survived every other spurious stage version of Shakespeare, and during a period of one hundred and seventy-two years has all but excluded the original from the theatre; no small testimony to its value, however much it may and does fall beneath the original as a closet play. It is the Richard that Garrick and Kean electrified the town in, and that every actor, either great or small, with few exceptions, plays by preference. He was not so fortunate in another Shakespearian adaptation, that of 'King John,' produced under the title of 'Papal Tyranny,' which raised a storm of well-deserved censure against him, for it was a barbarous mutilation of the great original. It did good service indirectly, however, as it led Rich to revive the real play at the opposition house. His character, with all its vanities, coxcombries, and faults, was neither that of a fool nor a bad man; and the society into which he was admitted is a sufficient proof that it was not of that contemptible nature which his enemies have represented. A dull earl once expressed his astonishment to the Duke of Buckingham that he should associate with Cibber, the latter being only an actor. "He is good enough for me," was the reply, "but I can very well believe that he would not suit you." He was the only actor who was ever admitted as a member of White's, where he was received with delight by such men as the Duke of Devonshire and the Earl of Chesterfield, in whose society he mixed on terms of the closest intimacy. A friendly writer describes him "as one of the most agreeable, cheerful, and besthumoured men you would ever wish to converse with." Of his morale I cannot speak so favourably, so I will conclude with an anecdote from Davies: "So well did Cibber, though a professed libertine through life, understand the dignity of virtue, that no comic author has drawn more delightful and striking pictures of it. Mrs. Porter, upon reading a part in which Cibber had drawn virtue in the strongest and most lively colours, asked him how it came to pass that a man who could draw such admirable portraits of goodness should yet live as if he were a stranger to it. Madam," said Colley, "the one is absolutely necessary, the other is not." 66 [51] Emilia. I. FAIRY tocque and fancy feather, Berenice's locks divine; They were not, though constellated, II. And the sweet thing perched above-it See the faultless gem, and love it- III. Jupe de cerise, robe dark velvet, Point d'Alençon wreathed around, Boots to fit a fairy elf-it Seems they scarcely touch the ground! Parasol and gloves bright yellow, Never steeped in earthly dye, In their saffron radiance mellow E'en Aurora's robe outvie! IV. Who has pencilled those dark lashes? To subdue the under flashes That would burn thy lover's heart? 'Neath the duchesse tie thou'rt wearing Sweet forget-me-nots I see; May they whilst thy love they're sharing Mind thee, lady fair, of me! German Students at the Beginning of this Century. WITH the earliest dawn of the twenty-first day of April, A.D. 1806, a carriage rattled and jolted over the uneven pavement into the town of Halle. Its occupants were three young men, who had come to enter themselves as students in the famous university there. The three young men were friends whom circumstances had thrown together, and whose antecedents had differed widely. One was a Rhinelander by birth, educated partly in Hamburg, partly in Berlin, and bearing the old Westphalian name of Varnhagen von Ense. The second was a certain Wilhelm Neumann, originally intended for a business man, and trained in the counting-house of a Berlin merchant. The third was the son of a Jewish trader in Göttingen. All three were filled with an enthusiastic desire for learning. About the last named of the trio-whose fame is known to most European readers-the following curious particulars are related in the posthumous memoirs of his old fellow-student Varnhagen: He was called David Mendel (although that is not the name by which he became known to the world), was of pure Hebrew race, and had left his native place, Göttingen, to study at the Hamburg Gymnasium, with a view of preparing himself for the University. His exterior was utterly neglected. Whether or not his hair were in decent order, his linen clean, and his hands washed, troubled him not a jot. His books and papers were soiled and tattered. Ink stained his fingers, which were accustomed to touch sand or oil, the snuff of a candle, or a sheet of letter-paper, with impartial carelessness. The condition of his clothes he ignored; wore his hat bent up into any shape that destiny ordained, and took no heed of rents and holes. Eating and drinking were for him literally a mere prosaic bodily necessity, which he satisfied with whatsoever food came first to hand. He was, withal, excessively shortsighted, awkward with all his limbs even to helplessness, shy and hesitating in his speech! His whole existence was concentrated upon study. He had a fluent knowledge of the ancient languages, and studied Plato almost continually, especially the 'Republic.' He was a passionate admirer of the Greeks, their polity, religious ideas, and social life. The French revolution, too, awakened his enthusiasm, and he declared himself to be a warm partisan of the Girondists. He utterly despised Christianity, as a religion of humility and servility, which defects he also considered to abound in the Psalms. In vain his master, Gurlitt (an able and worthy pedagogue, to whose teaching our trio of young students was greatly indebted), endeavoured to point out to him the grandeur and elevation of the Psalms, and compared them, in this respect, to the 'Pindaric Odes.' All would not do. In time David Mendel added the Pythagorean philosophers to his idols; later, one or two of the moderns, notably Spinoza and Fichte. "Never, perhaps," says Varnhagen, "was so great speculative tendency combined with so little speculative talent! For, as the sequel showed, this latter was entirely lacking." Mendel's was a sort of spiritual thirst, which, like a bodily craving, could content itself with almost any stuff, provided the draught were highly spiced and intoxicating. This eccentric young Hebrew scholar had a patron, at whose expense he had been sent to the Hamburg Gymnasium, and was to go to the University. But for this latter purpose the said patron, a surgeon of Hanover, named Stieglitz, insisted on his protégé's becoming a Christian! There was nothing for it but to comply. Much against his inclination, David Mendel consented to be baptised. Before undergoing the rite, Neumann lent him a work upon baptism, by the mystic Jacob Böhm; and in this work for the first time this singular convert beheld Christianity treated from a high spiritual point of view, and felt himself attracted towards it. Neumann, Varnhagen, and the schoolmaster Gurlitt, were the only witnesses of the ceremony. The preacher Bossau, who had given the necessary instruction to the neophyte, performed the rite, and David Mendel was admitted into the Christian community under the name of Johann August Wilhelm Neander! Yes; this eccentric Jew boy was destined to write the history of the Church, and to become a famous theologian. This was he, who, when he was the theologian in vogue at Berlin, received the sobriquet of the pectoral philosopher, because he maintained that your theology must come from the heart! The way in which he first directed his attention to theological studies was similar to that in which he accepted Christianity. He had at first intended to study law at the University of Göttingen, but when Varnhagen and Neumann resolved to go to Halle, Mendelor Neander, as we must henceforth call him-petitioned his patron, Stieglitz, to allow him to accompany his friends. The petition was granted, but on the condition that with the change of university should come a change of faculty. "Göttingen for law; but if you go to Halle you must take up theology." And to this also the convert submitted. Varnhagen observes that however much in later life the essential qualities of Neander's character and the whole bent of his mind appeared to tend naturally towards Christianity and theology, one must nevertheless allow that he was led to embrace both in a highly fortuitous manner, and by the immediate operation of quite external circumstances. Neumann and Varnhagen had a troublesome journey of it with their philosophical young friend. They travelled, the three together, by the post-carriage from Hanover through Brunswick to Halle; and as they travelled by night as well as by day, and occasionally found themselves in an open vehicle, unprotected from the weather, they had to suffer a good deal of annoyance from the physical and moral weakness of Neander. The latter set up for a stoic, and cared nothing for discomforts and privations-in theory. In fact, however, he yielded absolutely to every desire of the moment, at the imminent peril of being left behind, or of falling under the wheels in a heavy slumber. If his friends were compelled to wake him forcibly from a nap, or to defer the satisfaction of his hunger and thirst to the next stage, he became sulky and abusive. And the two young men perceived that they had a great baby on their hands, "the neglected state of whose external culture," as Varnhagen quaintly says—in more familiar English, whose abominable lack of decent behaviour and self-government-would evidently give them a vast deal of trouble. However, they all arrived safely in Halle, and rattled over the stones one April morning, as has been said. The young men were full of hope and enthusiasm. To Varnhagen the idea of a university life had long been a cherished dream; and the sight of the quaint old city asleep in the early dawn suggested to his mind a thousand pleasant images of youthful pleasures and youthful studies, and the intellectual life which would awake and stir presently beneath the spring sunshine. Under the guidance of a friend who had been expecting their arrival, they speedily found suitable quarters to dwell in. These were in a modest house outside the city, in the so-called Pulverweiden (Powder-meadows), close by the Saale. That river rushed over one of its noisy falls close by. From the windows of the dwelling there was a view of blooming meadows, rows of tall poplars with the city peeping from behind them, the winding course of the Saale with fields and woods on its opposite shore, and beyond the bridge the rocky walls of a great stone quarry. It was all delightful. The rooms the friends were to occupy were, however, on the first and second storeys, so that it was impossible to divide them into three equal apartments. Two must lodge together. Varnhagen and Neuman proceeded to cast lots for Neander! He fell to Varnhagen, and thenceforward they shared a room between them. After a slight meal they set out to view the town. All was new and interesting. Varnhagen had never seen a university town before, and his active mind busied itself eagerly with the physiognomy of |