All.

well stocked reading-room, good library, and convenient writing-room. the popular newspapers and periodicals are found there. Its five hundred members making constant use of it from day to day, never, perhaps, writing a note out of its rooms, or reading for amusement anything not supplied by it, are yet to a vast extent wholly careless of who controls it, or what it does. as a society. Its active working in all the points I mention is in the hands of two managing clerks. They are overseen by a board of officers, chosen every term from among the whole body of members, graduates and undergraduates. For these offices, in an American college, the competition would be terific, the canvassing incessant, and the meetings for business most stormy. Scarce anything of this is known at Cambridge. All the officers are frequently elected without opposition term after term A contested election twice a year is a very large allowance. And hardly anybody cares about the business-working of the society. When a contested election does arise, it is generally on some point like college rivalry, wholly apart from the real business.

But we have been leaving our friend an unconscionable time on the Union steps; to be sure he has been discussing whether Davies will win the University scholarship next year; and this all-absorbing topic of interest for the classical students at Cambridge is enough to excuse any delay or impoliteness But now he bounds up, and rushes into the reading-room, for he missed the paper this morning. As he takes up the Times, and subsides into a very comfortable arm-chair, he casually asks his neighbor, "if the Yankees. have got another drubbing"; but, before he can get an answer, his eye catches the telegram of the battle of Chattanooga, and he does not repeat the question. The Times is soon discussed, a couple of other papers skimmed over, two or three magazines ditto, and a couple of letters written and posted. By this time, the deep-toned chapel bell of Trinity is beginning to sound loud in his ears, and he reflects that a slight neglect of the religious services, in the early part of the week, will necessitate attendance to-night. It being, as we have said, a saint's day, he repairs to his room It is in Letter D, New Court. There are now four courts in Trinity-the Old or Great, Neville's, the New, about thirty-five years old, and the Master's. He crosses the Great Court, defiles past the entrance of the hall, and emerging in the Neville's Court, slips through a portion of the cloisters, and under an archway into the New Court. Already he sees the stream of white surplices filing from every staircase; for at service on Saturday evening, Sundays, and saints' days, every member of the college, except the noblemen, has to appear in a white surplice, as though he were about to read the service. He enters the door over which the letter D is painted, the staircases, or, as we should say at Harvard, entries, being lettered. His room is gained, gown dashed off and surplice donned. Another run across the court; plenty of time, though, the service does not begin till a quarter of an hour after the bell. He enters the chapel, a narrow, inconvenient building, of very slight architectural merit. It is divided, like all the college chapels in England, into two parts, by a screen of oak, above which is the organ. The ante-chapel contains some fine stained windows: the memorial tablets of many fellows of Trinity who are buried there; and three glorious statues. Right and left of the passage through the screen, are those of Barrow and Bacon, and near the entrance is Roubiliac's masterpiece-the statue of Sir Isaac Newton, with the motto, Qui genus humanum ingenio superavit."

Evening Chapels.

But our friend has seen all this before. He does not stop to notice it, nor the beautiful carving of Gibbons with which the chapel itself is filled. At the upper end is the communion-table, raised on three high steps; along each side of the remainder run two tiers of raised seats, the masters of arts and fellow-commoners occupying the highest, the bachelors of arts, choristers, and undergraduate scholars the second. The seats for the body of the students are hard benches, with very flat apologies for cushions, not to sit, but kneel upon, arranged lengthwise throughout the body of the chapel and chancel. On one of these our friend scats himself, and watches the white crowd pour in. The bachelors of arts wear hoods, trimmed with white swansdown, hanging down their backs: the masters, hoods of black and white silk, and the doctors, scarlet. Presently pour in the two rows of choristerboys, who take the treble parts; there are six of these on each side, together with half the number of adult male singers. The effect of these eighteen voices is very good, and the responsive parts are beautiful. There-enter the venerable head of the college, ushered to a high seat next the door; follow him. the two deans-officers who attend to the police-work of the college-taking.

their seats on high, behind the choristers. The chaplain rises at the upper end. The evening service of the Church of England is performed, in a manner which seems very hurried to an American; but which soon appear. in very favorable contrast to the drawl so common here. As the "General Confession" is begun, see how every undergraduate rises from his seat, turns round, and bodily kneels; neither sits nor bows, nor any compromising posture. The musical part of the service is very good. The Psalms are chanted responsively, and to very beautiful tunes. The lessons from the Bible are always read by some member of the college proper or foundation; to-night being a saint's day, by a fellow, on Saturdays and Sundays by a bachelor scholar, on week days by an undergraduate scholar. This is a very pleasing part of the service, and greatly interests the young men themselves in it. All this time the two markers have been pacing up and down the chapel pricking down those who are present.

At the door of the chapel our friend meets one of his friends, a bachelor fellow. This gentleman was Senior Classic a year ago, and gained his fellowship the first time, so he is a model of scholarship and regularity to every one, and of great admiration to the younger members of the college. They stroll together to the fellows' staircase in the cloisters, and he says, "Come round to tea and whist this evening at nine." The invitation is eagerly accepted, and off runs our friend, for he must get through a good bit of work to-night, and it has struck seven. So to secure himself from all interruption, he sports the outer door. These outer doors are tremendous constructions of hard wood, opening outwards, and so when fastened by a spring-lock, absolutely impenetrable without a key. When shut they are said to be sported. Within this barricade our friend's domain consists of a front room about 14 feet by 13, looking into the courtyard, a back room not quite as wide, and a small dark cupboard called a gyp-room, where miscellanea are kept. Into this receptacle he carefully puts the fowls and tongue aforesaid which he finds have arrived from the kitchen in his absence. As to the internal appearance of the apartment suffice it to say it is a college room, but very comfortable, and all the more from having a good soft-coal fire in an open grate, instead of that abomination, a cast-iron stove.

Our friend gets out his Plato and Dictionary, and also writing materials. His first work is to prepare some composition, as it is called. This does not mean an English essay. No, his private tutor has handed him, on a piece of paper, a copy of twenty lines from Dryden's "Palamon and Arcite." This, if you please, he is to translate into Latin Hexameters as near like Virgil as possible. And he will do it too, and it wont take him an hour and a quarter to do the rough copy. And the rest of the time till nine he'll have to read some Plato. And in doing these verses not a shadow of grammar or dictionary will he use, and yet the verses will be very far from bad. So he works away, cheerfully but silently. At about half past eight a rustling is heard in the back room; the door is opened, and slowly appears an aged grim figure, not unlike the witches in Macbeth, holding a dimly burning lamp. Yet the brave heart of a Cambridge youth never quails. He only says, “O, Mrs. Day, breakfast for six to-morrow at nine-please order coffee and muffins at Hattersley's." “Very well, sir"; and the bedmaker, who has entered by a door to which she alone has the key, disappears, laying a funny little twisted note on his table. It requires an immediate answer, and fearing to trust the venerable genius of the apartments with his message, he slips on cap and gown, and hies him to his friend's room just outside the gate.

Proctorizing.

As he is hurrying back, nine having already struck, behold a singular scene. A procession is seen advancing, consisting of a master of arts in full academicals, with white tie and bands, and behind two stalwart men, their coats ornamented with a profusion of buttons. The train moves speedily up to an undergraduate without a gown, and in a little jaunty hat. "Are you a mem ber of the University, sir?" says the clergyman, raising his cap politely. "Yes, sir." "Why have you not your academic dress on?" No excuse is apparent. "Your name and college if you please, sir." "Jones of Trinity Hall." Jones of Trinity Hall; I fine you six and eight pence, sir; remem ber"-to his attendants-" Jones of Trinity Hall, 68, 8d."—and the train goes on. This is proctorizing; the reverend one is a proctor-the attendants are usually called bull-dogs. There are two proctors, and two assistant proctors, chosen from the colleges by a peculiar rotation. It is their duty to attend to various University matters, but particularly to parade the streets in this way, with their attendants, reprehending all offences against University discipline or public morality.

REESE LIBRARY”

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

Meanwhile our friend has slipped through the gate and reached his entertainer's rooms in the cloisters. There on the table are many loaves of bread, little pats of butter, each, according to the measure I stated, an inch roll, and sturdy white gallipots of jam, which is eaten whole ale on bread at Cambridge. All this is from the host's private stores. Two or three cups of strong tea are discussed, and the party sits down to whist. I can't pretend to give you all their hands, or who won each odd trick; but I must, at the risk of shocking everybody, say that all Cambridge, including the steadiest and most religious men, plays whist and other games for money, though the stakes are generally small. As the night wears on, frequent peals at the gate bell are heard. To explain these it must be noticed, that at sunset all the various entrances into the colleges are shut and locked except the one at the great gate. At ten, this also is locked, but the porter is in his lodge, to let in every one that rings the bell. All entering after lock-up are registered, and a very trifling fine levied for all between ten and twelve. After twelve the chain is put up, and a terrible blowing-up is the consequence of coming in later. If repeated, the results are serious, though in no way affecting the ran's in scholarship.

At about half past six A. M. he is aroused to consciousness by allusions to the hour and morning chapel. It is from his gyp, who thinks it proper his master should attend." 'No, thank you, Stacey," is the groan from under the bedclothes. "Don't forget breakfast at nine." Finally, after a roll or two, about a quarter past seven he rises, and from his bedroom window contemplates the prospect. A beautiful old lawn, still of England's velvety softness, varied by broad walks u der lines of old trees-on the left is the college brewery, and on the right the Trinity bridge is visible. But what he thinks of is the November fog coming right up the river as thick as a Scotch mist, and freezing, him to the bones to look at. In a few minutes, however, he is seated in his front room at a nice fire, duly made for him, observe, by the bedmaker. To her he hands a slip of paper-it is an order on the kitchen. He then looks over and corrects the Latin verses of last night, and reads a little more Plato; thus securing a good hour and more of work before breakfast. At half past eight he moves his work to another table, for now his bedmaker enters and proceeds to lay the cloth, together with knives, forks, etc., all from his own stores. Nine o'clock strikes a great rattle outside; enter a boy bearing a waiter covered with green baize-green baize taken off discloses cups, saucers, and spoons for six; large coffee-pot, full of first-rate hot coffee, cream, sugar, and hot milk to correspond, two covered plates of muffins. These, be it observed, are supplied from the grocer's, outside the college walls.

Knock-"Come in "; enter first guest, who throws down cap and gown in a corner, and proceeds to warm himself, or look out of the window. Notice the court full of strong men clad in white, carrying heavy blue wooden trays on their heads. They are the cook's men, bringing the breakfasts from the college kitchens to such as order them. Observe, these hot breakfasts, ordered from the grocer's and kitchens, are exceptional affairs; generally, every one contents himself with bread and butter, from the college butteries -a different place from the kitchens-and coffee or tea made by himself in his own rooms. One of these cooks is seen approaching Letter D. Then tramp, tramp, like the horse in Don Giovanni-and crash-the heavy tray let down on the landing Delicately are fried soles, grilled fowl, and curried sausages extracted and set down to warm before the fire, where a stack of plates has been undergoing that operation for half an hour.

The rest of the guests soon assemble. They are five in all; two in their second year, like the host, and three freshmen. Three freshmen invited by a second year man! Yes. They are of course new to the college. And having some acquaintance with one of them, having been to school with the brother of the second, and having already met the third at a friend's rooms, the host thinks it his duty, as a gentleman and student, to show them this hospitality and every attention he can. For the knowledge how to furnish his rooms, etc., a new-comer almost always depends on a friend of advanced standing; in a great measure his only acquaintances, except his schoolfellows, for many weeks, are older men, and in short, throughout his freshman year, an undergraduate looks to those of the years above him for assistance, advice, and attention of every kind.

Mr. Everett in this connection administers a stinging condemnation of the "silly, cowardly, blackguardly practice" of hazing Freshmen which prevails at even Harvard and Yale.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

MEMOIR.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY, made Baron of Rothley in 1857, but who achieved his title to the peerage of his country by his splendid contributions to English literature and his fidelity, in and out of office, to the cause of civil and religious liberty, was born at Rothley Temple, October 25, 1800. His father was Zachary Macaulay, a West India merchant and eminent philanthropist of the evangelical type, and son of Rev. John Macaulay, a Presbyterian minister in the West of Scotland. His mother was Selma Mills, the daughter of a bookseller of Bristol, of a Quaker family. His early education was domestic, and in the conversations and associations of such a home we find the germs and leanings of the future opinions which he so manfully upheld by his pen and voice. He entered Trinity College, Cambridge, at the age of eighteen, where he acquired a brilliant reputation as a scholar, both in mathematics and languages, and as a debater and writer. He twice won the Chancellor's medal for excellence in English literature, first in 1819; and in 1821 he obtained the Craven Scholarship. He took his first degree in 1822, was made Fellow of Trinity in the same year, and in 1825 was made Master of Arts-the same year in which his famous Essay on Milton appeared in the Edinburgh Review, the first of that series of critico-historical essays, which now constitute a distinct department of English literature. He had already begun his apprenticeship as a literary journalist, by contributions to Knight's Quarterly Magazine, several of which are of such merit as to be included in his collected works.

In 1826 he was called to the bar at Lincoln's Inn, but was borne along with the current of political agitation, then running high, and in which he shared as Whig, until he entered Parliament for the borough of Calne in 1830. In the memorable struggle for Parliamentary Reform, he made several effective speeches; and to the first reformed House was returned as member for Leeds in 1831. As a member he was always an unflinching advocate of religious freedom

-his first speech was in support of a bill to repeal the civil disabilities of the Jews. He defended the Roman Catholic Relief Bill, and when a member for the city of Edinburgh, in 1846, supported a grant to Maynouth College and other measures, calculated to correct abuses in the government of Ireland, and remove just discontent from that portion of the Empire. For this magnanimous policy he was ousted of his seat in 1847, but was returned without any personal effort on his part by the same constituency in 1852. In the Melbourne Ministry he was made Secretary for the Board of Control for India, and in 1738 he went out to India as a member of the Supreme Council. Here his chief labor was in the preparation of a new penal code, and a system of public instruction. To his study on the spot of British rule in India we owe his masterly essays on Clive and Warren Hastings.

In 1840 he was appointed War Secretary, and it would seem as if under its inspiration, he appeared in 1842 as the author of those martial ballads, the Lays of Ancient Rome. In 1846 he was made Paymaster-General. In 1848 appeared the first two volumes of his History of England from the accession of James II., in which he produced not merely the lives of kings, statesmen, and generals, but the development of arts and sciences and the progress of the people in every rank, in domestic comforts and good government. In 1849 he was chosen Lord-Rector of the University of Glasgow; and in 1855, the third and fourth volume of his History appeared with a rush for copies on the publishers and circulating libraries, such as only a popular novel usually exhibits.' In 1857 he was elected a foreign associate of the French Academy of Moral and Political Sciences; and in the same year he was made Baron Macaulay of Rothley, and in Dec. 28, 1859, he died. His remains were buried in Westminster Abbey. His works, which are his best monument, have been published in a uniform edition, by Lady Trevelyan.

From first to last he was the advocate of a broad and liberal system of public instruction-from the elementary school for the entire mass of the people to universities for the highest science and literature, as well as for the greatest practical utilities, in every section of the Empire; and he was one of the first to recognize the special value of different studies in mental culture, and helped, by his report on the mode of appointment to office in India by competitive examination, to inaugurate a civil service based on educational qualifications.