: He But it is time to attend to the necessities of our friend below. is manifestly impatient, and by the way he begins to shake the line, the iron has entered into his soul. That was a fine run, and that, another. He is in sufficiently deep water, and shall have his own way, subject, of course, to a few restrictions. Firstly Mr. Pike, as I see by your silver shine-you must not, on any account, bury yourself in those very inviting weeds, nor again twist yourself around that half-submerged log; nor, again, must you ask for more line; for you can't have it; and, lastly, don't bite the leader off, for, being the very strongest wire gimp, it might possibly injure your teeth. Yet the fellow pulls strongly, and well he may, for as he continually draws nearer he shows an enormous back, and a head beyond all comparison. Weaker and weaker now; almost gone; there, he shows his side. He is fairly killed; and with a stout landing net we draw in a goodly bulk of five pounds, unresisting. A sullen haze has spread over the sky, and gloom over the water. And as the captured was probably the solitary denizen of this peculiar spot, venture we out more upon the broad lake; yet not over the deepest water; for depths there are in these mountain lakes that no sounding line has yet fathomed, reaching down to unknown and exhaustless springs. A beautiful fish, Piscator, and although not quite equal to the monster of the Cove, doubtless superior to the majority of the finny race that surround us. Better proportioned, too, than any we have met with, so far. His head is within proper size; whereas a pike, after the common sort, wears his most atrociously enormous; and appears to be a kind of practical phrenologist. He is troublesomely fond of his smaller neighbors, and manifests his affection in a way inexpressibly gratifying to himself and alarming to them. He is the Malthus of the aquatic world, and takes a more sensible way of inculcating his doctrines, than that gentleman did. He is a decided anti-socialist ; and yet nothing pleases him better than to live in close proximity to a thriving community of little fishes. Now for a couple of trolling lines and a row to the outlet. The reels swiftly unwind, and as we gently urge the oars, far back a slight ripple on the wave shows where the silk crosses the dividing line between the two elements. Not that we expect much in trolling once down; not that we care for much; for, seriously, we doubt the possibility of taking home a moiety of what we have at present; still it would be gratifying to end off with a good tail-piece to our day's illustrations. Nothing yet; almost ashore; there! the left hand rod goes down like a shot. Pull in !-quick! before the fish dives to the weeds! Fairly hooked was this last pike, and not the least of all. He has hardly strength for a gasp;-we would more fully describe his capture, but unlike Homer's heroes, fish are generally wounded in the same place and in the same manner. And yet, reader your curiosity has been better satisfied to-day, than that of an eager enquirer we once knew of "Uncle Ben," says he, "where the deuce do you catch such splendid sheepshead?" "In the mouth," was the sober reply. C. A. B. Editor's Table. COME is the time of moonlight rambles and mad dogs, of serenades and summer complaints, of softening influences and snakes in the grass, of delicious delicacies and disastrous dysenteries, of dreamy nights and dusty days, of custard creams and crying children, of languid loafers and love-lorn lasses, of an hundred and ten Fahrenheit and another number of the YALE LIT!....THIS 'getting out' a YALE LIT is one of the easiest things in the world, provided, always, that the 'fellow what gets it out' is a pretty good fool (an ugly word that!). He must, par consequence, be of the aforementioned character, or, in the first place, he would never have undertaken the job. And, having volunteered, and slept upon his honors, and found no escape, he must be of the afore-mentioned character, or, in the second place, he will never succeed.* When Sirius rages, then is the time for him to work. When the scorching sun pours in upon this hand, and, upon that, float 'fine dry particles of earth or other matter,' then is the time for him to think. When diminutive insects of the genus Culex, 'whose sting is peculiarly painful and vexatious,' chant their lively ditties in one ear, and certain hymenopterous creatures have something keen to say in the other; when winged squatters of various species, claim, without title, a settlement upon the promontory formed by the arcs of the two similar cavities of the organ of smell; when, through the numberless excretories and respiratory apertures of the pellucid and insensible cuticle of the super-stretched retemucosum and of the thicker and very sensible cutis commences the imperceptible evacuatory movement of the luciferous fluids which naturally congregate in the material organized substance of the intelligently mortal animal man-(w-h-e-w!); when very obliging subscribers tap at the door of the sanctum, and leer with interest over the manuscripts, and express most excruciating affection for the dear little sufferer, conducted by the students of Yale College' (!), and impregnate the atmosphere with vile Scafarlatti, and stud the rich Wilton with expectorations, and overturn books, and freely and abusively criticise 'the last number,' and knock down the arm-chairs, and slap the editor's face, and slam the door-bang!-then, then is time for him to write! And such is time at which we are writing!.....THERE is a rumor that the following Curiosities are to be placed in Trumbull Gallery, on exhibition, for the benefit of amiable young men, who are too lazy to take care of themselves. But we give no credit whatever to the rumor:— Jelly from the current of life. Shirt for the back of a hill. Stirrup for a saddle of mutton. Teeth from the mouth of a river. Wax from an ear of corn. Water from the running spring of a watch. *This idea is not original with the Editor. Macaulay, the man that is so fond of saying 'such smart things,' has got off the same idea, in his critical damnation of Croker's edition of Boswell's Johnson; where, after insulting Croker, and black-guarding the old Doctor until not a white spot is left in his character, he turns his vials of wrath upon poor Boswell, saying-"Boswell was one of the smallest men that ever lived. If he had not been a great fool, he would never have been a great writer." According to this fellow, there seems to be hope for us, Editors! A HAT for a head of cabbage was formerly in this collection; but applications for it were so numerous that the Managers were compelled to dispose of it at private sale. It was purchased by the man who always happens to be smoking his 'last cigar'; who never has any change at the Post Office; who takes married ladies to concerts; who picks his teeth with a jack-knife, and is assiduously cultivating the shadow of a moustache; who calls Railway Stations Depots, and a leg a limb; who abounds in sickly witticisms; who 'really did not look' at the lesson on which he 'rushed'; who took an' appointment' and the consumption, and is otherwise notorious......STANDING COLLARS! They remind us of Freshman days; of days of toil and trouble; of obsequiousness and viridity; of modesty and metaphysics; of slavish ambition and womanly strife; of brotherly bugs (oh! horrors!), and fatherly tutors! Deliver us, hereafter, from everything like those days! But we speak of Standing Collars. Three years ago—i. e. when we entered College,' i. e. when we were Freshmen-Standing Collars, those geometrical appendages to modern gentility, were just as scarce, hereabouts, as-as-as hen's teeth! There were only two Freshmen that wore the articles; and as for the Sophomores, and Juniors, and Seniors, why, they were as ignorant of them as the 'logicker' at Hartford is of Puritan Theology! Indeed, such was the astonishment with which these white mathematical upstarts were regarded in this little stagnant world, that the upper classes,' (whose linens, albeit they were mathematical, were not, if Tradition be Authentic,' very white,) looked upon the two unfortunate individuals introducing them, as little better than Innovators, Radicals, who desired to turn the world right side down, and the poor washerwomen right side up. It was then that the humorous Dr. Homes well said, · 6 "Our free born race, averse to every check, Has tossed the yoke of Europe from its neck; But now, mark ye the change! Standing Collars are up; their beauty and importance is beginning to be appreciated. They are, now, as numerous in College as are those pestering fellows that live, by day, in dark recesses, in 'some boundless contiguty of shade,' and, by night, ' call 'round' to share your bed with you, and yourself with them. Tarry you upon the Chapel steps and notice the Standing Collars that pass by to their devotions. Of all shapes, sizes, and complexions are they; inclined at every angle with the Meridian, and rising to all altitudes above the Horizon. Some are fresh, and many are wilted; some are white, and some are of many colors; some are stiff, and more never had any stamina; some are of the genuine cut, and most are of domestic manufacture; some fit easily, and some tormentingly; some are quietly sawing off the overshadowing ears, and some slowly drilling, into the windpipe, an outlet for superfluous gas, &c.; some make "The uplifted eye salute the sky," and some, with Puritan rigidity, bid the wearer, under the penalty of a severed 'headstalk,' look neither to the right hand nor to the left. But, barring all the freaks which they play upon those crane-necked, lantern-jawed chaps, whom Nature never intended should wear linen, the genuine, scientific Standing Collar is the only decent raiment for a man's head-stool. "I know it cuts your ear; I know the points will sometimes interfere; I know that often, like the filial John, You show your features to the astonished town .IN a recent issue of Sartain's Magazine, appeared a short Poem, from that poet of all poets, Longfellow. It is called Sands of the Desert in an Hour-Glass.' We find upon our table the following incomplete imitation, from some facetious pen. The poet seems to have tumbled from his Pegasus, before arriving at his journey's end, and is now, very likely, floundering about in that self-' same mud' of which he speaks so pathetically. MUD OF JUDEA ON THE TOE OF AN OLD BOOT. A toeful of black mud, from the hot clime Of Juda's sea coast brought, Upon this boot, becomes the spy of Time, How many centuries has this black mud been Along those seacoasts strown! How many strange "sa sarpints" has it seen, Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite Stuck in it as they passed, When into Egypt, from the Patriarch's sight, Perhaps the boots of Aaron, old and rare, Or Cæsar's horses kicked it into air, When he went the B'hoys* to demolish! Perhaps the whale that swallowed Sampson stout, Here, probably, the poet fell, as intimated above. Cannot the Christian people of this Christian country be stirred up to send him relief? Have they no bowels of compassion? No? not a bowel'?..... EDITORS No. 1 and 2 confess themselves no smokers! (see pages 330 and 380, of this Volume.) It is evident to every reflecting mind' that we must publish our principles also. We do smoke;' and we think of those who cannot appreciate the delightful and harmless luxury of the Indian leaf adroitly roll'd,' as we think of a friend who is indifferent to Music, or Poetry, or a 'gentle being,' or the influences of these twilight hours, dreamily' whispering like a sea-shell.' We speak not of the 'quid.' We have no love for that-not a bit! and though the *The original history of this race is lost in the fabulous labyrinth of Antiquity. grapical position has never been determined; nor is it known that they ever existed. Their exact geo- elaborate Dissertatio de Masticatione Foliorum Tabaci et Ceterarum Rerum Omnium,' which an old German doctor published more than a century ago, discusses well the 'pleasures and advantages of chawing,' we are content to let alone the 'pig' in all its forms, 'Whether ham, bacon, sausage, souse, or brawn, Leg, blade-bone, bald-rib, grisking, chime, or chop.' It is very common for some, (don't 'flare up,' sir, we have no reference to you!) who affect all sorts of 'propriety' and 'consistency' to condemn smoking and smokers as 'low and vulgar,' and sometimes even as 'immoral!' Their judgement is, no doubt, very satisfactory to themselves. But, after all, we cannot help pitying their lack of sense and charity. We believe it can be proved that temperate smoking is, to a healthy constitution, not only harmless, but exceedingly beneficial-physically and mentally. But we do not intend to do it; for you reason only on this wise-Some lean and billious young student, a smoker, but who burns the 'midnight oil' and daily absorbs large quantities of vile tea and coffee, and 'bacon for breakfast,' and 'salt mackerel, No. 3,' on Sunday mornings, dies, in accordance with natural laws, of liver or heart complaints. Some rubicund and portly lounger of the hotel, an inveterate smoker, but who daily deposits in his stomach ten pounds of beef with a proportional quantity of vegetables, &c., and who spends twelve hours in his arm chair and twelve in his bed, happens, on some still night, to 'slip his wind.' You contemplate these and such facts, and aver that smoking shortens life! But did you make a post mortem examination? We will tell you of constant smokers' who lived to a healthy old age. DR. PARR, of whom it is said that his intellectual spark always went out when the fire in his pipe went out, lived to the age of seventyeight. THOMAS HOBBES,' who smoked to excess,' Ilved to the age of ninety-two. IZAAK WALTON,' who had a taste for tobacco as well as a love of angling,' lived till he was upwards of ninety. DR. Wм. LLOYD, who was an inveterate smoker,' lived to the age of ninety-one. SIR ISAAC NEWTON,' who was as fond of tobacco as his great master, Dr. Isaac Barrow,' lived to the age of eighty-four. Will that do? You say that smoking' renders the body listless and the mind inactive!' But Robert Hall, the brightest light of the English pulpit-Lord Bacon, the 'wisest of mankind'-Milton,' whose soul was like a star'-Dr. Isaac Barrow,* a most learned, good and truly pious man'-Sir Matthew Hale, the devout and upright judge'— John Locke, and all the literary worthies of olden time' were, and many of our time are, good smokers. This fact is recorded in their histories, and we have no reason to doubt it. It suggests a lesson, which we will put into elegant versicles.' 6 These great smokers thus remind us We may make our lives sublime, Cigar stumps on the sands of Time! You say that 'smoking is expensive! So are boots. So are daily meals. Do you propose to go barefoot? to keep up a perpetual fast? Surely we have no objections! WE like what CHARLES SPRAGUE says in the following lines. And whoever, at 'the dying day's decay,' has applied that anodyne, a fragrant cigar, to his troubled spirit-has experienced its friendly assistance in his private meditations-has tested its sympathies in the dark moments of anxiety and despair-has seen it, with its' pillar *The Historian says of Barrow, 'He was of a healthy constitution used no exercise or physic, besides smoking tobacco, in which he was not sparing, saying it was an instar omnium, or panpharmacon!' 53 VOL. XIV. |