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**ts him, “Pray, Mr. Warmint, why have you not been to chapel lately? I have very seriously to complain of your non-attendance. %. have not *nded for nearly a fortnight, excepting Sundays, and you cannot expect that I, or any man, in the opacity I hold, can oyerlook such gross irregularity. However, you may think what you like, but I am determined to do my duty towards the college, and to *e that you attend regularly. But as that has by no *ams been the case, and as you have so disrespect. fully absented yourself, I really must take notice of it in a severe way. I am very sorry for it, nobody more *e, but it is an imperative duty I must fulfil. You will get by heart 500 lines of Virgil, the 7th AEneid, aul I expect it will be said with alacrity and promp*ale. Good morning, sir.” So here is Mr. Varmint ** two impositions in hand which must be very on in head: one, if not said, will beget rustication; of the other, if neglected, will cause the dean to tell on to take his name off the boards of the college. He debates in his own mind as to whether it is better o get them or uot; but at length determines to see octors, deans, and in short the whole University at Jiu Xick, rather than look at a word; and “— to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them.” Alas! how soon do mortals change their firmest •l most fixed resolutions! How many circuminces occur to induce them to act contrary to their valves. Mr. Varmint, by drinking too much wine the last two days, rather prematurely finds himis very much the worse from his la's Cyprian ad*tures, and in fact is compelled to send for a surMa. In short, Varunint is obliged to get an argrotat, raußne himself to his rooms, and lie still on the * On his table are draughts, powders, and low; the surgeon visits him daily. What is he to s day by himself on the sofa : His friends are * him a great deal to drive away melancholy; but he has an immensity of leisure time on his hands. must read ; but what? Walter Scott? No, he a roads, and all that kind of trash. Lord lyron 1 * read him fifty times, and he wants something

new. He thought of everything; but at last resolved to spend his time in learning the three hundred lines of Greek, and the five hundred lines of Virgil, for the proctor and Mr. Dean. In the mean time the term divides; and his companions, or the majority of them, leave the University for their o homes. He, of course, wishes to leave likewise; but he is ill, and cannot depart before he is better, which the surgeon does not choose should be the case for some time; and even if he were well, he could not go before the dean signed his “ereat,” which he would not do before the imposition was said; so he is hemmed in on all sides, and has the blue devils, besides a prospect of growing hippish. He, therefore, o: the time he would have passed in pleasure at home, in the shady court of a college, and stuffs himself with Greek and Latin hexameters, and lives entirely on barley-water and medicine, for the space of three weeks. At the end of this time, we will suppose him getting again convalescent, and recovering his wonted spirits. He satisfies the proctor and the dean by saying a part of each inpos., and after bitterly cursing the place, leaves it for the country. This is the way that many men spend their three years at the University. But, Mr. Freshman, whoever you ma be, I write this for your especial benefit, and leave it to yourself to copy or avoid such conduct, as you may think proper. After the long vacation, Mr. Warmint comes u

again to reside. His sprees of his first year, and their consequences, have gained him experience, and he knows how to manage in a scientific way. To avoid gate-bills, he will be out at night as late as he pleases, and will defy any one to discover his absence; for he will climb over the college walls, and fee his gyp well, when he is out all night. To avoid impositions from the dean, he will attend more regularly at chapel; which, though a great bore, must yet be endured; and to get clear from the clutches of the proctors, he will scud when there is need; and if sollowed, will floor the bull-dogs, and bolt. He now is twice as gay as before, rides, courses, hunts, shoots,

fishes, drives, drinks, fights, swears, rows, and gam

habiliments, he hops into bed, and snores—somno vinoque gravatus, till about six in the evening, and then gets up more sleepy than ever. He dresses; but having no appetite, eats nothing, drinks a glass of soda-water, and walks to a friend's rooms, where he relates his adventures and excites the risibility of his auditors. He then resolves on a ride, and without togging for the occasion, just puts on his tile and mounts his prad. Determining to be very steady and sober for the future, i. e. for the mext twelve hours, he urges his steed along the Trumpington Road, goes out by the Shelford Common, and returns home between eight and nine. He then feels as if he could eat something, and accordingly he does, by way of supper, and retires to his rooms, with an intention of being quiet, and in order to go early to bed. But lo! he is told by his gyp that the master or dean has sent a message desiring to see him the next morning. Well knowing what this is for, he goeth to bed and cons over in his own mind what to say in extenuation of his irregularities, and he so falleth to sleep. Next day, he calls at the appointed time, when the M. C. with a countenance not to be surpassed in gravity, informs him for the last week he has been very irregular, and requires an account of the circumstances which occasioned the said irregularity. For the gate-bill thus standeth : Monday night, out till three o'clock; Tuesday half past four ; Wednesday, half past two ; Thursday half past three ; Friday half past four ; Saturday—all night. His excuses are that he has been at different parties, where he was detained late, and where he has found the society so agreeable, and the time fly so imperceptibly fast, that morning has broke in upon him ere he imagined it was an hour past midnight. This draws down a very heavy invective against parties altogether, and a still longer and more tedious lecture on the dangerous tendency of such conduct, so directly opposite to the laws and discipline of the University; and a conclusive paragraph containing (amongst other things) a pardon for past offences, but with an assurance that a repetition of similar conduct cannot but meet with a concomitant cheque in proportion to its enomity, in either

rustication or expulsion. Thus dismissed the to presence, he recounts this jobation to his sfieu's, wo enters into a discourse on masters, deans, tutors, und proctors, and votes chapel a bore, and gates a to plete nuisance. But is this all? no. He has resolve! to treat the dons with contempt, and go on most go than ever. Accordingly he cuts chapel, and to forth at night sine cap and gown, with a segas in to mouth. He is determined to have a lark with two a three more, and away they go. While they are pull ing the girls about in the street, up comes the Fo tor: “Pray, sir, may I ask if you are a member the University 1"—“Yes, sir, I am.”—“Your as and college, sir, if you please.” It is given witho the least hesitation. The next morning a bull & calls on Mr. Varmint to deliver a message from t proctor, viz —That he is fined 6s. 8d. for being in" streets without his cap and gown, and that he wo be glad to see him at twelve o'clock that day. M he has to call on the proctor, and in he goes with very surly countenance. The proctor puts on cut his most severe phizzes, and informs him that conduct in the streets last night was most ungeman-like and improper, against every rule o and propriety, and in open opposition to the Acado discipline, and contempt of . and his office. I such conduct deserved much sevcier chassisrthan he was willing to inflict, but that he shout neglecting the duty he owed to his othce and University if he overlocked it. He therefore do him to get three hundred verses of Homer's 1 Book second, by heart, and requests he will v. means leave the University until it is said, a a great deal of opposition, excuses, and protests: he finds himself not a bit better of, for the pa will not mitigate a syllable, and he is obit a stomach the impos. and retire. For the first by two afterwards he makes himself very uneasy this, but he at length resolves not to learn it ever should be the consequence. He thereion out to a party, makes himself very merry, and not a fig about the matter. Next morning be pens, unlucky wig" ' to meet with the dean,

accosts him, “Pray, Mr. Warmint, why have you not been to chapel lately? I have very seriously to complain of your non-attendance. You have not attended for nearly a fortnight, excepting Sundays, and you cannot expect that I, or any man, in the opacity I hold, can oyerlook such gross irregularity. However, you may think what you like, but I am determined to do my duty towards the college, and to see that you attend regularly. But as that has by no means been the case, and as you have so disrespect. fully absented yourself, I really must take notice of it in a severe way. I am very sorry for it, nobody more so, but it is an imperative duty I must fulfil. You will get by heart 500 lines of Virgil, the 7th AEneid, and I expect it will be said with alacrity and prompto le. Good morning, sir.” So here is Mr. Warmint with two impositions in hand which must be very *oa in head: one, if not said, will beget rustication; oad the other, if neglected, will cause the dean to teii bia, to take his maine off the boards of the college. He debates in his own mind as to whether it is better to get then or uot ; but at leugth determines to see Proctors, deans, and in short the whole University at old Nick, rather than look at a word; and “– to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them.” Alas! how soon do mortals change their firmest ud most fixed resolutions! How many circumauces occur to induce them to act contrary to their oves. Mr. Varmint, by drinking too much wine * the last two days, rather prematurely finds himof very much the worse from his la'. Cyprian adentares, and in fact is compelled to send for a surou. In sirort. Varunint is obliged to get an argrotat, waine himself to his rooms, and lie still on the * On his table are draughts, powders, and lo*; the surgeon visits him daily. What is he to o, by "himself on the soft'. His friends are o, him a great deal to drive away melancholy ; but * he has an inninensity of leisure time on his hands. must read; but what? Walter Scott? No, he was novels, and all that kind of trash. Lord Byron 1 jo read him fifty times, and he wants something

new. He thought of eyerything; but at last resolved to spend his time in learning the three hundred lines of Greek, and the five hundred lines of Virgil, for the proctor and Mr. Dean. In the mean time the term divides; and his companions, or the majority of them, leave the University for their o homes. He, of course, wishes to leave likewise; but he is ill, and cannot depart before he is better, which the surgeon does not choose should be the case for some time; and even if he were well, he could not go before the dean signed his “ereat,” which he would not do before the imposition was said; so he is hemmed in on all sides, and has the blue devils, besides a prospect of growing hippish. He, therefore, o: the time he would have passed in pleasure at home, in the shady court of a college, and stuffs himself with Greek and Latin hexameters, and lives entirely on barley-water and medicine, for the space of three weeks. At the end of this time, we will suppose him getting again convalescent, and recovering his wonted spirits. He satisfies the proctor and the dean by saying a part of each impos., and after bitterly cursing the place, leaves it for the country. This is the way that many men spend their three years at the University. But, Mr. Freshman, whoever you ma be, I write this for your especial benefit, and leave it to yourself to copy or avoid such conduct, as you may think proper. After the long vacation, Mr. Varmint comes up again to reside. His sprees of his first year, and their consequences, have gained him experience, and he knows how to manage in a scientific way. To avoid gate-bills, he will be out at night as late as he pleases, and will defy any one to discover his absence; for he will climb over the college walls, and fee his gyp well, when he is out all night. To avoid impositions from the dean, he will attend more regularly at chapel; which, though a great bore, must yet be endured; and to get clear from the clutches of the proctors, he will scud when there is need; and if sollowed, will floor the bull-dogs, and bolt. He now is twice as gay as before, rides, courses, hunts, shoots, fishes, drives, drinks, fights, swears, rows, and gain

bles, more than ever. He dresses still more like an eccentric fancy man, and acts yet more unlike what he ought to do, and thus he passes his terms. But now comes the time when he is to be examined for the Little-go; and about three weeks before the examination he begins to read. He finds himself unequal to the task, without cramming. He in consequence engages a common tutor, and buys all the cram-books published for the occasion. After reading himself ill, he goes in ; and by the greatest luck in the world happens to pass. This puts him in high spirits again, and he gives a large Spread, and gets drunk on the strength of it. He continues to have a private tutor for the remainder of his residence, and reads with him about one day in a term, until the last term in his third year, when he is obliged to read for his degree of Bachelor of Arts. Accustomed to mirth and gaiety, and to all kinds of sporting pursuits, never having opened a single mathematical book since his residence, knowing Euclid only by name, and Algebra still less, if possible; not being a dab at Latin or Greek; in short, never having professed to be a reading man, Mr. Varmint begins to encounter all the difficulties attending on such a career, when near its termination in severe study. He has now recourse to his private tutor, who finds him miserably deficient; and to work they both go, the one cramming, and the other unable to swallow a mouthful. . He falls ill by reading hard, being so unused to it, and gives it up-for a week, then sets to again, and so goes on till the day of examination, when he may perhaps muster up resolution enough to go into the Senate-house. If he does go in, and is well enough crammed, he gets a station amongst the apostles; if not, he may perchance be plucked. But if he does not think he !. be able to go through, he reads on a little longer, and goes out at a by-term. This is his career at college; what it may be in after-life, is quite another affair. When he has got his degree in either of these wavs, with the rest of his companions, he sits down with all of them, about forty or fifty, to a most glorious spread, ordered from the college cook, to be served up in the most swell style possible. They are about two hours

and a haif at dinner; and afterwards set to, and get most awfully drunk, each man having floored upwards of three bottles of port, independent of champigne and madeira at dinner, or bulgundy and claret. Thes they conclude the last feast they shall ever have together at college, and another fortnight sees then all, perhaps, waited far from the University, some of them for ever. “Farewell to the towers' farewell to the bowers' Where the sage wizard Art all his charms hath display'd ; And sweet science cowers, amongst blooming flowest. In gay robes of glory majestic array'd. Farewell, banks of Camus : ye fair scenes of blisses, The Muse, Loves', and Graces' invincible seat." Your silver soft stream, like the tide of lilyssus, Aye, fresher than airs of Hygeia's retreat.

Ye cloisters low bending, and proudly extending,
To cherish young Genius and Taste in your gloon;
The spirit befriending, as softly descending,
It mounts in pure incense to Heav'n's vaulted door.
From you I must sever; then farewell for ever
Each heart-honour'd object that swell my las:
theme ;
The world is a field I must enter, but never
Can ought charm my soul like your shade.Acadeo'

This is one way of proceeding to the degree & B. A. The “reading man” goes to work in quite another style. He attends lectures regularly, never misses chapel, dines nearly always in hall, take moderate exercise, is rarely out of college after the gates are shut, reads twelve hours a day, strives hard to get prizes and medals, always obtains a schoirship, seldom gets “a little the worse for liquor." gives no swell parties, runs very iittle into debt, uses his cup of bitch at night, and goes quietly to bell, ast thus, he passes his time in a way a Warmiut ras would despise. These are the men who run of wux all the prizes and obtain wranglers' degrees, who reinade fellows and tutors, and who become eventual y the principal men in the University. But these =

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most brilliant talent, or greatest genius. But they use the steady men, who owe all their knowledge to hard reading, and desperate perseverance in study. Of course there are many—very many exceptions; but what I state is for the most part the case. I conclude this account by stating, that many things in it are extenuated, but “nought set down in malice;” and the observant student of a twelvemonth's stand. ing in the University, if his acquaintance is at all extensive, will find the truth of my assertions. The Miser's DEATH-Bed. An old gentleman was on his death-bed. The whole family, and Dick among the number, gathered around him. “I leave my second son, Andrew,” said the expiring miser, “my whole estate, and desire him to be frugal.” Andrew, in a sorrowful tone, as is usual on these occasions, prayed heaven to prolong his life and health to enjoy it himself. “I recommend Simon, my third son, to the care of his elder brother, and leave him beside four thousand pounds.” “Ah, father,” cried Simon, (in great affliction to be ture, “may heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself.” At last, turning to poor Dick, “As for you, you have always been a sad dog ; you'll never come to good; you'll never be rich ; I'll leave you a whog to buy a halter.” “Ah, father,” cried Dick, *ithout any emotion, “may heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself.” Go Lids MIT ii. 1.x1.htclish: roit You NG LOGICiANs. No cat has two tails, A cat has one tail more than no cat, Ergo. A cat has three tails. to east on a cast An who was pluck'd ron oft in erts. Nod cut off his queue, and was powder'd with care, Yet sadly mistaken was Ned, For tho' he had taken such pains with his hair, The bishop found fault with his head. a -REAT took a art eat EV1 i. The late Duke of Cumberland, when Gibbon tri

*Plantly presented the last volume of his Roman

Empire to his Royal Highness, exclaimed, to the no small mortification of the historian, “What another d—d big book, Mr. Gibbon they "

k Now in G. A. M.A.N. To know, is a word which is very liable to misconstruction. “Do you know such a one o’’ i. e. Are you upon terms of great intimacy t—and, Do you wish to acknowledge him as your friend ? Though a buck and a quiz, or raff, were to dine together at the same table every day—to meet together, continually, at wine parties—nay, keep together in the same staircase;—yet, if the former were asked, -Whether he knew either of the latter he would answer with all imaginable coolness and composure, in the negative', “There is such a man, but I don't know him.”

A Dvice to A Poop. GENT LeM.A.N. To ward off the gripe of poverty, you must pretend to be a stranger to her, and she will at least use you with ceremony. If you be caught dining upon a halfpenny porringer of peas soup and potatoes, praise the wholesomeness of your frugal repast. You . observe, that Dr. Cheyne has prescribed pease-broth for the gravel; hint that you are not one of those who are always making a deity of your belly. If, again, you are obliged to wear a flimsy stuff in the midst of winter, be the first to remark, that stuffs are very much worn at Paris; or, if there be found some irreparable defects in any part of your equipage, which cannot be concealed by all the arts of sitting crosslegged, coaxing, or darning, say, that neither you nor Sampson Gideon were ever very fond of dress. If you be a philosopher, hint that Plato’ or Seneca are the tailors you choose to employ ; assure the company that man ought to be content with a bare covering, since what now is so much his pride, was formerly his shame. In short, however caught, never give out; but ascribe to the frugality of your disposition what others might be apt to attribute to the narrowness of your circumstances. To be poor, and to seem poor, is a certain method never to rise: pride in the great is hateful. in the wise, it is ridiculous; but beggarly pride is a rational vanity, which I have been taught to applaud and excuse. GOLDSMITH,

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