s his name. Surely the spirits
of these two men at least must haunt the place!

And he who wrote of Oxford's sons--Anthony Wood--is he too never here?
And Patteson and Creighton of these later days, bishops who gave their
lives, the one upon a savage shore, the other to the endless toil of the
great diocese of London. Do they not pass along, and people with their
memory the shadowy recesses of this ancient place?

[Illustration: CHRIST CHURCH]

Now let us stroll on--'tis but a step--to Christ Church. Sometimes it
seems as though this should take precedence of all other colleges. Its
chapel is Oxford's Cathedral, its quadrangles are the finest, its
founder was in some ways the most famous; and lastly (and of least
account), if one who has tried the task of "seeing Oxford" in an
afternoon is asked what he remembers best, it is ten to one that he
will say "the staircase and its ceiling leading up to Christ Church
Hall". And it _is_ of extraordinarily impressive beauty. The fan
groining of the roof, supported by just one slender column, which
springs from the foot of the staircase, is of exquisite form and
lightness. Then the wide, flat steps that turn at an acute angle, and
then lead on straight to the entrance of the Hall, form a worthy
approach to what has been described as the grandest of all mediaeval
halls in the kingdom, except only that at Westminster. Let us stand
aside here for a moment and picture some of those who have ascended
these stairs in days gone by. A fanfare of trumpets sounds, and Henry
VIII goes up with ponderous step. Here too comes Queen Elizabeth,
jesting in caustic fashion with her courtiers, as she sweeps along to
witness a dramatic entertainment in the Hall. Of lesser folk there pass
by Dr. Fell ("I do not like thee, Dr. Fell"), who finished the building
of Tom Quad in 1665; and then a quiet studious-looking man, a fellow or
senior student of the College, who has nothing in his appearance to call
attention. But this is Burton, by some accounted a morose person, but by
those who knew him intimately a cheery and witty companion. Here, too,
with slow and faltering step comes Pusey in extreme old age, and Liddon
of ascetic mien. Hark to the laughter! It is Stubbs--historian
Bishop--with witty saying falling from his lips. And there is Liddell,
feared of the undergraduate, but splendid both in figure and in face.
And many another shade would fancy depict taking the old familiar way:
men of renown,