But I must not conclude without observing, with reference to Forest-Hill, that Sir William Jones declares its groves to have been long famous for nightingales; while, at the same time, by distinctly recognizing the “distant mountains that seem to support the clouds,” as part of the view to be gained from the summit of the hill, he has done much to identify the spot as indeed the true scene of the poems. It is allowed that nothing like mountains are to be seen from Horton; but Sir William fully justifies the allusion, as suited to Forest-Hill, while at the same time he removes all ground for the hackneyed complaint, that this reference to mountains is a blemish to the poem, as being wholly unwarranted by the character of English scenery. CHAPTER VIII. _Oxford—New College—Magdalen._ Now came my first day in Oxford—a day depended upon from boyhood, and from which I had expected more quiet and meditative delight than from any other enjoyment whatever. To every one who has made English literature and English history a study, I need not explain why. But Oxford has not only a literary _prestige_: it is so intimately connected with the history of our holy religion, that all other associations receive, as it were, an unction from this. Every college has its history; every stone, and every tree, and every turf, suggest ennobling reflections, as memorials of departed worth, but the hallowed memory of Martyrs sheds over all a deep and sober glory, that awes while it inspires. I know that our age has seen men, aye, and Oxford men, who could sneer at the reverend names of Cranmer, and Latimer, and Ridley: but who that has a heart not absolutely dead to generous emotion, but must feel a warm re-action in view of such impotent malignity? Who, in the days of the apostate and the dupe, can go to Oxford without blessing God that other days have left us the blessed example of men faithful unto death, and triumphing in the fire? I stopped at “The Angel,” but it was not long before I found myself hospitably taken up, and transported to the house of a friend in the Turl, next door to Exeter College. My kind entertainer was one widely known throughout Anglo-Saxondom, not only by the books which he publishes, but by those also which he writes: and to whose elementary works on architecture we, in America, are indebted for about all that is popularly known of that beautiful art and science. As it was now vacation, I had an opportunity of seeing Oxford first, as it were, in scene, without the _dramatis personæ_; and no one is more capable than my kind host, of explaining the antiquarian and architectural glories of Oxford to a stranger. As he courteously gave me his valuable time, I made my primary rounds under his guidance.