"Why, no! not precisely-but then you know bad is the best, and we must not complain. However, follow me! and I'll soon dispel from your breast all such ideas as that Yale College lacks scenes of interest. Follow me!" and the old man started up, buttoned his coat, grasped his cane and moved towards the door.

"It is very cold this evening," I murmured, as I heard the wind roaring without.

"Pshaw! come along! never mind the cold!"

"At least," said I, "you'll take a cup of coffee before you go!" He consented. "I would offer you a glass of wine, but the fact of it is, I'm not very fond-zounds! what am I thinking of?-I would say I'm a member of the newly-formed "tee-total" society. Perhaps you've heard something of it?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes! I know all about what you graceless young rogues are engaged in. But come! let's be off!"

Buttoning on my "dread-nought" coat, I was soon following him out the room. We descended the stairs, and stood out upon the 'green' now white with snow.

"There! said the old man, pointing, as he spoke, “do you see that light in the farthest corner of South Middle? Well! we'll see what is going on there."

We softly ascended the stairs, stood by the door, and peeping through the key-hole, saw a poor fellow deeply immersed in "Day's Mathematics," "Conic Sections," etc. Never in my life did I behold the expression of complete agony so vividly depictured as on his face while turning over the leaves of the latter. "Hyperbolic curve! parabolic curve!" muttered he, "hang it all, diabolic curve must come next, I take it."

"He is a little mistaken there," whispered my guide, "that's what I call a generic term applicable to all the others." I inwardly blessed the old man for the thought. The fellow heard us whispering, I imagine, for he started up and came toward the door. As we perceived this movement, we took to our heels, and scampering, with the true devil-take-the-hindmost' speed, down the stairs, soon again stood out upon the green.

"You young rascal!" said the old man, puffing and wheezing like a young locomotive,'" hav'nt you more manners than to pitch over me in that kind of style? Why! there are not half a dozen whole bones in my body! However, let that pass. Supposing we make a move into the other entry." So said, so done. As we entered, we could hear sounds of uproarious mirth, now a song, now a shout, and now a yell of frantic delight. "Come on!" says the old man, come on! don't be afraid !"

"A rather gratuitous supposition-that last of yours," I remarked. "Hush! not a word!" whispered he, as we stood before the door, "now listen." They were singing away most furiously, if not melodiously, upon an old song

"Away with your circles, sines, tangents, and squares!
For Day and for Euclid not one of us cares.
Dame Nature hath taught us to form a curved line,
With a circle of friends round a bottle of wine!

Oh! a bottle of wine! a bottle of wine!

For our song is in praise of a bottle of wine!"

"Poor fellows!" said my guide as we descended, "poor fellows! curved lines are evidently their favorites, but I'm wonderfully afraid that some of them will before long be engaged in investigating the nature of what is vulgarly called a 'bee line,' drawn in the directions of their separate domicils, pointed out to them by those who stand high in authority over them, instead of a curved one taught by dame Nature."

Our next visit was to a room in the basement of old 'South,' where some dozen of those lately initiated into the mysteries of a college life were congregated, and seated around a stove, in the highest glee imaginable at their temporary respite from study, were engaged in the discussion of-say a half bushel-perhaps more-of baked murphies. I glanced in at the key-hole.

"Gad zooks! Enoch! what the deuce d'ye suppose tutor Bwould say if he should catch us spreeing it here at this rate? eh? said one of them.

"Blast tutor B-!" was the courageous reply, "who's afraid?" Hereupon my companion gave a gentle tap on the door, when— who'd have thought it ?-potatoes, Freshmen, skins, etc. vanished in the twinkling of an eye, into a proximate closet, where we performed the same evolution "in medias aures."

But why dwell longer on these scenes? Need I relate how we mounted up to Cockloft Hall-how sprites and fairies round us flocked, shook hands with him who led me on, and kindly nodded to myself? Or need I show how we dived down into the cavernous recesses of Commons Hall-saw cooks and waiters at their antics, cut their capers, without a wish, a hope, a fear? Or need I tell of Seniors to the ears immersed in love of research after metaphysical lore or any of the things I saw? Suffice it that I saw them, and would'st thou see them too? then must thou tread the path that I have trod, and thou wilt see them as they only should be seen.

If, dear reader, you are still awake, imagine us returned to my room, our seats resumed, cigars and pipes re-lit, and us puffing away at them with the energy of veteran smokers for the space of ten minutes or more in the most profound silence. The old man appeared inclined to sleep, and to arouse him I inquired what all this had to do with the object of his visit to me?

"Every thing," he replied, in a tone that showed he was any thing but disposed to sleep. "Do you recollect him that was poring over Conics-those who were luxuriating over potatoe skins, or those of Cockloft memory."

"Certainly," said I, "I recollect them."

"Well then!" he continued, "while you have such subjects for remark, never again turn to any thing out of College walls. As every periodical should fully represent the condition of the community from which it emanates, so should your Magazine be the mirror of College affairs. This alone can render it interesting-for this alone was it established, and not to be merely the receptacle of any idle tale the busy imagination can conjure up. Besides," he added, "there is another class for which you should write. Look there!"

I turned my eyes as directed and beheld an elegant and extensive library. Upon the wall was placed a "List of Books purchased during the months of August and September, 1968." I was about to turn away, when I saw a young man enter and inquire for something descriptive of college manners, customs, etc. during the first part of the previous century.

"Nothing of the kind in the library," replied the librarian, “wait a moment though! let me see! was'nt our Magazine published as early as that? Ah, yes! here are the first volumes for eighteen hundred thirty five, six-and seven."

"The very articles I want," said the young man, and forthwith Jugged off some half dozen volumes.

"And now," resumed my guest, "would you have posterity search in vain? Would you have them lament that their ancestors have left them no memorial of their collegiate career? Consider this, my son. Ponder over, I beseech you, and gather sapience from my words."

He rose to leave.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed I, "do you think posterity will be very anxious to know whether in the year eighteen hundred thirty seven Freshmen ate potatoe-skins, or whether Juniors sang drinking-songs? If not, I don't see how they are to be benefitted by this visit of yours, for I'll be hanged if I can do what you want me to, any better than I could before you put your foot within this room."

He glanced an eye of indignation at me, and then again seating himself, said

"Is your brain then so utterly destitute of ideas as this would seem to prove? Well, then! listen to me, and I'll tell you a tale of college life to refresh your jaded brain. So let me fill and light my pipe once more!"

These formalities were soon over with. Then scientifically adjusting his proportions in my leathern-backed chair, he proceeded in his narration.

(To be continued.)

143

MUSIC.

WHY, minstrel, gleams thy kindling eye
With rapture so divine?
Why wakes the harp its melody,

Beneath that touch of thine?

Thou'rt reveling in the purest bliss
To mortals ever given:

Who longs for aught surpassing this,
Must look for it in Heaven.

And think'st thou 'tis the thrilling swell
Of music in its might,

Which stirs within thy bosom's cell,
And fills thee with delight?

That melting strain, to thee so dear,
Is but the trembling air;
And it might fill another ear,

And move no rapture there.

No! 'twas a deeper tone that spoke,
Than thy full harp-string's roll;
For this, though sweet, has only woke
The music of thy soul.

PAPERS FROM THE ATTIC.

No. IV.

MAGNANIMITY.

It is a truth which comes home to every good man's heart almost every day of his life, that the world acts like a blind man in the distribution of its favors; or, in other words, that the adventitious distinctions of circumstances are by no means just standards of merit. It is discovered and that too without much effort, that the principles upon which the world mostly proceeds are at war with justice; and that it is one of the rarest things in nature, when a given course of human conduct meets with neither more nor less than its proper reward. Nothing is more common than to see splendid villiany dignified by office, while patient merit is left with no emolument, save

the consciousness of a high and growing virtue. Human reason has been perverted by ages of darkness, and that nice discrimination and profound judgment which ought to sit as umpires over the actions of men, are no where to be found. In their places, we have judgments that are swayed by prepossessions, and those the most dangerous; and the mind, leading captive the moral feelings, has shot from its orbit, and wandered away almost beyond recall.

There are however a very few in the world who have not this mental blindness, and who have magnanimity enough to challenge the opinions of the multitude; there are a few who still possess that freshness of feeling which is susceptible of the nicest shades in moral character, and who when once convicted of the justice or expediency of any course of conduct, have moral courage enough to carry their principles into action. They have learned that great truth in morals, that right strengthens right, and are fully possessed of such a sufficiency of knowledge, as makes them prefer a good path to an evil one.

It is such men as these who can feel the truth asserted at the head of this paper; and it is to such and such only we are to look, would we want models for the daily duties of life. The world spurns them often, it is true; but it is not a truth reserved for the discovery of the nineteenth century, that the eyes of mankind are not always open to their own best advantage. We as often as any other way take a fool for a philosopher, and in the supremacy of our ignorance hold as cheap the rarest blessings of providence. Nothing is more evident to every reflecting man, than that we voluntarily choose error while truth is blazing in our faces; and that with the two paths before us we often take the bad one, though blocked up with difficulties.

No higher evidence is afforded of the perverted state of the human intellect, than is deduced from considerations of the principles on which the world proceeds in judging of men's actions; and a most melancholy account of it is accumulated by the simple fact, that it bestows its rewards indiscriminately without regard to the motives which inspire our conduct. Now the true method of coming at the importance of any splendid achievement, is by weighing well the motives which led to that achievement. No act in itself considered is of any value, and no act can be properly considered apart from its relations. It is the motive alone which gives greatness to a deed, and which properly sets one man above another; and when the world comes up to this high principle, and men's actions are shaped accordingly, society will instantly be raised from its low condition, and stand upon a basis at once dignified and commanding. The splendid specimens of moral excellence which start up here and there from the dead level of society, are nothing else than the incipient struggles of some mighty spirit, which is destined to bring about this same consummation. As the eye travels back to a dim antiquity, they are scattered like lights along the path-way; they