but here is scarcely the proper training-ground of first-class men!

Oxford returned to her ancient uses in 1625. Soon after the
accession of Charles I. the plague broke out in London, and Oxford
entertained the Parliament, as six hundred years before she had
received the Witan. There seemed something ominous in all that
Charles did in his earlier years--the air, or men's minds, was full
of the presage of fate. It was observed that the House of Commons
met in the Divinity School, and that the place seemed to have
infected them with theological passion. After 1625 there was never a
Parliament but had its committee to discuss religion, and to stray
into the devious places of divinity. The plague pursued Charles to
Oxford. In those days, and long afterwards, it was a common
complaint that the citizens built rows of poor cottages within the
walls, and that these cottages were crowded by dirty and indigent
people. Plague was bred almost yearly at Oxford, and Charles really
seems to have improved the sanitary arrangements of the city.

Laud, the President of St. John's, became, by some intrigue,
Chancellor of the University. He made Oxford many presents of Greek,
Chinese, Hebrew, Latin, and Arabic MSS. There may have been--let us
hope there were--quiet bookworms who enjoyed these gifts, while the
town and University were bubbling over with religious feuds. People
grumbled that "Popish darts were whet afresh on a Dutch grindstone."
A series of anti-Romish and anti-Royal sermons and pamphlets,
followed as a rule by a series of recantations, kept men's minds in a
ferment. The good that Laud did by his gifts--and he was a
munificent patron of learning--he destroyed by his dogmatism.