the assumption of it is not necessary to advance his interests, if exhibited at all, it must spring from an inherent habitation in the heart.

As a scientific writer, Mr. Bell is well and widely known. His numerous anatomical and physiological works evince the deep research, the untiring industry, and the unwearied desire to instruct and improve, which so eminently characterize their author; who possesses two qualifications, which distinguish him above all his contemporaries. One is an acute and comprehensive knowledge of mechanics; the other a proficiency in drawing: both of which accomplishments have afforded him the means of illustrating his works in a manner which has added very considerably to their interest and utility.

It is well known that Mr. Bell has already contributed one tract to the library of useful knowledge, namely, that "On Animal Mechanics." We are happy to inform the public that he has pledged himself to give another, and on a subject which, treated as it will be by him, must indeed prove highly interesting. It is on the circulation of the blood, explained, if we are not mistaken, with reference to Mechanics,-in the same manner, indeed, as the "Animal Mechanics." It is pleasant to see the leaders in science condescending to enlighten and instruct the mass of mankind, for it is thus that science, as it becomes popular, becomes also surpassingly useful and enduring.

A DAY AT CAMBRIDGE.

OXFORD is vaunted as the prince (or rather the princess) of Universities; and there is no denying that Europe can show nothing else to compare with it, in point of picturesque and architectural beauty united. But its sister, Cambridge, is not without attractions of a similar kind. There are several things at Cambridge, each of which is well worth a journey from London to see; and, taking the whole of this University together, there is perhaps no other University in Europe (Oxford always excepted) that will so well repay a passing visit.

As we are not aware of our readers being able to find anywhere in print an intelligible sketch, however slight, of the principal points claiming admiration in this famous seat of learning, we shall endeavour to furnish them with such a sketch; only premising that it is not a "Guide" we are about to offer them, but merely a glance, by which they may be led, by the nearest road, to the most noticeable objects, without being needlessly delayed by the way.

The situation of Cambridge is bad, and the town itself devoid of a single point of public interest, except those growing out of it as the seat of the University. We shall therefore confine our attention exclusively to these latter, and shall treat Cambridge itself as if there were no such place; merely placing our readers at once before the objects we wish them to observe, and "cutting short all intermission" between one and another in other words, we shall avoid all generalities in our descriptions, except in so far as relates to the general effect of the particular object, or set of objects, that we may have to describe. We are by no means satisfied as to the good effect of keeping back the most striking points of a description to the last. But whether such a plan be politic or not, we confess ourselves to be totally incapable of pursuing it, in cases where the objects to be described have already

taken their stations in our memory according to their respective powers of exciting and fixing the attention and admiration.

Having to describe the architectural beauties of Cambridge, we cannot begin with the pretty little ivy-clothed cupola of the gate of Caius', and so arrive gradually at the splendid coup-d'œil formed by the assemblage of buildings in front of St. Mary's Church, but must beg leave to place the reader within view of the latter at once; just as we should do in regard to a visitor who might claim our ciceroneship on the actual spot. Indeed, if the reader will please (in imagination) to accept of our services in the latter capacity, it will perhaps facilitate our object, of exciting his attention towards some of the most striking scenes of their kind that can anywhere be met with.

Placing ourselves at once, then, with our backs to the chief door of the University Church, St. Mary's, we shall see before and about us an assemblage of buildings, that, for richness and variety of architectural beauty, cannot, perhaps, be rivalled even in Oxford itself, within an equally limited space of ground. On the extreme right is the Senate House, where the principal official business of the University is transacted. This is a building uniting simplicity and ornament in so judicious a manner as to produce an effect at once extremely rich, yet perfectly sober and chaste. It is constructed of Portland stone, and after what is understood by the term classical models; and from the point of view which we have chosen, it presents a perfect view of its principal front, and its eastern end; its general form being an oblong square. The end which is next to us consists of four Corinthian columns, supporting a somewhat low pediment, and having the windows one above the other,in each intercolumniation,-except in the centre one, where the place of the lower window is occupied by a carved oaken door. The front or flank (for in a building of this form one is apt, from an association growing out of the form and office of the Greek religious temple, to regard the ends as the fronts, those being invariably the points of entrance, and also those where the chief architectural and sculptural ornaments were placed)-the front or flank, whichever it should be called, consists of a centre compartment, exactly corresponding in form and character with that just described; and on each side of it a wing, about equal in extent to the centre compartment, but ornamented by pilasters only, and surmounted by a balustrade, running the whole length of the building. This handsome erection is detached; though built a hundred years ago, it is in as perfect preservation as if raised but yesterday; and the effect of it is, with one or two exceptions, the most satisfying and complete of any thing that we shall meet with in our examination. Indeed, to those who prefer the classical to the Gothic style, it will perhaps present the most striking object in the University. At a right angle with the Senate House, and therefore exactly in front of us, stands the chief front of the building occupied as the Schools and the University Library. This building, like the one just described, is in the Roman style; but on account of its being without either columns, pilasters, pediments, or any of those imposing details which usually form a portion of those buildings dedicated to public purposes, it produces but an indifferent effect. As a specimen of domestic architecture on a large scale, it might have attracted and satisfied the attention; or even as part of a separate college of the University; but being erected

expressly for so peculiarly public a purpose as that of the Schools and the University Library, its general effect becomes, by association, poor and inappropriate. It is constructed entirely of Portland stone, and consists of two stories, surmounted by a balustrade, supporting, at wide intervals, six urns. The lower story consists of rusticated arches, forming an open piazza; and above the upper story run festoons of flowers. Passing the eye onward towards the left, it rests upon what is not merely the great architectural boast and glory of this University, but what may be looked upon as one of the most beautiful and perfect objects of its class now in existence: we mean King's College Chapel. Perhaps the spot whereon we are now standing presents as good an occasion as can anywhere be found of comparing the general characteristics and effects of the modern Gothic and the classical styles of architecture, and of estimating the relative merits of each. Assuredly, we have no wish to institute any such comparison at the present moment, nor would it be in place if we had. But still we cannot resist the temptation of pointing out the triumphant superiority of the one style over the other, so far as the instances here presenting themselves are concerned. We do not know where to point out a more perfect example, and a more effective one for its size, of the Roman or classical style, than we have here before us in the Cambridge Senate House. We are speaking, of course, of modern existing erections, and not of the superb remains of the Greek temples, whether in Greece or elsewhere. But let the spectator who is interested in these matters turn from the classical Senate House to the Gothic Chapel of King's College, and let him admit at once, for he cannot deny, the vast superiority of the latter, in every respect connected with singleness and beauty of external effect. There is, notwithstanding a certain impression of smallness, a majestic solidity and grandeur of general effect about the Senate House, which is not to be denied or overlooked. But the eye refuses to rest upon and contemplate this effect for more than a passing moment, while in presence of its exquisite rival, whose beauties, whether of simplicity or of ornament, of airy lightness or of immovable and majestic gravity, rivet and fascinate the senses, and produce together a general unity, consistency, and appropriateness of effect, which, when once received, can never be forgotten. There is a certain bland and graceful sweetness, so to speak, about this building, which we can compare to nothing but the living and breathing loveliness of a certain class of female forms and faces. We are tempted to believe that something like this general impression was produced upon the spectator by some of the ancient Greek temples, erected previous to and during the era of Pericles. But we do not believe that such impression has attended the contemplation of any specimens of classical architecture erected since, or of any other buildings whatsoever, only excepting some few of the modern Gothic ones; and of those only among the latter which can be seen under favourable circumstances of position, preservation, &c. To see a building of this kind to the best advantage, it must be detached from all other buildings, it must be in perfect general preservation, and you must see the whole of it at once, and from a particular point of view, which shall take in the end and the flank at the same time. In a near view of it there must be no part intercepted; but in a distant one, the intervention of a grove of trees produces an exquisite addition to

the effect. The latter of these conditions may be fulfilled at Cambridge in regard to King's College Chapel; but the former not quite, though nearly so. The end and flank united may be seen, nearly without interruption, from the spot where we are supposing the spectator now to stand; and the south side of it may be seen, without the slightest break or interference, from the new quadrangle of King's College, of which quadrangle it, in fact, forms the whole north side. But it must not be denied, that by uniting to the eastern extremity of this side the new screen, which forms, (with the new gate of entrance,) the eastern side of the said quadrangle, a slight, though perhaps unavoidable injury, has been done to the completeness and beauty of the view of the chapel from this point. It is not necessary to describe this building in detail; and indeed any attempt to do so must prove no less dry than unsatisfactory. But the reader who wishes to gain beforehand a general notion of it, should understand that its form is simply an oblong square, each end being, of course, pointed. He should also be told that from each corner of the building rises a lofty and most richly-ornamented pinnacle; and that the intermediate space on either side is occupied by eleven of those smaller pinnacles that are so prevalent in Gothic buildings. These latter pinnacles, like the larger ones, are richly carved, and the whole upper extremity of the roof on either side is also elaborately ornamented. From this portion of the building to within a few feet of the ground, all the stonework is comparatively plain and simple, as it consists almost entirely of the eleven buttresses in which the eleven smaller pinnacles terminate, or rather, which are terminated by the above-named pinnacles. But the department of the building next the ground on either side, consists of a rich and elaborate screen, looking, in connexion with the simplicity of the upper portion, like a mass of jewellery and embroidery worked into the skirts of a plain robe. The rich and gorgeous tracery of the side windows, one of which lies between each buttress, corresponds with and completes the effect just mentioned. The whole pointed end of the chapel which presents itself to a spot a little to the right of where we are now standing, is nearly filled by one vast oriel window.

In immediate contact with the above-named exquisite, and, in our estimation, altogether perfect specimen of the (so called) modern Gothic style of religious architecture, commences the new buildings, which have very lately been completed, in connexion with and belonging to King's College; and which buildings have, with all their faults and errors, for the first time given to Cambridge a coup-d'œil which is worthy of its name and office as an English University.

In order to take an advantageous view of the new buildings of King's College, and of those old ones that are in contact with them, we must now move our position from the front of St. Mary's Church, and passing a little to the left, place ourselves immediately opposite the new Gate of King's. This Gate, and the Screen which unites it with the chapel on one hand, and the new range of buildings forming the wall, &c. on the other, is the most striking and conspicuous portion of the new erections. It is of the Gothic class, and intended to correspond in character with the chapel; and in fact, the Screen itself is a fac-simile of one which runs the whole length of the chapel on each side, connecting all the buttresses together. Seen from the particular point of view

which we have chosen, the effect of this Screen and Gateway is exceedingly striking, rich, and altogether appropriate; and the vista which presents itself through the gateway, across the new quadrangle, and through the opposite gateway, leading to the plantations and gardens of the college, gives an exquisite finish to the whole. But the Gateway itself, though, without exception, the most striking erection of its kind in the University, is subject to the objection of not producing its proper effect, or indeed any specific or distinct effect whatever, except when viewed exactly in front of it, on either side. And the reason is, that the cupola and pinnacles by which it is surmounted, are too many in number for the space which they occupy; the consequence of which is that, except when viewed from the exact relative position from which (so to speak) they were intended to be viewed, the single effect of each interferes with that of the whole, or of any given number, and an entire confusion is the result. Perhaps, the want of this imaginative and prospective eye is the great and distinguishing inferiority which all modern architects seem to have laboured under, as compared with ancient. No set of artists were ever able to produce more perfect erections, on paper, than the architects of the present day; and provided they could divest the spectator of the faculty of seeing their buildings from any point of view but precisely that relative one which their previous drawings suppose, there would seldom be any thing to complain of in their general effects! But, unhappily, neither the projectors and designers of our public buildings, nor any one else-but particularly the former-can form the remotest idea as to what will or will not be the effect of their works from any but one point of view. They are sure of the effect from one point, provided the building be erected in precise conformity with the previously-prepared design for it and this seems to be all they care about; though the building in question will, in all probability, be seen and judged of from fifty different points of view, from all of which its effect will be different, and from none of which, perhaps, will it be what it ought to be, and might have been, had proper skill and prospective judgment been exercised. The architect of the new Palace in St. James's Park fairly confessed, the other day, that he had beforehand no conception whatever of the effect that would be produced by the principal external feature, the Dome, of that building, as seen from the Park: a building on which his reputation as an artist was to be chiefly if not entirely dependent,—at least with posterity. This is the great failing of our modern artists, in more departments than one: they can see nothing till it becomes visible to their actual senses. Luckily, in painting, the results of this deficiency may be remedied. But in architecture, the remedy—even if circumstances did not, in nine cases out of ten, preclude the attempting it-would be pretty sure to prove worse than the disease.

Leaving the spot on which we have been induced to make the above remarks, and passing through the outer gateway of King's into the New Quadrangle, we shall find ourselves in presence of a set of objects, which, taken as a whole, excite nothing short of a delighted admiration, which, however, will perhaps be not unmingled with a slight degree of regret, arising from a contrast (for it must not be called an incongruity) which we are tempted to wish away-we allude to the splendid building, in the Roman style of architecture, forming the whole west side of this qua