[mr. hawthorne extracted from his recorded oxford experiences his excursion to blenheim, but left his observations of the town itself untouched,—and these i now transcribe.—ed.]

august 31st.—. . . . yesterday we took the rail for london, and drove across the city to the paddington station, where we met bennoch, and set out with him for oxford. i do not quite understand the matter, but it appears that we were expected guests of mr. spiers, a very hospitable gentleman, and ex-mayor of oxford, and a friend of bennoch and of the halls. mr. s. c. hall met us at the oxford station, and under his guidance we drove to a quiet, comfortable house in st. giles street, where rooms had been taken for us. durham, the sculptor, is likewise of the party.

after establishing ourselves at these lodgings, we walked forth to take a preliminary glimpse of the city, and mr. hall, being familiar with the localities, served admirably as a guide. if i remember aright, i spoke very slightingly of the exterior aspect of oxford, as i saw it with j——- during an hour or two's stay here, on my way to southampton (to meet s——- on her return from lisbon). i am bound to say that my impressions are now very different; and that i find oxford exceedingly picturesque and rich in beauty and grandeur and in antique stateliness. i do not remember very particularly what we saw,—time-worn fronts of famous colleges and halls of learning everywhere about the streets, and arched entrances; passing through which, we saw bits of sculpture from monkish hands,—the most grotesque and ludicrous faces, as if the slightest whim of these old carvers took shape in stone, the material being so soft and manageable by them; an ancient stone pulpit in the quadrangle of maudlin college (magdalen), one of only three now extant in england; a splendid—no, not splendid, but dimly magnificent—chapel, belonging to the same college, with painted windows of rare beauty, not brilliant with diversified hues, but of a sombre tint. in this chapel there is an alabaster monument,—a recumbent figure of the founder's father, as large as life,—which, though several centuries old, is as well preserved as if fresh from the chisel.

in the high street, which, i suppose, is the noblest old street in england, mr. hall pointed out, the crown inn, where shakespeare used to spend the night, and was most hospitably welcomed by the pretty hostess (the mother of sir william davenant) on his passage between stratford and london. it is a three-story house, with other houses contiguous,—an old timber mansion, though now plastered and painted of a yellowish line. the ground-floor is occupied as a shoe-shop; but the rest of the house is still kept as a tavern. . . .

it is not now term time, and oxford loses one of its most characteristic features by the absence of the gownsmen; but still there is a good deal of liveliness in the streets. we walked as far as a bridge beyond maudlin college, and then drove homeward.

at six we went to dine with the hospitable ex-mayor, across the wide, tree-bordered street; for his house is nearly opposite our lodgings. he is an intelligent and gentlemanly person, and was mayor two years ago, and has done a great deal to make peace between the university and the town, heretofore bitterly inimical. his house is adorned with pictures and drawings, and he has an especial taste for art. . . . the dinner-table was decorated with pieces of plate, vases, and other things, which were presented to him as tokens of public or friendly regard and approbation of his action in the mayoralty. after dinner, too, he produced a large silver snuff-box, which had been given him on the same account; in fact, the inscription affirmed that it was one of five pieces of plate so presented. the vases are really splendid,—one of them two feet high, and richly ornamented. it will hold five or six bottles of wine, and he said that it had been filled, and, i believe, sent round as a loving-cup at some of his entertainments. he cordially enjoys these things, and his genuine benevolence produces all this excellent hospitality. . . . but bennoch proposed a walk, and we set forth. we rambled pretty extensively about the streets, sometimes seeing the shapes of old edifices dimly and doubtfully, it being an overcast night; or catching a partial view of a gray wall, or a pillar, or a gothic archway, by lamplight. . . . the clock had some time ago struck eleven, when we were passing under a long extent of antique wall and towers, which were those of baliol college. mr. d——— led us into the middle of the street, and showed us a cross, which was paved into it, on a level with the rest of the road. this was the spot where latimer and ridley and another bishop were martyred in bloody mary's time. there is a memorial to them in another street; but this, where i set my foot at nearly midnight, was the very spot where their flesh burned to ashes, and their bones whitened. it has been a most beautiful morning, and i have seen few pleasanter scenes than this street in which we lodge, with its spacious breadth, its two rows of fine old trees, with sidewalks as wide as the whole width of some streets; and, on the opposite side, the row of houses, some of them ancient with picturesque gables, partially disclosed through the intervening foliage. . . . from our window we have a slantwise glimpse, to the right, of the walls of st. john's college, and the general aspect of st. giles. it is of an antiquity not to shame those mediaeval halls. our own lodgings are in a house that seems to be very old, with panelled walls, and beams across the ceilings, lattice-windows in the chambers, and a musty odor such as old houses inevitably have. nevertheless, everything is extremely neat, clean, and comfortable; and in term time our apartments are occupied by a mr. stebbing, whose father is known in literature by some critical writings, and who is a graduate and an admirable scholar. there is a bookcase of five shelves, containing his books, mostly standard works, and indicating a safe and solid taste.

after lunch to-day we (that is, mrs. hall, her adopted daughter, s——-, and i, with the ex-mayor) set forth, in an open barouche, to see the remarkables of oxford, while the rest of the guests went on foot. we first drew up at new college (a strange name for such an old place, but it was new some time since the conquest), and went through its quiet and sunny quadrangles, and into its sunny and shadowy gardens. i am in despair about the architecture and old edifices of these oxford colleges, it is so impossible to express them in words. they are themselves—as the architect left them, and as time has modified and improved them—the expression of an idea which does not admit of being otherwise expressed, or translated into anything else. those old battlemented walls around the quadrangles; many gables; the windows with stone pavilions, so very antique, yet some of them adorned with fresh flowers in pots,—a very sweet contrast; the ivy mantling the gray stone; and the infinite repose, both in sunshine and shadow,—it is as if half a dozen bygone centuries had set up their rest here, and as if nothing of the present time ever passed through the deeply recessed archway that shuts in the college from the street. not but what people have very free admittance; and many parties of young men and girls and children came into the gardens while we were there.

these gardens of new college are indescribably beautiful,—not gardens in an american sense, but lawns of the richest green and softest velvet grass, shadowed over by ancient trees, that have lived a quiet life here for centuries, and have been nursed and tended with such care, and so sheltered from rude winds, that certainly they must have been the happiest of all trees. such a sweet, quiet, sacred, stately seclusion— so age-long as this has been, and, i hope, will continue to be—cannot exist anywhere else. one side of the garden wall is formed by the ancient wall of the city, which cromwell's artillery battered, and which still retains its pristine height and strength. at intervals, there are round towers that formed the bastions; that is to say, on the exterior they are round towers, but within, in the garden of the college, they are semicircular recesses, with iron garden-seats arranged round them. the loop-holes through which the archers and musketeers used to shoot still pierce through deep recesses in the wall, which is here about six feet thick. i wish i could put into one sentence the whole impression of this garden, but it could not be done in many pages.

we looked also at the outside of the wall, and mr. parker, deeply skilled in the antiquities of the spot, showed us a weed growing,—here in little sprigs, there in large and heavy festoons,—hanging plentifully downward from a shallow root. it is called the oxford plant, being found only here, and not easily, if at all, introduced anywhere else. it bears a small and pretty blue flower, not altogether unlike the forget-me-not, and we took some of it away with us for a memorial. we went into the chapel of new college, which is in such fresh condition that i think it must be modern; and yet this cannot be, since there are old brasses inlaid into tombstones in the pavement, representing mediaeval ecclesiastics and college dignitaries; and busts against the walls, in antique garb; and old painted windows, unmistakable in their antiquity. but there is likewise a window, lamentable to look at, which was painted by sir joshua reynolds, and exhibits strikingly the difference between the work of a man who performed it merely as a matter of taste and business, and what was done religiously and with the whole heart; at least, it shows that the artists and public of the last age had no sympathy with gothic art. in the chancel of this church there are more painted windows, which i take to be modern, too, though they are in much better taste, and have an infinitely better effect, than sir joshua's. at any rate, with the sunshine through them, they looked very beautiful, and tinted the high altar and the pavement with brilliant lines.

the sacristan opened a tall and narrow little recess in the wall of the chancel, and showed it entirely filled with the crosier of william of wickham. it appears to be made of silver gilt, and is a most rich and elaborate relic, at least six feet high. modern art cannot, or does not, equal the chasing and carving of this splendid crosier, which is enriched with figures of saints and, apostles, and various gothic devices,—very minute, but all executed as faithfully as if the artist's salvation had depended upon every notch he made in the silver. . . .

leaving new college, bennoch and i, under mr. parker's guidance, walked round christ church meadows, part of our way lying along the banks of the cherwell, which unites with the isis to form the thames, i believe. the cherwell is a narrow and remarkably sluggish stream; but is deep in spots, and capriciously so,—so that a person may easily step from knee-deep to fifteen feet in depth. a gentleman present used a queer expression in reference to the drowning of two college men; he said "it was an awkward affair." i think this is equal to longfellow's story of the frenchman who avowed himself very much "displeased" at the news of his father's death. at the confluence of the cherwell and isis we saw a good many boats, belonging to the students of the various colleges; some of them being very large and handsome barges, capable of accommodating a numerous party, with room on board for dancing and merry-making. some of them are calculated to be drawn by horses, in the manner of canal-boats; others are propellable by oars. it is practicable to perform the voyage between oxford and london—a distance of about one hundred and thirty miles—in three days. the students of oxford are famous boatmen; there is a constant rivalship, on this score, among the different colleges; and annually, i believe, there is a match between oxford and cambridge. the cambridge men beat the oxonians in this year's trial.

on our return into the city, we passed through christ church, which, as regards the number of students, is the most considerable college of the university. it has a stately dome; but my memory is confused with battlements, towers, and gables, and gothic staircases and cloisters. if there had been nothing else in oxford but this one establishment, my anticipations would not have been disappointed. the bell was tolling for worship in the chapel; and mr. parker told us that dr. pusey is a canon, or in some sort of dignity, in christ church, and would soon probably make his appearance in the quadrangle, on his way to chapel; so we walked to and fro, waiting an opportunity to see him. a gouty old dignitary, in a white surplice, came hobbling along from one extremity of the court; and by and by, from the opposite corner, appeared dr. pusey, also in a white surplice, and with a lady by his side. we met him, and i stared pretty fixedly at him, as i well might; for he looked on the ground, as if conscious that he would be stared at. he is a man past middle life, of sufficient breadth and massiveness, with a pale, intellectual, manly face. he was talking with the lady, and smiled, but not jollily. mr. parker, who knows him, says that he is a man of kind and gentle affections. the lady was his niece.

thence we went through high street and broad street, and passing by baliol college,—a most satisfactory pile and range of old towered and gabled edifices,—we came to the cross on the pavement, which is supposed to mark the spot where the bishops were martyred. but mr. parker told us the mortifying fact, that he had ascertained that this could not possibly have been the genuine spot of martyrdom, which must have taken place at a point within view, but considerably too far off to be moistened by any tears that may be shed here. it is too bad. we concluded the rambles of the day by visiting the gardens of st. john's college; and i desire, if possible, to say even more in admiration of them than of those of new college,—such beautiful lawns, with tall, ancient trees, and heavy clouds of foliage, and sunny glimpses through archways of leafy branches, where, to-day, we could see parties of girls, making cheerful contrast with the sombre walls and solemn shade. the world, surely, has not another place like oxford; it is a despair to see such a place and ever to leave it, for it would take a lifetime and more than one, to comprehend and enjoy it satisfactorily.

at dinner, to-day, the golden vases were all ranged on the table, the largest and central one containing a most magnificent bouquet of dahlias and other bright-hued flowers.

on tuesday, our first visit was to christ church, where we saw the large and stately hall, above a hundred feet long by forty wide, and fifty to the top of its carved oaken roof, which is ornamented with festoons, as it were, and pendants of solid timber. the walls are panelled with oak, perhaps half-way upward, and above are the rows of arched windows on each side; but, near the upper end, two great windows come nearly to the floor. there is a dais, where the great men of the college and the distinguished guests sit at table, and the tables of the students are arranged along the length of the hall. all around, looking down upon those who sit at meat, are the portraits of a multitude of illustrious personages who were members of the learned fraternity in times past; not a portrait being admitted there (unless it he a king, and i remember only henry viii.) save those who were actually students on the foundation, receiving the eleemosynary aid of the college. most of them were divines; but there are likewise many statesmen, eminent during the last three hundred years, and, among many earlier ones, the marquis of wellesley and canning. it is an excellent idea, for their own glory, and as examples to the rising generations, to have this multitude of men, who have done good and great things, before the eyes of those who ought to do as well as they, in their own time. archbishops, prime ministers, poets, deep scholars,—but, doubtless, an outward success has generally been their claim to this position, and christ church may have forgotten a better man than the best of them. it is not, i think, the tendency of english life, nor of the education of their colleges, to lead young men to high moral excellence, but to aim at illustrating themselves in the sight of mankind.

thence we went into the kitchen, which is arranged very much as it was three centuries ago, with two immense fireplaces. there was likewise a gridiron, which, without any exaggeration, was large enough to have served for the martyrdom of st. lawrence. the college dinners are good, but plain, and cost the students one shilling and eleven pence each, being rather cheaper than a similar one could be had at an inn. there is no provision for breakfast or supper in commons; but they can have these meals sent to their rooms from the buttery, at a charge proportioned to the dishes they order. there seems to be no necessity for a great expenditure on the part of oxford students.

from the kitchen we went to the chapel, which is the cathedral of oxford, and well worth seeing, if there had not been so many other things to see. it is now under repair, and there was a great heap of old wood-work and panelling lying in one of the aisles, which had been stripped away from some of the ancient pillars, leaving them as good as new. there is a shrine of a saint, with a wooden canopy over it; and some painted glass, old and new; and a statue of cyril jackson, with a face of shrewdness and insight; and busts, as mural monuments.

our next visit was to

merton college,

which, though not one of the great colleges, is as old as any of them, and looks exceedingly venerable. we were here received by a friend of mr. spiers, in his academic cap, but without his gown, which is not worn, except in term time. he is a very civil gentleman, and showed us some antique points of architecture,—such as a norman archway, with a passage over it, through which the queen of charles i. used to go to chapel; and an edifice of the thirteenth century, with a stone roof, which is considered to be very curious.

how ancient is the aspect of these college quadrangles! so gnawed by time as they are, so crumbly, so blackened, and so gray where they are not black,—so quaintly shaped, too, with here a line of battlement and there a row of gables; and here a turret, with probably a winding stair inside; and lattice-windows, with stone mullions, and little panes of glass set in lead; and the cloisters, with a long arcade, looking upon the green or pebbled enclosure. the quality of the stone has a great deal to do with the apparent antiquity. it is a stone found in the neighborhood of oxford, and very soon begins to crumble and decay superficially, when exposed to the weather; so that twenty years do the work of a hundred, so far as appearances go. if you strike one of the old walls with a stick, a portion of it comes powdering down. the effect of this decay is very picturesque, and is especially striking, i think, on edifices of classic architecture, such as some of the oxford colleges are, greatly enriching the grecian columns, which look so cold when the outlines are hard and distinct. the oxford people, however, are tired of this crumbly stone, and when repairs are necessary, they use a more durable material, which does not well assort with the antiquity into which it is intruded.

mr. e——— showed us the library of merton college. it occupies two sides of an old building, and has a very delightful fragrance of ancient books. the halls containing it are vaulted, and roofed with oak, not carved and ornamented, but laid flat, so that they look very like a grand and spacious old garret. all along, there is a row of alcoves on each side, with rude benches and reading-desks, in the simplest style, and nobody knows how old. the books look as old as the building. the more valuable were formerly chained to the bookcases; and a few of them have not yet broken their chains. it was a good emblem of the dark and monkish ages, when learning was imprisoned in their cloisters, and chained in their libraries, in the days when the schoolmaster had not yet gone abroad. mr. e——— showed us a very old copy of the bible; and a vellum manuscript, most beautifully written in black-letter and illuminated, of the works of duns scotus, who was a scholar of merton college.

he then showed us the chapel, a large part of which has been renewed and ornamented with pictured windows and other ecclesiastical splendor, and paved with encaustic tiles, according to the puseyite taste of the day; for merton has adopted the puseyite doctrines, and is one of their chief strongholds in oxford. if they do no other good, they at least do much for the preservation and characteristic restoration of the old english churches; but perhaps, even here, there is as much antiquity spoiled as retained. in the portion of the chapel not yet restored, we saw the rude old pavement, inlaid with gravestones, in some of which were brasses, with the figures of the college dignitaries, whose dust slumbered beneath; and i think it was here that i saw the tombstone of anthony-a-wood, the gossiping biographer of the learned men of oxford.

from the chapel we went into the college gardens, which are very pleasant, and possess the advantage of looking out on the broad verdure of christ church meadows and the river beyond. we loitered here awhile, and then went to mr. ———'s rooms, to which the entrance is by a fine old staircase. they had a very comfortable, aspect,—a wainscoted parlor and bedroom, as nice and cosey as a bachelor could desire, with a good collection of theological books; and on a peg hung his gown, with a red border about it, denoting him to be a proproctor. he was kind enough to order a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, college ale, and a certain liquor called "archdeacon." . . . . we ate and drank, . . . . and, bidding farewell to good mr. e———, we pursued our way to the

ratcliffe library.

this is a very handsome edifice, of a circular shape; the lower story consisting altogether of arches, open on all sides, as if to admit anybody to the learning here stored up. i always see great beauty and lightsomeness in these classic and grecian edifices, though they seem cold and intellectual, and not to have had their mortar moistened with human life-blood, nor to have the mystery of human life in them, as gothic structures do. the library is in a large and beautiful room, in the story above the basement, and, as far as i saw, consisted chiefly or altogether of scientific works. i saw silliman's journal on one of the desks, being the only trace of american science, or american learning or ability in any department, which i discovered in the university of oxford. after seeing the library, we went to the top of the building, where we had an excellent view of oxford and the surrounding country. then we went to the convocation hall, and afterwards to the theatre, where s——- sat down in the chancellor's chair, which is very broad, and ponderously wrought of oak. i remember little here, except the amphitheatre of benches, and the roof, which seems to be supported by golden ropes, and on the wall, opposite the door, some full-length portraits, among which one of that ridiculous coxcomb, george iv., was the most prominent. these kings thrust themselves impertinently forward by bust, statue, and picture, on all occasions, and it is not wise in them to show their shallow foreheads among men of mind.