Let us tread more gently as we pass through the gates of the beautiful chapel. Here at any rate our Junior finds some rest and quiet, and is for a period beyond the reach of the weary call of “Junior, Junior.” I feel that it is a subject that cannot worthily be treated of by my trivial pen. The most indifferent stranger cannot enter its sacred precincts without being struck by the air of peaceful solemnity that pervades it throughout; how much more, then, must he be affected who revisits, for the first time after many years, the spot where as a boy he so often listened to the swelling tones of the organ, or eloquent words of wisdom—often, alas! but too little heeded! What crowds of reflections are called forth as he gazes on the scene! How many resolutions have here been formed, and how have they been kept? Can he flatter himself that he is really more advanced on the narrow path than when he sat on those benches years and years ago? I will not attempt to describe the edifice. Let the reader imagine a noble choir lighted with large windows of rich painted glass, through which the slanting rays of the sun throw a many-coloured glow over the wainscot and stalls of polished oak. How well I know every feature of those quaint figures of prophets and apostles; and as I sit in my stall and see the boys trooping in, it is difficult to realise that I am no longer one of them. But time has made many changes in the upper ranks; the clear ring of the melodious tones of the accomplished Head-master’s voice may still be heard, but he alone remains. In vain we look for the stalwart form and genial countenance of the late beloved Warden, Barter, who, having filled his responsible office full thirty years, has gone to his rest. In the long list of his predecessors there has been none who was more universally beloved in life, and whose death has been more unfeignedly regretted. On our way from Chapel we pass through Antechapel, now somewhat curtailed in its dimensions, the screen which separates it from Chapel having been moved in order to give room for the increased number of boys. The beautiful font, presented by the Head-master, and some mural tablets, (which formerly stood beneath the Tower,) have been removed to a small side chapel, the entrance to which is under the organ; one of these, erected to the memory of a young and lovely wife by her sorrowing husband, bears the following beautiful inscription:— “I nimium dilecta, vocat Deus, I bona nostræ” “Pars animæ, mærens altera disce sequi.” In the vestibule leading to Cloisters, immediately opposite to the door of Antechapel, is the memorial erected by Wykehamists in memory of their brethren who fell in the Crimean war; it is worthy of its object, being beautifully executed in variegated marble. I have stood by their graves in the dreary Russian Chersonese, yet it seems but yesterday that I heard some of them answering their names at this very door. [Illustration: THE CRIMEAN MEMORIAL.