Not that we

AN excusable lassitude pervades the Editorial corporosity, as we sit down to indite something in the shape of a talk with our readers. Excusable-we say-for the late round of suppers and initiation festivities, so happily characteristic of the third term, have naturally entailed a reaction from the pitch of enthusiasm and hilarity to which our dignity was elevated. blame the entertainments, nor the societies, who act the part of entertainers, with one whit of the resulting ennui-far from it. We are by far too strenuous advocates of anything jolly to derogate from the deserved popularity of such a wholesome custom as eating good suppers and drinking good-cold water. We uphold our secret societies even in that much decried point of conviviality. For what more conduces to good feeling between a party of fellow students than the consciousness that they are one flesh; i. e. have eaten of the same turkey? What more calculated to inspire feelings of consanguinity than the tingling of the same champaigne through the veins of the various members of the company? We hold that the highest interests of Friendship are promoted by these much standard festivals. The whole worth of an entertainment of such a character consists in where eaten-when eaten-how eatenand by whom eaten.

The "where eaten," may be answered by either" at the hall," or "at Scranton's." In either case a proper response-both places being set apart, the one partially and the other wholly, for such purposes. So no objection can be urged on that score. "When eaten." In the dead hours of the night, when the noise of jocund hilarity and the flow of mirth may least disturb those whom a malignant fate debars from participating in the jollities. Can any more conclusive proof of good intention be demanded than this self-sacrifice to the feelings of others? This one point should set the matter at rest. A deference to the wishes of others so noticable should satisfy even those evil minded ones, (figuratively set forth in the fable of the "fox and grapes,") who have used and even now are employing every conceivable means to overthrow what they must look upon with feelings akin to those of a Satan regarding paradise :

"Base envy withers at another's joy,'

And hates that excellence it cannot reach."

"How eaten," may be the pertinacious inquiry of some yet unsatisfied caviler. Why, sir, eaten and drank too in the full tide of unalloyed good feeling, and undisturbed by any harshness of envy or ill-will. And by "whom eaten." Ah, here we pause and call the Yale Banner" to our aid. See the lists of glorious names filed in stately double columns under the flags of glorious K. 2. O. or far famed A. E. P. The question is disposed of summarily and even yet more conclusively will it be answered when the names of those of '58, who shall take the guidance of the respective fraternities, shall have appeared in the next issue of that renowned periodical. We hold that college suppers of all kinds may be justified by the above mode of argument, which though imperfectly wrought out may evidently be elaborated. If then the cause of our want of energy is a highly laudable institution, surely the effects may at least be excused. We with boldness then demand the sufferance of our readers.

"O music sphere decended maid,

Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,”

66

said we, as the notes of an ill-used violin escaped from an open window of one of the colleges--which one we dare not say. How truly did the poet say, "Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid!” On every hand Euterpe holds a sway, feebly contested by the sage Minerva, typified in the now defunct Owl club. Nor is the ear the only organ persecuted by this concord of sweet sounds." The eye is caught by emblazoned intimations that “ Tyrolea” will hold a meeting at some place the name of which is lost in the maze of flourishes enveloping representations of chubby cupids well nigh bursting from their noisy attention to immense trumpets of a classic form. The roll of a kettle drum from the Athenæum mingles with the flute notes from north-middle; a general uproar of scrapes and whistles is wafted from the once "Brothers' Hall," and the harmonious crash needs but the banished awfulclide of North College to be complete. Even the harmony that should exist between instructor and student is intruded upon by the harmonious spirit, as an incident which recently came under our personal observation can abundantly testify.

We were lounging in one of the College buildings, (ambiguity is again neces sary for obvious reasons,) on a chilly morning near the advent of the month of March. Naturally the glowing grate suggested glowing fancies of every description-of poetry (!) and the arts. Music is our only accomplishment, however, and the two violins and the many-keyed flute, were soon seized by three enthu siastic embryo Mozarts, and "the happy harmonies melodiously swelled" through the crannies of the ancient building. Absorbed as we were in the flow of gentle music, we noticed not that we were infringing on study hours until after repeated and neglected raps at the door, an august personage interrupted our enjoyment with, "Mr. study hours, if you please." Unheeded was the warning voice. "Mr. -," persisted the intruder, "will you have the goodness to desist; you are interrupting more diligent students in the prosecution of their literary exercises." Although we were loth to give up our diver sion, and even though one of the trio showed a disposition to argue the point

and prove from the immutable principles of the philosophy of taste that one who could be interrupted in study or any pursuit by the "passion-stilling" strains of our instruments, was "fit for treason, stratagem, and spoils," faculty authority prevailed, and the interloper was dismissed with apologies, followed (as soon as he had shut the door) by a volley of benedictions. Alas, for fancied security! The injured party heard the words of wrath, and shortly after, one, at least, of our number suffered the penalty of his imprudence.

A friend of ours who rejoices in the soubriquet of the Sachem, entered our Sanctum a short time ago with an air of the profoundest mystery. In his hand he clutched a curious object which he triumphantly extended to us, bidding us guess what it was. We will remark by the way that the Sachem has a passion, completely Pickwickian, for antiquities. Any person entering the locality which he designates as his wigwam, will discern this fact. The ancient tomahawk and scalping knife which adorn the wall, are only emblematic of this idiosyncracy, for his trade is not murderous. He smokes the calumet of peace as long as his constitution will submit,—for he is not a person

That keeps his kitchen in a box,

And roast meat in a pipe.

Well, we gazed at the object, but could not determine its species. Finally, we ventured to inquire what it had been supposed to be. He informed us that the principal conjectures had been, a padlock and an inkstand, and added benevolently, that it should decorate the sanctum if we solved the riddle. After a short inspection, we gravely pronounced it to be a rat-trap, and we verily believe that if something almost providential had not occurred to prevent, he would have completely demolished the haunt editorial. He capered; he shouted; he stood upon his head in his delight, and executed a variety of feats which might have elevated him to the highest position in any aboriginal tribe. As soon as the significant motion of a cork-screw slowly waved before his eyes had quitted him, he informed us with a semi-solemn air, that the article was an ancient lamp "which formerly swung in some old monastic cell." But we only mention this incident as introductory to another topic.

The Sachem was interrupted in his wild gymnastics by the entrance of a letter, in which he speedily buried himself. Soon we beheld two tears making their way down his cheeks. His lips convulsively twitched, as we knew by the motion of his long mustache. "What's the matter?" we cried. He only pointed out the P. S. of the letter, and sighed. We read as follows: "She is married; gone to Oregon; and has two children-twins." We gazed at the Sachem. He was working off his boots and rubbing his nose-sure signs of melancholy and despair. At length he kicked one boot out of the window, and the other into our manuscripts and shouted, "that settles it!" We thought it would settle something, but what the unfortunate being intended to accomplish we failed of understanding. Yet we comprehended his situation. "Was it Angelina?" we asked. "It was," gasped he We had seen her. We recollected how she appeared two years before-a diminutive maiden in black. We knew how many sonnets the Sachem had composed in her honor. We had made a partial computation of the sighs to which he had given vent. We sympathized and waved the cork-screw. The Sachem imbibed consolation and

became calm. A long time he sat in moody silence, and then rising and drawing on his one available boot, he slowly passed out of the door. As he disappeared he uttered one expressive word-"TWINS." Here was another " crum bling of his ideal," for he had made it a point to fall in love with every maiden whom he encountered, hoping to realize his pure Ideal in some of them. The next day he greeted us with joy in his countenance, and informed us that he was engaged.

Speaking of twins reminds us of the baby-show, and we recollect a rhymed epistle which we received from the Sachem, descriptive of the event. We make a short extract.

Babies whose size has caused many sighs

From the weary nurses who stilled their cries;
Babies who Herschel-like talents display

In searching the source of the milky-way;
Babies who 've learned to quietly rest,

And breast life's troubles without the breast;
Babies who first saw American light-
As Emerald emigrants, when there's a dearth
Of room aboard ship-three or four in a berth.
They all were there in beauty so bright,
Arrayed in their very best bib and tucker:
Mr. Barnum provided for each one's needs,
And gave needed succor to each little sucker.

We have been thus far prolix, and doubtless borous, but we beg your pardon for it, kind reader, and, bidding you another temporary adieu, will close with the subjoined note from Mr. Kittles, whose new invention we noticed in our last.

EDITORS OF THE Y. L. M.

June 20th.

ESTEEMED SIRS-I am profoundly grateful. 'Tis all I can say. Yours, with expressions of the most lasting and never-to-be-forgotten obligation,

A. B. K.

We acknowledge the receipt of a volume of “Familiar Quotations," from Messrs. Durrie & Peck. We have only cursorily glanced at it; but find it, as far as our observation goes, a valuable production.

* Mr. B—, though not particular about the patrimony of the infants, required that their origin should be in the State of Matrimony.

Notes on S. T. C. and his Poetry.

THE poetical works of Coleridge have of late attracted more notice among his trans-Atlantic heirs, and are bidding fair for a still wider circulation. To chance upon a readable American edition a few years ago, was unusual. The most of those issued-and these could not be procured at the small fry of biliopoles-were poorly supervised, their careless arrangement, irregular print, and inner and outer tout-ensemble being quite an eyesore to the practised book connoisseur. The last impression we owe to Messrs. Little & Brown. It has all the charm that elegant paper and clear type can add to a work, and is in every way commendable, with the exception of the introductory memoir. The writer, in his compilation (for it is hardly more than this) quotes from authors by no means partial to Coleridge; and where in these passages anything of truth unaccountably appears, he endeavors, after his cool fashion, to explain it away. It is impossible, of course, to form a just conception of the great Coleridge from a wretched, one-sided account. like this, and that it should be thus was no doubt the editor's intention. Unfortunately, too, there is no complete and reliable biography of Coleridge extant; so that we are thrown somewhat adrift among the