twenty-three and one quarter inches! As we neared our homes, my fair companions challenged me to a race, and so off we started. It was to me indeed a beautiful sight. As our glorious nineteenth century poet has it "By them went The enamored air sighing, and on their curls From the high tree the blossom wavering fell." My friend from Hudson, a perfect Atalanta, surpassed us all, and though I was considered a fleet runner among my classmates, I was obliged to yield the palm to her airy steps, which seemed scarcely to touch the ground. The evening was one of those which occur but seldom in one's lifetime, and which form a bright picture among the shadows of human existence. But the sun of our happiness was soon to be shaded by a cloud; a cloud of sorrow, of tears, of misery. As if to prove the truth of the aphorism, "Death loves a shining mark," she whose step was the fleetest, whose heart the lightest, and whose voice rang through the woodaisles with the most sweetness, was suddenly taken away. In spite of all the skill of physicians, all the attentions of the simple villagers, all the tears of her family, who had been hastily summoned to her couch, she died. In accordance with her own last request, she was buried in the fairy knoll in the pine forest, and upon her early grave was shed by all a tear for the sweet stranger, who had come among them so brightly and departed so sadly, and a plain white slab proclaimed the heartfelt affection of those among whom she had passed away. I returned to my studies, saddened and sobered. Since then months have passed away, but the quiet musing of all my reveries brings back to me that lonely grave on the fairy knoll, in the old pine-forest. W. Memorabilia Valensia. ORDINATION OF REV. GEORGE P. FISHER. GEORGE P. FISHER, who was last spring elected Livingston Professor of Divinity, and called by the College Church to be its Pastor, was ordained in this city, Tuesday, Oct. 24th, by an Ecclesiastical Council. The public services were held in the North Cong. Church, and were as follows: Introductory Prayer by the Rev. Mr. Ropes; Sermon by Rev. Prof. E. A. Park; Ordaining Prayer by Rev. Dr. E. T. Fitch; Charge to the Pastor by Rev. President T. D. Woolsey; Right Hand of Fellowship by the Rev. S. W. S. Dutton; Benediction by the Pastor. The occasion was one of great interest, and the Church was full to overflowing. In noticing the coming of Prof. Fisher among us, we are sure we but express the general feeling of College, when we extend to him a warm and hearty welcome. LITERARY SOCIETIES. THE Society elections taking place upon the evening of Oct. 18th, resulted as follows: The Class of '58 hereby challenge the Class of '57 to a game of Foot Ball. Best two in three. Place, the usual Your challenge has been accepted, The Class of '57 will meet you. Time, Wednesday, Oct. 25th, at two and a half o'clock, P. M. ground. In behalf of the Class of '57, The contest took place upon the appointed day, and terminated, as usual, in a victory on the part of the Sophomores. The weather was exceedingly fine, and the spectators quite numerous. We regret that we have been unable to obtain a list of the killed and wounded. Editor's Table. "Cudgel thy brains no more about it."-SHAKSPEARE, YES, Dear Reader, we've cudgeled and cudgeled and cudgeled, but alas all to little purpose. There is, indeed, a lamentable stagnation of ideas just at present, and our poor brain, aching from these incessant flagellations, has left us even duller than "ourself of yore." Ah! did you know how sadly we are disappointed, you surely would not "shut the gates of mercy" on us. With what bright anticipations did we look forward to that morning, when we should wake up and find ourselves famous! Already in imagination we were astounding you with our fund of anecdote, pelting you with puns, and perfectly annihilating you with epigrams. O Lamb! thy glory had indeed departed, and O Hood! how wast thou outdone. Punch-the world-renowned Punch, had sent for us, and to thee "Maggie" dear-to thee our first love, for once, even in thought, we were untrue. But we have "fallen, fallen from our high estate." All the bright remarks and witty sayings, which we so carefully treasured up, have gone--gone "like a dream when one awakeneth," and left us completely at a loss, reader, how to provide for your entertainment. O Fortune! Fortune! thou fickleminded thing, how couldst thou so cruelly desert us. Come then with us But what say you to a peep at the Editorial conclave? while we conduct you for a moment into their presence, and reveal a few of the "secrets of our prison house." Nay! be not so fearful, nor tremble so violently. After all they are but mortal. They know full well how, at times, to lay aside their editorial dignity, and mingle with the tide of common men. need, we ween, to urge upon them the precept of old Horace,— No Take courage, then, and come with us into this sanctum sanctorum-this "holy of holies." Now has it not a decided literary air? Never mind the smoke, 'twill screen you from the dazzling radiance of their countenance. Look-there in the center stands the great Table. How many have been bound upon it, (perhaps even you, yourself, reader,) while Proteus-like we stretched or clipped them to suit the circumstances of Maga! How many have there been remorse. lessly dissected, and finally consigned to yonder coffin, under the head of " respectfully declined"! That Coffin! Of what bright hopes, of what lofty aspirations has it been the sad receptacle! It is, indeed, a mighty leveler. Many who in the outer world never even recognize each other, here lie peacefully down, side by side, “all silent and all damned." But we see you are impatient for your promised peep at our brother Eds. There they are, then, nearly hidden in the clouds that encircle them. The work is over, and they have given themselves up to the soothing influence of the weed. Conspicuous among the rest, by his air of luxurious indolence and the dense volumes which he is continually puffing forth, sits the "smoking editor." Surely never did appellation suit mortal better-it fits him like a garment, although for some unaccountable reason he has strangely taken exception to it. Indeed between ourselves, we've heard- -now we won't vouch for it as a fact-but we've heard that he dropped upon this mundane sphere of ours with an Havana in his mouth. So puff away most worthy smoker, and never disown the title thou hast so nobly earned! By it we hail thee as an "auld comrade dear and brother sinner,"-may life's cares trouble thee no more than the smoke wreaths that ever float around thee! But who is this with princely port and air majestic? "Deep on his front engraven Deliberation sits, and public care." That is the "dignified editor," and for him we entertain the most profound respect. How admiringly have we gazed upon him as he made printers and printer's devils fly 'round in a truly amazing manner, and how vainly have we endeavored to emulate him! Like poor David Copperfield, we never could impress upon others a proper sense of our own importance. To all our blusterings the printer only answers with that meaning smile, and " Ah! sir, you are young." Enraged, we turn to vent our wrath upon the devil, but with a mocking leer he reëchoes the words of his master, "Ah! sir, you are young, very young." But the subject is an unpleasant one, so let's take a glimpse at Young America personified, or the "cool editor." There he sits as usual—chair tilted back and boots placed most irreverently upon the sacred table. It needs no second glance to tell you that he has the most supreme contempt for all that savors of the past. He is a “manifest destiny" man, and believes in universal progress. We won't anticipate, however, as he will soon have an opportunity to speak for himself. The editorial mantle falls next upon his shoulders, and here in pure benevolence we would do him a little service; for with Dido we can truly say, "Non ignara mali miseris succurrere disco." When you approach his sanctum, reader, let it be with noiseless step and gentle knock. Come not with thy usual heavy tramp, and rude, unceremonious rap. Editors' nerves are peculiarly sensitive, and you little know how many bright ideas you have thus unintentionally driven away forever. Take heed, then, and let us also entreat you when you see his eye "in a fine frenzy rolling" to make yourself exceedingly scarce. So shalt thou receive thy reward in an excellent No. of the Lit. But we have not yet got 'round the "board." There between the "smoking" and the "cool," sits "multum in parvo,” or, as he has been called, the "ultra editor." Here, however, we must stop, for our spirit fails us. It is with fear and trembling that we even mention him. We can only point you to him and beg you look long and earnestly. Think you not he is one, who will ever "paddle his own canoe," and revolve on his own axis? And now, dear reader, permit us for once to assume the privilege of the Novelist, and carry you at a single stride from the presence of this august body into our own little sanctum. Here we are scribbling away for dear life, for the printer is impatient, and in the morning we must send this ugly MS. to press. But it is growing late, and what's of more consequence, we are growing sleepy. The old Lyceum clock, too, has just tolled the hour when evil spirits are abroad. Fancy is already busy conjuring up "Gorgons and Hydras, and Chimeras dire." Moreover, we have to night been foolishly correcting the proofs of the ghost story. Fatal rashness! Even now the ghosts of innumerable defunct, unburied ponies, are neighing and snorting around us in the most frightful manner. There glaring at us with his “terrible eye-ball” is the steed that bore us unscathed through the Athenian plague-and there too, the nimble Pegasus on which we rode so gaily over the plains of Marathon. Really we are getting quite frightened, and long, as when a little boy, to hide our head in the bedclothes. But before making this undignified exit we would speak one word for Maga. She is our first bantling, reader-pray receive her kindly, and give her a little nook in that heart of thine. And in return we give thee an editor's best blessing-pleasant dreams, and may they never be rudely broken by a printer's dev-, we mean-a typographical spirit of evil. Vive-Valete! THE AWARD. THE Editors having elected Prof. JAMES HADLEY, and JOSEPH SHELDON, Esq., as graduate members of the Committee to award the Medal, have received the following report: To the Editors of the Yale Literary Magazine: GENTLEMEN,-The Committee of award for the premium offered by the Editors of the Yale Literary Magazine, report, that after examining the pieces submitted to them, they gave the preference to an essay entitled "The Love of the Supernatural." The author's name, as appeared on opening the accompa nying envelope, is CHARLES RAY PALMER. The Committee think it proper to mention another essay, entitled "The Character of the Individual conditioned on that of the State," which might perhaps have received the preference, had the literary execution been equal to the vigorous and independent thought. Very Respectfully, Yours, YALE COLLEGE, Nov. 1, 1854. JAMES HADLEY, JOSEPH SHELDON, |
