display of its component parts. The stately lateral fronts of Queen's College between which stands the statue of Caroline, the Queen of George the First, surmounted by a handsome cupola,-the broad structure of the University, with its twin portals,-the magnificent pile of All-Souls', whose light towers bring to our recollection the representations of Oriental architecture, the twisted pillars of the porch of St. Mary's, with its strong and lofty steeple,the top of the Ratcliffe library, a little withdrawn from the street,—the graceful spire of All Saints,'-and the little old-fashioned houses, aping, as it were, the gravity and antiquity of their superiors, who seem to take them under their protection, and look down upon them with a patronising air,― combine to form a scene, for the description of which, however the pencil of the artist may succeed, the powers of the pen are wholly inadequate. The coach stopped at the Mitre; and with as little delay as possible I proceeded to my college. And what sort of rooms shall I have?' was the first question that occurred to my mind. My ideas of every thing connected with the University were superlatively grand; it is not, therefore, surprising, that I should have pictured to myself a suite of three lofty, spacious, well-proportioned apartments,-a bed-room, large and healthy, and fitted up in the most commodious style, and a cheerful study, with every convenience for reading; my sitting-room would, I supposed, be an elegant apartment, tastefully furnished; a room, in fact, good enough for a prince of the blood. By the time I had concluded my anticipations of the splendour and convenience of my new habitation, I had arrived at the porter's-lodge of my college, whence I desired to be conducted to my place of residence. Two pair of steep, narrow, and winding stairs certainly annoyed me not a little; but 'what did it matter?' the contrast will exhibit my rooms to still greater advantage, thought I to myself. The man unlocked a door-it was an anxious moment-my heart beat high with expectation-he turned the handle, and ushered me into a small, shabby, ill-furnished apartment, about twelve feet by fourteen. I stood aghast! I was somewhat indignant. I fancied that I had misunderstood him. 'This must be my scout's pantry;-show me the rest.' This, sir,' he replied, evidently amused at my extreme freshness, is your sitting-room, and there is nothing more belonging to this set excepting your bed-room,' As he spoke, he opened a small door and led me into a closet, nay, a hole little better than a cupboard, which had barely space for a small bed, a table, and a chest of drawers. Imagine the feelings of the pilgrim when attacked by an enormous serpent, of Buonaparte when he found himself a prisoner in Elba,—of his keeper when he discovered that his imperial prisoner had escaped,—of the reader of newspapers when he finds the Herald amusing, or the Morning Chronicle without abuse of the Lord Chancellor,—of a traveller on hearing a cool demand of his money or his life;-imagine the sensations consequent upon any surprising or unexpected occurrence, and you may have some idea of the astonishment with which I received this intelligence. I could have almost cried for very disappointment. After all my lofty expectations,-after my hopes and anticipations had been concentrated in this one point for so long a time, for them thus to end in nothing,-the blank certainty was perfectly excruciating. Amphora cœpit Institui currente rotâ cur urceus exit? When I was alone, and had somewhat recovered from my chagrin, I proceeded to examine the wretched place which I was to inhabit for three years. It was a garret. Its form beggars all description. Corners and projecting points, beams and cross-beams, a slanting roof, a sinking floor, and a small window in one corner, like a man with half of his head benighted, may be considered its chief characteristics; not to mention the shrunken door immediately opposite the little fire-place, admitting through its crevices such a blast as cooled you as much behind, as the dim blaze warmed and enlivened you before. My furniture might rival that described by Dean Swift; indeed, my attics seemed to have been singled out as the sick-ward for all the halt, maimed, or otherwise enfeebled furniture of the college. The aged chair that had lost a leg was receiving friendly support from its younger neighbour with a fractured arm; another that was minus both its hind understandings had dashed its head against the wall in a state of desperation; and the miseries of a chair without a bottom were no less worthy of commiseration than those of one of its brethren with a broken back; the table and the chest-of-drawers were in pretty tolerable condition, excepting that the one was ricketty, and the drawers of the other were all locked, and the key lost; the tottering reading-desk had declared war against books, yet it must be allowed that it was not in a very good condition for carrying on a campaign; the window-curtain might be useful for any thing except keeping out the wind and light; the easy-chair had cast one of its castors; the deserted book-shelves looked doleful and dusty; the carpet had been nearly all swept away, save where a solitary nail grasped here and there a small fragment; and the widowed hearth-rug had wept woollen tears for the loss of its mate. As for the smaller articles, the poker was in a deep decline; the tongs were afflicted with a stiff joint; the leaky kettle had lost its vocal powers; the unfortunate bellows were broken-winded; and the tea equipage had driven its last stage. It was, of course, necessary to entirely new furnish my rooms, and put them in complete repair; and, I must confess that, however terrible my disappointment was at first, I have contrived to make myself very comfortable and happy in them, and have persuaded myself that, though small, they are large enough for one person; that they might have been worse; and that I escape many annoyances, to which I must have been exposed in larger ones. And that, brighter when beaming its glance through a tear! D. THE FIACRE. A SKETCH. You would imagine that a Fiacre dragged on but a miserable existence. No such thing I promise you! He emulates the great and the rich, and reckons the peer and the Elégant among his every day associates. At day-break he rises and crawls out of his stable door to see what sort of a morning it is. The deuce take it,' says he, yawning, it is delightful weather!'-or else Thank God, we shall have a pelting day!' Are not these the lofty and patriotic sentiments of a rich speculator on perusing the public journals? Peace is proclaimed-alas! his countenance falls, and disappointment rankles in his breast. A rupture is talked of—war is declared and see! his eyes sparkle with selfish joy; for in the impending disasters of his country, he beholds only visions of personal profit and aggrandisement. With imprecations, the Fiacre drives up his horses; with taunts and curses he harnesses them to the carriage; and then, with furious and loud cracks of his whip, impels them to the stand. Thus, too frequently, does man dressed in a little brief authority,' exert it but to gall and fret those who are subject to his influence; thus when crosses and disappointments have maddened him, he vents his rage upon the luckless wretches whom fate has compelled to truckle to his iron yoke. A person is perceived at a distance, who seems to be looking for a coach. Six of them gallop up to him at full speed. He chooses the best, but he takes it by the hour, and now the Fiacre drawls from street to street at a snail's pace. So men are swift and and supple as the greyhound in their endeavours to obtain an appointment, and slow and supine as the tortoise when securely installed in office. The gentleman who has hired the Fiacre calls to pay a visit to a friend. On his return he finds the horses unbridled, and the driver in the alehouse; the picture of a government office when its principal is not expected for the day. The Fiacre now rolls on; a waggon heavily laden, passing too near to him, he is threatened with destruction. His dexterity, however, aided by the unmerciful use of the whip, extricates him at length from his peril, and, at the same instant, he himself overturns a light cabriolet, about the fate of which he gives himself no sort of concern. Is it not thus that the sordid and brutal worldling, ever ready to denounce and vituperate, when his own rights are in the smallest degree infringed upon, thrusts in his turn, the weaker to the wall, without thought or feeling? Nobody in the world enjoys more freedom in the selection of his associates in life, or at least for the day, than the Fiacre. At nine in the morning, for instance, he can choose, in Paris, between a lovely female memorialist, animated with the pure and laudable desire of freeing her lover from the conscription, or of obtaining an appointment for her husband; a curious foreigner rising betimes to make a day's tour to the Lions of Paris; a candidate for a vacant seat in the Academy, who has one hundred and thirty visits to pay, and to talk of the books which he has not written, but which he intends to write; and a Jew-broker, who coaches it about to exchange money for paper. At noon, there is another series of fares; the old theatrical amateurs proceed to the rehearsals; a couple of young Exquisites repair to Bagatelle to bluster about an affair of honour that will end in smoke; or a quartetto of gourmands make a party to La Rappee to feast on fresh-water fish and kidneys stewed in Champagne. At three, the ladies repair to the gardens of the Thuilleries to see the sun rise, and thence drive to the Palais-Royal to collect the scandal of the day from the mantuamakers. At five o'clock the dinners commence. Lucky the Fiacre that chances to be in the Fauxburg St. Germain at that hour! he is sure of a fare to the Chaussée d'Antoine. At seven, the theatres present their multifarious attractions, and the Fiacre chooses both his route and his company. An Elégant, beau comme le jour, dressed in a Spanish mantle, with an opera hat under his arm, and his hair evidently but just released from the papillotes that have held it in durance vile the whole of the day, drops, as from the clouds, into the middle of the street. The canaille gape and stare and wonder what duke it is, for they did not see him emerge from the neighbouring court, where he occupies a miserable chamber, au cinquième. He calls a coach with an airJarvie is engaged-he knows his customer; a hollow, heartless villain; and what is far worse in his eyes, a man without a single sous.-No, no, a Chevalier d' Industrie is no companion for a Fiacre-let him trudge it a-foot if he will go to the opera, and sponge upon the inexperienced and the vain. The Fiacre waits not long for a fare; a rosy cheeked soubrette beckons him to a door, and in a few minutes he rolls away the Académie Royal de Musique with talent and beauty in his charge. At eleven the plays are over. Then the soirées commence, and dancing is kept up till one, while roulette and rouge-et-noir engage the votaries of the fickle Goddess till morning; when the Fiacre is called to carry home the ill-gotten booty. It is evident, therefore, that nothing important can occur in the metropolis of a powerful kingdom, in which the Fiacre does not take a conspicuous part ;-add to this that, now-a-days the Fiacres rival in splendor the equipages of the wealthiest of the nobility, dash into the court-yards in the same style, and almost drive into the saloons;—while the masters of these equipages and the Fiacres seem occasionally to revive ancient intimacies. S. INSCRIPTION IN A CHURCH-YARD. BY THE REV. W. LISLE BOWLES. THERE rest the village dead,—and there, too, I, But ne'er forget thy long and last abode, |