Martyn; and the celebrated portrait drawn in crayons by Cooper, hangs in the Library, displaying in every feature the deep penetration, undaunted vigour, and self-confidence of its original. In the garden formerly stood a pear-tree, said to have been planted by Cromwell. It was cut down in March, 1833. His illustrious Latin Secretary has been more fortunate. The mulberry-tree, planted by the youthful student of Christ's, still flourishes in the pleasant garden of the college. Some years ago it suffered considerably from a violent gale of wind, which sadly shattered it; but its aged boughs are now carefully propped up, and its trunk protected by a partial covering of lead. With these aids it promises to look green for many years to come; its fertility appears to have undergone no change; in the Summer it is laden with fruit, of which more than two bushels of the finest flavour were gathered in the last season. Many interesting anecdotes are told of the homage paid to this venerable tree. was amused by the ardour of a visiter from America, who, as he approached it, raised his hat from his head with expressions of unfeigned admiration. Enthusiasm only becomes ridiculous when excited by an unworthy object. In America, indeed, the author of Paradise Lost is regarded with even deeper veneration than by ourselves. The smallest fragments from his mulberry-tree are religiously

I

cherished; and, within the last few weeks, a slip has been sent to one of the most remote situations of that mighty continent. May it take root and flourish, until the goodly boughs thereof stretch out unto the river; thus shall it become more sacred than the Grecian Oak; more sublime in its oracles; more pure in its wisdom; more lasting in its fame!

For the idle affectation that delights to collect relics merely for their scarcity, no contempt can be too severe; but I confess myself to have derived a peculiar pleasure, while lately reading the poems of Milton, from marking the various resting-places with his own mulberry-leaves; for I could not look upon those inanimate memorials without bringing before my eyes the flowing locks, the clear blue eyes, the delicate complexion of the Lady of his College; ere the violence of political animosity, or the austerity of religious sectarianism, had cast a shadow upon the beauty of his youth.

Nor let these feelings be idly passed by. How often, while wandering along the rural lanes of Weston, or the pleasant fields of Bemerton, or musing in the lonely churchyard of Welwyn, or among those groves once haunted by Francis Beaumont-that "eager child,"-have the lines of Wordsworth arisen to my lips:

More sweet than odours caught by him who sails
Near spicy shores of Araby the blest,

A thousand times more exquisitely sweet,
The freight of holy feeling which we meet

In thoughtful moments, wafted by the gales,

From fields where good men walk, or bowers wherein they rest.

Cowley has been dearer to my heart after sitting in the little chamber at Chertsey.

In looking back at the sufferings of the University, we are reminded of the prophetic declaration of Cleveland, who, after a strenuous but ineffectual opposition to the election of Cromwell for the town of Cambridge, which he gained by a majority of one, is reported to have exclaimed, "That single vote has ruined both Church and State !" Cleveland was of St. John's; and his pupil, Bishop Lake, has called him the delight and ornament of that Society; he enriched the library, improved the chapel, and elevated the character of the college. The protection obtained for the University by its chancellor, the Earl of Holland, was only nominal. The occupation of the town by Cromwell with the forces of the Parliament, was not likely to be very propitious to piety or to learning.

Of the insults to which the members of the University were exposed during this Reign of Terror, accounts have been preserved by eyewitnesses. The tyranny of the soldiers was not confined to the destruction of painted glass; while

the senate, says Dr. Bastwick, was solemnly assembled in the Regent House, it was surrounded by armed bands, "who wanted nothing but the word to despatch us," because they refused to confer a degree upon some individual, whose only merit consisted in his republicanism. The fanaticism of the Sectaries broke out in various excesses. The Lady Margaret's public preacher, Mr Power, of Christ's, on his road to church, was pursued across the market-place by the infuriate soldiers, shouting, "a Pope-a Pope." Even the Scriptures did not escape the general sacrilege*. The PrayerBook was torn at St. Mary's in the presence of Cromwell, who rebuked the clerk for complaining of the desecration. The plate was taken away from the Communion-Table of St. John's. The college gardens were everywhere broken up; the orchards cut down; the Grove of Jesus, albeit, says Fuller, no idolatrous one, was levelled with the ground.

Fuller closes his history of the University with the following characteristic notice of his own college. In Queen's "there was made a thorough reformation; neither master, fellow, nor scholar, being left of the foundation; so that, according to the laws of the Admiralty, it might seem a true wreck, and forfeited in this Land-Tempest for lack

*

See the Querela Cantabrigiensis for other circumstances.

of a live thing therein, to preserve the propriety thereof. However, some conceived this a great severity, contrary to the eternal moral of the Jewish Law, provided against the depopulation of birds' nests, that the old and young ones should not be destroyed together. But to prevent a vacuity, (that detestation of Nature,) a new plantation was soon substituted in their room, who, short of the former in their learning and abilities, went beyond them in good affections to the Parliament." The only names to which the apologists of this violent ejection can point with any propriety, are Cudworth and Lightfoot, scholars of whom any nation or age might be proud.

The Reformation, as it was called, of the University, was intrusted to the Earl of Manchester, of whom Clarendon has left a very honourable character. But he was the minister of men, in whose breasts his own gentleness could have found no echo, and the nature of his mission precluded the indulgence of any lenient feeling towards a persecuted scholar. It was during this period that we may suppose the following brief conversation to have occurred. Few readers of English literature, and no lovers of pure and ennobling religion, are unacquainted with Henry More, the early friend of Milton, whose silence respecting him is not more unfortunate than surprising. That he appreciated