They know the exact obeisance that is due to every one, from the Vice-Chancellor down to the scout; and are great upon the theme of sleeves and leading-strings. But as we said, withal they are bashful. They have a growing, uncomfortable, depressing suspicion that their day is almost over-that they are behind the age! They see with dismay the increasing habit people have of referring to books, instead of to them, for information. And they resent it "in sullen silence." Seldom, now, do they volunteer an explanation. It is only when they have to guide a rustic party-fortunately for them a very common case-that they in these days come out in force. At such times they are sure they will be credited, that those who seem to listen are not doing so in mere scorn, and they pour out a whole flood of traditive lore.

But let us warn the visitor not to suffer either guide-book or guide to persuade him that after a hasty scamper through the city, and a hurried peep into a few of the buildings, he knows" all about Oxford." As we said before, if you were a Scott, and had spent a week in its exploration, with a Heber to guide you, you would find at the end of it that "the time had been too short to convey" more than "a grand but indistinct picture of towers and chapels, and oriels, and vaulted halls, and libraries, and paintings." But as he hoped, so you will find, that "in a little time your ideas will develop themselves more distinctly;" and you will recollect your visit with a pleasure such as no other city will yield. This is essentially one of those places, in looking on which, you are impressed

"Not only with the sense

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thought
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years."

A visit to Oxford, whether in fact or in description, would be thought very imperfect if some of the celebrated places in its vicinity were not visited also. To have been at Oxford, and not to have visited Blenheim, would be regarded as an evidence of strange insensibility, or profound want of taste. Howard's being at Rome, without entering the Vatican, would hardly be thought more unaccountable. It would be a thing, in short, that a man who should confess to, had need have a very superior character for wit, or wisdom, or wealth, to save him from being pitied for want of capacity, or laughed at for an ignoramus. We cannot afford to leave Blenheim unvisited.

Blenheim is about eight miles from Oxford; you had better get there as speedily as you can by the morning coach: the house can only be seen between eleven o'clock and one, and there is nothing to look at on the road. Woodstock you may see, after your return from the Park. You enter the grounds of Blenheim by the grand triumphal arch,' built in honour of the famous Duke of Marlborough by his

V.

scarcely less famous duchess. Nothing whatever is seen either of the house or grounds till you pass through this gate, and the effect is certainly magnificent, as they burst at once upon you. Dr. Waagen says of Blenheim, "If nothing were to be seen in England but this seat and its treasures of art, there would be no reason to complain of going to this country. The whole is on so grand a scale, that no prince in the world need to be ashamed of it for his summer residence; and at the same time it is a noble monument of the gratitude of the English nation to the great Duke of Marlborough." (Art and Artists in England,' ii. p. 27.) What the learned German says is very true, the only drawback being the recollection of the pitiful manner in which the nation carried out the expression of its gratitude. The history of the erection of Blenheim is quite a dramatic chapter (serio-comic) in the history of English architecture. The parlia ment voted the building of the palace, but neglected to provide funds for the purpose-leaving that part for Queen Anne to see to; and while the queen lived the works went on pretty regularly. After her death, however, the Court would no longer issue treasury orders; and the duke very naturally objected to pay money for a house that the country had by its legislature resolved should be built for and not by him. Somehow the works went on, though very slowly; while the accounts and responsibilities became continually more involved, till the climax was reached by getting into Chancery. The duke seems to have in part paid the workmen (who were never wholly paid), and after his death the building was completed by his duchess. But never was poor architect worse used than the designer of Blenheim. Vanbrugh was appointed to realize in stone and mortar the gratitude of the country. From the death of the queen, the building that was to immortalize his name was a constant source of vexation to him. He could not only get no money for his own labours, but, for a time, there seemed a chance of his having to pay the workmen out of his own pocket-at least the duchess's. lawyers endeavoured to show that he was the party liable. Vanbrugh had provoked that celebrated virago, by the rather free exercise of both tongue and pen at her expense, and she had too much wit herself not to feel the keenness of his wit, and too fiery a temper to sit quietly under an affront. The duke, in his will, left her £10,000 a-year, as Vanbrugh wrote, "to spoil Blenheim her own way." Her first step was to dismiss Vanbrugh; and though she had wit enough to cause his designs to be adhered to, she would not permit him so much as to see his own building. She even carried her haughtiness further; for when, on one occasion, he accompanied the noble family of the Howards, who wished to see Blenheim, the duchess, not content with the standing order she had given against his admission, having (as Vanbrugh tells the story) "somehow learned that his wife was the company, sent an express the night before we came there, with orders that, if she came with the

one of

Castle-Howard ladies, the servants should not suffer her to see either house, garden, or even to enter the park so she was forced to sit all day long, and keep me company at the inn." But Vanbrugh's vexations did not cease with the building. Its completion was the signal for a general and unanimous attack from the wits and satirists of the day, who could not understand how a clever playwright should also be a clever architect. If ridicule, in every variety of wit and banter, could prove a work of art to be a failure, Blenheim would only exist to be laughed at. For awhile the ridicule was successful, and no one was found bold enough to admire, or even to defend, the "hollowed quarry," till Sir Joshua Reynolds went a little out of his way in one of his Presidential Discourses (the thirteenth), to point out "the greater display of imagination than is to be found, perhaps, in any other," the poetic feeling, the grandeur, and the painter-like effects of light and shadow; then, indeed, it found admirers enough, and the praise became as excessive as the censure had hitherto been. Now that it is looked at impartially, professional men seem pretty well agreed that it is a work of uncommon excellence and of undeniable defects; while the ordinary observer, who cares little whether it is built in exact accordance with every classic rule, or in entire defiance of all of them, sees in it a work of manifest splendour, united with a solidity that appears to defy the assaults of time; and if he be offended with a multiplicity of parts that seem to overload and destroy the simplicity and unity of the general design, he also recognises a variety and play of outline combining with the massiveness that is so striking, and together forming a whole that is as pleasing as it is uncommon. (Cut, No. 8.)

However much he may have admired the exterior, the visitor will hardly have been prepared for the splendid effect of the Hall, in which surely Vanbrugh has shown no small share of poetic genius. It is perhaps the most striking entrance hall in the kingdom. The impression of magnificence produced on entering the building is fully retained throughout it. The rooms are nobly proportioned, and admirably calculated for the display of princely pomp. The architectural grandeur of the various apartments is abundantly supported by the richness of the furniture and fittings, and the value and beauty of the works of art and verta that adorn them. It is well known that the paintings at Blenheim are among the finest in England. For obtaining masterpieces of art, the great duke possessed unusual opportunities from the state of the continent at that time, his own connections there, and his great wealth; of all which he fully availed himself. The number of paintings is very large, and their rank is of the highest. Among them are works of most of the great masters, and

The reader will find the particulars of the building of Blenheim, and of the architect's vexations, very pleasantly

related in Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature.'

generally they are valuable specimens of their abilities. Of Raffaelle there is one remarkably fine picture: it is a large altar-piece having the Virgin and Child in the centre; the date on it is 1505, and it is generally referred to by judges as a characteristic and valuable example of the great painter's early manner. Nothing hardly can surpass its simplicity, purity, and beauty, or the quiet religious character it possesses. There are also several very good Titians; but the grand feature of the collection in the Rubenses. Dr. Waagen, who was already familiar with every leading gallery of pictures in Europe, calls this "the most considerable collection of paintings by Rubens in the possession of any private person; and with which not even any royal galleries can be compared, except those of Munich, Vienna, Madrid and Paris." "It is especially important," he continues, and his opinion is the more noteworthy because he is throughly conversant with all that is technical and mechanical in pictures, and is consequently a thoroughly competent judge in that respect," it is especially important, because the pictures are almost throughout by the hand of Rubens alone, and are chiefly of his earlier and middle periods." The Rubenses are indeed a rich treat. Waagen said it was worth travelling from Germany only to see Blenheim; we may more soberly affirm that the examination of these Rubenses would amply repay a journey from any part of England. Wonderful as many of the paintings of Rubens seem when viewed apart, it is only when you can examine such a collection of them as is here assembled, that the amazing luxuriance of his pencil can be appreciated. You then begin to understand the enthusiasm with which painters are accustomed to talk of Rubens. And to see many is needful, for at first view there appears to be something contradictory in what is said of the fascination of his style. Here, for example, is the widest range of subjects, from the gravest in the Christian history to the most sensual in the heathen mythology; and neither in the one class is their aught of religious severity or even sobriety, nor in the other of classic beauty or grace, and yet though wanting what should seem these first requisites, every competent judge acknowleges his productions to be most admirable as works of art. We know what is always said about the overpowering splendour and vivid harmony of his colouring, and the facility of his execution; but these alone would not be sufficient. The real charm that goes along with that of his colour and executive power, and indeed is the cause of them, is here seen; it is the painter's own intense enjoyment of his work. You can no more doubt that Rubens' heart was in his employment when using his brush, than you can that Burns had his engaged when writing his vivid poems. The bold disregard of all those minor beauties and blemishes which so perplex and cramp ordinary men, marks alike the man of genius, and the enjoyment of genius in its work. And hence that thorough abandonment of himself to his theme, and the consequent genuineness and originality. But we must pass on:

"Our time Asks thriftier using."

Hardly less choice in their way are the Vandykes. The picture of Charles I. on the dun horse, and several others, are universally famed. Nor do the Reynoldses suffer very much alongside of the Vandykes. Had Reynolds but had a safer palette, we should have still more reason to point with pride to the portraits of our great countryman. Of the rooms we cannot of course speak particularly, but two seem to require separate mention-the chapel and the library. The former contains an immense piece of sculpture, the monument to the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, by Rysbrach-which is admitted by all connoisseurs to be the greatest work of that artist, though the word is used by them in different senses. The library is a remarkably fine room-too fine, indeed, for a library. In it is a most elaborate statue of Queen Anne, also by Rysbrach. We need hardly say that there is no deficiency in busts and portraits of the great duke, in

leaving the house the porter will show any gentleman, who may desire it, the Titian-room, as it is called. It contains a number of paintings which were discovered by Sir Joshua Reynolds, packed up in some obscure place about the mansion, and at his instance they were hung in a room fitted up for their reception. They are called 'The Loves of the Gods,' and a good deal of mystery used to be attached to them. But they are really very frigid affairs, and might even hang in a Quaker's private study without much danger. They are painted on leather, and have a dull trellised back-ground. To call them Titian's is a pure absurdity. That fiery old Venetian would indeed have made something of such a series: so would Rubens or Etty. These are the works of a more mechanic mythology-monger, and are as cold as though wrought by a scholiast on Ovid. As paintings, they are of but very moderate power.

But we must on. The private gardens are of much celebrity: the public are not admitted, without a special order, to view them. The park may be freely seen; and it is worth rambling over. It is a delightful thing,

on a fine summer's day, to stroll about its glades, or rest under the shadow of the mighty trees, after an hour or two spent in conning the treasures of the palace. The park contains a very prominent memorial to Marlborough, in the shape of a lofty column, which is surmounted by the statue of the hero; while on the base is an inscription, of wonderful length, recording his deeds, &c. The column was erected by the duchess the inscription is said to have been written by Bolingbroke. The visitor may read it, and judge for himself whether it be laid at the right door. We have read a good many of Bolingbroke's writings, but as we never succeeded in getting any way near the end of this inscription, we cannot pretend to be competent to speak from the resemblance of style. As he returns towards the bridge, the visitor should take notice of the house, as seen with the broad sheet of water in front; and also as seen (and Vanbrugh evidently meant it to be so seen) in combination with the piquant bridge. If we mistake not, the excellence Reynolds pointed out will be recognized-the union of the building with the surrounding locality, and the great care which "the architect took that his work should not appear crude and hard: that is, that it did not abruptly start out of the ground without expectation or preparation."

have not mentioned her. The omission was intentional, or rather the notice was intentionally deferred, that we might say all that concerned her at once-for Woodstock is not the only place in the neighbourhood of Oxford that claims a share in that fair dame. We need not now say that the labyrinth at Woodstock is an invention. If the visitor is anxious to see what relic there is here of her, he will find her "spring" or "bath" in Blenheim Park, close by the north side of the bridge. If he can credit the tradition that asserts it to have been hers, well; if not, the spot is at any rate a quiet, cool spot, and he will not repent having sought it out. But if nothing marks the residence of Rosamond at Woodstock, he may find, about a couple of miles up the Thames from Oxford, on the Berkshire side of the river, the remains of a little priory chapel, wherein she was undoubtedly buried. The last years of her life were spent in the nunnery at Godstow, to which she was a considerable benefactress; and there her bones were laid. A certain bishop some years afterwards had them cast out from the sacred edifice; but the more generous nuns collected them as soon as they dared, and reinterred them by the altar; and there they remained till Thomas Cromwell's commissioners broke open her tomb. The ruins of Godstow Nunnery lie in a pleasant spot by the "silver Thames," to which there is a very pleasant river-side stroll from the learned city.

Woodstock will, of course, be looked at on quitting Blenheim. But there is nothing in it worthy of note. It is a most dull town-the very realization of stagnation. You welcome the glove-shops (the only shops in the town!) as a relief-though there is nobody in them, or looking at them. Everybody stops in-doors at Woodstock. The very children stay at home. Even curiosity seems dead. We never once, at any time, saw a female of any age or grade come to a door or window to look after a stranger-a circumstance we never observed in any other town or village in Great Britain. The dulness is perfect, and infects our penwe shall leave off talking about it.

In olden times we fancy there was not much more to see in Woodstock; for old Camden observes, with very unusual gruffness, that Woodstock having nothing of its own to show, boasts of having given birth to Chaucer. Alas! the boast is a vain one. But there does seem reason to believe that he did not only dwell but also write some of his poems (if not the 'Canterbury Tales') there,

"Within a lodge out of the way,

now.

"Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the countess' fall,
As wand'ring onwards they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall."

Much more then might the pensive traveller, who carries Kenilworth' in his memory, expect to weep But, alas! there is now nothing to weep over, unless (as has been recommended) he carry 'Kenilworth' in his pocket. The haunted towers are no longer to be espied: indeed, it will need some skill to trace even the foundations of Cumnor Hall. There remains, however, an inn, and swinging in front of it is "the sign of the bonny Black Bear," with "Giles Gosling" written under it, as of old, and the stranger may, if he pleases, believe it the inn, and "avouch himself not utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller, by wetting a cup at it." The church may help him a little, for there he will see a showy tomb to the memory of the veritable Antony Foster; though he will perhaps be provoked by the encomiastic inscription upon it. There is also an old building now used for an almshouse, or something of the sort; but we do not recollect whether there be any history attached to it.