abroad, of the effect of climate, modes of living, &c. on a weak constitution; I expected a list of physicians and chemists, directions where to get the best drugs, &c. ; in short, I expected The Diary of an Invalid,' and I found a mere book of travels." Against such accusations as these I had nothing to offer in Mr. Matthew's defence; and in order to change the conversation, I asked what sort of society Mr. B.'s neighbourhood afforded. "Very bad, Sir, thank God! very bad, nothing but foxhunters and sportsmen. To this circumstance I owe my life. Pleasant society would divert me from proper attention to my health. I should forget the peculiarities of my constitution, I should forget I was a sevenmonths' child without strength or stamina." "But, my good friend," replied I," you must be terribly dull; you ought to marry a Mrs. B. would amuse you when well, and nurse you when ill." "A Mrs. B." he hastily interrupted, "would kill me in three months. No, no, Sir, there is not a woman in the world fit to be my wife. I should be obliged to sleep on a feather bed with the curtains drawn round me; I should be made to go out in an east wind, then be brought into a room heated like an oven; perhaps I should be quizzed out of my flannel waistcoat, and laughed at for putting on this silk cap when I find myself in a perspiration. Then how would it be possible to get my digesting nap after dinner? or how could my weak nerves bear the thoughtless perseverance of a lady's conversation? No, I am not fit to marry; I am much happier by myself. A wife would be of no use except to play at battledore and shuttlecock with me; and that one of my servants does every morning when the weather will not permit me to take other exercise." 66 Upon my honour, Sir," said I," your life must be particularly dull and uncomfortable: it seems one long act of privation and penance. When did your health first fail you? Ten years ago you seemed as strong and hearty as the best of us." "All deception, all deception. I was young and thoughtless, and disdained to think of illness; but disease was stealing slowly upon me. When I came to this estate, which was soon after I left College, I had forgotten the misfortune of my birth, and the natural weakness of my constitution. But I soon felt a sort of languor creeping upon me. I gave up horse exercise, I felt fatigued if I read only half an hour, I grew rapidly fat, I had a constant nervous yawning, my spirits fell, 1 slept ill, and a thousand strange sensations came over me in the course of twenty-four hours. I consulted Buchan, and soon discovered that my symptoms were of the most alarming nature. I discovered indications of epilepsy, erysipelas, and water on the brain. I sent immediately for a physician, who was fortunately a remarkably clever man. I tried various medicines, was bled and blistered, but grew worse rather than better. At length my medical attendant pronounced my complaint to be general debility, and to proceed from a constitution naturally delicate and feeble. At once conviction flashed upon me, and I remembered the long-forgotten lessons of the two old aunts with whom I had spent the first twelve years of my life, those kind misjudging creatures who had taken so much pains to rear the weakly baby of their favourite niece. How often did they remind me that I was a seven-months' child, that I was not dressed till I had been born eight days, that I had been wrapped in wool like an unfledged bird, and must not act or eat like those who had been duly prepared for existence. I had heard these things a thousand times; but my aunts died, I was sent to school and college, lived like the rest of the world, and forgot the weakness of my constitution till it was too late to repair it. Nevertheless, by the assistance of Dr. Kitchener's invaluable lessons, I hope to drag on a few more years of precarious life." Mr. B. was so eloquent on his own complaints, that I suffered him to give me a full account of them all, and encouraged him to proceed by assuming an interest in the subject. No lover could be more delighted when permitted to descant on the charras of his mistress-no soldier when asked to describe the Battle of Waterloo-than was my unhappy friend while rioting among fever, ague and palsy, and eulogizing bark and calomel. He seemed to forget his ailments while he described them, and talking of medicine appeared as efficacious as taking it. Such conversation, however, could be endured no longer than one evening: I took my leave early on the following day, and left Mr. B. to idleness, hypochondriasis, and " Peptic Precepts." W. E. SONNETS FROM PETRARCH. "Uno spirto celeste-un vivo sole HER faded eyes had lost their dazzling ray, But hope still pointed to a happier day; Till once-when near her bower I chanced to stray (She seem'd too fair to linger long below) "Fiera stella (se 'l ciclo ha forza in noi O BY some stern inscrutable decree From clime to clime predestin'd still to roam, To lift thy fearless spirit to the storm, And smile in scorn when others shake with fear- A SUMMER'S DAY AT OXFORD.* Ix inviting the reader to place the arm of his imagination within mine, and join me in completing our stroll through Oxford, I must remind him that he has nothing better to expect than simple unadorned descriptions (as like as I can make them) of inanimate objects. I think a work like ours should not be too witty, gay, and agreeable; but should occasionally put forth articles which its readers may safely pass over if they choose, assigning to themselves as a reason for so doing, that they are "only" about so and so. Now the present paper is modestly intended to be one of these desiderata. It will contain no wise reflections that it would be unwise not to reflect on-no important facts indispensable to be known-no pithy saying that will be read and remembered-no piquant anecdotes that one must be acquainted with. In this respect my article will have a manifest advantage over many others that from time to time enrich this miscellany. The reader may do as he pleases about it—which is always pleasant. A Poem by or an Essay by, leaves us no chance. We must read them; and what is more arbitrary still, we must admire them. Now the present paper is not one of this peremptory kind; on the contrary, it claims the singular merit of being adapted to all classes of readers,-those who do choose to read it, and those who do not: and I hope the worthy proprietors of the New Monthly Magazine have given it credit accordingly! Of what remains to fill up the rest of the day, and complete our hasty view of a few of the architectural and natural beauties of Oxford, I shall choose the splendid collection of buildings forming and adjoining to Radcliffe Square-Christ Church, with its noble avenue of elms, and the sweet and romantic walk round its meadow-and lastly, the evening scene on the Isis. Once more, then, after having partaken of a light repast at our pleasant inn, let us sally forth into the High Street, and passing up on the left by the side of St. Mary's Church, we shall find ourselves in a square open space, the four sides of which are formed by the back of St. Mary's, the front of Brazen-Nose College, one side of the principal quadrangle of All-Souls, and a portion of that venerable and impressive building called the Schools; and in the centre of this space, detached from any other erection, stands the stately dome of the Radcliffe Library. In order to convey some idea of the unrivalled architectural wealth collected together on this spot, and its immediate vicinity, I will add, that, on passing through the quadrangle of the Schools, you arrive in view of three more of the richest and most characteristic buildings belonging to the University,-viz. the Theatre for examinations, conferring degrees, &c.-the Clarendon Printinghouse, and the Ashmolean Museum. That these buildings may be something more to the reader than a collection of mere names, I shall endeavour to convey a slight notion of the character of each; from which it will be seen, that they are as rich in contrast and variety, as they are in every other species of architectural attraction. For pure and delicate beauty, unquestionably, the most conspicuous object in this collection is the back elevation of St. Mary's Church, which forms the southern side of Radcliffe Square. It is a perfectly regular erection, consisting of a rich pointed portal, flanked by three pointed windows * Concluded from page 326. to correspond on each side, and surmounted by that lovely spire, of which I have spoken before, and which produces so exquisite an effect in all the distant views of the city. The lower series of windows in this front are surmounted by four smaller ones arched in a different manner, and a parapet enriched at intervals by those singular knotted pinacles which so greatly enhance the general effect of buildings of this kind. Harmonious sweetness is the character of this matchless work of its kind. It seems to breathe forth into the surrounding space an air of deep quiet-of imperturbable peace. For perfect beauty, I do not scruple to place it above any other religious temple I have ever seen. Some of the Continental cathedrals may have been equal to it when in their perfect state; but I doubt if they were not all on too large a scale to admit of their possessing that peculiar sweetness of expression which belongs to this lovely object.-That portion of All-Souls which forms the eastern side of Radcliffe Square consists of the screen, gateway, and cupola, which I described in my account of the quadrangle of that magnificent college. Immediately behind this screen rises the singularly beautiful double tower, which I also described. The western side of the square is formed by the front of Brazen-Nose, a building not claiming very particular attention; though its plainness and sobriety of character are well adapted to contrast with the riches that surround it. The remaining, or north side of the square is occupied by an elevation forming one side of the quadrangle of the Schools. This is a building which, from its bare, and almost barbarous simplicity of character, excites a peculiar interest, in connexion with the venerable associations that belong to it, and in contrast with the rich and almost fantastical variety of ornament by which it is surrounded. Its perfectly flat and unornamented walls, rising immediately out of the earth like the side of a cliff looking to the sea,-its plain square windows, as if cut out of its face-and its low simple parapet, directly perpendicular with the line at which the walls rise out of the earth-all this, dark and grey with age, yet firm and unimpaired as if of yesterday, produces a striking and impressive effect.-The Radcliffe Library-which rises in the midst of these buildings, and gives to them, as well as receives from them, a look of grandeur and richness-consists of an elevation which may be regarded as comprising, externally, three compartments; namely, the substructure, which is of rustic work, and of a double octagon form, containing eight open portals, all of which lead to one open vestibule; above this rises the circular hall or chamber containing the library, the outer elevation of which is extremely elegant and well imaginedconsisting of couples of Corinthian pillars connecting windows and niches alternately, and supporting a graceful entablature surmounted by an open balustrade;-finally, within the balustrade rises the grave and commanding dome, which is finished by a turret and cupola of appropriate character and dimensions. One would think that all these structures, grouped together in a space not exceeding that of one of our ordinary squares, presented an assemblage of architectural grandeur and beauty sufficiently imposing. But as if to defy all competition or comparison between similar assemblages elsewhere, there are, added to the group I have just described, three other buildings, each totally different from any of the above-mentioned, and from each other, and each appropriate to its object, and excellent in its kind. These are the Theatre, the Clarendon Printing-house, and the Ashmolean Museum. My space will not allow me to describe these admirable buildings with any minuteness; but an idea of their character and general effect in the picture may be gained by mentioning, that the Theatre is raised on the model, or at least its external elevation is an imitation, of those of the ancients, though of course on a very small scale, and I believe it is the only modern building of its kind;-the Clarendon Printing-house is also a perfectly classical erection, consisting of an elegant Doric portico connecting two uniform wings, and surmounted, at the corners of each pediment, of which there are four, one over each front, by statues of the Muses; the Ashmolean Museum is an elegant modern structure, extremely correct and tasteful in its proportions as well as ornaments, and though of a character different from all the other objects in this group, yet admirably consorting with the whole of them. We must now abruptly quit this magnificent portion of the city, and repose our senses (almost satiated with the contemplation of architectural grandeur-perhaps on account of its possessing the one fault of not being sufficiently, or rather not at all, blended with the beauties of Nature) among the sweet yet cheerful stillness of Christ-Church meadows. To this end let us proceed to the western extremity of the High Street, and turning on the left down St. Aldate's Street, we shall presently find ourselves before the most magnificent structure as well as endowment in Oxford. We cannot stay to admire its nobly simple front, or the gorgeous mosque-like towers of its gateway; for we must, if we would do it with proper effect, no longer delay to contrast, as well as combine, the contemplations arising from the scene we have just left, with those which are sure to be suggested by that we are secking. Passing silently, therefore, through the great quadrangle of Christ's, and the somewhat lumbering, un-uniform, and much too modern one called Peckwater, and continuing our course to the little meadow in front of vine-covered and ivy-bound Merton, we shall speedily entera Temple not made with hands"-"a pillared shade high overarched"-the effect of which, it must be confessed, sinks the works of us mortals into insignificance, and at the same time lifts our thoughts to a height which their own unassisted power can scarcely enable them to reach.-See !-We stand within the Elm Grove of Christ Church-the grandest of Cathedrals! Between its massy pillars the descending sun darts its slant rays, and the innumerable company of leaves above and about us cast their green and quivering shadows on the natural pavement below. The breeze, perfumed with sweet incense from the field-flowers around, chaunts forth its evening hymn; at intervals pealing along the fretted roof, like a dim organ note, still sounding after the touch that awakened, has quitted it. Above, the birds flit hither and thither, like attendant spirits of the place. Before us and around, unconscious worshippers pass silently along, their steps solemnized, and their looks lifted upwards, in token of uplifted thoughts.-To give a bare description of this noble spot would be idle, since nothing but being present within its influence can call forth feelings appropriate to its character. Pass we on, then, to another scene, "different, yet O how like!"-different as a tragedy of Eschylus differs from a pastoral of Tasso-alike, as those two are alike, inasmuch as both are poetry. The lovely Walk round Christ Church Meadow is very dear to the memory of all who have |