all the graduates, quakers excepted, who swear not at all on this or any other occasion, but affirm as stoutly, and upon occasion as obstinately, as any body. And now took place the pompous entry of the University mace, carried gallantly on by Mr. Wilson (mind, not Mr. Wilson the Professor of Moral Philosophy, but the very ingenious janitor,) before the dignitaries of that ancient and learned institutionthe graduates all rising respectfully at their entrance.. Before we again became seated, a Latin prayer was offered up by the very reverend the Principal, whose peculiarly impressive manner on public occasions is well known. The silent crowd, the gloomy furniture of the library, the long file of solemn robes, the grave portraits of doctors of the olden time, the busts of those of later years, the piled up wisdom of ages by which we were surrounded; the decorous carriage of the professors, with their dignified Principal standing in the midst of them and of the graduates; the "dim religious light" shed through the narrow and antique windows; the importance of the occasion-seemed well fitted to moderate our very natural feelings of joy, and to check any exuberant and thoughtless levity. Without affectation I may say, I was "shrouded in thoughts" of the most imposing description, and was never in my life more thankful that I had no light unballasted chattering friend near me to dispel the pleasing and illusive melancholy of my reflections.

I could not help contrasting the high hope depicted in the countenances of the graduates, with the calm and settled dignity of those of their preceptors :-the first had the world all before them, drawn and coloured by their fancy, and pictured full of success, of honours, and rewards; the last had seen and known the world; had passed through those years of experience which rob us of our brightest aspirations; and they looked back on the scenes of that same world of which the colours could no longer boast of the "hues of heaven," but were softened in the perspective of years, or injured by accidental calamities; and they felt, perhaps, the vanity and emptiness of all. I could not help fancying that the former part of my life was about to be marked off as something scarcely more to be thought of, or shut out forever, as by the gate of a Happy Valley, and that a course entirely new was about to be opened to me, in which, if every thing were not to be better, every thing was at least to be different-not only a new denomination, (though, no doubt, that was something)-but new duties to be performed, new projects to be pursued, new hopes to be indulged. Nothing could be more foolish than this. It is humiliating to find one's self looking forward with anxiety to a life too short for us to gain or lose any thing in it worth a struggle or a care, and flattering ourselves concerning that part of existence which is yet before us-years which we know can only lead us, at the best, through a path of hopes and disappointments, griefs, anxieties, troubled honours, and unquiet wealth, -to retirement, old age, and death. If there were no hopes beyond the grave, I am at a loss to conceive what inducement could be powerful enough to make us contemplate acting and suffering through such a sure succession of scenes so hollow and so unsatisfactory!

The next part of the ceremonies of the day was the delivery of a Latin oration, setting forth the merits, the toils, the perils past, of those now presenting themselves for a degree. This task fell to the

Professor of Chemistry, and was performed not without considerable elegance. Those who have heard the prelections of Dr. Hope, will understand that the oration lost nothing in the delivery. I made no secret of deploring the neglect-I may almost say the contempt, of classical learning in the Edinburgh university (though I hope the author of the Hora Subseciva will cause these things to be a little more looked to); but I willingly, and indeed very gladly acknowledge, that this composition was sufficiently creditable to it; and nobody could say with truth that it was a word too short-least of all those who were going away that very day by the Carlisle mail, or those who were to sail for London in the afternoon :-of these last there were seventeen; and their number, nature, and high spirits, it is said, deterred any female passenger from sailing in the vessel.

All things, however, "which have a limit," as the learned imitator of Dr. Johnson very profoundly remarks, must be brought to a conclusion." The oration ended; we separately walked up, as our names were called, to the library-table, to sign the usual oath or engagement. This part of the ceremony is a very popular one; and to say the truth, it was no small amusement to see the different air and carriage of different men, as they marched up to the table in alphabetical order. Some went sheepishly, and some boldly; some calmly and some hurriedly; some were silly enough to look as if the exaltation and the display, and even the gown they had on, were above their merits; some who had passed the heyday of life, and some who had absolutely dimmed themselves with study, marched quietly and coolly, as if to something they well and truly deserved. Some allowed their gowns to hang down from their shoulders so low as to give at a distance the appearance of a petticoat, looking as if their prudent friends had endeavoured to detain them, or (as a wicked wag from Huntingdonshire remarked behind me) as if they had been rehearsing the celebrated part of Joseph: others, but not without desperate struggles, kept their gowns on. There were tall men with gowns above their knees, looking as if they were about to "tread a measure," or act a part in a Spanish farce; and there were short men, holding their heads and chins very high, whilst their disproportioned gowns (borrowed from the tallest of tall barristers) swept the library-floor. Then some had powdered and pomatumed gowns on; and some figured in those which age and many a dull speech had rendered brown; and many a man had a tattered and torn one. Some of these walked gravely and demurely, as young priests in a procession-some trippingly, as men in a masque. Some, the most amusing, of all, had a kind of consequential swagger, and made all kinds of comical faces, intended to express dignity. Some were of so astringent an aspect, that they seemed like men walking to their own execution; or, as a Limerick student observed, to their own funeral and I now and then detected an old army surgeon wrapping his gown round him like a military cloak. It was some time before we got to the end of the alphabet. The last name called was Winter; and a pale student, whom I had often remarked, answered to it. As he left his seat, he agreeably enough observed

"Pale Winter comes at last, and shuts the scene. 99 VOL. V. No. 27.-1823.

33

Which being done, the Principal rose from his seat, and desiring the candidates to do the same, conferred upon us, with great form, and amidst palpitations audible all round without the aid of the stethoscope, the title and privileges of DOCTORS OF PHYSIC, with full leave to practise it, and, if we chose, to teach it, ubique gentium-all over the world: -amplissimam potestatem Medicinam ubique gentium legendi, "docendi, faciendi"-" aliaque omnia privilegia, immunitates, jura, (6 quæ hic aut usquam alibi ad doctoratûs apicem evectis' concedi "solent." Then, leaving his station at the head of the room, he proceeded down each delighted rank to place on our honoured heads the cap. This cap, independent of its peculiar property of fitting every head, no matter what organs there may be within or without, is intrinsically a remarkable one :-some say, indeed, I know not by what tradition supported, that it actually belonged to Geordie Buchanan :be that as it may, it deserves particular notice, and, if I knew how, I should very much like to describe it. It is a cap sui generis-not a high cap, nor yet a square cap; not three-cornered, not tasseled, not mobbed, not long-eared; not like a forage-cap, not like a night-cap, not in the smallest degree resembling the cap of the Lancers-least of all is it a fool's cap. But let others "describe the indescribable”— whatever it is, it was the Cap of Liberty to us, and with the magic of its momentary touch it made us -what we are.

Here again was an opportunity of observing the diversities of men's minds and characters; for as the Very Reverend the Principal came round to place the cap on our heads, some bent submissively and reverently forward as to a confirming bishop; others rolled their eyes upwards with an expression absolutely untranslatable into any language of which I am master: some grinned facetiously, not at all, in my opinion, to their credit-such doctors would grin at death itself: some looked uncommonly and unnecessarily grim; and others looked most abominably frightened. As for myself, I cannot say how I looked; but I remember that I felt most prodigiously grave.

The concluding part of all the ceremonies (which, however the levity and want of dignity in some of the subordinate actors might mar and disfigure them, are in their nature solemn and affecting,) was this:the Principal and Professors, leaving their majestic chairs, formerly mentioned, came round to shake hands with each of us, to congratulate us, and to bid us farewell. I should think very contemptibly of that student who felt nothing on bidding adieu to men whose exertions for his advancement in knowledge had been so steadily exerted, and whose assistance in his arduous attempts

-"to climb

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar," was always cheerfully afforded when it was modestly asked for :-as regards the Principal, our gratitude for his recent honours conferred upon us had not of course yet had time to cool; but, if there had been o gratitude in the case, his paternal smile, and the absence of all that was magisterial in our preceptors, was very exhilarating, or, as the orators of the North say, "a very refreshing thing." I feel averse to quitting this remembrance, and could dwell with pleasure on the individual expressions of kindness uttered :-this, however, I shall abstain

from; but every man who witnessed what I describe will remain as long as he lives impressed with the benevolence, I could almost say the affection, evinced in the look and manner of good old Andrew Duncan, the venerable Professor of the Theory of Physic, one of those delightful old men who have neither been corrupted nor rendered callous by long and active intercourse with mankind :-respect might restrain the expression of it, but there was not a heart which was not ready to say God bless him!

Some, too, there were, and I hope they may be forgiven for it, who looked back with sadness and regret on the time when the noble form of the late Professor of the Practice of Physic graced the company of his colleagues; and sorrowed inwardly, even at that moment, over the extinction of that mighty mind, which, for nearly half a century, gave a tone to physic and physicians, in which intelligence, penetration, decision, manly independence, and the absence of trick, quackery, and pretension, were ever conspicuous-but, alas! we had but a few months before followed the illustrious GREGORY, in mournful procession, to his grave!

Last of all, the graduates all shook hands with one another, and even the coldest threw "so much of heart" into the deed, that I began to think we were making a rapid progress towards ultimate perfectibility.

Having shaken hands, then, once more, we depart,-some east, some west, some south, some (very few, however) north. We bid adieu, for ever, to faces which have become familiar to us, though we hardly know the owners of them: we take an eternal leave of our preceptors, and in that moment we feel nothing but respect and gratitude :—more than all, we bid a sad farewell to friends and fellow-students, most of whom, in this world at least, we shall never meet again. The pleasing anxious days of preparatory study, the brightest, perhaps the wisest, of our lives, are gone, never to return: other anxieties less noble, more oppressive, receive us. We betake ourselves to our respective posts, which are seldom to be deserted, even for a day we are to become the local beings we have perhaps despised, with local attachments, local prejudices, local vanities: we are to form parts of circles of which the other parts are yet wholly unknown to us, and are to be loved or hated, admired or disliked, sought for or neglected, by those whom we have never yet seen or heard of; and all this often on the slightest grounds, and owing to the merest accidents.

Farewell, then, to the College, and farewell to teachers and students! Farewell careless and romantic days; dreams of high enterprise; days of grinding; nights of glorious reveries;-farewell. The narrow limits of academic ambition are no more. The freedom of youth is fled for ever. The business of an anxious world, and "graver follies, but as empty quite," await us!

C.

THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

COME near !-ere yet the dust

Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now,
In still and solemn trust!

Come near! once more let kindred lips be press'd
On his cold cheek, then bear him to his rest.

Look yet on this young face!

What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone,
Leave of its image, e'en where most it shone,
Gladdening its hearth and race?

-Dim grows the semblance, on man's thought impress'd ;
Come near! and bear the beautiful to rest!

Ye weep, and it is well!

For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday
Song was upon the lips of this pale clay,
And sunshine seemed to dwell

Where'er he moved-the welcome and the bless'd!-
-Now gaze! and bear the silent to his rest.

Look yet on him, whose eye

Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth!
Was he not fair amongst the sons of earth,
The beings born to die?

But not where Death has power, may Love be bless'd!
-Come near! and bear ye the beloved to rest.

How may the mother's heart

Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again?
The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain,
The lovely must depart!

Is he not gone, our brightest and our best?
-Come near! and bear the early-call'd to rest!

Look on him! is he laid

To slumber from the harvest or the chase?
-Too still and sad the smile upon his face,
Yet that, e'en that, must fade!

Death will not hold unchanged his fairest guest :
Come near! and bear the mortal to his rest!

His voice of mirth hath ceased

Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place
For him whose dust receives your last embrace,
At the gay bridal feast!

Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast;
Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest.

Yet mourn ye not as they

Whose spirit's light is quench'd !-For him the past
Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast

His birthright's hope away!

All is not here of our beloved and bless'd!
-Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest.

These lines were suggested by a part of the Greek funeral service, which summons relatives and friends to bid their last adieu. During, and after the recitation of this service, they kiss the cheeks and forehead of the deceased, who is laid in an open coffin. See Christian Researches in the Mediterranean.