Chapter X Jacobite Oxford — And After
Among the demies elected at Magdalen the year after the expelled fellows returned was Joseph Addison, whose name is traditionally connected with the northern part of the Magdalen walks, where the kingfisher “flashes adown the river, a flame of blue,” and Henry Sacheverell, his friend and chamber-fellow. The former outlined the pacific policy of the Hanoverians in the Freeholder; for the latter, when he hung out his “bloody flag and banner of defiance” against the existing order, as for Atterbury, Oxford was loud with the cheers of “honest” men. For during the first half of the eighteenth century Oxford was violently Jacobite.
John Locke, who had been suspected of complicity in Shaftesbury’s design against the succession, and had been removed (1684) from his student’s place at Christ Church in accordance with the directions of a royal mandate, had warned William that the good effects of the revolution would be lost if no care was taken to regulate the Universities. But the Hanoverians avoided oppressive measures. The Tory Wine Club, under the cabalistic name of High Borlace, to which no member of a Whig college like Wadham, Christ Church, Exeter or Merton might belong, was allowed to meet annually at the King’s Head Tavern on 18th August to toast the King across the water and drink confusion to the rival Constitution Club. But the triumph of the Whigs at the accession of George I. and the disappointment of “honest” men, led to a great riot on the first anniversary of the birthday of the new sovereign.
“Mobs paraded the streets, shouting for the Pretender and putting a stop to every kind of rejoicing. The Constitution Club had gathered to commemorate the day at the King’s Head. The windows were illuminated and preparations made for a bonfire. Tossing up their caps and scattering money among the rabble that flocked to the front of the hotel, the Jacobite gownsmen egged them on with shouts of ‘No George,’ ‘James for ever,’ ‘Ormond,’ or ‘Bolingbroke!’ The faggots were torn to pieces, showers of brickbats were thrown into the clubroom. The Constitutioners were glad to escape with their lives by a back-door. Thus baffled the mob rolled on to attack all illuminated houses. Every Whig window was smashed. The meeting house was entered and gutted.... At last the mob dispersed for the night, publicly giving out that ‘the glorious work’ was left unfinished till to-morrow. The twenty-ninth of May was associated with too significant reminiscences to be allowed to pass in quiet. Sunday though it was, the streets were filled with people running up and down with oak-boughs in their hats, shouting, ‘King James, the true King. No usurper! The Good Duke of Ormond.’ The streets were brilliantly illuminated, and wherever disregard was shown to the mob’s fiat, the windows were broken.... The crowds grew thicker and noisier towards even. A rumour had got abroad that Oriel had given shelter to some of the Constitutionalists. The mob rushed to the attack and threatened to break open the closely-barred gates. At this moment a shot from a window wounded one of the ringleaders, a gownsman of Brasenose, and the crowd fled in confusion to break fresh windows, gut the houses of dissenters, and pull down the chapels of Anabaptists and Quakers” (Green).
The omission of rejoicings on the birthday of the Prince of Wales led to further disturbance. The major of a recruiting party then in Oxford drew out his regiment to celebrate the day. They were attacked by the crowd, and were obliged to have resource to blank cartridges. The matter was made the occasion of a grand debate in the House of Lords. But in the meantime the Government had shown its appreciation of the dangerous disloyalty of Oxford by dispatching Major-General Pepper thither with a number of dragoons, on the outbreak of Mar’s Rebellion. Martial law was at once proclaimed, and suitable measures were taken “to overawe the University.” The Crown had recently purchased Bishop Moore’s magnificent library and presented it to Cambridge. The difference in the treatment of the two Universities inspired Dr Trapp, the first Professor of Poetry, to write the famous epigram:
“The King, observing with judicious eyes
The wants of his two Universities,
To Oxford sent a troop of horse; and why?
That learned body wanted loyalty.
To Cambridge books he sent, as well discerning
How much that loyal body wanted learning.”
To which the Cambridge wit, Sir Thomas Browne, retorted with still greater neatness and point:
“The King to Oxford sent a troop of horse
For Tories own no argument but force;
With equal care to Cambridge books he sent,
For Whigs admit no force but argument.”
The famous county election of 1754, when the Jacobite rioters held the approach to Broad Street, but the Whigs managed to slip through Exeter College and so gain the polling booths, shows that Oxford had not changed its sentiments, but when Tory principles mounted the throne with George III., Jacobitism disappeared like a dream. The reign of Toryism did little to promote the cause of learning or conduct. During the eighteenth century examinations for a degree were little better than a farce;
“E’en Balaam’s ass
If he could pay the fee, would pass,”
sang the poet. Lecturers ceased to lecture; Readers did not read. In many colleges scholars succeeded to fellowships almost as a matter of course, and tutors were as slow to enforce, as “Gentlemen Commoners” would have been swift to resent, any study or discipline as part of the education of a Beau or Buck. Though Oriel produced Bishop Butler, for Oxford was still the home of genius as well as of abuses, the observance of religion dwindled down to a roll-call. And corrupt resignations of fellowships, by which the resigning fellow nominated his successor, in return for a fee, were paralleled in the city by wholesale corruption at elections. The mayor and aldermen in 1768 even had the effrontery to propose to re-elect their representatives in Parliament for £7500, the amount of the municipal debt! This bargain, in spite of a reprimand from the Speaker and a committal to Newgate for five days, they succeeded in striking with the Duke of Marlborough and Lord Abingdon.
For the rest, it was the age of periwigs and patches, of coffee-houses and ale, of wine and common rooms, of pipes and newsletters, of a University aping the manners of London and Bath in Merton College Gardens or the race-course of Woodstock.
Bucks and Bloods were succeeded by the Smarts, whose beautiful existences Terræ Filius has described for us. Called by the servitor at six, they tumbled out of bed, their heads reeling with the last night’s debauch, to attend a chapel service. For the habit of early rising was still in vogue, and though a Smart might rise late, his lateness seems early to us. For it was held disgraceful to be in bed after seven, though carried there over-night drunk but not disgraced. But the Smart’s breakfast was scarce over by ten; a few notes on the flute, a glance at the last French comedy, and in academic undress he is strolling to Lyne’s coffee-house. There he indites a stanza or a billet-doux to the reigning Sylvia of the town; then saunters for a turn in the park or under Merton wall, while the dull regulars, as Amherst has it, are at dinner in hall according to statute. Dinner in his rooms and an hour devoted to the elaborate business of dress, and the Smart is ready to sally forth in silk-lined coat with laced ruffles at breast and wrist, red stockings and red-topped Spanish leather shoes, and laced hat or square cap most rakishly cocked. So emerging from his rooms, with tripping gait and jaunty dangle of his clouded amber-headed cane, he is about to pay a visit to the coffee-house or parade before the windows of a Toast when he stops to jeer at some ragged servitor of Pembroke, a Samuel Johnson perhaps, going round shamefacedly in worn-out shoes to obtain second-hand the lectures of a famous Christ Church tutor, or a George Whitefield, wrestling with the devil in Christ Church walks, or hesitating to join the little band of Methodists who, with Charles and John Wesley of Christ Church and Lincoln at their head, are making their way through a mocking crowd to receive the Sacrament at S. Aldate’s, S. George’s in the Castle or S. Mary’s.
But the Smart cares for none of these things. Sublimely confident in his own superiority he passes on; drinks a dram of citron at Hamilton’s, and saunters off at last to chapel to show how genteelly he dresses and how well he can chaunt. Next he takes a dish of tea with some fair charmer, with whom he discusses, with an infinite nicety of phrase, whether any wears finer lace or handsomer tie-wigs than Jack Flutter, cuts a bolder bosh than Tom Paroquet, or plays ombre better than Valentine Frippery. Thereafter he escorts her to Magdalen walks, to Merton or Paradise gardens; sups and ends the night, loud in song, deep in puns, put or cards, at the Mitre. Whence, having toasted his mistress in the spiced cup with the brown toast bobbing in it, he staggers home to his college, “a toper all night as he trifles all day.”
Meantime certain improvements were taking place in the city. Under the Commissioners Act (1771) the streets were widened and paved, and most of the walls and gates removed—Bocardo along with them. Turnpike Roads and the Enclosures Acts led to the disappearance of the highwaymen, by whom coaches, ere railways took the place of the “flying coach,” which first went to London in one day “with A. W. in the same coach” (1669), had so frequently been held up near Oxford. Curiously enough highwaymen were most popular with the fair sex, and the cowardly ruffians occasionally returned the compliment so far as to allow them to ransom their jewels with a kiss. Dumas, the prince of highwaymen, after capturing a coachful of ladies, was satisfied with dancing a coranto with each in turn upon the green. He was executed at Oxford. He had maintained his nonchalance to the end; played “Macheath” in the prison, and threw himself off at the gallows without troubling the hangman. It was not death, he declared, but being anatomised that he feared. And, lest their hero should be put to so useful a purpose, a large body of bargemen surrounded the scaffold, carried off the body in triumph to the parish church and buried it in lime forthwith.
At length, after the Age of Reason and Materialism, came the Age of Revival and Romance. The spirit of mediævalism summoned up by Sir Walter, was typified in Oxford architecture by Sir Gilbert Scott and Pugin. In the University the beginning of a new order of things, which was to end in throwing open the Universities to the whole Empire and rendering them on every side efficient places of education, was begun in 1800 by the system of Honours Lists, long advocated by reformers like John Eveleigh of Oriel and brought into being by the energy of Cyril Jackson, Dean of Christ Church, and Parsons, Master of Balliol. The work of nationalising the Universities was developed by the two University Commissions and by that “Extension” movement, of which the pioneer was William Sewell, a remarkable tutor of Exeter, who, in 1850, urged that “It may be impossible to bring the masses to the University, but may it not be possible to carry the University to the masses?” This development of the University, which must ever be closely connected with the name of Dr Jowett, Master of Balliol, and has received a further significance from the last testament of Cecil Rhodes, of Oriel, is illustrated on every side by new buildings; by the Indian Institute, the Nonconformist colleges, Mansfield and Manchester, the Women’s Halls, the Science Buildings and the new foundation of Hertford College, grafted on that of old Hart Hall and Magdalen Hall by Mr Baring. Intellectually the spirit of revolt produced by the French Revolution at the beginning of this period, is illustrated by the careers of Shelley and Landor, and the musical lyrics of Swinburne; the deep questionings prompted by the Tractarian Movement are voiced in the poems of Clough, Keble and Arnold. For in the first half of the nineteenth century there was a revival of spirituality, and men followed the lead, not of a Wycliffe, an Erasmus or a Wesley, but of Keble, Pusey and Newman. Oriel College, whose fellowships were confined neither to members of the college nor, in most cases, to candidates from certain places, was the centre whence men like Hurrell Froude, Keble’s pupil, preached their doctrine of reaction; men who, finding the Church of England in a very parlous state, counselled a return to what was best in mediævalism, and, protesting against the Protestantism of the English Church, taught Newman to look with admiration towards the Church of Rome. The name of Keble and the impulse which he gave to Anglicanism are commemorated in Keble College; the prominence of the chapel, which contains Holman Hunt’s “Light of the World,” and the arrangement of the buildings emphasise the fact that it was founded to provide the poorer members of the Church of England with higher education on Church lines.
The revival of mediævalism in Religion was echoed by a revival of mediævalism in Art. John Ruskin, who had matriculated at Christ Church in 1836, lectured intermittently as Slade Professor of Art from 1870 till 1884. William Morris, “poet, artist, paper-hanger and socialist,” came up to Exeter in 1853 and there, in intimate friendship with Sir Edward Burne-Jones, looked out upon “the vision of grey-roofed houses and a long winding street and the sound of many bells,” which was, for him, Oxford. The two friends have left behind them signs of their genius in the famous tapestry at Exeter Chapel and in the windows of the Cathedral; whilst at Corpus and in the Schools the great teacher gathered round him a circle of enthusiastic young men, and like an Abelard, Wycliffe, Wesley or Newman in the religious world, so advised and inspired them with his social and artistic gospel, that when, in pursuance of the old monastic principle “laborare est orare,” he called upon them to mend a farmer’s road at Hincksey, they laid aside their bats and oars, and marched, with the professor at their head, to dig with spade and shovel. Out of such inspiration grew the various University Settlements in the East End of London, inaugurated by Arnold Toynbee.
Oxford owes much to the stimulating if incoherent teaching and the generosity of John Ruskin,40 but architecturally his influence was responsible for several bad buildings in the would-be Venetian style—the Christ Church New Buildings and the Natural History Museum in the parks, for instance, proving deplorably enough that the critic was no creator.
Last, but not least, it is good to be able to record that City and University have gradually settled their differences. The new Municipal Buildings and the Town Hall in S. Aldate’s would seem, by their deliberate variety of styles, to give municipal sanction to every style of architecture that can be found in the University, and to look back upon the history of the town, and of the learned institution with which for good and evil it has been so closely connected, with no ungracious feeling.
Footnotes
1 Cornhill Magazine.
2 Pie-Powder Court—a Summary Court of Justice held at fairs, when the suitors were usually country clowns with dusty feet—(pied poudré).
3 The earliest mention of Oxford occurs in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle under the year 912. It is there spelt Oxnaforda and Oxanforda, and in Domesday Book it is spelt Oxeneford. Coins from Eadward’s day onwards show that Ox at least was regarded as an essential element in the word, and it is most easy to assume that the place was called after the Ford of the Oxen in the river here. But the easiest explanation is seldom the best. And a rival theory explains the name as a corruption of Ouse-ford, or Ousen-ford, i.e., the Ford over the River. For the evidence is strongly in favour of the probability that the name Ouse was at one time applied to the Thames, which indeed has one of the dialectic forms of the word Ouse retained in it, viz. Tam-ese, though the theory that the junction of the Isis or Ouse and Thame made Tamisis = Thames, is fanciful. The other form of the word is retained in the Oseneye of Osney Abbey, and a tributary stream retains the hardened form Ock. Therefore Ousen-ford or Oxen-ford may mean the River-ford. There is no certainty in these matters, but the latter derivation commends itself most. [See Parker’s “Early Oxford” (O.H.S.), to which I have been frequently indebted in the first part of this chapter.]
4 The manor took its name from a well that lay to the north side of the Church of S. Cross. The manor-house, itself (near the racquet courts) was recently used as a public-house, called the Cock-pit, because there was a pit where the citizens of Oxford fought their mains. It was afterwards converted into a Penitentiary, a home for fallen women. Traces of the Holy Well have recently been discovered beneath the new chapel.
5 The wall is clearly traceable between 57 and 58 High Street. The passage by No. 57 is a piece of the old Royal Way under the walls. This way can be traced in King’s Street from its western edge to the gardens of the small houses facing the New Examination Schools. It occurs again in Ship Street, from Jesus College stables to the rear of the houses facing them, and again between the Divinity School and the west front of the Theatre. (See Hurst, “Topography.”)
6 The crypt, which had been beneath the apse of the chapel, was afterwards replaced approximately in its position, north-east of the tower. The capitals of the four dwarf pillars which support the groining are interesting, and should be compared and contrasted with those in S. Peter’s in the East.
7 The original crypt is preserved and a Norman arcade, east of the north aisle.
8 Aldrich was a man of remarkable and versatile talents. The author of admirable hand-books on logic, heraldry and architecture, he was equally skilled in chemistry and theology. In music he earned both popularity and the admiration of musicians by his catches, services and anthems; and as an architect he has left his mark on Oxford, in Peckwater Quadrangle (Ch. Ch.) and All Saint’s Church. As a man of sense he loved his pipe, and wrote an amusing catch to tobacco; as a wit he gave five good reasons for not abstaining from wine:
“A friend, good wine, because you’re dry
Because you may be, by and bye;—
Or any other reason why.”
It was under Aldrich that the Battle of the Books arose, the great literary controversy, which began with the immature work of a Christ Church student and ended with the masterpieces of Swift and Bentley.
9 It was probably built for him. Some of the original Tudor work remains, but the greater part of the visible portions are rough Jacobean imitation, of the year 1628.
10 During the restoration of the Cathedral in 1856 a remarkable crypt was discovered beneath the paving of the choir. It was but seven feet long by five and a half, and contained lockers at each end. It has been most reasonably supposed that this was a secret chamber, where the University Chest was deposited. This crypt, situated between the north and south piers of the tower, was covered up after investigation. The site of it recalls the time when charitable people were founding “chests” to help the education of the poor. Grossetete in 1240 issued an ordinance regulating S. Frideswide’s Chest, which received the fines paid by the citizens. From this and other charitable funds loans might be made to poor scholars on security of books and so forth, no interest being charged. Charity thus entered into competition with the usury of the Jews, who had to be restrained by law from charging over 43 per cent. on loans to scholars (1244).
11 The Vintnery, the quarter of taverns and wine cellars, which was at the north end of S. Aldate’s, flourished mightily. The students, for all their lust of knowledge, were ever good samplers of what Rabelais calls the holy water of the cellar. You might deduce that from the magnificent cellars of the Mitre Inn or Bulkley Hall (corner of S. Edward’s Street) and above all from those of the old Vintnery. For the houses north of the Town Hall have some splendid cellars, which connect with another under the street, and so with others under the first house on the west side of S. Aldgate’s, the famous old Swindlestock (Siren or Mermaid Inn). These are good specimens of early fifteenth century vaults. It is supposed that when these cellars were dug, the earth was thrown out into the street and there remained in the usual mediæval way. This, it is maintained, accounts for the hill at Carfax. Certainly the earliest roadway at Carfax is traceable at the unexpected depth of eleven feet seven inches below the present high road, which is some three and a half feet below what it should be according to the average one foot per hundred years observed by most mediæval towns as their rate of deposit.
12 Wycliffe, we know, appeared before Parliament, and there is a writ of Edward I. requiring the Chancellor to send “quattuor vel quinque de discretioribus et in jure scripto magis expertes Universitatis” to Parliament.
13 “Universitas est plurium corporum collectio inter se distantium uno nomine specialiter eis deputata” is the well-known definition of Hugolinus. The term “studium generale” or “studium universale” came into use, so far as documents are any guide, in the middle of the thirteenth century (Denifle). Earlier, and more usually however, the word “studium” was used to describe a place where a collection of schools had been established. The epithet “generale” was used, apparently, to distinguish the merely local schools of Charlemagne from those where foreign students were permitted and even encouraged to come, as they were, for instance, at Naples by Frederick II. So that a University or seat of General study was a place whither students came from every quarter for every kind of knowledge.
14 This term faculty, which originally signified the capacity (facultas) to teach a particular subject, came to be applied technically to the subject itself or to the authorised teachers of it viewed collectively. A University might include one or all of the “Faculties” of Theology, Law, Medicine and the Liberal Arts, although naturally enough each of the chief Universities had its own particular department of excellence. A complete course of instruction in the seven liberal arts, enumerated in the old line “Lingua, tropus, ratio, numerus, tonus, angulus, astra,” was intended as a preparation for the study of theology—the main business of Oxford as of Paris University. The Arts were divided into two parts, the first including the three easier or “trivial” subjects—Grammar, Rhetoric and Logic; the second the remaining four—Arithmetic, Geometry, Music and Astronomy.
15 The example of William of Durham as the first Englishman to bequeath funds to enable the secular clergy to study theology was soon followed by others. William Hoyland, one of the Bedels of the University, left his estate to the University, and (1255) Walter Gray, Archbishop of York, also bequeathed his property to it.
16 A portrait of Dr Radcliffe, by Sir Godfrey Kneller, hangs over the doorway. The building was used at first to house works on Natural History, Physical Science and Medicine, for it was Radcliffe’s object to encourage these studies. The Library was therefore known as the Physic Library. This has been removed to the University Museum, and the Camera, or “the Radcliffe” as it is familiarly called, is now used as a reading-room in connection with the Bodleian. It is open for the use of students daily from ten to ten. Visitors to Oxford are recommended to climb to the roof and obtain the magnificent panoramic view of the city and neighbourhood which it commands.
17 Worcester Street—Stockwell Street (Stoke-Well, the Well which afterwards rejoiced in the name of Plato’s, as opposed to Aristotle’s Well, half a mile off). East of the Well was the rough land known till quite recently as Broken Hayes.
18 It was enacted (1302) that the Regents in two Faculties, with a majority of the Non-Regents, should have the power to make a permanent statute binding on the whole University. This system was calculated to drown the friars. It was confirmed by the arbitrators (1313), who ordered, however, that the majority should consist of three Faculties instead of two, of which the Faculty of Arts must be one.
19 Founded in 1361 by Simon Islip, Archbishop of Canterbury, to be a nursery for “that famous College of Christ Church in Canterbury.” The Doric Gateway—Canterbury Gate—which leads from Merton Street into the Canterbury Quad. of Christ Church, in which Mr Gladstone once had rooms, recalls the name of this Benedictine foundation. The old buildings were removed in 1770; the present gateway was designed by Wyatt, chiefly at the expense of Dr Robinson, Archbishop of Armagh.
20 “Wycliffe, and movements for Reform.” Poole.
21 Called after the “famous postern gate” (Twirl-gate), pulled down in 1722.
22 Pennilesse Bench. This was a row of stalls and seats erected outside the church for the convenience of the market folk. A church, in mediæval days, was always the centre of commerce; stalls and even dwellings were frequently built on to the outside walls of a famous fane. Visitors to Nuremberg will remember the Bratwurstglöcklein there. (“Story of Nuremberg,” p. 198.)
23 Vid. Quarterly Review, Jan. 1892.
24 Two M.A.’s who were taking part in the final exercise for their degree were chosen, one by each proctor, to make a Latin speech, one on the Saturday of the Act, the other on the Monday. These speeches were supposed to be humorous and were more often merely exhibitions of scurrilous buffoonery.
25 See Professor Case’s admirable “Enquiry concerning the Pinnacled Steeple of the University Church.”
26 The present ones (1895) are a compromise, and repeat the fault.
27 “When that is done,” Hearne adds, “they knock at all the Middle Chambers where most of the Seniors lodge, of whom they demand crowns apiece, which is readily given, then they go with twenty or thirty torches upon the leads of the College, where they sing their song as before. This ended they go into their Common Rooms and make themselves merry with what wine every one has a mind to.”
According to tradition, a mallard was found in a drain when the foundations of the college were laid, and Prof. Burrows has ingeniously explained the origin of this tradition as arising from the discovery of a seal with the impression of a griffin, Malardi Clerici, when a drain was being dug.
28 Old Dr Kettell of Trinity used to carry a pair of scissors in his muff, and snip off the long locks of his scholars with these, or with a bread knife on the buttery hatch.
29 His pastoral staff of silver gilt, adorned with fine enamels, survives, and is carried before the Bishop of Winchester whenever he comes to visit the college. A good portrait of the founder hangs in the warden’s lodgings.
30 This is the old name (cattorum vicus) of the street which has now been made over to S. Catherine. A similar instance of the “genteel” tendency to eschew monosyllables and not to call things by their proper names is afforded by the attempts to call Hell Passage, S. Helen’s. This is not due to a love of Saints, but to the “refinement” of the middle classes, who prefer white sugar to brown. In the Middle Ages men called a spade a spade. The names of the old streets in London or Paris would set a modern reader’s hair on end. But they described the streets. At Oxford the Quakers (1654) first settled in New Inn Hall Street, but it was then known as the Lane of the Seven Deadly Sins.
31 It was after this patroness of learning that Lady Margaret’s Hall was called. It was founded at the same time as Somerville Hall (opened 1879, Woodstock Road) as a seminary for the higher education of women. Lady Margaret’s Hall and S. Hugh’s Hall are in Norham Gardens. The latter, like S. Hilda’s (the other side of Magdalen Bridge), is also for female students, who have been granted the privilege of attending University lectures and of being examined by the University examiners.
32 Cf. “Magdalen College.” H. A. Wilson.
33 Among the accounts of the Vice-Chancellor is found the following item: “In wine & marmalade at the great disputations Xd.” & again, “In wine to the Doctors of Cambridge 11s.”
34 In 1875 stakes and ashes, however, were found also immediately opposite the tower gateway of Balliol, and this spot was marked in the eighteenth century as the site of the martyrdom. Another view is that the site was, as indicated by Wood, rather on the brink of the ditch, near the Bishop’s Bastion, behind the houses south of Broad Street. There were possibly two sites. I do not think that there is anything to show that Latimer and Ridley were burned on exactly the same spot as Cranmer. If Cranmer died opposite the college gateway, the site marked, but more probably the third suggested site, near the Bishop’s Bastion, may be that where Ridley and Latimer perished.
35 The door of the Bishops’ Hole is preserved in S. Mary Magdalen Church.
36 Most of the pictures and works of art have been transferred to the University Galleries, opposite the Randolph Hotel (Beaumont Street); the natural science collections, including the great anthropological collection of General Pitt Rivers, to the Science Museum in the parks (1860).
37 “The crown piece struck at Oxford in 1642 has on the reverse, RELIG. PROT. LEG. ANG. or ANG. LIBER. PAR, in conformity with Charles’ declaration that he would ‘preserve the Protestant religion, the known laws of the land, and the just privileges and freedom of Parliament.’ But the coin peculiarly called the Oxford crown, beautifully executed by Rawlins in 1644, has underneath the King’s horse a view of Oxford” (Boase).
38 On this occasion Lady Castlemaine lodged in the rooms of Dr Gardiner, who built the fountain afterwards known as Mercury in Tom Quad, from the statue set up there by Dr Radcliffe.
39 Terræ Filius, 1733.
40 See the Ruskin Art School in the Art Museum with the collection of Turner’s drawings and water colours.