The old Dormitory, built in 1380, which had been the granary of the monastery, flanked by a noble tower, and a long line of beautiful windows, looking towards Great Dean's-yard, had grown decayed and ruinous; and we cannot but regret that the funds which raised the present building had not been devoted to the repairs of this pure and beautiful specimen of conventual architecture. The designs for the New Dormitory were given by the accomplished Earl of Burlington; Sir Edward Hannes, Physician in Ordinary to Queen Anne, in 1708, bequeathed £1000. towards its erection. A memorial having been presented by the Chapter in 1718, George I. contributed a subscription to the same amount; to which the Prince of Wales and William Maurice (High Bailiff of Westminster,—and son-in-law of Bishop Atterbury, who as Dean fostered the project with his accustomed zeal,) each added £500. The House of Commons granted the munificent sum of £1200. for the work. The whole cost of the building exceeded £5000; the first stone being laid by the noble architect upon Election Tuesday,-it bore this inscription, "Posuit felicibus (faxit DEVS) auspiciis Ricardus Com. de Burlington, Architectus, 7 Kal. Maii 1722."

Within this building, 161 feet long by 25 feet broad, (its walls, like the School, lined with the names of former occupants,) Latin plays are represented by the scholars, clad in Greek costume, upon the second Thursday in December, and the Monday before and after that day. Those acted now in successive years are the Andria, Phormio, Eunuchus, and Adelphi of Terence.

In the Phormio, 1848, said to be the most successful play produced for many years, the following Queen's Scholars bore their parts.

This custom was enjoined by Queen Elizabeth, in order that the scholars should be apt "to suit the action to the word." It was similar to one enjoined in the statutes of St. Mary Winton and Eton Colleges, at that period designed to promote the study of the then neglected Classics, and derived from the old celebration of the "Boy-Bishop," and the performance of stage-plays by school-boys. Queen Elizabeth had a body of such players, called the "Children of the Revels," formed out of the choir of her Chapel. Dr. Warton expressly mentions "this liberal exercise, yet preserved, and in the spirit of true classical purity, at the College of Westminster." Sometimes English plays have been acted; as in the year 1695 was the Cleomenes, no doubt in honour of its author Dryden being an "Old Westminster:" Lord Buckhurst spoke the prologue, still extant, upon the occasion.

The scenery, arranged after designs by Garrick, was presented by Dr. Markham. The modern dresses formerly in use were exchanged for appropriate Greek costume in 1839, upon the recommendation of Dr. Williamson.

Many an enthusiastic Christmas audience has been gathered here, cheered by the merry music of the Guards' Band between the acts, and approving with smile and cheer the well-wrought prologue, and regretting the close of the pithy epilogue, seasoned high with harmless satire and racy quick allusions to the passing events of the outer world,—until each actor, animated by the inspiring presence of affectionate faces, retires amid the plaudits of an illustrious and crowded company, able to appreciate and glad to acknowledge his successful efforts to maintain the ancient honours of "the Play."

How many a worn man returns hither, versed in the world's toil! who remembers well how, in years long gone by, he panted for the day when the Electors arrived, the Dean of Christ Church and the Master of Trinity, each attended by an Assistant Examiner, the Dean and Sub-Dean of Westminster, and his own kind Head Master. Then, after the anxious Monday and Tuesday, on Rogation Wednesday, with a swelling heart and the warm pressure of a trembling hand, he bade a silent farewell to many an old friend, clustering about him

with ill-disguised regret and faltering congratulation that he was about to leave their wonted society; even though he had achieved, in “the pleasant month of May," the height of a Westminster's young ambition-the student's gown of Christ Church, or the scholarship of Trinity.

He has come back, after a long interval; grey hairs are sprinkled amongst the auburn locks of early manhood. He has known the toil of a court, the bar, a parish, the camp,— has been eminent for eloquence even in the great assembly of Parliament, or in the gentler distinction of the Arts. He revisits the common home, full of "delicious memories of youth," to which a hundred hearts in distant lands are oft reverting, where for a breathing space men merge all differences of opinion, age, and distinction,-all equals in one great brotherhood.

Now he looks upon the "Yard," that seemed so dull on "leave-out" days to his disappointed eyes; the walls so long cherished in affectionate memory-replete with a thousand recollections of unforgotten friendships, some ended as he past that threshold as a boy, some hushed in the early grave, few perchance surviving now; the School, with hours too short for untiring emulation, where learning was taught to lose the blemish of pedantry, arrogance was tempered into generous frankness, conceit was softened into a rightful self-respect, mean prejudice enlarged into candid liberality, indolence strung into hardiness and enterprise, selfishness forgotten in kindly consideration and sympathy for others, the happy effects of early subjection and "fagging," (a word outshadowing fear only to timid boys, over-anxious friends, and intrusive alarmists,) and in due turn of a delegated responsible authority, with the necessarily mutual dependence which subsists between patron and client, and that deeply-rooted sensitive regard for the body to which they belong, which in fact is only to be found in the sons of a school that, in the emphatic language of Dr. Arnold, "possesses memories."

With what pleasure, heightened even by a tender melancholy, does he revisit the room where, watching the slow dawning of the tardy morning, he conned the future task! the

echoing holiday-fields, where first he learned to enter on the exciting struggle of manly football, and wield the bat! or, lying along the sunny turf during some hard-fought match, watched impatient to exult with hearty shout over some wicket, vexatiously held out, at length bowled down! the broad river, upon which his pliant arm, obedient to the energetic "Head of the water," was trained in sanguine hope to outstrip the Eton Eight, marvellously strong, if magnifying rumour for once spoke truth! the

"Cloistral shades, the angel-haunted cells,
Chauntries, and tuneful roofs,"

to which he retired to muse apart upon the newly-come tidings of his home, or with one own familiar friend—the very brother of confiding boyhood-lingering upon the congenial theme,

"The promised joys of Life's unmeasured way!”

and longing through the toilsome week for the Abbey "looking tranquillity," the happy Sunday hours, with their calm repose, their holy music,-echoing in thought those lines of the old Blind Bard, once a dweller in the neighbourhood:

"But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloister pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars massy proof,
And storied windows, richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
Then let the pealing organ blow

To the full-voiced choir below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may, with sweetness through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstacies,

And bring all heaven before mine eyes."

Then as he reflects upon the past, or walks unknowing and unknown among the new generation which has arisen in his own and fellows' place-will he feel indeed that one only

who had known a public school could have written those true lines of Gray,