. . . . From our window we have a
slantwise glimpse, to the right, of the walls of St. John's College, and
the general aspect of St. Giles. It is of an antiquity not to shame
those mediaeval halls. Our own lodgings are in a house that seems
to be very old, with panelled walls, and beams across the ceilings,
lattice-windows in the chambers, and a musty odor such as old houses
inevitably have. Nevertheless, everything is extremely neat, clean, and
comfortable; and in term time our apartments are occupied by a Mr.
Stebbing, whose father is known in literature by some critical writings,
and who is a graduate and an admirable scholar. There is a bookcase of
five shelves, containing his books, mostly standard works, and indicating
a safe and solid taste.
After lunch to-day we (that is, Mrs. Hall, her adopted daughter, S-----,
and I, with the Ex-Mayor) set forth, in an open barouche, to see the
remarkables of Oxford, while the rest of the guests went on foot. We
first drew up at New College (a strange name for such an old place, but
it was new some time since the Conquest), and went through its quiet and
sunny quadrangles, and into its sunny and shadowy gardens. I am in
despair about the architecture and old edifices of these Oxford colleges,
it is so impossible to express them in words. They are themselves--as
the architect left them, and as Time has modified and improved them--the
expression of an idea which does not admit of being otherwise expressed,
or translated into anything else.
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