1 fragments brought over sea, to be joined together in something like an imitation of their awful decay, are baubles. The pretty little inn, the Wheatsheaf,' on the high road from Egham to Bagshot, has access to the grounds of Virginia Water. The days of rigid exclusion passed away when William IV. came to the throne. Passing round the west of the hill, we may wander in a wild country towards Chertsey: "There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue." But our course is to Cooper's Hill, to which a walk of a mile or so, across Englefield Green, will conduct us. However the prospect here may be exceeded by scenes of wilder extent or more striking grandeur, certainly the locale of the earliest descriptive poem of our language is calculated to produce the warmest feelings of admiration, both for its actual beauty and its unrivalled associations. From an elevation of several hundred feet you look down upon a narrow fertile valley, through which the Thames winds with supassing loveliness. Who does not recollect the charming lines with which Denham describes the "silver river?"— "Oh! could I flow like thee, and make thy stream Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull, Immediately at your feet is the plain of Runnemede, where the contest between John and the Barons was decided; and in the centre of the river is the little fishing island, where tradition says that Magna Charta was signed. At the extremity of the valley is Windsor Castle, rising up in all the pomp of its massive towers. We might well linger here awhile, but other scenes have to be visited, and we must away. Those who really desire to see Windsor, and to have its beauties impressed upon their memories, should not be content with a few hours at the Castle, and a few hours in the Parks--a whirl of trains and flys. It is not our purpose to make a guide-book. We seek to interest the reader as well as the tourist. But if the tourist will listen to us, we would say, Spend two summer or autumn days "under the greenwood tree," and one, at least, in Windsor itself. To Eton and its surrounding associations, another day should be given. The glorious view from the North Terrace-how can it be comprehended in half an hour? The river is glowing under the setting sun; one flood of light bathes all the west, and the distant hills of Berkshire and Oxfordshire mingle their gold with the golden sky. Come here in the gray morning, and the Thames shall creep like a silver thread through the green plain, sending up its vaporous wreaths to mingle with the blue mists of the distance. Once more seek those woods, which look so cool and solemn in the soft carly light. There is another road to the Great Park running parallel with the Long Walk. About a mile from the town we reach the Park Gate, and we are free to wander by grassy alleys or shady avenues. For two miles or so, we will now prefer to keep the high road. There are fine old elms or oaks around as soon as we enter the Park. But we are approaching a spot where the oaks secm thicker and older, and the paths look devious and untrodden. The path on the right leads to Cranbourn. In ten minutes after you quit the road, you are in the most picturesque part of the old Forest. No woodman has been here to hew down the old gnarled trunks; no planter has raised up an intrusive population of unhonoured saplings. In this quiet valley there is unwonted company-a flock of milk-white Cashmere goats, feeding as comfortably in the fern as if they were growing shawls in their own sunny land. The trees are standing thicker and thicker-a sort of avenue is before us, such as led up to old mansions, with its "obsolete prolixity." We continue along it, and stand before an octagon tower-it seems uninhabited. It is all that remains of Cranbourn. But, what a glorious landscape bursts upon us from the ridge on which this octagon tower stands! Never was the art of landscape-gardening carried to greater perfection. We pass from Cranbourn into a road that runs in a westerly direction, and connects the road from Windsor to Ascot with the road from Windsor to Winkfield. This connecting road is now planted on each side. It was formerly a wild forest district, leading to Winkfield Plain. We cross the Winkfield Road, and pass by a lodge into the opposite wood. About a quarter of a mile from the gate a green walk invites us. Every step that we advance leads us to some new beauty. Fine old beeches are mingled with young underwood; but there is nothing formal or obtrusive in the new planting. Grace has not been wholly sacrificed to utility. There is not a cloud in the blue sky. The atmosphere is so exquisitely pure, that every form appears in sharp relief, and every colour, harmonious as it may be, preserves its identity. The shadows upon the gray trunks of the broad beech are positive ebon; and it almost requires the touch to be satisfied that they are not substantial. The brightest green of the underwood mingles with the deep brown of the fern. A peculiar fungus, white, and polished as ivory, glitters upon many a sturdy giant of the woods, as if he had clothed himself with pendent ornaments in honour of such a sky. But the grassy path suddenly spreads into a little amphitheatre; and in the midst a most remarkable oak stands alone-an oak of wondrous height-an oak without a branch till the trunk has run up some fifty feet. The tree is evidently an honoured one. Stay! There is an inscription upon a brass plate : QUEEN Worthy, indeed, is the tree to be associated with the name of 'Victoria.' It belongs to no dim antiquity; it is in its prime. Decay will not touch it, perhaps for centuries. Yet it is no mere growth of yesterday. It is not simply picturesque; it is the representative not only of beauty but of usefulness. Shall we say that it is a symbo of a constitutional monarchy? From Queen Victoria's Tree, a walk for two miles—a winding walk by the side of a steep ravine-presents some of the most beautiful forest scenery that England can offer. Our artists hunt for the lost Sherwood; or wander, not always without disappointment, through the New Forest. But here are some of the most delightful combinations that the pencil can demand. We know the weakness of words to picture such scenes; and we leave the pencil to do its proper work. After crossing the ravine several times by bridges, which are so happily constructed as to aid the natural beauties of the walk, we arrrive at a garden in the wilderness—a cottage which a poet might covet in his search for peace. It is a woodman's cottage. Queen Charlotte's Oak' is near this cottage; for it has been a custom of our queens, from the time of Anne, to associate their names with some oak of Windsor Forest. Well, there is something that will outlast even oaks : "the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust." We must leave these pleasant places. A gate below the Woodman's Cottage leads into a high-road, by which we may return to Windsor. But commend us to a stroll by the Thames. We can cross to the north bank by the ferry at Surly Hall; and then three miles of the silver stream, and a new prospect of the Castle at every turn of the banks, with, perhaps, a boat-race of Etonians, and the westering sun lighting up every window of the great pile: such a walk may fill up our third day, and send us home to labour with renewed hearts, and memories filled with images of pleasure. ETON. WHENEVER Eton is mentioned, the College is invariably what occurs to the memory; and indeed Eton has little besides the College of general interest-certainly nothing sufficient to attract thither the excursionist. It was in 1440 that King Henry granted the first charter of foundation for "the College of the Blessed Mary of Eton beside Windsor"-a document which is yet carefully preserved and duly prized. A subsequent charter was granted in the following year. The original foundation consisted of a provost, ten priests, four clerks, six choristers, twenty-five poor grammar-scholars, a master to instruct them, and twentyfive poor infirm men. The college buildings were commenced in 1441: the first stone of the chapel being laid on the 3rd of July in that year. In little more than two years from laying the foundation-stone, the buildings were so far advanced that, on the Feast of St. Thomas, (Dec. 21,) 1443, the provost, clerks, and scholars received formal possession of them from the hands of the royal commissioners, and a solemn service was performed on the occasion. But the buildings were yet far from finished, and they remained in an unfinished condition for a long period,-a circumstance readily accounted for, by the troubles attending the later years of Henry's reign: it was not, in fact, till about 1523, that they were entirely completed. The present foundation of Eton College consists of a provost, seven fellows (one of whom is vice-provost), two conducts, seven clerks, ten lay-clerks, seventy scholars, ten choristers, besides officers and servants. The only qualification necessary for scholarship, in addition to having received sufficient elementary instruction to enable him to take his place in the school, is that the candidate must have been born in England of parents lawfully married. The scholars are admissible between the ages of eight and fifteen. The election of scholars to King's College takes place annually, about the end of July; when the provost, vice-provost, and head master of Eton, with the provost of King's College, and two 'posers' chosen from the fellows, examine the upper class (or 'sixth form') and elect the King's scholars from it. Generally about twelve are, as it is termed, placed on the indenture, and they proceed to Cambridge as vacancies occur there. The elected or King's scholars succeed to the vacancies at King's College in the order in which their names stand on the indenture, and are admitted at once to a participation in its endowments. If no vacancy occur before they are eighteen, they are superannuated. There are two scholarships at Merton College, Oxford, for the foundation scholars who are not elected to King's College, Cambridge. Beside these there are other exhibitions of various value. Among the more important of recent foundation, are three of £50 a year each, tenable for three years, which were endowed by the Duke of Newcastle in 1829; and an annual prize of £50 established by Prince Albert in 1842 for the promotion of the study of modern languages. The scholars on the foundation of Eton College are lodged within the College walls; but besides these there are always a great many scholars not on the foundation-known as oppidans—who either board and lodge with the masters, or in houses in the town duly licensed for the purpose, and subject to the supervision of the College authorities. The number of oppidans has for some years exceeded six hundred. They belong chiefly to the higher ranks of society; but in school there is no distinction between the oppidans and collegers, as the foundation scholars are generally called. The College consists of an upper and lower school, and is managed by a head and lower master, with fourteen assistant masters: there are also teachers of the modern languages, drawing, and the other branches of a complete education. The principal buildings of Eton College consist of two quadrangles, which contain the chapel, hall, library, schools, provost's and master's apartments, and the lodgings of the fellows: the New Buildings, in which are the boys' library, and sleeping apartments, are attached to the northern side of the older buildings. King Henry directed that his college should be built of the "hard stone of Kent"but the building was left to be effected by other than royal hands, and without the aid of a royal purse. By far the greater part of the buildings are of brick, the chapel being almost the only important part that is of stone. As a whole the buildings have a venerable and appropriate appearance. From a distance they form a conspicuous and striking group: the massive but graceful chapel rising boldly and proudly above the dark mass of buildings that surround it, destroys the heavy uniformity which they would else exhibit, and imparts a picturesque and pleasing finish, while it stamps dignity and character upon the whole. But we must look at the buildings close at hand. Let us turn to the well-known elm-walk, and enter the central gateway. We are now in the chief quadrangle or school-yard, as it is familiarly called. We have chosen a school hour, and the quadrangle is solitary and silent. The sombre edifices that surround us wear a grave academic air. There is a propriety, a suitableness, about their unassuming simplicity which makes itself felt, where the flutter and affectation of a more ambitious pile would only offend. Three sides of the quadrangle at once announce their domestic or scholastic character; the fourth side is occupied by the chapel. In the centre of the quadrangle is a bronze statue of the royal founder. Directly in front, as you enter, the eye rests on the lofty gate-house or clock-tower-a handsome and characteristic specimen of the domestic architecture of the fifteenth century. It is built of dark red brick, with stone dressings. In its general style it reminds the visitor of the gatehouses of St. James's or Hampton Court palaces; but the great central bay-window is of a richer kind than in them. The building on the left hand contains the lower school, and the long-chamber: like that we have just noticed it is of red brick, with stone dressings and battlements. On the right hand is the chapel. The arcade under which we are standing supports the upper school. The chapel is the most generally attractive of the college buildings, and it can usually be viewed by the stranger on application to the porter. In form and general appearance, the chapel of Eton College bears a considerable resemblance to the chapel of King's College, Cambridge, but it is smaller in its dimensions, and much less elaborate in construction and ornament. There is about it, as its founder wished there to be, "no superfluity of curious work of entail and busy mouldings;" but it is very far from being all that he intended. In his directions he ordered that it should be "in length withinside 207 feet," whereas it is really only 175 feet long, including the ante-chapel. The chapel was doubtless, when completed, a far less splendid structure than it would have been had the times been more favourable; but it was yet not unworthy of the institution to which it belonged, and subsequent benefactors added something to its grandeur and its beauty. As it was left by the old church architects, it was a stately and impressive pile. But it did not come down so to our times. In 1700, Sir Christopher Wren was employed to repair and adorn it. His alterations were exten sive and costly, but were most unfortunate in the result. Wren's incongrous additions have, however, been recently swept away, and the chapel restored to at least its original splendour. The work of restoration has been well done and thoroughly. The screen, the ceiling, the wainscoting, the mean reading desks, even the seats and forms, have been removed. The walls once more look as they did originally, excepting that there is no colouring or pictures visible. A new and very good open timber roof has been erected. The great east window has been filled with a fine painting of the crucifixion. Handsome seats of dark oak, with well carved poppy-head terminations, occupy the body of the chapel: along the sides, a commencement has been made towards a series of richly carved stalls, with tabernacles of exquisite and very costly workmanship. In the chancel is laid a tesselated pavement of uncommon brilliancy-we cannot help thinking of too great brilliancy as compared with the sobriety of colour in every other part. It was designed, as well as the painted glass above, by Mr. Willement. Passing through the gateway of the clock-tower, we enter the second, or Inner Quadrangle a much smaller square than the former, and differing from it considerably in appearance. It is a small open court, surrounded by cloisters. The buildings around consist of a hall, the library, and the provost's apartments. The Library is well worth visiting, and some of its treasures of bibliography are celebrated. Before we quit the College,we must cast a hasty glance over the New Buildings, which have only been completed within two or three years. They form a handsome pile, having a frontage of about 120 feet. The style is what is commonly called the Tudor; they are constructed of red brick with stone dressings. Their uniformity is broken by a tall tower of pleasing design, which stands at one angle; and further relief is imparted by the well-grouped carved chimney shafts. The New Buildings are wholly appropriated to the scholars. Until they were erected, the boys all slept in a common dormitory: now each of the forty-nine senior collegers has a convenient and cheerful apartment allotted to him. These rooms are lofty and airy, and well ventilated, strict attention having been paid by the architect to the purposes for which they were required. They are altogether as pleasant, comfortable little cells as young students could desire. Part of the New Building is devoted to the Boys' Library, a room of ample size, good proportions, and luminous, as a library always should be. It is very lofty, and a neat gallery is carried round it. Altogether it is a very handsome room, and it is handsomely fitted up. There is a goodly number of books, in great part the gifts of old Etonians. Adjoining the library is a sort of museum, or model-room. It contains a choice collection of casts of Greek and Roman intaglios: a series of the French papier-mâché relievo maps, or models of celebrated districts, and other objects suitable to a school museum : while along the corridors in this New Building are hung numerous large maps. Come with us now-however tired you may be of the College-to the Playing Fields, (sometimes called the Shooting Fields,'-) "And feel the gales that from them blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing Very delightful are these Playing Fields. One needs not be an Etonian to enjoy them. Broad sunny meadows are dotted over with noble old elms, spreading wide their arms in solitary grandeur, or ranged in cheerful groves; the "silver Thames" watering these pleasant meadows; the spires and antique towers of the neighbouring college rising from amidst |