educated. Genteel writers of the last century, who appear to have always rejoiced most when they could most degrade a great name, were fond of relating that Milton suffered some indignities here, and they fancied that a passage of uncertain meaning in one of his Latin poems, countenanced them in their slander. We need hardly say that, though still often repeated, the assertion is utterly without foundation. If the passage above referred to might at the first glance seem to warrant such a conclusion, other passages in both his Latin and English prose works must entirely remove the supposition. His memory appears to have been from the first and until now warmly cherished here. Whatever of general interest attaches to Christ's College is owing to Milton's connection with it, and the members duly estimate the honour that his name has conferred upon them. Yet tradition has preserved little respecting his residence here. His rooms, if they remain, are not remembered. The fellows' garden is what is most deserving inspection on its own account, and it contains what is connected with the name of the great poet. A mulberry-tree, which stands in the middle of one of the lawns, is known as Milton's Mulberry-tree, and the fellows have received, in succession, from a date which cannot be much posterior to Milton's day, the tradition that it was planted by him. They may of course be mistaken, but they without exception believe the tradition. The tree is evidently a very old one, and is only kept from decay by extraordinary care. Several years ago about half of it was blown down in a storm, but the torn part was carefully covered with lead; and although weakened by the loss of so large a portion, the remainder appears likely to survive for many years. The trunk is now a mere shell, but it is carefully propped up, and still annually produces a goodly crop of fruit. Attempts have been made to raise seedlings from it, but they have not been very successful. A couple of young ones, however, are growing close by it. The gardens of the college are very beautiful-perhaps the most beautiful in the University. The stately horse-chestnut trees were doubtless here when Milton was a student, and we may easily fancy that he not unseldom passed an hour under their shade. About forty years ago one was blown down in a severe storm; it somewhat spoiled the mass of foliage, but that was atoned for by its opening through the gap a fine view of the turrets of King's College, and some other of the collegiate edifices. A favourite amusement of the fellows in most of the colleges is the good old after-dinner game of bowls, and there are bowling-greens in many of the fellows' gardens. That at St. John's is an excellent one, but this at Christ's is the best in the University. Did John Milton ever play at bowls here? We should say, yes. We may mention, that there is preserved in the Combination-room a bust of the blind bard, which is believed to be contemporary. Vertue supposed it to be the work of Pierce; and Brand Hollis, to whom it formerly belonged, of Abraham Simon, both of whom lived in Milton's day. Some artists, accustomed to take casts from the life, say that it is moulded from an original cast, as there are impressions of the pores of the skin that are only to be found in such works. The cast is not shown to the public; we have been favoured with a sight of it, but are too little skilled in such matters to venture an opinion upon its authenticity. The principal deviation in the features from the ordinary portraits of Milton, consists in a greater fulness of the lower part of the face. It appears to have been taken when he was between forty-five and fifty years of age. Another of the choice treasures of the college is a manuscript of Milton's. The other colleges we must pass by: we add a general list of them at the end. We cannot visit even Sidney Susser, where Oliver Cromwell was a student; "entering himself there," as Carlyle expresses it, "cariously enough, of all days on the same day as Shakspere, as his monument still testifies, at Stratford-on-Avon, died." There is nothing of him retained at this college worth going out of our way to look after, and no traditions worth listening to. Chaucer's college, Clare Hall, is a neat set of buildings, but none are of the old poet's time. The situation is a very pleasant one. Pembroke may be visited for the sake of Thomas Gray, who spent all the latter years of his life in it, in a sort of learned indolence, reading, and making preparations for writing, but always delaying to write. In his Letters he is constantly making querulous allusions to "the quiet ugliness of Cambridge," and complaining of being “ennuyé to the last degree" there-" yet doing nothing." Gray called this college " ' quite a nest of poets." A great many have been nourished in it-Spenser and Crashaw among others; and it boasts of a famous list of theologians. Emmanuel is known as the Puritan College. It was founded on Puritan principles by Elizabeth's minister, Sir William Mildmay; and the original leaven had so well worked, that from it most of the heads of other colleges were appointed in the Commonwealth period, when the old masters were displaced. There is nothing particularly puritanical about it now. It is situated in St. Andrew-street; and if the stranger thinks fit to visit it--though there is nothing remarkable about it—he may, after having done so, as well go on to Downing College, in order to look at the newest college in the University: he will not care to see it a second time. Downing College is wholly the production of our own day. It was designed by Wilkins; and, as it does not once in an age fall to the lot of an architect to design the whole of a large college, he doubtless put forth all his powers. It is his masterpiece. Probably, there was never at any time, in any part of Europe, a college erected so perfectly devoid of everything that any one could possibly conceive to be either graceful or appropriate. That Wilkins could contrive a building ugly beyond expectation, every Londoner has painful experience in the National Gallery; but the marvellous depth of the poverty of his artistical conception can only be understood by one who has seen Downing College. The central portion of the edifice has not been erected; and it is devoutly to be desired that it never may be—at least according to the original design. It was some time since proposed to purchase the property, and convert it into the terminus of the railway, when the thing must have been pulled down; as it would have been impossible to tolerate such a structure for even such a purpose. But, unhappily, the negociation failed. There is one comforting circumstancc-the college is placed in such an out-of-the-way situation, that no one is compelled to see it. When he has examined the college buildings, the visitor must return to the College Walks. They will afford him a delightful stroll. In their way they are quite unique. Beautiful as are the Walks of Oxford, it may be questioned if these do not surpass them. They are straighter and more formal, but certainly have a more academic air. The backs of most of the larger colleges are turned towards the walks, and nowhere else do the buildings present so striking or so beautiful an appearance as from them; indeed, the magnitude and character of the colleges can hardly elsewhere be appreciated. The walks, as we have said, are laid out in avenues of limes, and elms, and horse-chestnut; and the various Gothic buildings form a succession of delightful combinations with the masses of rich foliage. Between the walks and the colleges Camus, reverend sire, comes footing slow," and adds not a little to the picturesqueness of the scenery. Along these walks-ie. between King's and Queen's Colleges-the river is crossed by some half-dozen bridges, of various and some of them of very superior design. The river is indeed but narrow, and docs, as Milton says, "come footing slow"-so slow, that the motion is scarcely perceptible; but there are seldom wanting a number of pleasure-skiffs to enliven it. On a summer's afternoon the walks have a very characteristic appearance: they are crowded with students-of course, in the collegiate habits-who saunter slowly about the groves, or lie along the gently-sloping banks of the river, stretched in every conceivable attitude-some that it would puzzle a Cruikshank to copy, and utterly exceed his imagination to invent: but all the students, whether alone and book-in-hand, or in companionable groups, seem bent on taking their ease. In the evening the walks present quite a different aspect; they are at their gayest then. They are the favourite evening lounge of both the town and the University. Not only sage fellows and promising students, but lovely maidens and grave matrons, come hither in the evening. time to enjoy these shady avenues, and the society of each other. And then, too, the river is literally alive with boats and merriment. The expert boatsman then exerts his best skill-the idle looker-on cracks his best joke; altogether the scene is exquisitely characteristic. To one who can appreciate a scene of enjoyment it is quite delightful to spend an hour or two here. Looking from the centre of King's College Bridge, the scene is really a very interesting one. The river, crowded with wherries of every colour, the walks with the collegians in their black and purple gowns, and ladies in dresses of rainbow hues, the trees and buildings glowing and darkening under the declining sun-all make up a scene such as no other place-not even Oxford-can show, and such as will dwell in the memory. The visitant who wishes to see something more of the amusements of Cambridge, may stroll down to Jesus' Green to the Boat-houses; and he will be fortunate if he arrives there in time to see the start of a rowing match. He must have some courage if he ventures to follow it along the meadows among the crowd of rushing and shouting partisans-each, as he runs, roaring at the top of his voice the name of his college crew; but he will miss an odd sight if he does not so venture. He should by all means see the 'bumping.' If, however, his taste does not incline him to take interest in aquatic sports, he may spend an odd half-hour-somewhere between two and four is the best time-in the cricket-ground, Parker's Piece. To one who has never been present at a college match, the enthusiasm of Cambridge students is a thing worth witnessing. But we must turn to the town. The town has no buildings of its own to show-or at least none making the smallest pretension to architectural display. The town is a corporate body, governed by a mayor, aldermen, and councillors, and had, at the last census, 23,455 inhabitants; but its public spirit, if it have any, finds vent some other way than in adorning the streets. The churches are, some of them, interesting. Great St. Mary's is the University church; and the University sermon is preached in it every Sunday during Term-time. The stranger who is in Cambridge on a Sunday, generally attends the afternoon scrmon, in order to see something of the University magnates. Two other services are also attended by the stranger with especial interest. The choral service at King's College Chapel in the morning, and at Trinity in the evening. To both of these the admission is, necessarily, by tickets, which must be procured at the porters' lodges on the preceding day, or early on the Sunday morn ing. We mention this, because we have known of several who have stayed the Sunday at Cambridge especially to attend these services, and have been unable to obtain admission, through ignorance of the arrangement. We cannot help saying, that we think a little more pliability in the rules would be as well-at any rate in the case of strangers. Great St. Mary's stands in Trumpington-street, near the centre of the It is a spacious, and externally a rather handsome edifice, in the perpendicular style. The first stone of the church was laid in May 1478, and the body of the church was finished in 1519, but it remained nearly a century without a tower, which was completed in 1608. Originally there were attached to the church several chapels, town. each having its altar; but they were nearly all pulled down after the Reformation. The church now consists of a nave, two side aisles, with a chapel at the end of each, a chancel, and a tower at the west end, in which is a peal of ten bells. The gallery, added to accommodate the members of the University, is very far from adding to the architectural beauty of the interior. In this church are several monuments to distinguished members of the University. Great St. Mary's Church is so called to distinguish it from another, called St. Mary the Less, near St. Peter's College. St. Benedict's, or Bene't's, may be noticed for its tower, which is one of the few remaining examples of Anglo-Saxon church architecture. St. Botolph's, St. Michael's, Trinity, and Little St. Mary's churches, are among those most worthy of notice for their architectural merits. The other churches may be left unnoticed; but the round church of St. Sepulchre's, whose restoration in 1843 caused such an angry and unhappy controversy, should be inspected. It is one of the most remarkable buildings in Cambridge. All the restorations have been most scrupulously conducted; and it is now a beautiful little place, particularly in the inside, and conveys a clearer notion of a church of the olden time than can often be obtained. It was built in imitation Within this enclosure it was said of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, and was consecrated in 1101. The Castle, spoken of in a former page, is wholly gone. We have already told enough of its history; but we may here vary our dry matter-of-fact pages with a wild legend that is related concerning it by some of our older writers, and has been employed by Sir Walter Scott in his Marmion.' Thus it runs :-One evening a stranger knight was entertained in Cambridge Castle. The dinner was over, and the wine and the story flowed freely in the castle-hall. One tale especially attracted the attention of the guests. On the summit of what is now Gogmagog Hill, is one of the circular earthworks, called encampments by antiquaries, but which in those days were universally ascribed to supernatural power. unearthly beings were wont nightly to assemble. had been unwittingly observers of their proceedings; one part of which, as all agreed, was the appearance of a knight, clad in complete armour, and mounted on a warhorse of unusual size, and jet-black in colour, who formally challenged to deadly combat any mortal who should approach the mystic enclosure. Osburn, for that was the stranger's name, at once resolved to undertake the perilous adventure. Without disclosing his intention, he withdrew from the company, and, summoning his faithful squire, set out on his way. The sun had already gone down, but his good steed quickly carried him over the intervening half-dozen miles; and ere the night had fairly closed in, he found himself within the dread boundary. He fought, and by the help of his patron saint, conquered the demon knight, though not without receiving some wounds in the contest. He returned to the Castle, bringing the black horse with him as a proof of his victory. The brave knight met a triumphant welcome. While he was feasted in the hall, the horse was fastened in the court-yard with strong cords, and watched by a large part of the company. From the midnight hour the magic steed raged with increasing violence, till at cock-crow it burst its bonds and vanished. Ever after, on the anniversary of that night, the Knight's wounds broke forth afresh at the very hour on which he received them from the spear of the demon knight. The site of the Castle is occupied by the County Courts-a very neat building of recent erection. A mound, called Castle Hill, on which the keep formerly stood, remains, and should be ascended, for the excellent view of the town obtained from its summit. At the back of St. John's College Garden is a curious old barn-like building, now used as a lumber-store, about which some rather choice bits would attract the eye of the architectural antiquary. But it is also otherwise interesting. Traditionally it is said to be the place in which the companions of Gislebert (see page 5) taught. It is also said that Erasmus gave his Greek lectures in it. We are unable to vouch for the truth of either story, It is a singular old building; some think it formed part of one of the old hostels: it is sometimes called Merton Hall, but is generally known as the School of Pythagoras. Though the buildings belonging to the town are too mean to attract much attention, the conduit in the Market-place will not escape notice. It is not very ornamental, certainly, and it reflects little credit on the authorities, that it is not made so, as it easily and at no great cost might be; but it is useful, and has some claim to our regard. It is the benefaction of a very famous Cambridge man-Hobson, the most celebrated of carriers the Baxendale or Chaplin of his day; whose memory has been embalmed in almost the only jocose verses of our great epic poet; and whose name has come down to our own time as a household word, in one of the most familiar of proverbs. Milton's Lines on the University Carrier, who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reason of the Plague,' are of course well known :"Here lies Old Hobson; Death hath broke his girt, And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and the Bull. And so on. 'The fruitful mother of an hundred more.'" The proverb arose thus:-To his trade of carrier Hobson added that of letting out horses on hire-a practice he is said to have originated. "Mr. Hobson kept a stable of forty good cattle, always ready and fit for travelling; but when a man came for a horse, he was led into the stable, where there was great choice; but he obliged him to take the horse which stood next to the stable-door, so that every customer was supplied according to his chance, and every horse ridden with the same justice: from whence it became a proverb, when what ought to be your election was forced upon you, to say, 'Hobson's choice '-this or none (Steele, Spectator, No. 509). While in the marketplace, the stranger will perhaps look around the market, and if he does he will be sure to notice the only remarkable commodity in it-the butter, which instead of being in the short thick pieces in which he is accustomed to see it, is here rolled out into lengths of a yard to the pound, and about the thickness of a walking-stick; `a peculiarity adopted, or continued, on account of the convenience with which it allows the butter to be divided into the 'sizes' used in the colleges. Cambridge has many excellent charitable institutions, and one of the most noticeable of the public buildings belongs to the most important of them. Addenbrooke's Hospital for the sick and injured, opened in 1766, received its name from its founder, John Addenbrooke, M.D., Fellow of St. Catherine's Hall, It is conducted on the most liberal scale, and above a thousand patients are annually relieved in it. One of the most striking peculiarities in Cambridge is the silence of its streets. For a town of above 20,000 inhabitants its quietness is very noticeable. Nor is the surprise excited by the circumstance lessened by recollecting that some 2000 young men are |