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him elbowing his way through a crowd of his fellow students, with every step he took, yelping forth at the top of his lungs, make way there! make way for the vice president of the Conspiracy!' Sir, shall the secrets of our society, the names of its officers, be thus wantonly exposed? Surely, sir, such outrages cannot be suffered to pass with impunity. Let us rather strike at once, and by seasonably making an example of this offense, prevent its repetition. "I therefore call, Mr. President, for the deposition of Timothy Tugmutton from the vice presidency of the Conspiracy, insisting upon it as a due to justice, which alone, in all things, should direct our conduct."

All eyes were now turned upon the unfortunate culprit, in expectation of a defense of his conduct. But no; with his head bowed low between his knees he sat, awaiting in silence the shock, which he well knew would soon fall upon his devoted head. It came, alas, too soon. By an unanimous vote he was deposed from his high estate, and Kincaid elected in his stead. "Oh Timothy, Timothy how hast thou fallen!" exclaimed the President in an agony of emotion, wringing his hands in the violence of his grief.

This truly was destined to be an evening of woes and misfortunes to the noble band of Conspirators, for barely had this mournful business been transacted, when Schneider rose to remark on the dilapidated state of the treasury.

"Not a farthing in it," said he, holding up to view a huge sheepskin wallet, looking for all the world like an old diploma doubled up-"five times have I dived to its most cavernous recesses, with the forlorn hope that something might have escaped my former researches. But no! most thoroughly has it been gleaned, and I now hold it out to you, a true and mournful example of the reductio ad absurdum-a destitution of cash."

Alarm was now visible on the countenances of all, but on no one's more than on the President's, when the question as to what measures were to be adopted, was referred to his decision. But with an admirable promptitude of thought, he extricated himself from his truly embarrassing situation, assigning to Timothy, as a punishment for his late misdemeanors, that he provide for its immediate replenishment. Timothy looked aghast, and was heard muttering over something about 'declining such honors,' resignation,' &c. &c., but as no attention was paid to his remarks by the society, I have deemed them undeserving of farther record.

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By this succession of shocks, the minds of the members were completely unstrung for farther action, and they now sat, maintaining a most dignified silence, and looking as though the events of the last half hour had expanded their originally small stock of wisdom to at least the fourteenth power. Astonished-and, if the truth must be told, rather sleepy at this unwonted silence, the Secretary reposed his head for a moment on the table before him. It was only

for a moment, but on raising it, to his infinite surprise he found himself alone. Silently had each one taken his departure, and left him thus solitary and deserted. Collecting together his books and papers, he too was soon on his way to his room, and ere long was revelling amid dreams of the future fame of

ENOCH BISBEE, Secretary.

Poor Timothy! little didst thou think, as thou resortedst to the honors of thy station, as a defense from the merciless rabble, that thy fate would have been so truly grievous! Methinks I see thee even now rummaging thy pockets for the wherewithal to satisfy the demands of thy President's rapacity-methinks I see the smile of delight that lights up thy features, as some lonely sixpence greets thy sight-I see the blank despair that fills thy face, as thou turnest unfilled from thy drawer replete with rusty keys, and all but what thou needest. Heaven speed thee in thy search! May many a shilling cause thy pulse to beat yet more violently with delight, and, be there a quarter' straying unappreciated in this wide world, may Providence, in its kindness, cause it to wing its way to thee! Would that I-but stop! Reader, excuse these emotions, which a perusal of Timothy's misfortunes has raised in my breast. And dost thou not like them, thou canst skip them, but I alas, could not control myself, and—and-didst ever know an author disown the legitimate offspring of his brain, however rude and uncomely it may be? Then, though thou smilest, pardon me.

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LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

THE wreath that I would twine for thee,
Culled from choicest flowers should be ;-
Unmingled with dark sorrow's gloom,
Beneath hope's sunny ray to bloom ;-
Sheltered from disappointment's blast,
In light and purity to last.

And though slight the tribute proffered,
'Tis by hallowed friendship offered ;—
May truth and piety combined,
Impart their lustre to thy mind,

Guide in thy youth and future years,

"Till ends thy life of hopes and fears.

C. C. K.

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D'ISRAELI, in his "Curiosities of Literature," has given this subject a most faithful investigation, and for his labors deserves the heartfelt gratitude of every prying antiquary. From black letter folios, musty manuscripts, and mouldy parchments, he has collected a cabinet no less rare than valuable, where specimens are presented to the view of all, which before existed only within reach of a favored few. He has entered upon a field of exertion whose various productions will amply repay the toils of the harvester, will continually thicken around the path of discovery, and fire with new zeal the laborer in this department of literature. An hundred years hence, it is probable some other writer will resume the pen which he has laid down, and treat of customs now prevailing, which will then be antiquated elucidate references in books and papers, now so universally understood as not to require note or comment, but then obscured by the rust of age; and thus accomplish for the nineteenth century, what D'Israeli has done for the two preceding. Yet like to all collectors of cabinets, he has not been so successful but that his stock may be increased by contributions from private sources, and as the subject covers quite an extent of ground, much still may be obtained, without trenching on the field of his labors. So far at least as the Essayist has knowledge, it has not been the case in the present instance, though it might well be said of his additions, as Aeschylus was accustomed to say of his tragedies, "they are but a few small crumbs after the great feasts of Homer."

In searching after curiosities of this kind, it is most natural for our thoughts to wander over the literary history of our own country. The first peculiarity which attracts attention there, is the quaint, epigrammatic style which generally prevailed about the time of the Salem witchcraft. Its very existence is a singular anomaly, aside from a consideration of the curious combinations of words to which it has given rise. Why men so intimately acquainted, as those of that period seem to have been, with the Greek and Latin languages; those fountains of knowledge and elegance, containing the models recommended to writers for the formation of a pure and classical style, by all the teachers of rhetoric from Quinctilian to Blair; why such men should cultivate a taste so hostile to refinement, is a problem only to be solved by a very minute knowledge of their social habits,

their methods of education, and the operation of causes which have long since ceased to exert an influence. Yet notwithstanding the well earned condemnation which critics are sure to bestow upon those who indulge at present in any thing approaching to such a style, there are few who do not read a quotation with greater pleasure, and awakened interest, when they learn that it comes from a "quaint old author of the former century." A joke, be it ever so poor, is irresistible, when related in their strange phraseology; and even solemn truths are sometimes found stated in such a ludicrous manner, as to render their effect directly contrary to what was originally intended. But with all the defects of their sermons, they are no doubt more perused now, than the works of our ministers will be by the coming generation. The generality of modern sermons are selections from the commentaries on the text, diluted-spun to the required length by means of synonyms strung together in tedious succession, whose frequent repetitions remind us of Battus in Ovid,—

"Sub illis

Montibus, inquit, erant, et erant sub montibus illis."

The last century had the bullion-we have the wire: we, the glitter-they, the substantial reality. Though all does not "veil to wit," as Barrow said of the age of Charles II. yet another spirit is abroad, which will as effectually lop the flourishing branches of our literature, and bring a withering blight upon all its hopes.

Of the writers in the quaint and epigrammatic style, none was more remarkable than Cotton Mather. Not a few passages in his sermons would strangely exercise the risible muscles of a modern congregation. Even Thomas H. Bayley, or the American Tom Hood, "Hack Von Stretcher," have scarcely a greater number of puns, in proportion to the whole number of words. But besides being an inveterate punster, he abounds in ingenious turns, and all the literary oddities of a corrupted style. Thus, speaking of the attacks to which Christians are subjected from Satan, he says,— "That foul fiend, falls foul on them. The accuser of men to God, is also an accuser of God to men, and when it is a gloomy time without them, then will Satan suggest terrible things within them." He plays upon words of similar sounds," the powers of darkness, take the hours of darkness;" and so far does this propensity carry him, that he puns upon letters!" Many a man's cash has been his crime; his house has cost him his head; by his land, he has forfeited his life." Yet when we find the grave Matthew Henry punning as if he were a witty courtier, we must make allowances for Mather, and suffer him to screen himself behind the "spirit of his age." Henry, in speaking of the infants slain by the order of King Herod, says, with all the gravity of a commentator, "these were the infantry of the noble army of martyrs ;" and again, he calls Christ's sermon on the mount, a set sermon,' ” “ καθίσανῖος αὐτοῦ.”

Although we can exercise some charity towards Mather for punning, his outrageous abuse of figurative language is without excuse. Thus, he says, "We do often very childishly cry for a knife to cut the fingers of our own souls." Henry, with all his quaintness and singular expressions, is never guilty of so flagrant a violation of good taste, though many others are not so free from condemnation. Belthazar Gratian has left to posterity the following choice morsel of mental philosophy: "Thoughts flow from the extensive coasts of memory, embark on the sea of imagination, arrive at the port of genius, to be registered at the custom house of the understanding.' The High Sheriff of Oxford has also afforded a case in point, in the exordium of an address to the students, by which they were no doubt much edified: "Arriving at the Mount of St. Mary, in the stony stage where I now stand, I have brought you some fine biscuits, carefully conserved for the chickens of the church, the sparrows of the spirit, and the sweet swallows of salvation." Even this last specimen is outdone by a book published about the time of the "Praise-God-Barebones Parliament," when "Stand-steadfast on-high," and "Fightthe-good-fight-of-faith," usurped the place of plain John and William. The following title would certainly not disgrace the author's name, however ridiculous: "Eggs of Charity, layed by the Chickens of the Covenant, and boiled by the Water of Divine Love. Take ye and eat."

The Latin language abounds in all the strange peculiarities of expression, which we might naturally suppose would originate in the solitary cells of gloomy convents, where no higher guide existed, than the unpolished standard of monkish taste. Anagrams, acrostics, palindromi, logogriphes, epitaphs, armorial mottoes, and folio volumes destitute of two, three and even four particular letters, attest the laborious diligence of minds, which asserted their high prerogative, and refused to be idle. Who has not met with scraps such as the following, floating around as chance quotations, without any distinct marks by which to recognize the works in which they originally appeared? "Ora et labora; quicquid libet, licet; dum spiro, spero; est Venus in vinis; respice finem, respice funem; respice, aspice, prospice; ut fluctus fluctumque sic luctus luctum; schola crucis est schola lucis;" &c. Even if the works were discovered in the dusty alcoves of a foreign library, it is probable that the authors would be found to have wasted their energies to as little advantage, as one of their sapient brethren, who supposed that in the very letters of the name Jesus, was contained all that possibly could be said, on the subject of his origin, his mission, and his character. "For, first, its being declined with only three cases, did expressively point out the Trinity of persons. Then, that the nominative case ending in s, the accusative in m, and the ablative in u, did imply some unspeakable mystery; namely, that in words of those initial letters, Christ was the SUMMUS or Beginning, the MEDIUS or Middle, and

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