For good or evil we have entered upon a new career. The old Cambridge, which some of us knew in our youth, with its solemn ecclesiasticism, its quaint archaisms, its fantastic anomalies, its fascinating picturesqueness, its dear old barbaric unintelligible odds and ends that met us at every turn in street and chapel and hall--that old Cambridge is as dead as the Egypt of the Pharaohs. The new Cambridge, with its bustling syndics for ever on the move--its bewildering complexity of examinations--its "sweet girl-graduates with their golden hair," its delightful "notion of grand and capacious and massive amusement," its glorious wealth of collections and appliances and facilities for every kind of study and research, is alive with an exuberant vitality. What form will the new life assume in the time that is coming? Will the Cambridge of six centuries hence be able to produce such a record of her past as that which she can boast of now? Among her alumni of the future will there arise again any such loyal and enlightened historians as these who have raised to themselves and their University so noble a monument? VII. _THE PROPHET OF WALNUT-TREE YARD._ "Did you ever hear tell of Lodowick Muggleton?" "Not I." "That is strange. Know then that he was the founder of our poor society, and after him we are frequently, though oppro-briously, termed Muggletonians, for we are Christians. Here is his book; I will sell it cheap." --LAVENGRO.