miration was,
however, outdone by the contemporary poetaster, Whitehall, who ends his
verses on the paintings,

That future ages must confess they owe
To Streater more than Michael Angelo,

lines in which the grammar and the connoisseurship are about on an
equality. The paintings are on canvas fixed on stretchers, and hence
have been removed for cleaning purposes more than once; this was last
done only a few years ago (1899-1901). There are thirty-two sections,
and the whole painting measures 72 feet by 64. Unfortunately the subject
is rendered difficult to understand, because the most important section,
which is the key of the whole, representing 'The Expulsion of
Ignorance', is practically concealed by the organ; the present
instrument was erected in 1877.

[Sidenote: The Sheldonian Press.]

Sheldon's building was designed for a double use. It was to be at once
the University Theatre and the University Printing Press, and it was
used for the latter purpose till 1714, when the Oxford Press was moved
across the quadrangle to the Clarendon Building, designed by Sir John
Vanbrugh. The actual printing was done in the roof, on the floor above
the painted ceiling. The Theatre is for this reason the mark on all
Oxford books printed during the first half-century of its existence. In
one respect Archbishop Sheldon was so unlike most Oxford benefactors
that his merit must be especially mentioned. Men are often willing
enough to give a handsome sum of money down to be spent on buildings;
they too often leave to others the charge of maintaining these; but
Sheldon definitely informed the University that he did not wish his
benefaction to be a burden to it, and invested L2,000 in lands, out of
the rents of which his Theatre might be kept in repair. The Sheldonian,
thanks to its original donor and to the ever liberal Dr. Wills of
Wadham, who supplemented the endowment a century later, has never been a
charge on the University revenues.

[Sidenote: The Restoration of the Sheldonian.]

Unfortunately these repairs have been carried out with more zeal than
discretion. Even in Wren's lifetime the alarm was raised that the roof
was dangerous (1720), but the Vice-Chancellor of the time was wise
enough not to consult a rival architect but to take the practical
opinion of working masons and carpenters, who reported it safe. Nearly
100 years later the same alarm was raised, whether with reason or not we
do not know, for no record