on the grass of the play ground, under a venerable oak, with the dingy red-brick hall in full view, brought my loved Alma Mater (prospective in '58) to mind. Despite some things which might be improved, she is a good mother, and her sons cherish the memories of days spent under her care.

Almost all the students were absent from Oxford for the summer vacation, but we obtained access to a suite of rooms in Queen's College. They consisted of bed-room, study, and parlor; were neatly, somewhat luxuriously furnished, and would take the palm from the best rooms at Yale. The Janitor who showed the rooms was communicative, and told some stories which showed that a disposition to break rules (not windows) is not confined to the unbridled Western Continent. In the one, an aversion to be rung up at 6 A. M., and in the other, to be rung in at 8 P. M., is very marked. Blenheim Park and Palace, seen the next day, I will not describe, but will give some account of Chatsworth, as a specimen of English magnificence, in its proper order. On the third day from London, we rode from Leamington to Warwick, and after an examination of the remains of the Roman Bridge, were conducted through Warwick Castle and the Park. The nobility are very accommodating, and permit the public to inspect their houses and grounds under the guidance of a domestic, to whom a fee is given. In some places, one servant takes visitors through a certain part of the premises, and then hands them over to another, and he to a third, and the third even to a fourth, so that the total expense may amount to some two dollars, which makes sight-seeing rather expensive. Most Englishmen, to say nothing of foreigners, complain of the universal practice of demanding fees, and consider it a national disgrace. You have to pay the chambermaid, the waiter, the "boots" at your hotel, the driver of your private vehicle, the " whip" and guard of a public stage, even the sextons of Churches, and an indefinite number of servants when you inspect a mansion; you can't take a step but some extra fee is demanded. In Warwick Castle are many objects of historic interest, as suits of mail, various weapons, among them a revolving pistol, centuries old, and portraits of noted men and women. These are arranged to ornament some rooms, and in others are paintings by masters, and articles of virtu; one inlaid table cost $30,000 in Venice, although only three feet in diameter. The porridge-pot of Guy of Warwick, held three of our party, and his armor was correspondingly huge; the other suits were smaller. Indeed, I was assured by an English gentleman, that an ordinary sized man could not get them on, which does not agree

with the prevalent talk of modern degeneracy. The famed Warwick Vase is large, and ornamented with bold bas-reliefs, but, according to my taste, is wanting in symmetry; it lacks heighth corresponding to its horizontal diameter, which gives it a Dutch-butter-bowl look. In the Park were some fine cedars of Lebanon, and the view across the Owan was beautiful.

Leaving Warwick, a dreary drive in the rain brought us to Stratfordon-Avon, an uninteresting looking place, and yet one of Earth's Meccas. It is not a place for mirth, but reverent pensiveness, and a lassitude from over work, and the melancholy which a rain invariably entails upon me, produced a proper temper to muse at Shakespeare's tomb, except that they rather deadened feeling. A plain slab near the altar, with his self-composed epitaph forbidding the removal of his bones, those of his family adjoining, and a bust, strikingly unlike the Chandois portrait, but said to have been made after a cast taken of him when dead, mark where he rests. The home where he was born is a rickety building, and shows signs of past or present neglect; the upper chamber, in which he first saw light, is all written over with names and effusions, and the woman in charge said that we might write ours with a pencil, but not in ink, but I desired publicity in neither way. Returning to Leamington, the road passed the King's mountain, an uninteresting hill. The modern smartness, and the gayety of Leamington, an English Saratoga, jarred upon the feelings following a visit to such a place, and we hastened away to Kenilworth Castle, or rather its ruins. Having walked around there, and looked down upon them from a neighboring hillock, we applied at the ancient keeper's lodge, which has been repaired for the farmer who rents the grounds, and obtained admittance, and, of course, a guide. The rays of the setting sun kissed the crumbling towers a reverent good-night, and now darkness came with a soft-robe, and covered their decay from peering eyes. Ivy ran wantonly over the walls, grass grew in the crevices, swallows flitted in and out at the open windows, sheep were feeding in the court-yard, the lake was drained, the garden ruined, all conspired to make an image of desolation-a perfect ruin, and we groped in dark vaults, climbed erumbling stairways, stood in Queen Elizabeth's room, and the great dining hall, recalling our history, and the romance of the Northern Wizard, until night came and drove us out. The mighty are fallen, and darkness has their mansion, and we were but intruders to be driven away. After passing Farnsworth, the country seat of the late Sir Robert Peel, and Derby, we soon entered the beautiful Derwent Valley, with its romantic

scenery. After leaving the cars, a stage-coach went, part of the way, through the Chatsworth Park to Edenson, a hamlet, with an inn within a stone's throw of the principal entrance to the same. After dinner, in company with a pleasant old English gentleman, who wondered that we, being Americans, could speak so good English, we strolled in the Park, and finally found our way to the hunting lodge, a high tower from which the ladies of the family may view the hunts. It stands on high ground, and, we concluded, must command an extensive view. But the trouble was to get the benefit of this, the door being locked, and no servant to open it, if it was to be open for strangers, which we had good reasons for doubting. Now, all ye who do not subscribe to the new Gymnasium, attend and learn the benefit of gymnastic exercise. The building was undergoing repairs and was surrounded by three tiers of scaffolding, the last being even with some windows. A good jump gave a hold upon the horizontal timber of the lower tier, and a use of the muscles of the arms, and a cotemporaneous elevation of the pedal extremities, placed feet as well as hands upon it, and the first story was gained; a similar operation at the other two brought us to a level with the windows, and a short walk on a plank gave us an entrance, which was commemorated by three cheers for Prof. Langdon. The view from the roof amply repaid for the labor of attaining to it. Around the tower were roads, descending by a slope to a meadow, made verdant by the winding Derwent, and on the other side of the valley hills arose, behind which the sun was hastening to rest his wearied coursers.

On the left, in the valley, were the house and gardens of Chatsworth, with the huge conservatory, the germ of the Crystal Palace, glistening like silver in the sun-light. On the right was the vegetable garden, with the house of the Duke of Devonshire's gardener, Sir Joseph Paxton, in the midst. From such a look-out, darkness alone induced us to descend, and wind our way back through the woods and valley. At the inn, during our absence, had arrived "an American party," which included two pretty New York girls, and the sight of their delicate beauty, after the surfeit we had had of English robustness, so affected our susceptible natures that we made a profuse demand upon our wardrobes-that is, such was our desire, but confound it! for the first, and, you may be sure, the last time, we had "expressed" it ahead, and were forced to appear in traveling suits. The future proved that they had a very discreet papa and a prudish mamma, who kept strict watch over them and allowed no rambles by "Derwent's sweet waters," so we became reconciled to the hardship of having no dress coats. The next morning, when taking

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breakfast, a la Anglais,” i. e. pouring out our own tea, it was under
the mischievous glance of four black eyes, which did not at all help my
awkwardness, (I am the "grandmother" of our party, and by virtue of
my office preside over the tea-pot,) and I vowed never to travel in
England again until a pretty little helpmeet is provided for such emer-
gencies. After breakfast we visited the vegetable gardens, so called,
but which include hot-houses, filled with flowers, among them the
Victoria Regia, and others inclosing tropical fruits, pine-apples, bananas,
oranges, &c.
On the sunny side of the garden-walls peach and
apricot trees were trained, other situations being too cold. Paxton's
home, a building equal to the best American mansions, is in the midst
of these gardens. Next, we crossed the Park to the Duke's Palace,
but found that we could not be admitted until after 2 P. M., as
an excursion party from Birmingham was expected. The private
grounds, however, were to be seen under the guidance of a servant.
They are adorned with statues, water works, as a fountain, nearly
three hundred feet high, another where the water falls like an umbrella,
artificial cascades of varied beauty, and a metal willow tree, which,
while you are admiring as a genuine article, emits streams in all
directions, and lakelets, grottoes, trees of every kind with paths wind-
ing through them, and gorgeous flowers, velvet turf, with graveled walks,
arranged after the manner of Italian and French gardens. Art has
done her utmost to make a paradise, and the surrounding Park of two
thousand acres in wood and meadow, thick with browsing deer and
the noble Devonshire cattle cooling themselves in the gentle river,
was a rich setting for the jewel. After seeing tropical plants and full
grown trees, as the Banyan, Palm, and Brazil Pine, in the conservatory,
which covers an acre, intoxicated with beauty, I cried to the listening
hills-

"O earth! thy splendor and thy beauty, how amazing,
Where'er, anew, I turn to thee intensely gazing,

With rapture I exclaim, how beautiful thou art!

How beautiful!"

Near the house is an ancient tower, surrounded with a deep moat, where Mary of Scotland pined for thirteen weary years. What must have been her feelings, shut in from the surrounding grounds, so inviting in their loveliness? After rambling along the river's bank, we endeavored to secure a conveyance to take us to Sheffield in the afternoon, but the landlord liked our company so well that he could supply none, so we held a council of war, and determined to walk with our carpet-bags

two miles to Boslow, engage places on the stage-coach, and return to see the Palace. When we came down stairs with our bags, and Boniface saw he could not keep us, by some very unexpected return of a carriage, he was able to furnish a vehicle, which marked kindness, with a Caudle lecture on endeavors to practice imposition, we emphatically declined. On returning to the Castle at two, the porter again denied admission, as, owing to some delay, the excursion party were just entering.

I appealed to his sense of justice, bringing up the announcement of the morning, no use; touched him with the interest Americans felt in Chatsworth; and growing eloquent upon the disappointment, won the victory. The crowd were pressing in with their tickets; "go on," said he in an under tone, "only say nothing." A pretty chambermaid was acting as cicerone to our squad, and with merry winks at the open mouths and wondering stare of the others, gave us private explanations of the gorgeous rooms, magnificent paintings, and speaking statues. Among these was one of Edward Everett, which lost nothing by comparison with those of other distinguished men. But the great feature was the "unwashed;" to whose credit be it said, that they were very orderly.

A pleasant walk back to Boslow, and a ride on top of an old fashion English stage-coach brought us to Sheffield, and an end to the day.

E. L. H.

Desdemona.

1st Student. "Where's my lady?"

2d Student. "Gone, my lord!"-COLLEGE TRAGEDY.

WELL earned would have been the immortal fame of Shakspeare as the most wonderful reader of human nature and delineator of human character that ever breathed the breath of life, had he left the world no other legacy than 'Othello.'

If this decision, which the ages have pronounced just, be so, it would be natural to suppose that were such an one to picture from his imagination what he considered the summation of perfection in any character, that ideal would be worthy of the concurrence and confidence of all, instead of the unfavorable criticism and misconstruction with which it is so frequently handled.