hamed to say I had never visited before. It shows a poor plastered
front to the street, but the old place is there behind the plaster. I
went into a tiny, dark chapel, with a high pillared pediment of carved
wood behind the altar, a rich ceiling, and some fine columned alcoves
where the dignitaries sit. Out of the gallery opens a venerable
library, with a regretful air of the past about its faded volumes in
their high presses, as though it sadly said, "I am of yesterday." Then
we found ourselves in a spacious panelled Hall, with a great oriel
looking out into a peaceful garden, embowered in great trees, with
smiling lawns. All round the Hall hung portraits of old
worthies--peers, judges, and bishops, with some rubicund wigged
Masters. I like to think of the obscure and yet dignified lives that
have been lived in these quaint and stately chambers. I suppose that
there used to be a great deal of tippling and low gossip in the old
days of the vinous, idle Fellows, who hung on for life, forgetting
their books, and just trying to dissipate boredom. One tends to think
that it was all like that; and yet, doubtless, there were quiet lives
of study and meditation led here by wise and simple men who have long
since mouldered into dust. And all that dull rioting is happily over.
The whole place is full of activity and happiness. There is, if
anything, among the Dons, too much business, too many meetings, too
much teaching, and the life of mere study is neglected. But it pleases
me to think that even now there are men who live quietly among their
books, unambitious, perhaps unproductive, but forgetting the flight of
time, and looking out into a pleasant garden, with its rustling trees,
among the sound of mellow bells. We are, most of us, too much in a fuss
nowadays to live these gentle, innocent, and beautiful lives; and yet
the University is a place where a poor man, if he be virtuous, may lead
a life of dignity and simplicity, and refined happiness. We make the
mistake of thinking that all can be done by precept, when, as a matter
of fact, example is no less potent a force. To make such quiet lives
possible was to a great extent what these stately and beautiful places
were founded for--that there should be in the busy world a corner where
activities should not be so urgent, and where life should pass like an
old dream, tinged with delicate colour and soft sound. I declare I do
not know that it is more virtuous to be a clerk in a ba