His sympathies would have been rather with Pym and Hampden than with Laud or Strafford; and we should have been spared the calamities of a Civil War and a Protectorate. But, unhappily for himself and the country, the "darling of his age" (as a writer calls him) died of a fever in his nineteenth year.

In the early days of Elizabeth's reign Oxford had been the stronghold of Catholics; towards its close it had become "the hotbed of Puritanism," and this tendency became even more marked under James I. The very name of the President in 1626 - Accepted Frewen-is a sign of the times. He was an exFellow, and had been chaplain to Sir John Digby, at Madrid, at the time of the projected "Spanish Marriage, and & remarkable sermon which he preached in the presence of Prince Charles on the text, "How long halt ye between two opinions?" and urging him not to forsake the Church of England, is said to have induced the Prince to break off the match. But his Puritanism disappeared after he became President, for in 1630 we find him posing as the champion of Laud and the High Church reaction, and restoring the chapel to something of its splendour before the Reformation. The College was well governed and peaceful under Frewen's administration, when in 1642 came the first ominous signs of the approaching Civil War, in a proclamation "repressing the present rebellion,"

and a letter from the king asking for a loan of money. The College promised £1000, of which Frewen was to pay the half, to avoid selling the plate. Then followed Sir John Byron's fitful occupation of the city. He carried off a hundred volunteers with him when he left, amongst whom was Dr John Nourse of Magdalen, who was killed shortly afterwards at Edgehill, fighting gallantly in front of his company.

In October of the same year Charles himself entered Oxford, which became a fortified camp and the Royalist headquarters. Magdalen bridge was strongly barricaded. The king's "ordnance and great guns were parked in the Grove; the trees in the Walks were cut down, and a battery erected at the north-east corner, called "Dover Pier," after Lord Dover, who commanded the University corps. Then it was that "Rupert's trumpets sounded to horse in those quiet cloisters," and it is possible that the Prince himself may have lodged in the College, where a fine portrait of him, by a pupil of Vandyck, hangs above the High Table in the hall.

Charles himself lodged at Christ Church; the Queen held her Court at Merton, while the city itself was thronged by a brilliant and motley society, as described for us in the pages of 'John Inglesant,' when representatives of every rank and class were crowded within the narrow walls bounded by the Isis and the Cherwell. The Mint was transferred from Shrewsbury to Oxford, and all the College plate,

to the value of £900, with the exception of the Founder's Cup, was melted down.

The siege itself was not a serious affair. Fairfax and Essex had batteries on Headington Hill and at Hinksey, and the king and Prince Rupert watched their attack from Magdalen Tower; but, fortunately for for the College buildings, their fire was weak and ineffectual. The siege lingered on until Naseby extinguished the last hope of the Royalists. The garrison surrendered to Fairfax, and were allowed to march out with all the honours of war-drums beating and flags flyingthrough long lines of sullen Roundheads, over Magdalen bridge, "on the rainiest day of a rainy summer" in 1646. Then came a gloomy time for Oxford. Magdalen especially suffered, as it was the first College visited by the Commissioners sent down by the Parliament. Few of the members on the Foundation, whether Fellows or Demies, could be induced to recognise the authority of the Parliament, and returned either negative or evasive answers to the questions put by the Commission. Most of them were expelled, and their places filled by Presbyterians and Independents. The President (Dr Oliver) was deprived of his office and his place filled by John Wilkinson, whom Anthony Wood-perhaps a little unjustly-calls "an illiterate, testy old creature, who had outlived the little learning he had." Cromwell and Fairfax dined in the

hall at Magdalen in 1649, and it was then that the painted glass in the chapel is said to have been trampled under foot by the troopers in attendance; but, oddly enough, the heads. of Charles I. and his Queen on the oriel window in the hall apparently escaped their notice. The College suffered two other serious losses. By some unaccountable negligence, the Founder's mitre and croziertwo priceless relics, valued even at that time at £2000—were handed over to two strangers, and probably probably found their way to a London goldsmith's melting-pot. Then a quantity of gold coins, of the value of £1400, known as "old Edwards" or "spur-royals," which had been kept since the Founder's day in a chest in the muniment - room, to be used only in some desperate emergency, were abstracted and divided among the Fellows and Demies. Much of it was restored later, but not all in the original gold.

Thomas Goodwin, who became President in 1650, was a Cambridge man, and an Independent preacher. He affected a curious head-gear, which gave him the name of "Nine-caps," and made himself ridiculous by his ultra-sanctified airs. Addison has recorded the experiences of Mr Anthony Henley, who was a candidate for a Fellowship, and called at the President's lodgings. was shown into a room hung with black, with the curtains drawn, and lighted by a single taper, though it was noon-day. Presently the President entered,

He

"with half-a-dozen nightcaps on his head, and religious horror in his countenance," and instead of examining him in Latin and Greek, inquired if he abounded in grace, if he was of the number of the elect, and the date and particulars of his conversion.

"The whole of the Examination was summed up in one short Question

-namely, Whether he was prepared for Death? The boy, who had been brought up by honest parents, was frightened out of his wits by the Solemnity of the Proceeding, and by

the last dreaded Interrogatory, so that, upon making his escape out of the House of Mourning, he could never be brought a second time to the Examination, as not being able to go through the Terrors of it."1

The Restoration, of course, put an end to this sanctified cant, and the reign of the Saints was over. The ejected President and Fellows were formally restored by the Commission of 1660, and the surplice and Book of Common Prayer were again used in the Chapel services. But, in other respects, Oxford deteriorated: much corruption prevailed, and Fellowships were openly sold to the highest bidder, both at Magdalen and New College; discipline was lax, and Humphrey Prideaux's letters give a lurid description "of the dissolute and profane discourse of the scholars," who imitated not only "the periwiggs and pantaloons," but the manners and morals, of the Court of Charles II.2

But in the following reign the College was concerned with

1 'Spectator,' No. 294.

graver matters than petty offences against discipline, for in 1687 occurred the famous dispute with James II., which along with the trial of the Seven Bishops caused the Revolution of 1688. The story has been told at length by Macaulay, and only a brief summary need be given here. There was a vacancy in the Presidentship, and James II. thought it an excellent opportunity for adding another Roman Catholic Head of a College to the two already in office at University and Christ Church. It was, of course, no new thing for the sovereign to send a mandate or congé d'élire to the Fellows, but hitherto the royal nominee had always been morally and intellectually qualified for his high office. In this case, however, the king named one Anthony Farmer (a Roman Catholic), who was not only disqualified by the statutes, but a man of infamous character. The Fellows protested strongly, but in vain ; and on the last available day they elected one of their own number, John Hough, in accordance with the statutes. election was confirmed by the Visitor on the following day, and Hough took the necessary oaths and was installed in the President's lodgings.

This

James was furious at what he termed this disloyal contumacy. He visited Oxford himself, and sent a Royal Commission as well, to enforce obedience. But the Fellows

maintained a logical non-possumus when ordered to elect Samuel Parker, Bishop of Oxford (for Farmer's name had been withdrawn), to the Presidency. They had not the power, they said, even if they had the will, to violate the statutes and commit perjury. Hough had been legally elected, and there was no vacancy. They were not overawed by the furious threats of James, who told them they should feel the weight of a king's hand. Still less were they influenced by the jesuitical pleading of William Penn, the Quaker, who played an ignoble part as a go-between.1 And the Commissioners themselves made no impression by rebukes, entreaties, or a display of armed force. When Hough was summoned before them, he made that memorable reply which (says Dr Ingram) deserves to be recorded in letters of gold: "My Lords, you have this day deprived me of my freehold; I hereby protest against all your proceedings as illegal, unjust, and null; and I appeal from you to our Sovereign Lord the King in his Courts of Justice." This spirited assertion of his rights was received with a loud hum of applause from the scholars who had followed him

into the hall, to the great in dignation of the Commissioners. On that day (October 25)

the President and twenty-five of the Fellows were ejected by the Commissioners, and by a refinement of cruelty were declared incapable of holding any Church preferment. The doors of the President's lodgings were broken open and Bishop Parker took up his residence there; but neither he nor the Vice President, Charnock, could obtain any obedience or respect from the undergraduates, who refused to attend either lectures or chapels. Many of these youths were expelled and their places filled by Roman Catholics. Mass was celebrated daily, and Magdalen became for a time a Popish seminary. Bishop Parker's health soon broke down-it was said from sorrow and remorse, at having to expel the loyal Demies and admit in one day nine Roman Catholic Fellows. An old servant of his described this last event :

during the sixteen years I lived with him. He walked up and down the room and smote his breast and said: 'There is no trust in man; there is no trust in princes. Is this the kindness the king promised me? To

"I never saw him in such a passion

set me here to make me his tool and

his fool! To set me in a company of men, whom he knows I hate the conversation of!' So he sat down in

his chair and went into a convulsive

fit, and never went down stairs more till he was carried down. I am sure he was no Roman.” 2

2 L