It has a stately dome; but my memory is confused with
battlements, towers, and gables, and Gothic staircases and cloisters. If
there had been nothing else in Oxford but this one establishment, my
anticipations would not have been disappointed. The bell was tolling for
worship in the chapel; and Mr. Parker told us that Dr. Pusey is a canon,
or in some sort of dignity, in Christ Church, and would soon probably
make his appearance in the quadrangle, on his way to chapel; so we walked
to and fro, waiting an opportunity to see him. A gouty old dignitary, in
a white surplice, came hobbling along from one extremity of the court;
and by and by, from the opposite corner, appeared Dr. Pusey, also in a
white surplice, and with a lady by his side. We met him, and I stared
pretty fixedly at him, as I well might; for he looked on the ground, as
if conscious that he would be stared at. He is a man past middle life,
of sufficient breadth and massiveness, with a pale, intellectual, manly
face. He was talking with the lady, and smiled, but not jollily. Mr.
Parker, who knows him, says that he is a man of kind and gentle
affections. The lady was his niece.
Thence we went through High Street and Broad Street, and passing by
Baliol College,--a most satisfactory pile and range of old towered and
gabled edifices,--we came to the cross on the pavement, which is supposed
to mark the spot where the bishops were martyred.
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