His face was twisted into the shape of a scalene triangle; and, in fact, the tout ensemble of the poor fellow was decidedly wo-begone. We tried, as in duty bound, to cheer him up; told him that he was young, and had probably a long life before him, which he said he knew before. Then we suggested that as his fortune couldn't change for the worse, the next alteration would probably be in his favor. This last idea seemed quite reviving, and we began to hope that reason was returning. But soon he relapsed into his old state, and commenced so dolorous a train of musings that we shall not be able to forget it for a month. "Ah, my friend," said he, while his visage began to lengthen, till it became an interminable straight line, "you can but ill imagine the insatiable canker-worm of grief which is gnawing at my heart. I have often tried to put on a smooth face; but that terrible work is still going on within, and I cannot stop it. Many a stern old oak, that has braved storm after storm, has fallen at last through the ceaseless guawing of the worm at its heart; and many a soul, that was never bowed by the weight of affliction, has failed at last through the cankering of inward grief. The young soul awakes to the struggle of life with all the energy of resolution and the vivacity of hope; but there are seasons when the strings of a man's heart are strained almost to the breaking, and the rough winds of adversity sweep strains of melancholy music from those quivering cords. Judge me not by your own lightsome heart. You are interested in the world and its vanities; but I-I (we wish, dear reader, you could have seen his face just then) am often terrified with visions too horrible to be described. I will, however, reveal to you something of one which (and he looked tremblingly back over first one shoulder and then the other) lately appeared to me. It was evening. I was sitting in my room, in just the mood in which I generally receive these spiritual mssengers. The embers in the fireplace had nearly died out. You remember that sweet verse in the Footsteps of Angels

"When the evening lamps are faded,

And, like giants grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful fire-light

Dance upon the parlor wall"

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don't you?" "Yes," said we, "but you needn't undertake to compare any of your visions with Longfellow's." Longfellow is nothing to me," he exclaimed, with as much indignation as he could express with that interminable straight line for a face; "but I only quoted his words to describe the appearance of my room on that memorable evening. But to proceed; every thing about the room combined to remind me of the transitory nature of earthly things. The dying embers, the flickering light, the fading outlines of the furniture, brought sombre reflections to my mind. But, as is usual with me, my reflections were not only melancholy but frightful. My room seemed filled with horrid shapes of Evil, with fiery-balls glaring horribly upon me from all directions through the thickening gloom. I shuddered and seemed about to sink upon the floor, when a long bony finger was laid upon my shoulder. By a spasmodic effort I mustered just strength enough to turn my head, (and he began again to twitch his head wildly and convulsively over his shoulder,) when, O horrors! what a countenance returned my gaze! It were utterly vain to attempt a description; but all the terrors of all the hideous shapes which ever visited me in my night-visions seemed collected in horrible countenance. But, not to keep you longer in suspense, (and his voice grew solemn with every word,) the Shape drew nearer, and, with a malignant grin, whispered its appalling accents in my ear, Any more copy? the forms are nearly all set up, and we want three pages of Table.' Mercy! bless me!' exclaimed I, 'this is -'s number, not mine.' The exertion partly dispelled my terror, and before I had fairly awakened from my reverie, the Devil had vanished."

་

Matters about College seem to be progressing very much as usually. The new Catalogue shows a smaller number of undergraduates by nearly fifty, than the last, a circumstance which materially affects our subscription-list. But these temporary fluctuations have nothing to do with the prosperity of our venerable University. The appearance of "Scholars of the House" on the Catalogue occasions some gossip: this title is, we are informed by one of those in authority, the original one given to this Foundation by Dean Berkely, and is revived from respect to his memory.

1

There has been but little severe sickness in College this term; but we have not been altogether privileged above the common lot of humanity. Last vacation, while we were enjoying the delightful pleasures of rest from study and of intercourse with friends, a member of the Class of '48, unable to reach his home, sank gradually down to his grave, within sight of the College walls. He had not been long with us, for he entered at an advanced standing, and Death cut him down almost as soon as he commenced his course. But we had seen him enough to learn to value his many excellent qualities, and to confidently cherish the belief, that his career would be honorable to himself and useful to the world. Before he was removed from his room to one in town, with the few comforts which a College room can possibly afford a sick man, he exhibited a patience and a resignation which we have seldom seen equaled. We had not the privilege of standing by his death-bed; but there is substantial evidence that his meek and gentle spirit has escaped from the wearisome cares of the world to eternal security and joy. As a tribute of respect to his memory, the following resolutions were passed by the Class:

"Whereas, in the dealings of an all-wise Providence, our classmate, PHILANDER S. SEELEY, has been taken from us by death; therefore,

Resolved, That we sincerely sympathize with the friends, and above all, with the widowed mother of the deceased, in this their deep affliction.

Resolved, That we mourn this loss to our class, of one who, as a thorough and ready scholar, and a pleasant and generous companion, endeared himself to all who knew him.

Resolved, That we present a copy of these resolutions to the mother and friends of the deceased, and that they be published in each of the three following papers, viz: The New Haven Palladium, the Bridgeport Standard, and the New York Observer."

We have a couple of morceaux, which our readers can swallow at their leisure. The first is old, but would be excellent if it was not spoiled in the translation:

FROM THE LATIN OF PASSERET.

Whatever regions, from her heavenly throne,
Great Ceres looks upon; or wheresoe'er
Old Father Ocean, with his liquid arms,
Encompasses the earth; free from decay,
Nothing exists without an origin.
Immortal Nothing; Nothing ever blest!
But how, if immortality and bliss
Evince both majesty and power Divine,
Must homage e'er be rendered to the Gods,
Which Nothing, by as worthy title, claims?
Nothing is more refreshing to the heart

Than the secret influence of heaven's blest light;
Nothing is more delightful to the sense

Than are the vernal hours; Nothing more sweet
Than shaded gardens, where cool waters flow.
Nothing blooms fairer than the verdant mead,
And breathes more gently than the Zephyr's sigh.
Nothing is sacred 'mid the clash of arms:
Nothing remains unharmed on fields of blood.
Nothing is safe in treaties, Nothing just in peace.
Happy the man (Tibullus once averred)
Who Nothing owns. He fears no treachery:
He dreads no fire, nor robbers' violence;

Nor ever wrangles for his rights in courts.
And e'en the Wise Man, whom the Stoics boast,
Who cheerfully submits all things to fate,
Admires and longs for Nothing.

Nothing is loftier than the far-off stars:
Nothing unknown to th' all-beholding sun.

And, Mummius, thou, though blest with noblest powers,
To penetrate through Nature's mysteries,
And scan her deep arcana, seem'st (forgive
My high presumption) to be ignorant

Of Nothing. Nothing gleams with clearer light
Than the bright orb of day, or glitt'ring fire.
Touch Nothing, and thou'lt be compelled to own
That, without substance, Nothing may be touched.
Look upon Nothing, and thou straight shall learn
That, without color, Nothing may be seen.
Nothing can hear the dumb discourse, can speak
When voiceless, walk the earth without a limb,
Without a wing can soar through liquid air.
Nothing, that hath nor place nor motive power,
Can wander through th' immeasurable void.
Nothing more useful is to human kind
Than the great art of healing.

And whomsoe'er stern Charon, in his bark,
Hath ferried to the dreary shades below,

Across the sunless waters, Nothing can recall
To light and life; for Nothing moves
Th' inexorable will of gloomy Dis,

And works its pleasures with the thread of Fate.
Those earth-born giants, whom the Olympian Sire
O'erwhelmed upon the plains of Phlegra, felt
That Nothing than the thunderbolt of Jove
Is to be dreaded more. Nothing extends
Beyond the confines of the Universe:

The Gods dread Nothing.

Why too long prolong
My tedious strain? fair Virtue is less fair
Than Nothing: Nothing is more glorious
Than Virtue. Nothing holds its proud estate
Matchless, supreme, above the throne of Jove.
The second is pathetic.

'If ye have tears, prepare to shed them now."

BALLAD OF BROOKFIELD.

i remember when a little boy of heering mother tel

the story of the Dredful Fate

which a family befel.

twas on the southern boundary line

of famous brookfield town

that there once stood an old brown hous

which now has tumbled down.

a man whos morals was not Good

did dwel within the same
he had 5 children grone up
and CARTER was the name.
3 suns there was, & dawters 2
but O their dredful Fate
i pray u al attenshun give
and i will it relate.

horace the oldest of them all
a dredful crime did doo

and for the same was taken up
and in a dungeon threw.
his trial came, the juge declared
that horace should be hung.
so with a halter roung his nek
he from the scaffold swung.
tommas the 2d of the bois
did rob a hous 1 nite

and then was thrown into a prizon dark and kept there day and nite.

they centensed Him to stay for life

in the prizon dark and lone

but when a few short yeers had flew

he so reformed had grone

that thay thot thay wood let Him out
and set the prizoner free.

and now his natural caracter

u all wil shortly see

no sunner had he left the yard

and got out of his keepers way
than strate to a stable went

and stole a Hors and Shay

and then thay brot poor tommas back

and poot him in his cel

and whether he'll ever get out agane

is more than i can tel!

loren, the youngest of them all

some munny stole 1 day

so in the prizon 20 years

he now has got to stay.

the Girls got drunk and their father beet

and so to jale ware sent

while the fathers hart with greef was broke and down to the Grave he went.

Contributions for the next No. must be sent in immediately.

A most perilous, but unavoidable haste in composition and proof-reading must excuse the introduction of the word contemporary, line 24, p. 370 of Vol. XII, No. 8.