leaf but above all and over all this scene of festal mirth, marring its harmony and gladness, like a funeral knell at a wedding, brass-heeled boots at a ball, or a cracked fiddle at a concert, rattled that enemy of comfort, that murderer of sleep-the college bell. Aye! and it called us to study and to toil-study, while all nature around us was reeking with fun-toil, while the very laborer in the streets was resting the weary arm and revelling in indolence and ease! And did we heed the summons? No sir! Every stroke of that bell was answered by a jolly laugh; every Freshman that marched to his recitation room, like a criminal to the bar, or a steamboat passenger to "the captain's office," covered our face with smiles, and doubled us up with laughter. No sir! we did not heed the summons! A span of horses stood at the door; we tumbled into the sleigh amidst a pile of buffalo robes, and as the recitation bell gave its last "kick," crack went the whip and off went we, and we made our earliest call while the man first called up in the division-room was deliberately and gracefully 'flunking.' Was n't that glorious! Ah! ha! most worthy College Faculty, for once we preferred wit to wisdom, fun to philosophy, pleasure to profit, woman to man! All that afternoon we dashed about from house to house, and from street to street, laughing here, talking there, and happy everywhere; nor did our horses stop of their own accord before one particular door, as our first Editor's are said to have done. But one mishap marred our pleasure. We had run the gauntlet of bright eyes all day and escaped uninjured; we had visited particular friends and particular foes; we had even dashed boldly into a parlor whose walls were completely lined with ladies, as the sides of a conservatory with flowers, and retired unhurt-no! alive; but alas! Fate had pulled on his "seven league boots" and was after us like a fox after a chicken. We were driving merrily along, executing sundry fantastic cuts with our whip, much to the amusement of our horses it is to be presumed, when we saw, at a short distance before us, a dignified, well-dressed gentleman, with his hands in his pockets and his hat set jauntily on one side, and whom we imagined to be a personal friend, and forthwith we determined to make him join us in our ride. "Hallo! old fellow!" we yelled at the top of our voice,-" hold up a moment!" The gentleman looked hastily around, but did not slacken his pace. We shouted again: "Hold your horses, old boy, and we'll take you in!" but the pedestrian had evidently strong objections to being "taken in,” for he made no answer to our rough invitation. As we approached him however, somewhat surprised at his actions it must be confessed, he turned his face towards us, and we saw, to our astonishment, that we had been hailing a— Tutor! Down went our hat over our eyes, crack went the whip, and we dashed by as if a whole menagerie had been howling on our track, leaving the amused college dignitary to laugh at our mistake and chuckle over our hurried flight to his heart's content.

A mistake equally amusing, and of which one of our brother Editors was the victim, has reached our ears, and in spite of threats and promises, shall reach you, reader. Our "Knight of the Quill" had made his arrangements for a trip to New York, via the Sound. Happening upon some friends, they all concluded to spend the evening together, and forthwith pipes and cigars were produced, and amid the volumes of fragrant smoke, a dropping fire of jokes and puns (our first Editor was there) com. menced, which soon banished from the traveler's mind all recollections of his intended journey. Late in the evening, however, some careless remark reminded him of his half-forgotten purpose, and with a glance at his watch, and a newly lit cigar, he bounded from the room and "made tracks" for the steamboat wharf, upsetting a watchman in his flight, and endangering the personal safety of the few wayfarers on his route, and finally reached the wharf, puffing and blowing like a high-pressure engine, just as two of the boat-hands were pulling in the " plank." With one desperate leap he stood upon the deck, and after a puff at his cigar and a gasp or two for breath, shouted, with a triumphant laugh, "All right, Captain! Go ahead!" The crew near by looked at him with an odd mixture of surprise and merriment, and then asked him where he intended to go. "Go?" said our friend, with a careless toss of the head, why, to New York, to be sure!" "Ah!" was the reply, "the boat went half an hour ago: this boat does n't go till morning!” Luckless Editor! He went off slily the next day in the cars.

66

What a strange frenzy seizes the unmarried portion of community at the annual return of St. Valentine's day! Love, chained fast to the pillars of politeness and etiquette during the rest of the year, is on that day set free to prey upon unsuspecting innocence. In what showers of perfumed billets, delicate notes, and melodious son

With what

nets, his arrows fly! How hearts beat, cheeks flush, and eyes dilate! appalling rapidity the mercury of friendship and affection rises to "fever heat!" With what a horrible grin the man at the Post Office greets his customers, and with what a scandalous, unsentimental pleasure he rattles the coppers rung from Cupid's victims ! How men that have an unfortunate trick of rhyming suffer for their friends! How many Seniors are sick during the prevalence of the amorous epidemic, and with what a smile of mingled pity and contempt does the Mathematical Monitor note their absence from "Prayers" and recitation! How the Freshman sighs and swears over his first Valentine, and forthwith resolves to "cut" the Valedictory, and woo some fairer and gentler mistress than Science. How carefully Tom Moore's lyrics and Byron's strains of glowing lava are perused and examined! How many vows of everlasting love and adoration are registered on the tablets of the " boy-God," and how soon are the majority of them broken! Dear reader, did you receive a Valentine? Was n't you tickled when you glanced at the contents of that mysterious little envelop lying on your table? Did n't you read it over and over again, and press it to the region of your coat supposed to cover your heart, and perform Romeo in the most approved style? And was n't that Classmate who could thus make you the victim of a mischievous hoax an unfeeling wretch? We can imagine the indignant eloquence of your affirmative reply. A friend has placed at our disposal a pair of Valentines, which we publish for the benefit of the uninitiated. Whether they are original or not is of course a matter of no consequence to our readers, whatever it might have been to the unfortunate recipient. The first one is all honey.

"If mankind were all like you,

And womankind like me,

Kissing is all the world would do,

And all in love would be,

And busy all in writing lines,

And sending true-love Valentines!"

The second is all pepper. The lady's opinions are expressed with a womanly spirit and piquancy which bodes any thing but comfort to the unfortunate who becomes her future lord and master.

That comes out with beautiful brevity and plumpness, does it not, reader? He must be a bold man who could face such a vixenish reception of his addresses. Courting a boa-constrictor, or wooing a streak of lightning, would be much more safe and pleasant. And such are Valentines! Dear reader, beware!

When all the world is California mad, it would be strange indeed if our college community should entirely escape the infection. Naturally enough, the disease has broken out in our midst, and levied upon us its contributions of youth and enthusiasm. Several of our former classmates, and many more of our immediate predecessors, have set out upon their march to the modern El Dorado, in the hope of obtaining, by a single desperate struggle, the wealth which here rewards a life-time of toil. That we wish them all success it is scarcely necessary to say, but we very much doubt the expediency of the step which they have taken. In the absence of all salutary restraints and regulations, the state of society must be semi-barbarous, and the only protection for property or life must reside in superior strength. Living, too, utterly deprived of

the ordinary comforts of life--sleeping under a ragged tent or on the sunny side of an overhanging rock-finding a snake in one's boots or a bowie knife in one's ribs-feeding on tough beef, to which sole leather would be a luxury, and hard biscuit which no grist mill could pulverise,―mending a hole in one's coat with the strands of a tarred rope, or closing the skylights of a dilapidated beaver with rags or leaves-weakening the constitution and sometimes entirely destroying the health-all this is but poorly paid for by the acquisition of gold. Yet on it rolls-the crazy stream of emigration-bounding to the Isthmus-sweeping around Cape Horn-dashing through the desert plains of Mexico-maddened by the fierce impulse of selfishness, and rendered swollen and stormy by the obstacles which start up in its course. The youth and strength of our land are marching southward, draining the arteries of society of its best blood, and leaving behind them many a vacancy which no wealth could fill. And yet-after all—really—a little of that "gold dust" would n't be so very bad. We think that we could manage a half barrel or so of the "shiny," and without much difficulty too. Let us see! In the first place, we would pay the printer :-fact! reader!—and then we would hire our first Editor to stop punning, which would cost us a thousand dollars or so; and then we would buy a new wagon for a scientific gentleman of our acquaintance; and next we would purchase Powers' "Greek Slave" to adorn the vestibule of "South Middle;" and then we would hire five hundred iron-fisted, hawk-eyed Policemen to catch a villainous knave who is prowling about the country, pretending to be a member of this college, and under color of this membership, fleecing the parents of our Classmates and friends-aye! and we would add an additional bonus of ten dollars for each blow of an old-fashioned, slave-driver's whip, applied dexterously to his uncovered back; and then, after this burst of virtuous indignation, we would cushion the seats of the college chapel, and buy a bellows for the "man what blows the ophicleid ;" and then we would build a nice little, neat little house with a garden all around it, and a fence all around that, and fit up a pleasant little library-something like the Lino ; and then we would put in possession a Did you really think, reader, that we would finish that sentence in your hearing! Beg your pardon, sir, but we had n't the most remote idea of such a thing. We were only writing a little carelessly-rambling along without a thought-and-and-dear reader, we'll change the subject, merely remarking, en passant, that a punster friend of ours has translated one of the mottoes-"Otium cum dig"-prefixed to our Editors' table, "Oh! chum, come dig"!

We have received the "New England Offering" for February, and congratulate its lady Editor upon the success which seems to have attended her efforts. But, dear madam, who wrote that spicy paragraph about the "fickleness of man"? And who is that queer, quiet "Fannie," who says of Winter,

Kisses he the maiden, blushes burn her cheek,

Grasps the hand of pleasure, playing hide and seek,

and then abuses him for "treading on young toes," and "pinching beauty's ears and nose"? Our Editorial corps are quite anxious on the subject.

We have also received the February number of "The Indicator," and blushed becomingly over that paragraph dedicated to the praises of our own beloved Maga. Really, brothers of Amherst, you are clever fellows, and do you like oysters? "We pause for a reply."

We must also thank our friends of the University of Virginia for sending us a copy of their newly established Magazine. Want of time has prevented us from giving it a fair perusal, but its Editors have our hearty wishes for their success.

We say nothing to our contributors, because we have but a few, and they, fortunately, need neither our criticism or advice. A kind of double-refined, lethargic laziness seems to have crept over our College friends, and prevented them from rendering us even a slight assistance in supporting our Magazine. Ugh! we pity the next Editor.

Those puns, reserved for this number, are too bad: we can't publish them.