The Chapel of the College, rebuilt by Sir George Gilbert Scott in 1857, rises in the centre of the picture, and with its spire forms a conspicuous feature in Ship Street. Below is that part of the College fronting “The Turl.” On the right are some of the buildings of Jesus College. The sun of a late summer afternoon strikes the western gable of the Chapel.] eyelids, one or two picked men are rising of their own free will, and some because they have to run in the Parks before a training breakfast; others are arguing with themselves or with their scouts that it cannot possibly be nearly half-past seven; or later on, that a passing bell or a bell-wether has been mistaken for the college chapel bell; others expelling the awakening scout with more frankness: some doze and doze, with alternate pricks of conscience and necessity, and desperately deciding to rise, have to saunter about, too late for chapel, too early for breakfast; the majority murmuring that all is well, and enjoying the pleasantest of thefts from daylight; for, to the man who need not, or will not, rise, the chapel bell is a blithe and kindly spirit, that sets a crown upon the bliss of oncoming sleep and gives a keener edge to his complacency, as he thinks of the cold, sleepy virtue that walks in the world below. The chaplain, a man of habit, is also getting up. No one has ever seen a fellow late for chapel. When the service is over, those who have attended are either awake or asleep again. The service itself is of an awakening kind, and has a vigour that is unknown outside Oxford. Oh, dear and saintly chaplain, Time toils after you in vain! When you stroked the Eight to glory, Did you prove this quite so plain, As at morning chapel daily And at evensong again? So run the verses which express the kind of vigour in vogue.