To those who have been to Palestine Mr. Kelman’s book will recall much and suggest many new ideas. To those who have not it will give, perhaps, a more accurate impression of the land and the people than any other work on Palestine.”—Westminster Gazette.GREECEPainted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.Described by The Rev.J. A. M’CLYMONT, M.A., D.D.CONTAINING 75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOURSQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOPPrice 20s. net(Post free, 20/6)“A book in every way worthy of its inspiring subject. It is unnecessary to appraise Mr. Fulleylove’s technique, its soundness has been proved abundantly before, in this series as well as elsewhere.... Apart from the pictures the book is worth reading for its own sake.”—Daily Graphic.PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK. 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE. LONDON, W.

A COMPANION VOLUME TO ‘OXFORD’ IN MESSRS. BLACK’S SERIES OF BEAUTIFUL BOOKS

CAMBRIDGE

ByM. A. R. TUKE JOINT AUTHOR OF ‘ROME’ IN THE SAME SERIES

Painted byW. MATTHISON

SQUARE DEMY 8vo (9 × 6¼ INCHES), BOUND IN CLOTH, GILT TOP, CONTAINING 77 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR FACSIMILE

(Post free,20/6) PRICE20/-NET (Post free,20/6)

SOME PRESS OPINIONS

“Miss Tuker’s careful monograph has more abiding claims than those of a mere gift-book or souvenir.... She has produced a book of no little literary charm and of considerable character and individuality.”—Daily Telegraph.

“Mr. William Matthison’s charming coloured illustrations count for much in the volume’s attractiveness.... All are painted with a richness and sobriety of colour that accords well with the inner associations of the subject. With both text and pictures so good, the book will take a Cambridge man both by the head and by the heart.”—The Scotsman.

“The author has compiled most industriously what almost amounts to a handbook to the University.... This volume is illustrated delightfully in colour by Mr. William Matthison, whose art has realised and conveyed fully the beauty of the ‘Backs,’ and of college exteriors and interiors.... A book of much fascination and interest.”—The Globe.

“The book is satisfying. We feel we have seen Cambridge, and come away with a comfortable sense of having accumulated a number of interesting facts.”—Daily Mail.

[Pg 520]

PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK. 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE. LONDON, W.

OTHER VOLUMES ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN FULLEYLOVE

MIDDLESEX

Painted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.

Described byA. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF

CONTAINING 20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

SQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOP

Price 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)

“Mr. Fulleylove’s score of pictures are beautiful, and combined with Mr. Moncrieff’s descriptions, should make many readers of this volume determine to see for themselves the neglected beauties of the nearest of the Home Counties.”—Daily Telegraph.

THE TOWER OF LONDON

Painted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.

Described byARTHUR POYSER

CONTAINING 20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

SQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOP

Price 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)

“To ramble about in these places with so well-informed and chatty a guide is a real pleasure, and Mr. Fulleylove’s delicate colour-sketches, many of which take the reader yet closer to the unknown parts of the Tower, form another attraction of this interesting volume.”—Westminster Gazette.

WESTMINSTER ABBEY

Painted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.

Described byMRS. A. MURRAY SMITH

CONTAINING 20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

SQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOP

Price 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)

“The authoress has written well already of the wonderful old Abbey, and her present text makes an admirable setting for a score of Mr. Fulleylove’s deft and artistic water-colour sketches, reproduced as they are, vividly and faithfully.”—Pall Mall Gazette.

EDINBURGH

Painted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.

Described byROSALINE MASSON

CONTAINING 21 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

SQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOP

Price 7s. 6d. net(Post free, 7/11)

“The pictures are exceedingly beautiful, Mr. Fulleylove’s work being reproduced by the three-colour process in an exceedingly fine way. The letterpress, written by the daughter of Dr. David Masson, provides full and interesting reading, in which every one will delight.”—Edinburgh Evening News.

THE HOLY LAND

Painted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.

Described by The Rev.JOHN KELMAN, M.A., D.D.

CONTAINING 92 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS, MOSTLY IN COLOUR

SQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOP

Price 20s. net(Post free, 20/6)

“We do not suppose that there has ever been brought together before such a large and meritorious group of illustrations of scenes and people of Palestine.... To those who have been to Palestine Mr. Kelman’s book will recall much and suggest many new ideas. To those who have not it will give, perhaps, a more accurate impression of the land and the people than any other work on Palestine.”—Westminster Gazette.

GREECE

Painted byJOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.

Described by The Rev.J. A. M’CLYMONT, M.A., D.D.

CONTAINING 75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

SQUARE DEMY 8VO, CLOTH, GILT TOP

Price 20s. net(Post free, 20/6)

“A book in every way worthy of its inspiring subject. It is unnecessary to appraise Mr. Fulleylove’s technique, its soundness has been proved abundantly before, in this series as well as elsewhere.... Apart from the pictures the book is worth reading for its own sake.”—Daily Graphic.

PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK. 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE. LONDON, W.

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