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called 'The Death of Harlequin,'” with Cuddy Soft Skull as principal character. “ After which, by a grand piece of machinery, an exact representation of a great sea fight,' with a beautiful view of the sea and the fishes sporting in the waves. A grand procession of Neptune and Amphitrite (great applause on the part of the classical faculty) in their majestic car, drawn by sea-horses, with a view of uncommon fishes, sea-lions, sea-fowl of different kinds, mermaids, etc.," the whole concluding with a Federal song.
After the production of this wonderful company every one went home, greatly delighted, and the introduction of the stage in New Haven had taken place.
E. S. O., JR.
-Once upon a time, a tribe of Wood-Gnomes became short of provisions, and it was decided that some of them would have to move to another forest. Now the only other forest that they knew of was on a steep mountain some distance away-bleak and cold, and not at all a pleasant place for a Gnome's home. Of course none of them wanted to go, so the King of the omes was called on to decide what should be done. The king was renowned as a person of great justice. Many days he tried to think of a fair way to decide who should go.
Everybody knows that all Wood-Gnomes carry axes. The king noticed, one day, that about two thirds of his people used the double-edged variety, while the instruments of the rest had a single edge and a flat head The wise ruler reasoned within himself : “I wish to be rid of about one third of my subjects. Why wouldn't it be fair to send away those with the flat-headed axes?"
When he told the people of his plan, most of the owners of the flat headed axes refused to go. The king was, of course, angry, because his plan was certainly very fair and wise. He had all the troublesome Gnomes put in prison, and then said to them : “You have refused to go away because you are afraid you will be cold. Very well ; your punishment shall be of another kind. Whenever the race of Men builds a steam radiator, one of you shall be shut up in it, and stay there the rest of his life.” Then he added, smiling at his own joke, “And he will be warm enough, I hope!” He was a remarkably witty king
To this day, when the steam is turned
cold radiator, the change is painful to the Gnome inside ; and you can hear him, in his efforts to get out, trying with his flatheaded axe to pound a hole through the iron.
T. S. K.
-The deep-toned bell of Romany Monastery tolled the hour of ten. A low chant began to echo inside the old stone walls as the devout monks before the altar rose from their knees, and headed by two white-cowled friars bearing long wax tapers, marched slowly and wearily through the long, narrow corridors. A moment more and the chant had fallen to a low murmur, and the careful closing of cell doors followed one after another.
Once more the old bell rang out. Eleven o'clock ; and the monks worn out by the long day were sound asleep, when a tall figure in a white cowl stole noiselessly along the corridor and down a flight of rough stone steps. Creeping up to a heavy oak door, which he opened cautiously, he stepped into a pitch-dark room, and lighting a candle, put it on the rough wooden table in the center of the room. The light revealed the solid gray stone of the walls and the great rafters of the ceiling, and fell upon the full, round, smooth-shaved face of Fra Dimaco, its stern lines already relaxed, and looking the picture of joyful expectancy. A muffled knock on the door followed by a sign of warning, and there stole into the room two more pious friars, whose faces peered from under their hoods fairly wreathed in smiles. The moment the door is closed and securely bolted, a peal of laughter resounds from the massive walls as the monks bustle about in the work of preparation. One starts a cheerful blaze in the large chimney, another procures the tankards from their hiding place, while a third goes behind the chimney and rolls out the keg. A few minutes have elapsed, when the merriest song that monastery walls have ever heard rises from the powerful throats of these three monks; nothing more or less than a rolling rollicking song of their youth. They throw back their heads, their hoods slip off, and each man quaffs his ale to the last drop, before the mugs go back onto the old table with a bang. Here Fra Silvano rises from his stool, and drawing from the folds of his long cowl a historic relic in the shape of a flute, begins to play as never monk was known to play before. The music was wild ; it was enthralling, it was captivating, and the two goodly friars with glowing faces were dancing violently to the fantastic measure of Fra Silvano's flute.
The first stroke of twelve broke out on the night air and three monks dropped on their knees. The candle burned out, there was no music, and the moon coming through the narrow barred windows fell full upon the kneeling friars. When they rose, their faces wore again that stolid look of calm and peace. They had forgotten the revels of the eleventh hour. Drawing their hoods closely over their heads, in stately procession they strode back to the cells and the sleep of the innocent.
-In the numerous little valleys separating the foot-hills of the Green Mountains may still be seen many landmarks of former times, and here may yet be found some of the early pioneers of that section of the country. Dreaming of the days gone by and thinking little of the days to come, they drag on an uneventful existence, more of the past than of the present. One of these old trappers was considered particularly interesting because of a supposed record of seven wives and his original manner of remembering them. We had heard of this grand old relic and wished to see his home and last companion.
Our visit seemed to please the old man and he evidently took some pleasure in entertaining "the city folk." On the walls of the guest room were hung the usual lithographs of a country farm house, and a large sized picture of some prominent politician, cut from a weekly paper. Our host did not seem surprised at our curiosity and enjoyed his own explanations. The rifle, hung over the door, was the occasion for a story of frontier life; an old deer skin, a reminder of some crack shot “along in the forties.” It was to him like turning over the leaves of a scrap-book, half forgotten.
But the most curious decorations of the room were some old brass plates, hung in black frames over the fire-place. On one of these appeared the name of “Geboral Tompkins, died 18—," Noticing our interest in them the old man remarked : “You city folk like to forget old friends when they're dead and gone. We people here don't think it do any harm to recollect 'em. Them plates there are all that's left o' my dead wives,
and I keep 'em where I can see 'em. My woman here don't mind, for she know that I'll do same thing by her when she's gone and joined the rest."
Looking back at a bend of the road, after leaving him, we saw our old trapper seated comfortably in the doorway of the barn, smoking his pipe. There he sat gazing vacantly before him and thinking-perhaps of one of his wives.
R, S. B.
- The early periodicals of a University form an interesting as well as instructive feature in the literary development of the college. Old things always have a peculiar charm, and none more so than these old, dry, college magazines. There is a quaintness about them which draws us on unconsciously from page to page ; we dream of college in those days as here and there throughout the magazine glimpses of it appear. The essays in these early papers are generally very dry and prosaic, but what especially calls our attention to them is that they represent the best college literature at that time.
Here at Yale the literature has had a varied history. As far back as 1806 a paper was published, but without much success. In 1814 the Athenaeum appeared, “modelled upon a plan calculated to render it the vehicle of whatever is instructive or entertaining.” It was issued on the “ Saturday of every second week (exclusive of vacations) containing eight pages in an octavo form." There were five editors chosen from the Senior class, and it was doubtless this early precedent that caused the first editors of the Lit. to adopt this plan. We may reasonably suppose that the advent of this paper was the natural outcome of the literary talent then in college. It is true that all the magazines and papers previous to 1836 were spasmodic, but it showed nevertheless that there was present a desire for college publications strong enough to make the attempt.
The editors in their prospectus defend themselves against the charge that it is the result of youthful ardor and temerity, and undertaken without regard to the difficulties to be encountered in its execution. The object of the paper was “the improvement of the students in the art of writing." The editors also pledged themselves to publish fifteen numbers of the magazine, but “for any future period they are not accountable; they have good reasons, however, to believe that the work will be continued by the class which shall succeed them. Furthermore the editors in conducting this work are actuated by no selfish motives. After all the expenses of the publication are defrayed, the profits (if any there be) are appropriated by a fixed resolve, to the charitable assistance of the students of the college."
In the prospectus there is rather a naïve view of the state of college learning that “the two higher classes in college have much time which may be pleasantly as well as profitably employed in committing to writing the knowledge which they have acquired by the studies and reading of past years." But as the “lucubrations” of the “two higher classes” were ponderous essays on Benevolence, Eloquence, the Eccentricity of Character, and the like, we can not but expect that the paper after completing the stipulated fifteen numbers failed to arouse that "liberal encouragement" which the editors hoped would be given to their successors.
In all the articles of this early magazine "The Miseries of College Life" in the second number, will excite the most interest because it presents a picture of college life in those days. It is true that some of the miseries are rather trivial, and would scarely be noticed by the collegian of to-day, yet it is a noteworthy fact that the author of these annoyances is the only writer in those early times who "looked into his heart and wrote.” The “Lash” is a series of poetical satires, which appeared in several numbers. They were probably from the same pen as the “Miseries," for it resembles the latter both in thought and style. That these satires were appreciated by the college at large is certain from the following epigram which appeared in a later number:
The poetry found in the Athenaeum is decidedly poor, with only a few exceptions. The “Ode to Sleep” may be taken as the best example of the poetic ability at Yale at that time:
“Come, gentle Sleep, thou foe to care,