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o'clock; and an hour after, we took leave of a family, whose hospitality and polished society had contributed so largely to the pleasures of our visit to Cambridge. We parted with a distant hope of having it one day in our power to reciprocate so much kindness upon our native shores.

Next morning, before breakfast, we went to the garden of Christ College, consecrated by some memorials of the poet Milton. It is a sequestered, quiet, and lovely spot, which I could not but think was the original, whence he drew the picture of his own Eden, in Paradise Lost. There is a crystal lake in the centre, overhung with deep foliage, near which his bust stands upon a pedestal, half concealed and shaded by shrubbery. Around the garden are classic walks and cool retreats, where he loved to saunter. Upon a little open and verdant area stands an aged mulberry tree, which was planted and watered by his own hand, while he was a member of the college. It is now tottering with infirmity; but its decrepitude is cherished with a respect due to its venerable age and its interesting origin. Its trunk, in a state of decay, is carefully wrapped in a sheet of lead, and several props support its branches. It is now in full bearing, and we were just in season to partake of its fruit. The gardener was at the tree, with a ladder reaching to the top, which he permitted me to ascend and gather for myself. As it was a warm morning, the shade was scarcely less grateful than the fruit. A rustic chair was standing upon the dew-sprinkled turf, which would form a delightful seat for reading the works of the great epic poet of England.

On our return from this pleasant walk, which was almost as lovely as the first happy pair used to take in Eden, we called at the Church of All Saints, to visit the tomb of Henry Kirk White. He was buried in the chancel, under an obscure and humble stone, bearing no other inscription than his name. A year or two since, one of our countrymen, whose name could not be ascertained on inquiring, visited the church on the same errand as ourselves, and finding no monument to the memory of a young man, so highly esteemed for his talents and virtues, directed a white marble slab to be placed upon the wall, ornamented with a portrait, in relief, of the unfortunate poet, and inscribed with the following lines:

"Worn with fond hope, and learning's sacred flame,
To Granta's bowers the youthful poet came :
Unconquer'd powers th' immortal mind display'd,
But, worn with anxious thought, the frame decay'd.
Pale o'er his lamp, and in his cell retired,
The martyr student faded and expired.

Oh! genius, taste, and piety sincere,

Too early lost 'midst studies too severe !
Foremost to mourn was gen'rous Southey seen;
He told the tale, and show'd what WHITE had been ;
Nor told in vain: for o'er the Atlantic wave

A wanderer came, and sought the poet's grave:
On yon low stone, he saw his lonely name,

And rais'd this fond memorial to his fame."

These verses were written by Mr. Walter Smyth, of St. John's Colege. The tablet has no other inscription, except the date of White's irth, in 1785, and of his death in 1806. It was executed by Chaney, who will probably be able to inform us at whose expense it was rected. Such a liberal act, paying a just tribute to genius and worth, ade us proud of our country. The reader will recollect Byron's eautiful eulogy, in the English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. At 9 o'clock we took breakfast with the Professor of Geology, at his oms in College, as he still lives "in a state of single blessedness." 'he members of the University have inducements to remain unmared; since they forfeit their fellowships, on entering into matrimony. heir apartments are taken care of, and their breakfasts provided, by males who are called gyps. On inquiring the etymology of the term, received for answer, that with the classical scholars of Cambridge it supposed to be derived from yo, the Greek word signifying a lture. This mode of living, however, is neither expensive nor uneasant. We found the rooms handsomely furnished, and ornamentI with a great variety of paintings and drawings. They contained so a valuable private library, with all the appendages and conveences of a study. Breakfast was served up in good style, and an our passed very agreeably.

In the course of the forenoon, we had a long and delightful ramble on the banks of the Cam, threading every grove and thicket, and equently pausing to admire the Gothic turrets of the colleges peerg from amidst the foliage. It was our intention to visit the new obrvatory now in building upon an eminence half a mile from town ; at our friend accidentally mentioning a favourite walk of the poet ray, with the original of his "country church-yard," it was at once termined to change the direction of our excursion. We accordingpursued a by-path, sometimes leading between hedge-rows of haworn, and at others, across meadows and fields, until it conducted us Grantchester, a small village of great antiquity, at the distance of a le and a half from Cambridge. It is said to have been a Roman stan. The houses have thatched roofs, and appear to be going to de

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The "ivy-mantled tower" guided us to the little church-yard, whither Gray used to take a solitary walk at morning or evening, and whence he is said to have derived the imagery of his exquisite Elegy. Whether his muse gleaned her materials from this place or not, its features exactly correspond with his description. Although it does not differ essentially from other country church-yards, its interesting associations induced us to examine it with minute attention. It is a very old burying-ground," where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap." We sat down in the shade of the church, upon the green sod covering the graves, and repeated the Elegy, applying its stanzas to the objects around us. One part of the cemetery in a particular manner arrested our attention. It was a little enclosure, planted with the yew, the ever-green branches of which overhung and partly concealed the marble monuments. A rose grew by its side, and was in full bloom, its leaves and flowers intermingling with the cypress. Many of the tombstones in the church-yard are old and rude, the dates extending back far beyond the period, when the poet was wont to make this retreat the scene of his evening rambles and solitary meditations. There was

a pleasure in the reflection, that he had trodden the same turf we were now treading, and had paused to read the same inscriptions, the same "holy texts and uncouth rhymes," which have become scarcely legible, overgrown as they are with moss and half obliterated by the hand of time.

But the banks of the Cam furnish still less equivocal prototyes of his poetical images, and more vivid traces of the footsteps of his Muse :-

"Ye brown o'er-arching groves,

That contemplation loves,

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
Oft at the blush of dawn,

I trod your level lawn,

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia, silver bright,

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of folly,

With freedom by my side, and soft-eyed melancholy."

The foregoing passage is entirely graphic, and accurately descriptive of the scenery upon the banks of this classic stream, along the immediate margin of which we sauntered on our return, following its meanders through the wide meadow which it passes before reaching Cambridge. Its waters are clear, but sluggish; and for the greater part of the way, the channel is over-arched by willows, growing upon its borders. Its current is in many places choked with rushes and other aquatic plants, among which Matthews, the intimate friend of Lord Byron, was entangled and drowned, while in the act of bathing.

At this season of the year, the water seems scarcely deep or wide enough to admit of such an accident, in the place where it occurred.

On the left bank, near the colleges, there is a beautiful grove, called Erasmus' Walk. It was the favourite retreat of the eminent scholar of that name, who was educated at Cambridge. A more sequestered, cool, and quiet spot for reading and meditation cannot be imagined; and here he probably acquired much of that depth of learning, as well as that pure latinity, for which he was so distinguished. But I have done for there would be no end to my sketch, should it attempt to embrace all the classic shades and all the interesting objects, around this ancient seat of the Muses, hallowed by the associations of genius and learning.

LETTER XIII.

DEPARTURE FROM CAMBRIDGE-HUNTINGDON-BIRTH-PLACE OF CROM

WELL--STAMFORD-BURLEIGH HOUSE--LEICESTER--DERBY.

August, 1825.

On the afternoon of the 20th, our ride was continued to Stamford, twenty-six miles from Cambridge. In leaving the seat of the University, we crossed a handsome bridge over the Cam, on each side of which the stream was covered with large boats, employed in navigation between this place and Lynn, in the county of Norfolk. In one of the public squares was observed the Conduit, erected by the celebrated Hobson,* as a watering-place for his horses; also the church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is a curious antique structure of a circular form. It is said to be the oldest of the kind in England. A part of it is of Saxon architecture, and is supposed to have been built by the Knights Templars, between the first and second crusades, dedicated to the pilgrims who visited the sacred places about Jerusalem. The new Observatory, yet in an unfinished state, crowns the summit of Chapel Hill, whence an extensive view is obtained of the Cathedral at Ely, and the surrounding country.

A few miles from Cambridge, the road leads through the little village of St. Ives, celebrated in legendary lore, and still more renowned, as having been for some time the residence of Oliver Cromwell, the Protector, where he is said to have occasionally preached and exhorted. It derived its name from a Persian archbishop of great sanctity, who travelled through England in the sixth century, and whose body was reported to have been found at this place, where a monastery was erected, and the name changed in honour of the saint. Near the village we crossed the river Ouse, which is a comparatively large and navigable stream, rising in Northamptonshire, and winding its way in a northeasterly direction, through extensive fens upon its borders. Although it is not in its appearance a very poetical river, it is not "unknown to song." Cowper's muse found a charm in its winding and sedgy margin.

* This old Cantabrian, (blessed be his memory,) was the inventor of HackneyCoaches and Livery-Stables. For an account of his services, and an explanation of the proverb, which originated with him, see Milton's miscellaneous poems, and the 509th number of the Spectator.

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