The villages are, in general, insufferably dirty. Oftentimes, the only road, through the closely crammed hovels, serves at once, by a happy economy, as a passage for the inhabitants, and a channel for a brook. If there be a pond, or puddle, in the neighbourhood of a village, the children are sure to be paddling in it. This custom is, however, by no means, confined to the rustick urchins. I see almost every day, the future burghers of Göttingen washing themselves in the gutter, wading in it, and spattering each other with the water. It appears to be something innate; they take to the gutter as naturally as the ducks.

One walk through the market, where the peasant women sit, with their baskets full of the various articles, destined to be eaten and drunk, would furnish many particulars, which we should be glad to forget. Even, as to ordinary neatness of dress and person, I cannot easily credit all I have heard, nor could you all I have seen. But these, are no very inviting topicks, and I know I shall be pardoned for not entering into further details.

Something, much more agreeable, is the universal taste for musick. Instrumental musick, in particular, is carried to very high perfection. Piano-fortes, and organs, are to be found even in the houses of common mechanicks, who can hardly command the comforts of life. Nor do females alone perform on them. One of my first acquaintances, was a theological professor, who has a fine instrument in his study. They are also in the rooms of many students. The German military bands, are the finest in Europe. Since the occupation of Naples by the Austrians, one of the most favourite amusements of these light-hearted people, has been, going to hear a choice band of Bohemians, attached to the garrison, who play every Thursday evening.

Some may doubt, whether it be a cause or a consequence of this taste, that in every village school, the two grand requisites in a teacher, are, that he be able to instruct in reading and psalm-singing. So, every body knows how to sing. The students often make the streets ring with their boisterous musick. Even the children, intermix regular songs with their holiday sports; and, I have often been pleased, with listening to a joyous concert, from a party of mechanicks, going home from their day's work, in the city, to some of the neighbouring villages.

It is a custom in some parts of the country, at the festivals of Michaelmas and Easter, for the instructer, followed by his

scholars, dressed in their neatest clothing, to go from house to house, and sing some piece of musick before each, in the publick street. The occupants of the house are of course expected to put something into the box of the party. In the little city of Chemnitz, not far from Dresden, I have heard some very pleasing musick from such a choir. The boys were of various ages, and in addition to the charm of their clear youthful voices, gave proof of having been well instructed. There is something remarkable in this national coincidence of taste.

LESSON LXXII.

Mozart's Requiem.-U. S. LITERARY GAZETTE.

THE tongue of the vigilant clock tolled one,
In a deep and hollow tone;
The shrouded moon looked out upon

A cold, dank region, more cheerless and dun,
By her lurid light that shone.

Mozart now rose from a restless bed,
And his heart was sick with care;
Though long had he wooingly sought to wed
Sweet Sleep, 't was in vain, for the coy maid fled,
Though he followed her every where.

He knelt to the God of his worship then,
And breathed a fervent prayer;

'T was balm to his soul, and he rose again
With a strengthened spirit, but started; when
He marked a stranger there!

He was tall, this stranger, who gazed on him,
Wrapped high in a sable shroud;

His cheek was pale, and his eye was dim,
And the melodist trembled in every limb,
The while his heart beat loud.

"Mozart-there is one, whose errand I bear,
"Who cannot be known to thee;

"He grieves for a friend, and would have thee prepare

"A Requiem, blending a mournful air "With the sweetest melody!"

"I'll furnish the Requiem then," he cried,
"When this moon has waned away!"
The stranger bowed, yet no word replied,
But fled like the shade on a mountain's side,
When the sunlight hides its ray.

Mozart grew pale when the vision fled,
And his heart beat high with fear;

He knew 't was a messenger sent from the dead,
To warn him, that soon he must make his bed
In the dark, chill sepulchre.

He knew that the days of his life were told,
And his breast grew faint within ;

The blood through his bosom crept slowly and cold,
And his lamp of life could barely hold

The flame, that was flickering.

Yet he went to his task with a cheerful zeal,
While his days and nights were one;

He spoke not, he moved not, but only to kneel
With the holy prayer-"Oh God! I feel,

'Tis best thy will be done!"

He gazed on his loved one, who cherished him well,
And weepingly hung o'er him:

"This musick will chime with my funeral knell,
"And my spirit shall float, at the passing bell,
"On the notes of this Requiem!"

The cold moon waned-on that cheerless day,
The stranger appeared once more;
Mozart had finished his Requiem lay,
But e'er the last notes had died away,
His spirit had gone before !

LESSON LXXIII.

Description of the general appearance of England.—A. H.
EVERETT.

BUT whatever may be the extent of the distress in England, or the difficulty of finding any remedies for it, which shall be at once practicable and sufficient, it is certain, that the symptoms of decline have not yet displayed themselves on the surface; and no country in Europe, at the present day, probably none that ever flourished at any preceding period of ancient, or of modern times, exhibited so strongly the outward marks of general industry, wealth, and prosperity. The misery that exists, whatever it may be, retires from publick view; and the traveller sees no traces of it except in the beggars, that are not more numerous than they are on the continent, in the courts of justice, and in the newspapers. On the contrary, the impressions he receives from the objects that meet his view, are almost uniformly agreeable.

He is pleased with the great attention paid to his personal accommodation, as a traveller, with the excellent roads, and the convenience of the publick carriages and inns. The country every where, exhibits the appearance of high cultivation, or else of wild and picturesque beauty; and even the unimproved lands are disposed with taste and skill, so as to embellish the landscape very highly, if they do not contribute, as they might, to the substantial comfort of the people. From every eminence, extensive parks, and grounds, spreading far and wide over hill and vale, interspersed with dark woods, and variegated with bright waters, unroll themselves before the eye, like enchanted gardens. And while the elegant constructions of the modern proprietors fill the mind with images of ease and luxury, the mouldering ruins, that remain from former ages, of the castles and churches of their feudal ancestors, increase the interest of the picture by contrast, and associate with it poetical and affecting recollections of other times and manners.

Some

Every village seems to be the chosen residence of industry, and her handmaids, neatness and comfort; and in the various parts of the island, her operations present themselves under the most amusing and agreeable variety of forms. times her votaries are mounting to the skies, in manufactories of innumerable stories in height, and sometimes diving in mines, into the bowels of the earth, or dragging up

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At one time,

drowned treasures from the bottom of the sea. the ornamented grounds of a wealthy proprietor seem to realize the fabled Elysium; and again, as you pass in the evening, through some village, engaged in the iron manufactory, where a thousand forges are feeding at once their dark red fires, and clouding the air with their volumes of smoke, you might think yourself for a moment, a little too near some drearier residence.

The aspect of the cities is as various, as that of the country. Oxford, in the silent, solemn grandeur of its numerous collegiate palaces, with their massy stone walls and vast interiour quadrangles, seems like the deserted capital of some departed race of giants. This is the splendid sepulchre, where science, like the Roman Tarpeia, lies buried under the weight of gold, that rewarded her ancient services, and where copious libations of the richest port and Madeira are daily poured out to her memory. At Liverpool, on the contrary, all is bustle, brick, and business. Every thing breathes of modern times; every body is occupied with the concerns of the present moment, excepting one excellent scholar, who unites a singular resemblance to the Roman face and dignified person of our Washington, with the magnificent spirit and intellectual accomplishments of his own Italian hero.

At every change in the landscape, you fall upon the monuments of some new race of men, among the number, that have in their turn, inhabited these islands. The mysterious monument of Stonehenge, standing remote and alone, upon a bare and boundless heath, as much unconnected with the events of past ages, as it is with the uses of the present, carries you back beyond all historical records, into the obscurity of a wholly unknown period. Perhaps the Druids raised it; but by what machinery could these half barbarians have wrought and moved such immense masses of rock? By what fatality is it, that in every part of the globe, the most durable impressions, that have been made upon its surface, were the work of races now entirely extinct? Who were the builders of the pyramids, and the massy monuments of Egypt and India? Who constructed the Cyclopean walks of Italy and Greece, or elevated the innumerable and inexplicable mounds, which are seen in every part of Europe, Asia, and America; or the ancient forts upon the Ohio, on whose ruins the third growth of trees is now more than four hundred years old? All these constructions have existed, through the whole period within the memory of man; and will continue when