controversialist, and one of the translators of the Bible; Robert Frampton, and his successor, Edward Fowler, Bishops of Gloucester; Edward Rainbow, Bishop of Carlisle; Basil Kennett; Richard Fiddes; and John Hume, Bishop of Oxford. To these names must be added one which is, perhaps, rather notorious than distinguished, that of the unhappy James, Duke of Monmouth, the eldest natural son of Charles II. Wood tells us, in the _Fasti_, that in the plague year, 1665, when the King and Queen were in Oxford, the Duke’s name was entered on the books of C. C. College. But his name does not occur in the buttery-books till the week beginning May 11, 1666, when it is inserted between the names of the President and Vice-President. Whether, after this time,[246] he ever resided in the College, or indeed in Oxford, is uncertain; but the name remains on the books till July 12th, 1683, when it was erased after the discovery of Monmouth’s conspiracy and flight. The erasures are carried back as far as the week beginning June 1. The charming account of Corpus, its studies, and its youthful society, contributed by Mr. Justice Coleridge to Stanley’s _Life of Arnold_, is so well known that it hardly requires more than a passing reference; but, to complete my series of glimpses of the College at different periods of its history, it may be well to revive the recollections of the reader by a few brief extracts. “Arnold and I, as you know” (and, as we may add, the two Kebles, John and Thomas), “were undergraduates of Corpus Christi, a College very small in its numbers and humble in its buildings, but to which we and our fellow-students formed an attachment never weakened in the after course of our lives. … We were then a small society, the members rather under the usual age, and with more than the ordinary proportion of ability and scholarship: our mode of tuition was in harmony with these circumstances; not by private lectures, but in classes of such a size as excited emulation and made us careful in the exact and neat rendering of the original, yet not so numerous as to prevent individual attention on the tutor’s part, and familiar knowledge of each pupil’s turn and talents. … We were not entirely set free from the leading-strings of the school; accuracy was cared for; we were accustomed to _vivâ voce_ rendering and _vivâ voce_ question and answer in our lecture-room, before an audience of fellow-students whom we sufficiently respected. At the same time the additional reading, trusted to ourselves alone, prepared us for accurate private study and for our final exhibition in the schools. One result of all these circumstances was that we lived on the most familiar terms with each other; we might be--indeed we were--somewhat boyish in manner and in the liberties we took with each other: but our interest in literature--ancient and modern--and in all the stirring matters of that stirring time, was not boyish; we debated the classic