In vain you run against him; place Your fleetest filly in the race,Here's ten to one he'll beat her.

Of all he sees, he takes a tithe,

With that tremendous sweeping scythe,
Which he keeps always going;
While every step he takes, alas !
Too plainly proves that flesh is grass,
When he sets out a mowing.

And though his hungry ravenous maw

Is crammed with food, both dress'd and raw,

I'll wager any betting,

His appetite has ever been

Just like his scythe, sharp-set and keen,
Which never wanted whetting.

Could you but see the mighty treat
Prepared, when he sits down to eat

His breakfast or his dinner,-ah,

Not vegetable-flesh,-alone,
But timber, houses, iron, stone,
He eats the very china.

When maidens pray that he will spare
Their teeth, complexion, or their hair,
Alas! he'll never hear 'em;
Grey locks and wrinkles hourly show,
What Ovid told us years ago,

Ut Tempus edax rerum !

In vain, my dearest girl, you choose
(Your face to wash) Olympic dews;
In vain you paint or rouge it;
He'll play such havoc with your youth,
That ten years hence you'll say with truth
Ah Edward!-Tempus fugit!

The glass he carries in his hand
Has ruin in each grain of sand;

But what I most deplore is,

He breaks the links of friendship's chain,
And barters youthful love for gain :
Oh, Tempora! oh, Mores!

One sole exception you shall find, (Unius generis of its kind,)

Wherever fate may steer us; Tho' wide his universal range, Time has no power the heart to change Of your AMICUS VERUS.

Bath Herald.

GERMAN UNIVERSITIES.

Germany, which embraces a population of thirty-six millions of people, has twentytwo universities. The following table contains their names according to the order of their foundation, and the number of professors and students:

Of this number six belong to Prussia, three to Bavaria, two to the Austrian States, two to the Grand Duchy of Baden, two to the Electorate of Hesse-Cassel, and one to each of the following states-Saxony, Wurtemberg, Denmark, Hanover, the Grand Duchies of Mecklenbergh-Schweren and of Saxe-Weimar, and Switzerland. The total number of professors is 1055, embracing not only the ordinary and extraordinary professors, but also the private lecturers, whose courses of reading are announced in the half-yearly programmes. Catholic Germany, which reckons nineteen millions of inhabitants, has only six universities; while Protestant Germany, for seventeen millions of inhabitants, has seventeen. Of the students there are 149 for every 250,000 in the Protestant states, while there are only 68 for the same number in the Catholic states. It must, however, be mentioned, that this estimate does not take in those Catholic ecclesiastics who do not pursue their studies in the universities, but in private seminaries.-The universities of Paderborn and Munster, both belonging to Prussia, and which had only two faculties, those of theology and philosophy, were suppressed; the first in 1818, and the second in 1819; but that of Munster has been reestablished, with the three faculties of theology, philosophy, and medicine.

taneously, like weeds, in the hot-bed of corrupt civilization." She was born when Mrs. Cibber was forty-five years old, and when both her father and mother had ceased to expect an addition to their family: the result was that Charlotte Cibber was a spoiled child. She married Mr. Richard Charke, an eminent violin player, of dissolute habits; and, after a course of levities, consequent upon the early recklessness of her parents, she was repudiated by her father. When she wrote her life, she was in great penury: it was published in eight numbers, at three-pence each. In the last, which appeared on the 19th of April, 1755, she feelingly deplores the failure of her attempts to obtain forgiveness of her father, and says, "I cannot recollect any crime Í have been guilty of that is unpardonable." After intimating a design to open an orato rical academy, for the instruction of persons going on the stage, she mentions her intention to publish "Mr. Dumont's history, the first number of which will shortly make its appearance." This v was a novel she was then writing, which a bookseller treated with her for, in company with Mr. Samuel Whyte of Dublin, who thus describes her distressed situation:

"Cibber the elder had a daughter named Charlotte, who also took to the stage; her subsequent life was one continued series of misfortune, afflictions, and distress, which she sometimes contrived a little to alleviate by the productions of her pen. About the year 1755, she had worked up a novel for the press, which the writer accompanied his friend the bookseller to hear read; she was at this time a widow, having been married to one Charke a musician, long since dead. Her habitation was a wretched thatched hovel, situated on the way to Islington in the purlieus of Clerkenwell Bridewell, not very distant from the New River Head, where at that time it was usual for the scavengers to leave the cleansings of the streets, &c. The night preceding a heavy rain had fallen, which rendered this extraordinary seat of the muses almost inaccessible, so that in our approach we got our white stockings enveloped with mud up to the very calves, which furnished an appearance much in the present fashionable style of half-boots. We knocked at the door, (not attempting to pull the latch string,) which was opened by a tall, meagre, ragged figure, with a blue apron, indicating, what else we might have doubted, the feminine gender, a perfect model for the copper captain's tattered landlady; that deplorable exhibition of the fair sex, in the

comedy of Rule-a-Wife. She with a torpid voice and hungry smile desired us to walk in. The first object that presented itself was a dresser, clean, it must be confessed, and furnished with three or four coarse delf plates, two brown platters, and underneath an earthen pipkin and å black pitcher with a snip out of it. To the right we perceived and bowed to the mistress of the mansion sitting on a maimed chair under the mantle-piece, by a fire, merely sufficient to put us in mind of starving. On one hob sat a monkey, which by way of welcome chattered at our going in; on the other a tabby cat, of melancholy aspect ! and at our author's feet on the flounce of her dingy petticoat reclined a dog, almost a skeleton! he raised his shagged head, and, eagerly staring with his bleared eyes, saTuted us with a snarl. Have done, Fidele! these are friends.' The tone of her voice was not harsh; it had something in it humbled and disconsolate; a mingled effort of authority and pleasure.-Poor soul! few were her visitors of that description—no wonder the creature barked!.—A magpie perched on the top ring of her chair, not an uncomely ornament! and on her lap was placed a mutilated pair of bellows, the pipe was gone, an advantage in their present office, they served as a succedaneum for a writing-desk, on which lay displayed her hopes and treasure, the manuscript of her novel. Her ink-stand was a broken teacup, the pen worn to a stump; she had but one! a rough deal board with three hobbling supporters was brought for our convenience, on which, without farther ceremony, we contrived to sit down and entered upon business:-the work was read, remarks made, alterations agreed to, and thirty guineas demanded for the copy. The squalid handmaiden, who had been an attentive listener, stretched forward her tawny length of neck with an eye of anxious expectation!-The bookseller offered five!Our authoress did not appear hurt; disappointments had rendered her mind callous; however, some altercation ensued. was the writer's first initiation into the mysteries of bibliopolism and the state of authorcraft. He, seeing both sides pertinacious, at length interposed, and at his instance the wary haberdasher of literature doubled his first proposal, with this saving proviso, that his friend present would pay a moiety and run one half the risk; which was agreed to. Thus matters were accommodated, seemingly to the satisfaction of all parties; the lady's original stipulation of fifty copies for herself being previously

This

Pull off, pull off thy silken shoon,

And deliver them unto me; Methinks that they are too fine and gay To rot in the salt, salt sea.

Pull off, pull off thy bonnie green plaid,
That floats in the breeze so free;

It is woven fine with the silver twine,
And comely it is to see.

If I must pull off my bonnie green plaid,
O turn thy back to me;

And gaze on the sun which has just begun To peer o'er the salt, salt sea.

He turn'd his back on the damoselle

And gaz'd on the bright sunbeam

She grasp'd him tight with her arms so white, And plung'd him into the stream.

Lie there, sir knight, thou false-hearted wight,
Lie there instead of me;

Six damsels fair thou hast drown'd there,
But the seventh has drowned thee.

That ocean wave was the false one's grave,
For he sunk right hastily;

Though with dying voice faint, he pray'd to his saint,
And utter'd an Ave Marie.

No mass was said for that false knight dead,
No convent bell did toll;

But he went to his rest, unshriv'd and unblest→→→
Heaven's mercy on his soul!

She mounted her on her dapple-grey steed, And led the steed milk-white;

She rode till she reach'd her father's hall,
Three hours before the night.

The parrot, hung in the lattice so high,
To the lady then did say,

Some ruffian, I fear, has led thee from home,
For thou hast been long away.

Do not prattle, my pretty bird,

Do not tell tales of me;

And thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, Instead of the greenwood tree.

The earl as he sat in his turret high,

On hearing the parrot did say,

What ails thee, what ails thee, my pretty bird? Thou hast prattled the live-long day.

Well may I prattle, the parrot replied,

And call, brave earl, on thee;

For the cat has well nigh reach'd the lattice so high, And her eyes are fix'd on me.

Well turn'd, well turn'd, my pretty bird,

Well turn'd, well turn'd for me;

Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, Instead of the greenwood tree.

PRIDE AND GOOD-WILL.

It is related of a certain class of French nobility, who, in their winter residence at Aix, were objects of dislike from their arrogance and self-importance, that they were beloved and esteemed for their kindness and benevolence by the dependants around their chateaus in the country. Many instances might be cited to show that the respect paid them was no more than they deserved; and one is particularly striking:

A seigneur, when he resided in the country, used to distribute among the women and children, and the old men who were unable to work in the field, raw wool, and flax, which they spun and wove into cloth or stuff at their pleasure: every week they were paid wages according to the quantity of work done, and had a fresh supply of raw materials whenever it was wanted. At the end of the year, a general feast was given by the seigneur to the whole village, when all who had been occupied in spinning and weaving brought in their work, and a prize of a hundred livres was given to each person who had spun the best skein, and woven the best web. They had a dinner in a field adjoining to the chateau, at which the seigneur himself presided, and on each side of him sat those who had gained the prizes. The evening was concluded with a dance. The victors, besides the hundred livres, had their work given them: the rest were allowed to purchase theirs at a very moderate price, and the money resulting from it was laid by to distribute among any persons of the village who wanted relief on account of sickness, or who had suffered from unavoidable accident, either in their persons or property. At the death of this excellent man, who unfortunately left no immediate heirs to follow his good example, the vil lage presented a scene of the bitterest lamentation and distress: the peasants assembled round the body, and it was almost forced away from them for interment. They brought their shuttles, their distaffs, their skeins of thread and worsted, their pieces of linen and stuff, and strewed them upon his grave, saying that now they had lost their patron and benefactor, they could no longer be of use to them. If this man felt the pride of conscious superiority, it was scarcely to be condemned when accompanied with such laudable exertions to render himself, through that superiority, a benefactor to society.*

Miss Plumtree.