tors, it is his to give reputation to the college genius, who aspires to shine as an author, by receiving the "first attempt," if he be in the mood, or if he be not, to consign the production to a merited oblivion by declining it. Of all stations commend me to that of a Magazine editor, provided he can get along smoothly-without any blow-ups. "And so, this is the last number that we publish. And I am here, for the last time imbedded in this luxurious chair! for the last time at liberty here unquestioned ex fumo dare lucem, as my principe might say, last-ugh—that word has an ugly sound,--there's Tom Moore's "Last Rose of Summer," and Mrs. Shelley's "Last Man," and the "Last Day," last! I'll none of it--well! there's some good in the change; no more hieroglyphical essays which Champollion could not decipher, no more interminable tales with no end in prospect, no more "verses to Mary-Ann, on being presented with a withered flower," or " stanzas to Louisa-Matilda, on the occasion of her wishing herself some bright particular star," no more Inquiries into the origin, progress, present state, and future prospects of"--any thing, no more "Loose thoughts upon,"-any matter whatever, no more" "No more of that, Hal, an' thou lovest me," 66 - interrupted the China-man, Nung Boah,* who had entered silently, followed by Beppo and Zotoff. Why, man! you look only at the sombre side of the picture --consider, we shall have no more wit to laugh over, or pathos to cry over, no more humor to excite our risibles, or melancholy to exercise our lachrymals. 'Othello's occupation's gone." "Too late, gentlemen, with your discussion--what boots it now?" sighed Zotoff, as with a pensive air he tried to look over his gastronomical regions into the fire, thus managing to call our attention to his pedestals, upon whose diminutive size he plumes himself, and which for the nonce were encased in new leather. "Mr. President," quoth Caius, our Treasurer, who had just come into the room, "I rise, sir, to report"- Perhaps you had better sit down before you rise to make any report," suggested Beppo. Withering was the glance cast upon the Italian, who began to shrink away from his original proportions until he seemed the embodiment of" nothin' whittled down to a pint," and direful, doubtless, would have been the consequences, had not the approaching fray been broken off, by no unusual apparition. (Enter Bill, the Printer's Devil.) "Halloo! imp! how now? What's the matter?" thundered the President. "Matter, sir! too much matter, sir-seven pages too much. Boss says he's hot pressed enough now; has to get up an impression for the Christian Spectater and Olmsted's field-officery-can't find men enough to make up so many sheets!" ("Thought that was a woman's business," murmured Nung, aside.) "Well, gents, what's to be done?" inquired the President. "O! we can manage well enough," responded Beppo. "I think we had better dam that "Source of the Niger,"-it will occupy three or four pages." "I agree with Beppo," said Zotoff; "it always seemed to me a dark subject, that Ni(g)ger!" "And besides," continued the Italian, "we must put a stop to the "Diffusion of Knowledge," which will fill out three or four more." "Well! the thing is arranged then?" asked the President, as he wrote upon a slip of paper his direc * There is a doubt as to the orthography of this name; some write it Bore.-Printer's Dev. tions for the infernal messenger. "Here, Bill! begone! why don't you 'walk Spanish?' hence I say, 'Hence, horrible shadow! unreal mockery, hence!'" But the "mockery" "grinned horrible, a ghastly smile," and the "shadow" realized the compliment of the Persians-"May your shadow never be less!" Bill stood imperturbable, extending in his dexter paw, which was begrimed with printer's ink and seemed for weeks to have been innocent of soap, a dingy manuscript, and stuttering out,—" a-a-ahem! Boss says seein' this is 'bout end of your 'ear, (here each one instinctively clapped his hand to his auriculars,) he says seein' this is 'bout your end (poking the parchment at Alcibiades) he'd like to present his small bill." "Hang his small bill! Hasn't he presented your ugly mug here often enough already?" "Don't get in a passion, my Grecian!" whispered the Treasurer, “let me look at the items-um-extra copies of number six-um, um―ditto number four-um. Why he hasn't given us the sum total. How much does it foot up, young Beelzebub ?" "Avaunt! darkness!" roared the exasperated Zotoff. (The angry Russian in his choler catches the unfortunate imp by the collar, and while the Treasurer is footing up "Boss'" small bill, proceeds very summarily to foot down t'other small Bill, prefacing each pedal application with the line from Shakspeare, "Once more unto the breech, dear friends, once more," and affording, on a small scale, an exhibition of the "March of Intellect.") "Mr. President and Fellows," began the Treasurer, when order had been restored, "I had intended to lay before you an elaborate report upon the financial condition of our Magazine, but as the hour is waxing late, and you are waxing somnolent, I will not weary your attention with any stale details. The duties of the station which I was called upon to fill, have neither been few in number nor trifling in importance. How well or ill, however, they may have been discharged it matters not, but this I may say, that though our number might have afforded an abler, it could not have afforded a more zealous officer. (Cheers.) Let me state to you, in a word, our circumstances; we have a treasury well filled, (hear him,) an excellent subscription list, (hear, hear)—contributors in plenty, (hear, hear,) and we are ready to hand over to our successors, with our benison, our "whole stock in trade, fixtures, &c." and wish them the same good fortune we have ourselves enjoyed. But, sir, before I sit down, let me remind you that one year ago upon this occasion, the immortal pioneers in this enterprise were duly entertained by us with that inward refection, which recreates as well the morale as the physique of our system, and I am credibly informed that they who are about to push us from our stools, are prepared to "follow in the footsteps of their illustrious predecessors"-in short, knowing us to be men of taste, they are ready academically speaking to-TREAT. (“Champagne!” murmured the nodding Beppo—“ Shad!” ejaculated Nung Boah.) Therefore, sir, I move❞— Caius stopped-his gaze became rivetted upon a copy of number five, which lay fresh and unsullied before us upon the table. Suddenly, to the eyes of all, the figure upon the cover began to dilate,-it grew upon our astonished vision, assuming more and more the port and bearing of a man, till at length appeared before our bewildered sight, the tutelary Genius of the University-ELIHU YALE. Yes! there he was, in full glory, a gentleman of the old school. His powdered and full-bottomed wig, from out of which loomed his rubicund countenance, waved in graceful festoons of curls over his brawny shoulders-his coat was of mulberry-colored velvet, with huge cuffs, adorned with rows of gold buttons-his embroidered satin waistcoat, which reached quite to his knees, depended gracefully over his protuberant stomach, and was furnished with receptacles, which put all modern pockets to the blush-his sturdy legs were encased in white silk stockings, ornamented with enormous clocks, which were fastened at the knee with golden buckles to his velvet breeches-his shoes of the same material, were likewise clasped with buckles of gold, while from his neck and wrists hung in voluminous folds, the snowy lawn, which in the days of our great grand-mothers, marked the man of fashion. Not a word did the old gentleman utter for a long time, but stretching forth his hand, he appropriated a real Habana, and lighting it in silence, commenced to puff most furiously. At length, slapping his little cocked hat over his left eye with his palm sinister, in order to give his countenance a fierce expression, and then ramming both hands with an air of determined resolution, to the bottoms of those waistcoat pockets, he settled himself with a stamp upon his right leg, and began "My children," said the old fellow, "once before have I appeared to mortals. It was when your glorious forerunners in this race, had assembled together in fear and trembling, to hazard another attempt at establishing a College Magazine, which should be worthy of the Institution and of me, (slapping his breast.) It was when despondency had come among them-when failure and disappointment stared them in the face-when false friends smiled and cold-hearted enemies sneered at their attempt. It was after their first number had been issued, and when they had met together to counsel how to die most decently, that I appeared among them. I cheered their sinking spirits. I bade them onward in their noble undertaking. I predicted to them, a long life and a bright career. With a mind prescient of the future, I told them that as class after class left these time-honored walls, as year after year rolled by, so would the Yale Literary knit herself closer and closer to the affections of Yale's Alumni, until the time should come when not to have supported it heart and hand as the pride of the College, would be a disgrace which no after repentance could wipe out. ("The old fellow is good at puffing," muttered the Russian. "Yes," said Beppo, "but I hope that his predictions will not end in smoke.") I bade them persevere, and they did. You, my children, and your posterity are to be witnesses of the value of their perseverance. Hasten now, each to his own sphere, thou Zotoff, to thy native East,-hie thee, Nung Boah, to thy Quaker city of rectangularities-be off, Beppo, to thy "Metropolis"-do thou, Caius, penetrate the interior of the "Empire State"-away Alcibiades to thy "Commercial Emporium," and, one and all, spread far and wide the name and fame of the Yale Literary,-so shall you best serve Yale's interests and your own." A moment, and a mist rose before our eyes, the candles burned blue-the next, it passed away, and our apartment was restored to its usual appearance. W-h-e-w! whistled Beppo. "Mr. President," said Caius, "before that gentleman, (pointing to number five,) had interrupted me, I was about to move” "So am I," quoth the Præses, starting up, catching his cap, and making for the door—“ Come, gentlemen!" (Exeunt omnes, in most admired disorder.) We noticed the other day in an article upon public libraries, published in the American Biblical Repository, by Professor Patton of the New York University, an error which ought to be corrected. The whole number of volumes in this Institution is estimated by him at 15,000, while in reality there are in the College library about 12,000, in the Brothers', Calliopean, and Linonian libraries, about 15,000, making in all 27,000 volumes, so that Professor Patton has made an error of 12,000 volumes. We take this occasion to acknowledge the receipt of the letter from the Philodemic Society of Georgetown College; and also to inform subscribers that the subscription year does not terminate until the close of next summer. Our apology for the unusual delay of this number may be found in the fact that it is much larger than common, containing twenty-four extra pages. THE EDITORS TO THE READERS. WITH the present number, our connexion with the Editorial department of the Yale Literary Magazine is dissolved; and it is with mingled emotions of pleasure and sorrow that we now transfer the work to our suc cessors. In regard to the past, we will let that speak for itself. It is for the readers of the Magazine to judge whether, during the period of our management, it has equalled their expectations, and whether we have fulfilled the promise to spare no sacrifice of time or attention in the successful accomplishment of the task assigned us. The increase of its subscription list the number and character of its contributors-the growing interest in its success which is manifested both at home and abroad,— are all testimonies alike flattering to ourselves and encouraging to our successors. The early opposition which this periodical was forced to encounter-the sneers of would-be critics-the vagaries of false prophets—have all passed away, leaving the Magazine proudly triumphant in the high road to honor. In an institution like our own, where are yearly congregated such varied mental tastes and habits, there must ever be found a class, by no means inconsiderable, who are both competent and willing to sustain a literary periodical of a high character, which shall be at once a vehicle of intellectual profit to themselves and of interest to the readers. Assembling from all parts of our country, and associating together for a long period, the students of Yale possess a valued opportunity for the reciprocal study of mind and character, thus greatly enlarging their stock of general knowledge, for the employment of which no field of exertion offers greater advantages than a publication of this kind. Independent, however, of such considerations, with what pleasing associations will every page be fraught, when in after years we shall look back, and here, in the labored endeavors-the warm thoughts-the bold imaginings of youthful minds, shall recall the images of classmates and friends with whom we shared in all the pleasures and anxieties of College life-when hereafter the spirit faints amid the strife of a wider and sterner field of action, how kindly will these pages whisper of the past—of days of high resolves and burning spirits-sustaining the mind in its conflicts, and inciting to more strenuous and untiring efforts for the attainment of what it once believed itself capable. In transferring the interests of the Magazine to others, we are conscious that it has not yet become all that such a periodical ought to be. With its merits, there have been mingled many faults;-our only excuse is, youth and inexperience. Approval without censure we have never expected; and while, on the one hand, we have endeavored to assert that independence of judgment, which is the “sine qua non" of every successful editorial department, we have, on the other, always been accessible to advice and reproof from real friends. Most conscientiously do we assert, that in every act, unbiassed by private feelings, we have made the reputation of the Magazine our criterion in decision. To our successors we offer but little advice. Upon them, almost entirely, depends the prosperous growth of the Yale Literary Magazine. How many hours of hard, laborious toil and anxiety such a periodical demands for its support, will never be known by the mass of critical readers. Yet is this demand imperative; and if it be withheld, the Magazine at once falters-struggles-and dies. The honor of the office will never repay them for their sacrifices ;-to the spirit within they must look for their reward. Supported, however, as we most sincerely believe they will be by their fellow-students, we trust their hearts will be encouraged, and their burden lightened. With the warmest wishes for their success, and with many thanks for the indulgence and courtesy we have, at all times, received at the hands of Readers and Correspondents, We offer our respectful farewell. Yale College, April 17, 1838. CHARLES J. Lynde, Editors from the Class of 1838. |