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"Time's hand, and the pestilence-rage,

"No hue, no complexion can brave; "For Beauty must yield to old age, "But I will not yield to the grave.”

The history of Mr. Wolfe's college life is too deficient in incidents of general interest to dwell minutely upon it. He never took any share in concerns of a public nature; but, on the contrary, endeavoured to shun all occasions of notoriety. This portion of his life, accordingly, supplies but little other materials for his memoir than a short account of his studies, and of his few desultory poetical efforts. Before we enter upon the more important part of his life, or attempt to exhibit his character in its more serious aspect, it may be well to collect together, in this part of the volume, the principal compositions by which he distinguished himself amongst his fellow-students, and gave so fair a promise of future celebrity. Two of those which obtained medals in the Historical Society shall be given here at full length, and such parts of his speech on opening

the sessions as the editor has been able to collect with accuracy from the mutilated fragments of the manuscript.

The prose composition which follows will be principally interesting to those who are conversant with the usual course of academic studies. It seems unnecessary to add any explanatory notes for such readers; and perhaps no helps of this kind, that would not be absolutely tedious, could materially heighten the interest to others.

Its general design and manner may possibly remind some readers of a beautiful paper by Addison, in the Tatler, called, “The Vision "of the Hill of Fame." I do not know that the author was acquainted with it; but even though it may possibly have suggested the outline of the plan to his mind, it will be found that the imagery and descriptive parts are perfectly original. In two or three instances, the same characters which are introduced in this vision appear in that of Addison; but it will probably be allowed that the peculiar genius and character of each is more distinctly and fully brought to light in this little work of fancy, and that, on the whole, it need scarcely

shrink from a comparison with the beautiful paper above mentioned.

THE COLLEGE COURSE.

At the close of that eventful day-to me the period of a new existence, and the date to which I yet refer many a pleasure and many a pain-on which I became the adopted son of the university, I lay for a long time pensive and sleepless, pondering on the state into which I had entered, and anxious to ascertain what treatment I was to expect from my second mother; till at length, though not naturally superstitious, I took my gown, as yet perfect and untorn, and folding it up with a sort of sacred awe, (not totally devoid of pride at my new dignity,) I placed it on the bed, and, blessing the omen, reclined my head upon this academic pillow. You smile, no doubt, at the account-I have often smiled at the recollection of it myself--and yet the charm was successful; for scarcely had I closed my eyes, before it raised a vision which I shall never forget, and upon the remembrance of which,

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whether in the midst of occupation or the midst of sorrows, I have often lingered with fondness.

I fancied myself in front of those awful portals, from which I had that day, for the first time, emerged. They opened spontaneously; and I beheld a monster of a most extraordinary appearance seated in the entrance. He had three heads; and a poet would have called him Cerberus; but I, to whom nature never gave a simile, discovered his name to be Syllogism. Two of the heads grew from the same neck; one larger than the other. The third grew from the other two, and always leaned to the weaker side. It seemed not to have any thing original; but catching at the words which fell at one time from the greater head, and at the other from the smaller, it formed a ludicrous combination from both. They all talked with a sort of harsh and systematic volubility; and yet I was surprised to find that their whole grammar consisted of one verb, one case, and one rule in syntax. At this moment, an old man advanced, of a most venerable and commanding appearance; and Syllogism shrunk at his approach. Instantly I felt as if my mind was

unfolding itself, and that the recesses of my heart, and the springs of my feelings, were thrown open to his view. His visage was emaciated with cares, but they were not the cares of the world; his cheeks were pale with watching, but they were not the vigils of avarice. He turned to me with a look of encouragement, and unfolded to my eyes a map the most magnificent I had ever beheld-it was a map of the intellect. There I saw a thousand rivers, and thousands and ten thousands of rills and rivulets branching from them; yet all these he traced to two grand sources; and the mountains whence those sources issued, he told me, reached to heaven: and for that very reason, clouds and impenetrable darkness enveloped them. He then pursued them through all their windings,-pausing, at times, to shew the delightful verdure of their bankstheir mild and equable flow-and often pointing to the dreary desert occasioned by their absence, and the frightful precipice by their torrents. At length he traced them to the one grand ocean--the ocean of knowledge. On this were innumerable straits and quicksands: and he shewed me the waters of probability, and