invest his name with a glorious immortality, he looked with a carelessness amounting to aversion. This is not, I imagine, because malignant criticism had made them the sport of contumely, nor that he had ceased to value them at their proper worth, but because they bore such an humiliating inferiority to that great ideal—that aliquid immensum infinitumque, which forever floated before his kindled vision, and which he was confident, if life and health were granted, he could attain and display to the world. Debarred from this consummation, he little regarded those first fruits of his now blasted genius; but desired to pass away, unknown and unremembered, choosing for his epitaph, Here lies one whose name was writ in water. HAPPENING to be in my intimate friend Uriah, his room, the other day, the following confab arose between us, wherein I standeth for me, and U for my friend. I. Well, we are upon our last year in Old Yale. U. Certainly, you are right there. I. The fact gives rise to many reflections in my mind. U. Yes, so it does-I see no way to help it. I. Uriah! U. What? I. Your mind is evidently wandering. I say, the fact that we are now upon our last year in college, frequently sets me reflecting. I think upon the aspirations and splendid resolutions my romantic brain was filled with before my feet trod upon college ground. I think how these brilliant fancies have gone out, one by one, since I made my first blunder in Greek; and how, consequently, I have floated carelessly, drowsily along the stream of college events, till now my alarmed senses begin to catch the heaving billows of life. But you have been saved from such a mortifying change. You are one of the sensible of earth. You came here with rational views, and your collegiate course has been that of a rational man. U. Much obliged for your good opinion, but I'll show you in a few minutes how much it is worth. You have begun to reflect? Your first mention of the subject threw my mind into a commotion to which reflection beareth the same relation as the movement of clock-work to that of a bunch of eels in an eel-pot. (Pretty good, isn't it?) But let me give you ocular demonstration. Uriah, rising up, goes to his desk and takes therefrom two letters, one of which he hands to me, saying, "Read this." BIRCH HILL ACADEMY, June, 1845. Dear Cousin Tom :-You are now, I suppose, firmly established a counter-jumper, or dubbed a knight of the yard-stick. Quemque sua voluptas trahit-so the Mantuan bard sings. "The tools to him who can handle them," was the saying of Napoleon Bonaparte, "the most extraordinary man, perhaps, the world ever saw." I am really glad, for thy sake, dear Tom. Would that my own destiny were marked as clearly. But incerta fortuna shall guide me onward, and many a rough trial, at least, of life, shall be made, ere I yield to despondency. In a few months I shall enter the time-honored walls of Yale. How my heart beats at the prospect! How must the most sluggish spirit be there aroused to triumphant effort by the memory of the great and good, which lingers around those classic halls; by the generous rivalry of the youthful intellect of our common country; and by the constant communication with the "departed spirits of the mighty dead" who dwelt in the classic ages! Dear Tom, is not this an enrapturing prospect? But my judgment shall not be led away by a gorgeous dream-an ignis fatuus. No, I have clearly marked out my path. By rising early, and by faithful study, I shall thoroughly master my textbooks, reading, at the same time, such collateral authors in the classics as will give me a complete idea of the subject in the text, and in mathematics, working original solutions till every principle is fully mastered. I shall take up a regular course of historical reading, which will occupy the most of my leisure time during the first two years. The last two will be better employed on the standard works of English literature. Of course, I shall not neglect any opportunity of improving myself in speaking-for, consider the influence of able orators in our country! As to the modern languages, I shall acquire but three, the German, French, and Italian; the others I care nothing material about. And now, all I want is my health-mens sana in corpore sano. I shall, therefore, shun the common absurd error of students; three hours' exercise I must and will have, every day, "Sundays excepted," as the steamboat notices have it. But can these several things all be attended to? "Improbus labor vincit omnia," exclaims the ancient divine-I mean the divine ancient. Yes, dear Tom, my mind is resolved, my soul is athirst for ennobling knowledge. Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas. And while I am climbing Parnassus, be assured, a letter from thee shall be accounted no hindrance; but for thy sake it shall meet with a hearty welcome. Thine, as ever, URIAH U. There, as true as I am alive, that is a faithful transcript of my feelings at that time. I begged the letter from Tom last vacation, for particular reasons, which I kept to myself. I also purloined another, which Tom will not miss, for I have written him a dozen such within the last twelvemonths. So now read this. YALE COLLEGE, July, 1848. Dear Tom :-This writing letters is a perfect bore! Excuse me, I mean nothing personal. But when the fact just came into my head that I had put off replying to your heartily welcome epistle three weeks, at least, beyond the proper time, this was the first reflection that rose uppermost. But, really, Tom, if you knew how I am actually situated, you could not find it in your heart to blame me. Not that I am whol ly undeserving of something like censure, but for the very reason that I am daily getting an outrageous superabundance of that same article. My friends here blame me because I am too indolent to enter into any of their plans for pleasure or improvement; the Tutors, because I am rapidly falling in what little scholarship I once had; Cousin, because my few dull letters to her are horribly scented with tobacco; father, because he hears from me only through Tutor H.; and my old teacher, because he never hears at all. So, you see, I catch it all around. But then, Tom, confound that piece of poetry, I can't recall it I shall have to give you my meaning in plain English-conscience, too, blames me. Ah! there's the rub, Tom. The complaints of friends, the admonitions of instructors, may be easily set aside; but to have the harrowing consciousness ever with you, when you lie down and when you rise up, of precious time utterly thrown to the winds; of faculties deadened by inactivity, or vicious employment, worse than inactivity; of habits formed which must through life load the soul with heavy, infecting chains--who shall endure these things? But, whew! I am moralizing on an extensive scale. This reminds me of my last recitation in history, where, not being very minutely acquainted with the facts concerning the death of Socrates, I plunged into a profound fit of moralizing. But the next person was requested to take the same topic. So I have determined to cut the practice. As to reading, about which you inquired, it is true, we do enjoy fine opportunities, as you remarked. But for the last month, I have made out to read only a few articles in the reviews. As for going through a regular, standard work, I have not been guilty of such a thing since I came to college. We had the privilege this term of commencing one of the modern languages; but the idea of beginning a whole language this weather! "Tis preposterous. But I wish somebody would get out a translation of the French Grammar. Mathematics!-now you must have known (therefore I do not like your congratulatory expressions) that I never had any love for that crabbed, bitter race; why, I have not done out an original problem since-since Adam. Speaking in society I am convinced is of but little practical benefit; besides, I have not time to attend to it. Not time! pray, how do you occupy all of your time? Why, Tom, if any one asks you this question, offer five dollars reward to the person who can propose a satisfactory answer-I'll bear you out in it. Now the question naturally arises, what are my prospects for life? My profession-but, there-the recitation bell rings! I predict a flunk from somebody. Truly, yours, URIAH P. S. I have just returned from recitation, and have time only to inform you that the prediction, which I so hastily and thoughtlessly made, was sadly realized. How I felt for the fellow ! U APROPOS of the above. My dear young friend, who hast just been numbered in our collegiate ranks, I would fain speak a word in thine ear. I know thou hast an opinion of thine own, and a distrust of intermeddling advice; I know it. But one moment only with thy candid judgment. You have had some false notions of college and college-life. Don't trouble yourself about that; keep at work, diligently, cheerfully at work; these notions of themselves will properly depart, like the thin mists before the clear, manly day. There is no hunting for work; there it is, laid out before you; up and begin Your work rightly done, I will trust thee for the management of thyeisure. But work! why, it is a satisfaction, a comfort, a joy, a medice. Do you hear the syren whispers around you? "He stands high and yet he doesn't study." Shun it as you would the imputation of meannessthe brand of disgrace. "He is a hard case." For shame, you forget where you are; if so, there's a terrible waking up ahead. Do you know that dissipated genius in the class?" You know not the feelings of that heart, or you would cry for very sympathy. Oh! if I could only bring you to a serious thinking, at the present moment, I know there would be two happier hearts for life. Heaven bless thee, and make us all wiser. LET OUR FAREWELL BE MERRY. TO NOT a teardrop in thine eye, When thou say'st to me, "Good-bye;" Be the last sound in mine ear, Thy own laugh which rings so clear. It shall echo in my heart, Till Life's echoes thence depart: If my soul be merry, this Then that glorious smile shall bring Gladness brighter than the Spring, When through wastes and ice-twined bowers, Flinging songs and flinging flowers. Rove I in the torrid land, 'Mid Sahara's flaming sand, When the sky's a fiery wreath, And the air has lost its breath, And sensation falls in slumber, When they'd crossed the Red Sea billow, Dwell I in the bleak north land, Scarce a life-stream 'neath can flow, And the lesser isles of snow, As the breath of sleeping child On a lilied bank a-lying, When the Spring's her last breath sighing, While a gentle tune shall come, Whispering thoughts of thee and home. |