I could give thee, gentle reader, many more such tit-bits as these, but there may be too much of a good thing. As a last bon-bouche, however, I must tempt thee with this piece of harmonious simplicity, which, although the compass of it is but a semitone, yet, when played full-handed, is the most delicious treat of all.

If these harmonies should have the effect of disposing one single family to chant, like David, the praises of their Maker, reminding them of the "Choirs above," I shall feel I have, in this unpsalm-singing age, deserved something of my country. At all hazards, let us not shun the pleasant things around us because they savour of holiness. Let us rather be even with Rowland Hill (who won't allow the wicked ones a monopoly in music), and filch from the saints. Delectable as is the devilry of Der Freischutz, Don Giovanni, and the like (they say his most musical Majesty's in ecstacies with Von Weber), there are many other pieces, which although more celestial are not less divine.

The chanting being ended, in due course of time, the organ struck up the prelude to "Comfort ye, my people," and another treat I was prepared for. But although the gifted fingers of Dr. Clarke (now Professor Whitfield) did all the sublimity of Handel, there was wanting a Braham to tune us to the inspirations of the prophet. From such associations of ideas, unreasonable as they were, perhaps, I never much minded the anthems. There was a boy, indeed, amongst the choristers, who in a solo part in the Creation, about once a

month, by particular desire, used to warble very sweetly; but then, as in the notes of the nightingale, there was wanting that fire and expression which alone can charm the intellectual ear. It was "vox, et præterea nihil."

This ceremony being over, away goes your humble servant, escorted by the tutor's gyp, to purchase, not for the ready (put on a cap and gown and you can have tick for a thousand), all the implements of housekeeping. Crockery-ware in abundance (not forgetting a very necessary item, which the good lady of the shop delicately reminded me of), tea-kettles, coal-scuttles, &c. &c. were no sooner ordered than sent to my lodgings (there was not room in college), in King-street, opposite Jesus. I followed, and, having "bitched" (that is taken a dish of tea), arranged my books and boxes, as well as my implements of huswifry, taken a comfortable supper, and a good-night of mine hostess, first sought the balmy slumbers of a gownsman.

Sweet are the slumbers, indeed, of a Freshman, who, just escaped the trammels of "home, sweet home," and the pedagogue's tyrannical birch, for the first time in his life, with the academical gown, assumes the toga virilis, and feels himself a Man