THE CATHEDRAL OF CHRIST-CHURCH, OXFORD. THE principal interest belonging to the cathedral of Oxford arises out of the circumstances, that it is part both of an ancient monastic foundation, and of a modern protestant establishment-that it is a chapel to a noble college, and connected with many distinguished personages and events. Cardinal college, Henry the Eighth's college, and Christ-church-the several names which this church has held, grew out of two dissolved monasteries of black canons-the abbey of Oseney and the priory of St. Frideswide. Early in the eighth century, a convent was built and endowed by Didan, called by some viceroy, by others duke, and even king of Oxford, all evidently erroneous titles. He probably was one of the earls of Mercia. Frideswide, his daughter, with twelve other noble virgins, devoted themselves to monastic seclusion, and were established in a convent dedicated to St. Mary and All Saints. In this sacred retreat, Frideswide became the object of the attention of Algar, a Mercian prince, from whom she escaped to Benton or Benson, or Bensington, about ten miles from Oxford, where she was for some time concealed from Algar; but at length, being discovered, she went back to Oxford, followed by her lover, and, beginning to despair of safety by her own exertions, she fervently implored the protection of heaven; and the purity of the fair votary was defended by an awful miracle. On entering the city, Algar was struck with blindness, which severe visitation brought him to a sense of his impiety. With great contri VOL. XII.-NO. CCCXXVI. PRICE 1d. tion he implored Frideswide to intercede for his restoration to sight, which the virgin granted, and her prayers were so effectual that his blindness was removed as suddenly as inflicted. Frideswide afterwards lived in a solitary and religious manner at Thornebyry, called subsequently Bensey, remarkable for her sanctity; and where (according to legendary story) a spring, gushing from the earth at her invocation, attracted for many centuries the credulous and superstitious. Such is the legend of St. Frideswide, believed by our ancestors, and even by those in the present day whose credulity supersedes their rea son. Very little is recorded respecting this monastery subsequent to the death of Frideswide, except many superstitious stories and miracles, for the purpose of augmenting its revenues. Didan, the founder, his wife Saffrida, and his daughter Frideswide, were buried within the walls of the church. The priory was burnt, and its inmates massacred in November, 1002. King Ethelred II. began to rebuild it in 1004, and the present church is referred by some authors to that era. The date of the dedication to St. Frideswide is uncertain: in some charters of the reign of Henry I. it is styled the "Church of the Holy Trinity in Oxford;" but we find that in 1081, as Wood states, or 1188, according to others, the relics of the saint were removed from an obscure part of the church to one more suitable to their importance; "at which solemnity, the king, bishops, and nobles being present, were then and after divers miracles wrought, both on clerical and laical people, causing thereby the fame of [London: Joseph Rogerson, 24, Norfolk-street, Strand.) F the saint to spread far and near*." There is a book extant among the Digby manuscripts of the Bodleian library, written by prior Philip, giving an account of the miracles attributed to the saint. The veneration was so great for this sainted lady, that Wood informs us it was a custom in Oxford, from the time of the translation of her relics, for the chancellor and scholars of the university, in the middle of Lent and on the day of the ascension of our Saviour, to go in a general procession to her church, as to the mother church of the university and town, to pray, to preach, and to offer oblation on her shrine. The history of the priory, until 1523, is not of much interest. At that time, however, Wolsey, either from ambition or a spirit of munificence, or from the union of both motives, resolved to found and endow a college at Oxford, in which the sciences, theology, canon and civil law, should be studied, as well as arts, medicine, and polite learning generally, as well as for the celebration of divine service. The cardinal obtained permission to appropriate the proceeds of twenty priories and nunneries to the establishment of a school or college at this place. The revenues of these were estimated at 2,000l. Two bulls were obtained from pope Clement VII. in favour of the undertaking; and Wolsey was permitted to build his new college on the site of the dissolved priory of St. Frideswide. The name then given to it was "Cardinal college," the denomination of the clergy being "the dean and canons secular of the cardinal of York." This foundation was to consist of a dean, sub-dean, a hundred canons, thirteen chaplains, professors of divinity, law, medicine, and the liberal arts, and other persons, to the number of one hundred and eighty-six. The college was dedicated to the Holy Trinity, the virgin Mary, St. Frideswide, and All Saints. This grand foundation remained in its original state until 1529, when the fall of Wolsey interrupted its prosperity, though only for a brief period. Henry listened to his entreaties that it might be upheld, but, by giving his own name to the establishment, virtually transferred to himself the honour of its foundationt. Accordingly, in 1532, the the society was refounded by the king, under the title of "King Henry the Eighth's college, in Oxford.” The year 1545 witnessed the surrender of its charter, by the dean and canons to the king, who dismissed them with yearly pensions until they should be otherwise provided. Two names of considerable fame are found among the dismissed members of the foundation-John Cheke, of Cambridge (afterwards Sir John), tutor to prince Edward, and Leland, the celebrated antiquary. The king then changed the college into a cathedral church, translating the episcopal see from Oseney, where it had been established in 1542*. Two foundation charters are preserved in the treasury at Christ-church. In the first of these the church is called " the cathedral church of Christ and the blessed virgin Mary." In the second, dated 4th Nov., 1546, it is called "the cathedral church of Christ, in Oxford." Robert King was installed the first bishop, Richard Cox dean, and eight canons were appointed. The king also made a new annual endowment to the amount of 2,2001. The bishop had no residence attached to the church, but was lodged in Gloucester hall, now Worcester college. In the time of king Charles, 1635, bishop Bancroft built a seat at Cuddesden, near Oxford. This was burnt in 1644, during the rebellion, but a new mansion was raised by bishop Fell, and this continues the palace of the see. The cathedral of Oxford consists of a nave with its aisles; a transept to the north, with a western aisle; a shorter transept on the south, with an aisle to the east; a choir; two other aisles, north of the same; a chapterhouse, south of the church, with an intermediate aisle, and three sides of a cloister. It is not with the cathedral of Oxford as with most of the edifices of that sort in other cities. Usually they are the chief objects of beauty; but the church of the see of Oxford is not only, in size and beauty, inferior to most other cathedrals, but falls below many other buildings in the university. The parts exterior to the church itself are generally regarded as presenting most attraction-the entrance-gate tower, the quadrangle, the hall stair-case, and the hall; though these indeed properly belong to the college. One of the most striking features of the precincts of this cathedral is the entrance door-way from the cloister to the chapterhouse. Possibly it may be more correct to call the style of its architecture the first Norman style than Saxon: but rarely can we see anything more beautiful in the class of the projecting zig-zag, than this door-way cxhibits; and it is to be regretted that the spot is so ill calculated to set off its beauty, as the door-way cannot be seen from any distance. Its details may be inspected by those who stand in the cloister immediately before the chapter-house entrance; but it has not the advantage of an approach. The chapter-house is a peculiarly interest*Chalmers's History of the Colleges, Halls, &c., of Oxford. ing room; the style of its architecture being that of the early pointed, with detached and clustered columns, bold bases, and highly enriched foliated capitals. The interior of this church is solemn and impressive; but it presents rather a heavy appearance. The nave is used for the preaching of the university sermon, whenever the appointment to that duty falls upon any member of Christchurch. The dean and canons invariably preach in the cathedral, and the masters of arts when they take the turn of any member of the chapter; but when they preach as graduates of the college, it is usual for them to proceed to St. Mary's. In the choir are performed two services every day in the year, for the members of the cathedral; and, during term, two other services, at eight o'clock in the morning and nine in the evening, for the members of the college. The former is the ordinary liturgy of the church of England; the latter a selection of Latin prayers.* chapel, or aisle, in which the regius professor of divinity (a canon of Christ-church by virtue of his occupancy of that chair) delivers, every spring, his lectures to those young men who, having taken the degree of B.A., intend to offer themselves for holy orders: the certificate from the regius professor of having attended his lectures, being usually deemed indispensable by the bishop to whom he offers himself as a candidate. Soon after the disgrace and death of Wolsey-though the plan of levelling the existing edifice to make room for a new, more spacious, and splendid church was relinquishedit would appear that the roof of the present choir was constructed, and the church adapted for the cathedral of the service of the then new see. The roof is very beautiful, with rich tracery and pendents, and may be said to form the principal object of interest to the beholder. There is, besides the ordinary stalls of the dean and canons, a small unpretending throne for the bishop, who rarely attends the cathedral except at the two seasons of ordination. The stalls, pavement, and fitting-up of the choir appear to have been executed about the year 1630; and soon afterwards most of the windows were repaired, and ornamented with painted glass, the work of Van Linge. One of these contains the story of Jonah; another represents the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah; a third, in the divinity chapel, describes Christ disputing with the doctors: the principal east window, from a design by sir James Thornhill, was painted in 1696. In the nave are many monuments, of strong interest to those who revere the piety and learning of by-gone days. There are none, indeed, in the cathedral very ancient or very fine, nor are they very numerous: those of bishop King, prior Philip, lady Montacute, and that ascribed to Frideswide, constitute the sum of what could interest the antiquarian. But none can look upon that of Pocock, the orientalist, or of Peter Elmsley, the Greek critic-without sensations of deep respect. Nor can any who were their contemporaries read the epitaphs of bishop Lloyd, or of Alexander Nicoll, the late A small window in the north aisle has professor of Hebrew, without sighing over been spoken of by a late antiquarian as a the premature departure of eminently able" singular curiosity," having been painted men. And every one who visits this cathedral will leave it impressed with the pathos of the sitting statue of Cyril Jackson, the far-famed dean of Christ-church, whose presiding attitude is an apt emblem of the successful manner in which he superintended the interests and raised the character of this great college for many years. The monuments which have been enumerated are all in the nave; but the visitor who passes on into the transept on the left side of the choir, will come to another monument of unique interest, raised to the memory of the author of a book of a rare and almost indescribable character, possessing perhaps much more to interest the curious than any other class of enquirers-the tablet (with effigy) of Burton, author of the "Anatomy of Melancholy." On the left of this transept is a * The use of Latin prayers is not a violation of the protestant rule of "speaking in a tongue understanded of the people," because Latin is supposed to be the current language of a learned body. by a man named Isaac Oliver, in the eightyfourth year of his age. At the north end of the choir is another window, with a fulllength painting of bishop King, of which Chalmers is the supposed author. This notice of the cathedral of Christ-church ought not to be concluded without a mention of some names which have reflected honour upon the office of bishop. Bancroft, lord Crewe, Howe, Potter, Secker, Hume, Lowth, Randolph, W. Jackson, and Lloyd, all reflect honour upon the episcopate of Oxford; while Reynolds, Owen, Morley, Aldrich, Atterbury, Smallridge, Conybeare, and Jackson, have been, in their several generations, distinguished deans of this cathedral: to which it is needless to add, for his eminence in Greek criticism, the name of the present dean, Dr. Gaisford. THE THOUGHTS OF THE HEART: A Sermon, BY THE REV. W. H. FLOWERS, Curate of Uppingham, Rutland. PROV. xxiii. 7. "As he thinketh in his heart, so is he.". Ir you would be furnished with rules for the wise conduct of yourselves under all circumstances, I would recommend to your study this book of Proverbs. The book is marvellously adapted for regulating our behaviour; and the knowledge of human character, of what is generally termed life, which these sayings of Solomon display, is enough of itself to stamp divinity on their authorship. The precept from which I have taken my text concerns the receiving of a neighbour's hospitalities. The wise man recommends us, "not to eat the bread of him that hath an evil eye, neither to desire his dainty meats." Our text is the ground of the recommendation-"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he; eat and drink, saith he, but his heart is not with thee." Commentators have discovered some difficulties in the passage, which it will not be needful to mention. Solomon seems simply to be distinguishing between the sayings of a man, and his thoughts. He advises us not to eat the bread of the man who hates us, or of the covetous (for the man of evil eye may mean either of these), because, as he thinketh in his heart, so is he; not as he speaketh with his lips. He may say to thee, eat and drink: his invitations may appear cordial and urgent; but his heart is not with thee. If the man be a miser in his heart, or in heart your foe, rest assured that he grudges you his bread, how ever warmly he may welcome you to his table. This is all it will be needful for me to say concerning the first meaning of our I design now to treat it as a single and isolated proposition, to detach it entirely from its context, and to prove to you the truth of the saying when considered as declaring that a man's character takes the colour of his thoughts. text. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." Now, I wish you to observe that by the thinking of our text is not to be understood those trains of reflection into which a man may be guided by others, or those in which he compels himself to move by the effort and industry of his own understanding; but those in which the mind will naturally glide when left to its free and spontaneous movements. You may listen with earnest heed to the pleadings of the minister, or you may pore over the pages of some spiritual author, or the columns of the book of inspira tion, and be led by your studies and your listening to dwell in deep and serious reflection on the vanities of this life and the realities of eternity, without your being really a religious man-without its being true in your case that as you think in your heart, so are you. It is not always the thoughts into which others may lead him, or those even which he forces himself to entertain, which will characterize the man as pious or ungodly. You all know that there are seasons in which the mind is suffered to range at will over those fields of thought which are most agreeable-seasons of leisure, when, impelled by the occupation of your calling, or the pleadings of the preacher, or the pages of a book, or the talkings of a friend, you can give yourselves to the subjects which are most upon your hearts, and allow a wide ranging room to your restless spirits. When you rise in the morning, and go forth to your daily labours, you will move along the wellknown path with a free and untroubled air, which proves that your mind is unfettered, and may rove over the themes which are dearest and most pleasant. The same is the case when you return from your work, and sit by your fire-sides, resting from the toils and anxieties of business. Now tell me, could I seat myself by you and raise the veil which hides your thoughts from my eyes, might I not, in those moments of leisure, read your heart and your character? The affections lead the way to the thoughts; and by marking in what direction the thoughts move onward, I can guess very shrewdly the home of the affections. Could I look into your hearts, and find that your children were the objects of your reflections, I should pronounce you a careful and affectionate father. This son is in circumstances of great difficulty; that daughter of imminent peril; I forebode evil things of this wayward and reckless boy; and that, with his questions showing thought above his years, sends gladness to my heart, and high anticipations: why, if I perceived that your minds were agitated by thoughts such as these, I could never doubt that a tenderness for your offspring was the leading feature of your character, since your heart was most occupied with the solicitudes of a father. And could I behold in another man that his periods of leisure were spent in thinking of riches; that his thoughts on the way and by his hearth were on the grandeur and gaieties of the sons of fortune; that he loved to fancy himself rich, and picture the pleasures of his noble establishment, and luxuriate amid the wealth of his own mind's creation: why I should never entertain the doubt of a moment that, "as he thinketh in his heart, so is he;" his thoughts are on the splendours of the great, and his heart is ambitious of their glitter. And, if the result of the scrutiny into your hearts of which I am speaking should be, that I discovered in a third man, that he dwelt upon the honours of the world, that he delighted to imagine himself fanned by the gales of human applause, and raised to the platform of the world's admiration; why I should know that " as he thinketh in his heart, so is he:" his thoughts are on high things, and the man is covetous of honour, and would lift up his head above his fellows, could he have the desire of his soul. Should the thoughts of a fourth man be on objects of impurity; should he love to dwell on forbidden delights, and practise in fancy what in deed he dare not; why I know that the man is in the mire; as he thinketh in his heart, so is he." This young man thinks much of his pleasures; that young woman of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, and putting on of apparel: as they think in their heart, so are they. The young man has pleasure for his deity; the young woman dress for her best adorning. Have we not in all this a fruitful source of self-examination? If you would know the character of your hearts, I would have you chart out the channel in which the river of your thoughts best loves to flow. The mind is incessantly busy, and we often know not on what it is employed; it passes onward from one thought to another with a silence and a speed which elude our observation: and we suffer it to do so by our heedlessness. If in our moments of leisure we would arrest the on-goings of our thoughts, and examine what the mind most naturally dwelt on, and recurred to most frequently, we should quickly discover the character of our souls: the heart, it is true, is generally deceitful, and its inner workings are not easily known; but, by turning upon it the eye of observation in the hours of unconstraint, you may often surprise it with its work-chambers open, and compel its movements and devices to pass beneath your scrutiny. I ask you not at this time to review your feelings while under the ordinances of religion, but rather in the secrecy and freedom of your solitude: the impressions you receive in the church are stamped on you by another, the thoughts which visit you in the solitude are the lineaments of your own disposition. The thought may not ripen into action, but may fall from your heart soon after its conception; and yet, if examined, it will mark for you your character. We may know the tree by its blossom, as well as by its fruitage; we may know ourselves by our thoughts, as well as by our actions: be careful then to search into your secret reflections. You may feel may very warmly while listening to the preache and may tremble when he utters denunciations of vengeance, and long for its joys when he tells you of heaven; and, when fervid prayer is sent up to God, and the voice and the gestures of the utterer give proof of the earnestness of his heart, every pulse in your frame throb, your desire may be strong that the prayer may be heard while yet yon are in the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity. It is not what you experience in the assembly, where the power of sympathy and excitement is upon you, which will indicate the habit and character of your religion; it is what you experience in the closet, where no eye but one is upon you, and nought can affect you but the invisible presence and still more, what you dwell on most in unwatched moments, when your affections alone hold the bridle of your thoughts. It is the fault of our day that we test our characters rather by our agitations in the sanctuary, than our quiet thoughts and purposes at home. You judge not of the course of a river's current by the ripple of its waters when swept by tempests; and why judge the state of a sinner's heart by its heavings while agitated by the persuasives of the gospel? We cannot too urgently or frequently beseech you to try yourselves by your thoughts in the solitude, and not in the assembly: it is easy to be mistaken in these-in those hardly possible to err. We have seen the stout-hearted in sin yield an eager attention to the sermons of the preacher, and tremble while wrath was denounced, and melt into tenderness when mercy was offered; but who will point out to me the man whose thoughts were habitually spiritual, and his life a long course of rebellion? And hence I would exhort you to consider your thoughts-those easy and spontaneous reflections of which I have been speaking: if these are spiritual, so are your hearts; if these are carnal, so are your hearts. Every man--the most unlettered among you-can read in a measure the writing on his heart: each night, before you lie down to sleep, you can waken memory from her cells, and compel her to give record of the subject with which your minds were most busied in the day you are closing: you can summon your character to the bar of your conscience, and subject it to a trial like this-"As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." Then what most occupies my thoughts? Are they on lust? then I am carnal; and to be carnally-minded is death. On the wine cup? then I am, or soon shall be, a drunkard; and he cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. On gold? then I am a covetous man, whom God abhorreth. On honour? then I am ambitious, |