We had been in so much awe of him that this course had generally proved successful.

But now his voice had lost its spell: no one came forward. He renewed his demand more sternly; still no one stirred; then, after waiting a few minutes, during which all continued motionless and silent, he "gated" the whole school until the offenders should be discovered.

This sweeping punishment produced a deep feeling of anger, which was not long in finding a vent.

One morning two men entered the school-room, carrying a large and heavy hamper, which they deposited at the foot of the central dais.

One of them was the porter of the college, who had also to check and report all offenders against the law, and to manufacture the birches with which we were flogged. He was a little bumptious man, with a prying nose, small sharp black eyes, and eyebrows habitually elevated. We hated him. He lived in a small lodge at the college gates.

On the previous evening, which was dark and stormy, he was having tea with his wife and infant, when they were startled by a heavy crash against the door. He looked out, but was driven back by a shower of stones and brickbats, and thinking there was some design upon his life, retreated with his wife and baby into the wash-house at the rear of the premises. Meanwhile the hurricane of missiles continued, and did not cease until the door, windows, and many of the tiles were smashed, and his solitary chimney-pot shivered to atoms.

When, at last, he ventured forth, all was quiet, and he had not been able to detect any of his besiegers, but had picked up most of the brickbats, and put them in a hamper, which he now produced. Such was his story.

The government was evidently perplexed; no highhanded demand was made for the submission of the offenders; frequent councils were held, and the assistant masters and prefects patrolled the grounds after dark.

Unfortunately, the college buildings were so straggling, and extended over so large an area, that it was very difficult to guard them efficiently.

A large irregular courtyard, about two hundred yards long, by a hundred broad, was bounded on three sides by buildings, and on the fourth by a tall iron railing, which separated it from the high

road.

The eastern side consisted of school-rooms, fives-courts, corridors, cloisters, and some old structures, which had once been the stables of the inn, but were then converted into covered playgrounds.

The whole formed a labyrinth of dark nooks, abrupt angles, archways, and openings, amongst which a fugitive a fugitive could very easily baffle his pursuer.

In spite of all precautions matters grew worse. Acts of outrage multiplied, fire-works (the 5th of November was near) were smuggled into the college and a night seldom passed without an explosion, a smashing of windows, or assault on some obnoxious person.

In this emergency the assistant masters were eager to do their duty. Bat they were for the most part quiet studious men, and were completely out of their element in a scene of violence, in darkness amongst unseen enemies, and distracted by flying brickbats, sudden explosions, and the crash of falling glass.

At this juncture an unexpected ally came to the assistance of the authorities. A tradesman of the town, disregarding the eternal infamy that clings to a traitor, disclosed the names of the boys to whom he had sold fireworks. The chief offenders were instantly expelled, and the minor criminals strictly guarded. Deprived of its leaders, the rebellion. languished, the dreaded 5th of November passed without any outbreak.

But the flame, though burning low, was not extinct, and soon burst forth again with novel fury.

A number of boys were one evening in the great schoolroom, when one of them, designedly or by accident, upset a master's desk. Amused at the appearance of the fallen structure, he upset a second. Other boys joined, and a third was over-thrown. The appetite for destruction grew; the crowd increased; and moved along destroying everything indiscriminately. Down went the doctor's crimson throne, forms, chairs, and desks were overturned and smashed, and the floor was soon strown with grammars and dictionaries, and Latin and Greek classics. Emboldened by impunity, the marauders flow a higher game. Adjoining the schoolroom was the head-master's classroom, a sacred chamber, replete with painful asssociations. In it the doctor kept his papers, including the manuscript

of Sophocles which he was preparing for the press ; it was the scene of the daily tribunal for the trial of all grave offences; it likewise contained the stock of birches, and the record of crimes and punishments, and was the common place of execution. The shadow of a fear hung over it, and many a boy had abandored hope as he entered the gloomy portal,

All awe was now forgotten. The door was broken open, the detested twigs were scattered to the winds, the furniture was smashed, the records torn up, the large inkstand flung through the window, and Sophocles dragged forth and burnt.

Her the mob paused, and satiated with havoc dispersed; some of the leaders having already slunk away, frightened at the proportions to which the matter had grown.

The whole affair was over in twenty minutes, and when the alarm had been given, and the authorities came hurrying to the spot, nobody was to be seen except a few very quiet and inoffensive boys searching for their property amongst the ruins, like the peasantry of a village over which the storm of war has passed.

This outbreak opened the eyes of the governing powers to the defects of their system, and measures were now adopted, which, if taken earlier, would have prevented the mischief. No one was allowed to be abroad after dark, no large assemblages were permitted, and the boys were divided and shut off in separate class-rooms, where only a few could meet together.

A searching investigation was held the ringleaders in the last outrage were discovered and expelled, and many of the lesser offenders were severely punished. But the blow which had been given to authority was too severe to be healed, except by some more extensive remedy; and, to pave the way for a new order of things, the head-master resigned.

The fame of these lawless proceedings spread far and wide; and besides our real misdeeds, all sorts of charges were brought against us and swallowed by a credulous public. We We were supposed to be a curiously evil race, idle, ignorant, rebellious, and habitually given to larceny and malicious

mischief."

No less a personage than Dr. Stanley, the Dean of Westminster, declared in a grave publication

"that we did no work, that civilised life and out-ofdoor games, such as cricket, and football, and wholesome sports, did not exist amongst us, and that we were a society of poachers, poultry-stealers, and rat-hunters."

Stinging words! which Dr. Cotton, the well known Bishop of Calcutta, who was our next headmaster, and knew us well, would have been surprised to read.

In literal truth we were not worse than any other set of boys, and our outbreaks did not arise from any inherent wickedness, but were the venial ebullitions of youthful spirit inadequately watched and restrained. Through all those stormy times cricket, football, and wholesome sports flourished; we did as much work as is usually done in a public school; and we showed our civilised taste by producing a respectable monthly magazine, in which we wrote stories, essays, criticisms, and poetry. The vices with which the dean rounds off his paragraph did not exist at all, through perhaps the charge of poaching may have arisen from the circumstance that some of the boys, in imitation of Shakespeare, used occasionally to chase the fallow deer through the glades of the forest.

THE OLD OAK TREE.

A Traveller passed by the old Oak Tree,
And it shook its leaves and sighed ;
And the Traveller said, "Dost thou pity me,
That thou shakest for all thy pride?
Canst thou tell me whence I am come,

And whither it is that I go?
Canst thou fathom my own own thoughts,
That none but I can know?
Be still-thou art but a tree

That hast neither mind nor breath;
There is nought in common 'twixt me and thee
-For thy life is a living death."

Yet again in the wind shook the old Oak Tree,
And the Traveller, wondering, stayed;

And he knew that the thoughts that rose in his hea t
To the wind a harmony made.

And these were the words of the old Oak Tree,
As again it shook and sighed :
"Yea, Traveller, I do pity thee,

And the hardness of thy pride.
And I know that from God dost thou come,
And to Him again shall thou go:
And He who hath given thee power to think,
Hath power thy thoughts to know.
And canst thou go in thy lonely pride
Through the world so sweet and fair,
And feel not the wondrous love of earth,
The love that is every where ?

For He who gave thee a soul to hear

Gave me a voice to tell

A lesson to all that care to heed:
--Oh Traveller, heed it well."

Then the Traveller left the old Oak Tree,
And gladly the grass he trod,

For he knew that in every living thing Is the loving voice of God.

T.

THE DECORATIONS OF THE CHAPEL.

DURING the holidays the last of the series of twelve wall pictures has been placed in the Chapel, and as this practically concludes the scheme of decoration which has been carried on for the last six years, it may be well to review briefly the work that has been done. One thing only remains to perfect the decorations, and that is the introduction of carved oak stalls. This must be left to succeeding generations of Marlburians; and when they recognise how much has been done by their predecessors, they will be fain to accept their own share of the duty.

But few of those who are now in the school remember the Chapel six years ago. The dark woodwork of the roof was then separated from the equally dark wood of the seats by bare and colorless walls. No gradations of light or colour existed. At the termination of the black brown rafters, the white wall commenced; and at the termination of the wall downwards, the dark coloured seats commenced. The roof appeared to press upon the floor; the whole structure was stunted, and completely devoid of lightness, and aeriness in the architectural sense. The first act of decoration aimed at rectifying this error. The roof was painted brick-red, slightly relieved with white, and covered with designs of leaves and flowers interspersed with the letter M in reference to the patron Saint, in old English character, in dull sap green. The roof was still found to be too dark and heavy, and was further relieved by colouring only the principal beams, and the outside faces of the rafters red, and leaving the rest with a white ground-work, covered with designs of leaves and flowers and the old English M as before, in which state it still remains.

At the same time that portion of the roof over the Altar was very effectively decorated in sap green, white and gold. Afterwards figures of angels playing various instruments, were painted and placed

above the Altar on each side of the great window. The upper part of each window was decorated with a design of gold tracery on a white ground; the spaces between the windows were covered with tracery in dull indigo, and the space between the bottom of the windows and the stalls was painted dull red of the same tone as that of the main beams of the roof. In the spaces between the windows, pictures have been placed; six depicting subjects from Old Testament history, and six from the New Testament. These, with the exception of the last, have been previously described in this journal. The picture added during the holidays is in one sense the first of the series. The subject is the expulsion from Paradise. It does not appear to us to present much originality of treatment. The left hand portion of the canvass is occupied by four figures of angels, draped gracefully, (but as regards colour, daringly), and in attitudes somewhat stiff and formal. They are marching in solemn procession towards an opening in a high white wall, just beyond which are seen the figures of Adam and Eve bowed down with woe, as they leave their first and only home.

Of the Chapel windows, that at the east-end admits a varied and harmonious mass of coloured lights. The Scholars' Window, the most recent addition in this respect, is altogether effective both in design and colour. The new organ is a great gain both from a musical and architectural point of view, and the new pulpit is excellent in design, and when age has darkened the wood will be more in harmony with its surroundings.

Victor Hugo tells us that the wonderful art of the Middle Ages has been brought to ruin by three sorts of inroads; the first Time; the second Revolutions; the third Fashion. Of the last he truly says:"Fashion has done more mischief than revolution...

.It has mangled, dislocated, killed, the edifice; in its form as well as in its meaning; in its consistency, as well as in its beauty. And then, it has remade, which at least neither Time nor Revolutions had pretended to do. It has audaciously fitted into the wounds of gothic architecture its wretched gewgaws (colifichets) of a day; its marble ribands, and metal tufts, a very leprosy of ovolos, volutes, and entourements; of draperies, garlands and fringes; of stone flames, brazen clouds, fleshy cupids,

and chubby cherubim ;--which we find beginning to devour the face of art in the oratory of Catherine de Medicis, and making it expire two centuries after, tortured and convulsed in the boudoir of Madame Dubarry." Such it must be admitted, is the tendency of Modern Restoration in England and elsewhere. Sir Gilbert Scott in this country, and M. Viollet le Duc in France, both did their best to stem the tide, and to introduce a severer and more classic taste, a more strict adherence to original ideas, and to uniformity of style. La Sainte Chapelle in Paris, and the Chapel of St. John's College in Cambridge, are standing evidences of their principles put in practice.

We have ceased to create in decorative art: now we only copy, and the dominant tone of many of our Copyists is that of the early Renaissance, blended with the ideas of the followers of Vignola and Bernini. (Oh! Mr. X A.R.A., Oh! Mr. Y——— so recently couronné by the Academy, we dare not even ask you to forgive us for this remark). The graceful angels at the east end of the chapel are the angels of Fra Angelico, slightly transformed by an infusion of the canons of the late Revival. The figures in the wall pictures are the forms of Benozzo Gozzoli, here dashed with a conception which goes back to Giotto, there tinctured with an idea borrowed from Luini or Masaccio.-We have specimens of the styles of many periods in our chapel :-Gothic, and Second Pointed; Italian and Louis Quatorze ; Jacobean and Georgian.

This blending is frequently visible in ecclesiastical architecture. It may be traced in most of the more notable chapels in the world :-in Rosslyn with its superbly chiselled key-stones, arches, and pilasters; in the noble memorial chapels to be found in Ste. Croce, Ste. Maria Maggiore, S. Giovanni in Laterano and elsewhere in Italy; in the Convent Chapels of San Martino, and Monte Cassino; in the Capella Palatina of Palermo; in the Chapel of Worcester College encrusted with decorations by the first artists of the day, and flanked at either end by great gilt statues which the Provost and Fellows have set up. But do not the great Temples, standing massive and majestical, in the Plain of Paestum, betray the influence of Egyptian art; and does not the Parthenon strive in vain to emancipate itself from ideas hatched in the brains of men who built the palaces of Nabonasor, the king of kings?

R.

COAL MINES.

Though coal has now become almost necessary to our existence, and quite an essential in all steam operations, a vast number of those who use it daily and hourly, more especially those who live in the eastern and south-eastern counties, have the most limited and vague notions as to the means by which it is procured and as to the interior of those rich subterranean stores, the coal mines, which are spread over the northern counties, parts of Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire, and a large portion of Wales, and whose productiveness is such that a single pit often produces a thousand tons a day.

Some people perhaps, having seen pictures representing coal pits and the horrors which they involved some fifty years ago, burn their best Hards under the impression that they have been brought up from below, in baskets, by miserable men or panic-stricken boys, clinging to a suspended rope, and having to trust to their own arms to prevent themselves falling, and thus meeting with a fearful and inevitable death.

Such dangers, though they did undoubtedly exist at the beginning of the present century, are now happily things of the past; new improvements and fresh ideas have arisen which have wholly replaced the rude and clumsy, not to say perilous, contrivances of our forefathers. All coal mines, however, now-a-days are by no means worked on one uniform system; some sorts of coal require different treatment to others; in one mine, for instance, gas can be used in open jets, just as in an ordinary house, in another one close by it would be positively dangerous to use it.

With regard to the generality of collieries, it is easy as is well known, to discover their whereabouts by the volumes of black dingy smoke, which are emitted from their tall dark looking chimneys; one of the chief characteristics of all collieries and coal mining districts.

In commencing a coal mine then, having come upon a place where coal is to be found, soundings and investigations are of course made, and the pit mouth is opened as near as possible to the railway, a branch line for coal-trucks being generally constructed to convey coal, when it is brought up, to the regular lines of traffic. Supposing then

that we pay a visit to these mysterious lower regions; the first sight that presents itself to us, on approaching the pit, will be the trucks laden with coal just brought from below. A little further on the pit itself will be reached; first the pit bank, an accumulation of ashes, cinders and old coal, meets our eye, from the top of which the coal, when brought up from the mine in small trucks, or corves, is emptied into the larger conveyances below.

We mount the bank and behold a busy scene before us; on one side we see the engine house, a large structure which contains the engine, by means of which the whole business of ascending and descending is performed, and which is situated some twenty or thirty yards from the shaft; the cages, in which the men go down and the coals come up, resemble rafts, and are nade nearly half the size of the shaft, so that two can pass on the way, one going up and the other down; each cage is capable of holding two corves full of coal, or a dozen men, and will often contain double the number, as it has very frequently two floors, one above the other; the corves hold on an average twelve hundredweight of coal each; on each side of the cage railings are placed to serve as a protection, but it is left open at the end.

When all is ready for the descent, the engine is set in motion, and a rope attached to it passes over a wheel directly above the shaft, which, while letting the two or four empty trucks in their respective cages down the shaft, draws the full ones up, the two cages thus passing each other exactly half way. An indicator shows the engine man how far the cages have gone, and thus enables him to slacken speed when they meet, and also to put on the break as they near the top or bottom, and a bell strikes to announce their arrival at either end.

Inside the cage diminutive lines of railway are placed, on to which the corves are run; these lines are also continued at the top of the shaft and below, so that when the trucks full of coal reach the top of the pit, two men pull them off the cage and run them along the same lines to the edge of the pit bank, whence they are emptied into the larger trucks below; while the empty trucks at the bottom of the shaft are despatched on similar lines to collect coal from the different workings. Visitors are not allowed to go down without a conductor, so on this official making his appearance, we go on to the cage, and

when all are safely on, the signal is given, we grasp the rail at the top of the cage, and off we go.

It is a most curious sensation, just as if the earth were gradually slipping away from beneath our feet. At first we can see the pitchy brick walls of the sides of the pit, but soon, getting down further, we lose sight of them, and of all daylight too; down, down we go; suddenly there is a slight jerk and we seem to rise again; this is caused by the break being put on, as we pass the ascending cage; then we descend still further into the dark depths below; once more we slacken speed, we can hear the voices of those below, and the noise of the corves as they pass along the passages and galleries of the mine; and we begin to see once more the dark walls as we glide steadily by, still relaxing our speed; at last the cage gives a gentle bump, announcing that we are at our destination. With difficulty we can see the dusky faces of the colliers, and have to look again to make sure that we have not come upon a body of Zulus; we see the flare of the lanterns or the gas, and, if there is any water in the pit, we hear its constant dripping, and all the rest is darkness.

We are taken into a room where we have time to regain our sight, or rather to become accustomed to the darkness; and a safety lamp is given to each of us, protected by gauze, an improvement on bir Humphrey Davy's idea, though constructed on the same system.

After our rest we start on our explorations, following our conductor. The passages near the mouth of the pit are arched roads, the top of the arch being formed of bricks; and we can see the jets of gas glittering for a mile in front of us. Lines are laid down from the bottom of the shaft to all parts of the mine, and on these we frequently meet ponies dragging small trains, of a dozen corves or so at a time, accompanied by boys, who tend and drive them; we have to keep close to the sides of the roads or tunnels, until they have passed, for fear of being run. over, and in doing so we notice how the coal is propped up with wooden supports to prevent it falling in; and in many places at the side we see fossils caused by the indentation of ferns and the bark of trees in the coal, which have in some cases preserved their original form, and have now become stiffened and encrusted into coal; which sight is a proof that the level on which we now are, some four