leaves to the gentle air of spring, and painted the bow of peace on the pathway of the cloud, that muffled the thunder in its bosom. She burnished the wings of the insect tribe, that sported by millions in the sunbeam, and gave a lordly mein to the proud birds, whose fiery eye quailed not in the noontide ray. She proclaimed with her gorgeous dyes, the coming of the king of day, and kindled with exceeding brightness the golden clouds, that burned around his setting car. She lighted up the surpassing brilliance of the starry night, she poured the light of her unnumbered hues upon the green earth, and the dark woods, upon the mountain's brow and the wave of ocean.

The lonely exiles gazed with wonder and delight; once more their sorrowing hearts revived to the thrill of joy. And by such faint indications of a more excellent glory, the fair spirit lead their earliest thought to rise, with an adoring sense of hope and love, to the throne of the Holy One, who is himself the perfection of all beauty.

Thus the world brightened and resumed its lost splendor, beneath the step of Beauty. Nor was Harmony less active in filling its wide expanse with the breath of all sweet sounds. She too, as well as her sister spirit, could not but mark the mournful contrast which the gloom and utter silence through all the region of man's exile, presented to the tones of sweetness which came borne upon every gale that waved the boughs of the trees, and curled the ripple on the crystal streams of Eden. She listened, but their came no echo of the sounds that had roused and enraptured there. The streams crept sluggishly on in dull leaden silence, and the winds were still, or only sighed in hallow dissonance to the hoarser dirge of the breaking waves. The birds had forgotten their notes of gladness, or were hushed in the universal fear of what might yet be the consequence of man's disobedience. And the many-voiced spirit could not endure, that such should be the abode of a being, though fallen, yet retaining so much of his primitive excellence, and exhibiting yet in his perfect form, the likeness of his Great Original. She knew that his ear had been delicately framed, to perceive, and long for, the nameless power that dwelleth in sweet sounds, and she feared that his heart would be sad, if deprived of a solace like this, on his lonely way through the desert world.

And Harmony went forth with such thoughts as these on her ministry of good, tuning into voice the viewless chords of Nature's harps that as yet were all unstrung, and breathing through the silent depths of the universe the kindling fervor of her own accordant spirit. She sung aloud and cheerily, at morn, in the freshening blast that brushed the dew from the sparkling lawn, and rolled the vapors in curling wreaths up the mountain's side, and spake with tones of eloquent sadness in the solemn wail of

the autumn wind, as it bore the murmur of falling leaves and sighed the dirge of the waning year. She made her home in the gentle breeze that called forth the wild-wood notes and waked the ancient forest's melodies, and she even tamed the storm to speak no longer in notes of unvaried dissonance. At the sight of her the groves broke forth in song, and the light air trembled with the sounding wings and myriad voices of living creatures, that sailed unseen through its clear, blue depths. She turned to gentle cadences the voice of the rill that murmured down the dizzy heights of the mountain, and joined its gayer notes in symphony with the measured swell of the river that rolled its waters through many lands. She haunted the cavern, the glen, the shores of the silent lake, with echoes; she swelled and combined the many thunders of the cataract into one awful hymn; and she made the numberless waves of the ocean all accord to utter forth music.

Again the hearts of the fugitives gladdened, for the bright and renovated world around them gave them hope that the time might come when they would think no more of the woes of exile. Already they began to feel that the evil of the curse was half removed; already they began to gaze with rapture on the fair and glorious things with which earth was filled; already they began to join their united voices in praising the one Great Father, with the deep and solemn anthem that nature hymned through all his works. They no longer thought the world would be cheerless and lonely to them; for the bright earth beneath, and blue heavens above, now seemed to them but one living temple, built by the hands of an omnipotent Architect, sustained by the pillars of the everlasting mountains, hung around with the gorgeous tapestry of sunset skies and starry nights, tuned to the sound of accordant symphonies and the rolling unison of voices sweet.

And thus was the mission of the bright spirits accomplished; and they returned up on high and were received with acceptance in the presence of the Holy One.

EPILEG OMENA.

6

READER, we beg pardon for cutting your acquaintance' for the last two meetings. We are very near-sighted, and unintentionally passed you without tipping our hats. We felt vexed and mortified; but if an early and hearty profession of good-will can, in any measure, atone for this thoughtless breach of civility, we vow by the College Laws, section by section, yea, we call to witness the manes of all the slaughtered victims of the French-not Revolution-but cook, that our inner eye has always been bent upon you, although our outer vision, dimmed by February fogs, failed to betray the customary signs of recognition. Allow us to present to you alphabeticè, our colleagues and ourselves.

BONIFACE, so christened from the beauty of his physiognomy, was entered this world a gentleman, with a recommendation from Lord Chesterfield. He is the incarnation of neatness and gentility. Would you catch him in dishabille, you must look for him under his bed-clothes; for daylight never sees him but in satin cravat, boots polished, hair arranged a la Paris, and every feature composed, as if for a miniature. Beneath this neat exterior, however, is a mind as polished as a diamond, animate with beautiful figures, stored with classic gems, quick at repartee, and possessed of a diction shaped with elegance, amber-like and graceful. He utters his criticisms with a volubility so easy and unembarrassed, that you doubt whether strictures, so rapidly pronounced, can be the deliberate decisions of his mind. He is a great arbiter elegantiarum; of amatory verses, professes to be a perfect judge, a claim which is seldom disputed, enforced as it uniformly is, by a studied display of an emerald signet. In a word, Boniface is the Willis of our corps. Among the "great rejected," this might be inscribed upon him:

EPITAPH UPON BONIFACE.

Underneath this marble cover,
Lies the reading of a lover;
Lettered and gilt, morocco-bound,
Such matter sure, is very sound.

FADLADEEN. With the features of this our oriental associate, you are already familiar from previous description. To poetry, he always cherished a decided antipathy; and such is the effect of this feeling, that by a kind of instinct he can foresee for a respectable way in a composition, the approach of a figure or of a inverted sentence. He has traveled much, and with observation; and during interruptions in long essays, often relates with effect, the incidents of his tour. He holds some peculiar notions in regard to marriage, and looks with contempt upon the gallant ideas of Boniface. He delivers his opinions in a weighed and measured tone. For whatever is past, he feels a strong reverence-talks frequently in praise of old books and old customs, and prides himself much upon the antiquity of his family.

EPITAPH UPON FADLADEEN.

A huge old folio, a rich world of wealth,

That calm attention courts and not by stealth:
In dust he rests, in cobwebs let him lay,
That tell of rev'rence and antiquity.

We beg leave next, reader, to introduce ourselves, OG; and for this purpose hand you a letter of introduction from our teacher to the President-our certificate of moral character is even more flattering than this. "Dear Sir,-The bearer of this, Mr. P. P. OG, has been under my instruction for the last two years. He seems to be a young man of respectable parts. I trust you will have reason to be satisfied with his application, while under your care. Hoping that he may not dishonor my long charge over his mental and moral training, I am, Sir, yours respectfully, THOMAS FILLING PETTIBONE."

We may say, too, without flattery, that we ever have had an especial dislike to attention from professors and tutors; and decline as much as possible, all interviews with the president. To one aspect of the country, we have a fixed aversion; not that brooks, and breezes, and trees, and grass are not very pretty things when studying poetry, or taken by themselves-but linked with a letter of introduction to the Rev. Mr. Farthingule, dealt out to one like an article of commerce, a quid pro quo, wherein "The President and Fellows of Yale College," authorize the said reverend, to afford you all the staples of poetry and landscape, together with a sufficient modicum of advice, for so long a time, in consideration that you

hold your countenance as rigid as a carved brass-knocker, and that you learn for the twenty-fifth time at least, all the rules of Latin, Greek, and English Grammar, (we throw in this parenthesis to allow you and ourselves time to breathe; and trust, that our motives will be appreciated, when the length of the foregoing sentence, and the principles of respiration are considered,) when nature is made to wrap up such a pill, we are unavoidably reminded of the days of erst, when father threatened and mother coaxed, and we pouted, at the swallowing of a suspicious looking "bit of preserves." We crave pardon for dwelling so long upon ourselves; but if this remark is not true, "that no man is a hero to his valet," surely, another will not be questioned, "every man is a hero to himself."

EPITAPH UPON OG.

An odd book, interlined
With red, green and blue;
"Common places" you'll find,
Intermingled through.

PHAON is the philosopher of our board-one, however, who has been driven to philosophy, and who shelters his chagrin behind certain wise saws. There is every reason to believe that he was once jilted in love, from his frequent declamation upon the faithlessness and follies of women. A fine-looking fellow he is, too; and capricious must have been the will of the fair one, who could have slighted an offer, better than which, she has probably never had an opportunity of declining. Phaon is but little given to laughter, and never, but when provoked by the stupidity or folly of his fellows; and then his smile wears such a serious air, that frivolity would as soon think of jesting over Young's Night Thoughts. A stern critic is Phaon. Chilling fall his strictures upon those jeu de paroles that are sometimes thrown off by literary triflers. He always gives chapter and verse for his opinions. He has acquired, from an extensive acquaintance of the world, a great fund of anecdotes, pieces of history, and a full knowledge of genealogies and interesting localities of every kind. With these he connects great principles, binds down arguments upon the cavilling, at the same time that he attracts and wins the unprejudiced by their interest.

EPITAPH UPON PHAON.

Whate'er's dispersed through many a land and age,

Is here compressed and gathered in one book:
Wisdom and thought and foolscap mark the page,

Where Indolence will ever run and look.

The last associate that we shall bow into your presence is TUBAL. You can be at no loss to read his character at sight. That deferential air and address, tell the politician, as clearly as the figures upon a bank note indicate its value. He belongs to neither of the great political divisions-talks largely of reform, and complains most lugubriously of the utter dereliction by our statesmen of the principles of political economy. Yet a right down good fellow is this same politician. He has the sound sense to act upon the principle, that whatever is, is best, although he believes that the present may be amended; and while he satarizes the public, knows how to "cross his legs and sip his wine," and enjoy a wood fire and a laugh, as heartily as those who live only for these things. Yes! often shall we hie us in imagination from the vulgar world to room, No. But, reader, forgive a whim of ours; we must go alone. There are times—but I hate that way of sentimentalizing. All I would have you understand is, that these social meetings are episodes in the regular on of College, coruscating to the initiated, but unintelligible to others without notes; and we would as soon think of appending comments to a witticism. Those peals of laughter, bubbling up from the very soul of souls, breaking out into one full volume, or ringing like

the glad, musical jungle of bells! Ha! ha! How it would startle the staid soph. or fresh., absorbed in the depths of Euclid or the Odyssey! Ha! ha! But we must sober ourselves and write

TUBAL S EPITAPH.

To what shall we liken thee, good-natured man?
To an almanac, "laughing" and jolly?
But these are too common, and, doubt it who can,

They start rank fun, but end ranker folly.

No! you're a Blackwood, all dashing and strong,

But Maga is tory-most surely wrong.

SPRING! parent of smiles, almoner of heaven, welcome! for with thee come "The melody of birds, the whisperings of the trees."

"Magic is in thy touch!"

We confess it: we feel it unlocking the rivulets of the soul, and bidding its waters gush out. To be sure, we like not altogether the capriciousness of Marchnow throwing sunshine, now wind, and anon rain upon you. Yet it is not winter, old turnkey. Besides, there is something about a spring matin that expands one's benevolence. You meet a class-mate, and greet him with a "good morning," with a full hearty accent, and not with that falling intonation and compression of voice, which mark the hasty and gruff salutation of December. You take your hands out of your pockets, fling your cloak into one corner, and he then forth with a free step. But every thing is awake before you: the sun is up, and looks with a kind, auntish sort of good nature upon all things; the sound of the bells rings silvery, and troops of rosy-cheeked and pouting-lipped cherubs, with their tiny fingers locked into each other, are sauntering along in busy chatter; while behind, follow their saucy brothers, pulling at the bonnets of their sisters, or by mistake peeping in upon some wee favorite. Give us back again the days of the hoop, and put around our necks that broad, square collar, the last thing which our mother smoothed and arranged before she dismissed us to school, and we will cut up our quill into a pop-gun-send these sheets to the printer's devil, or to any other satellite that waits upon manhood, and kick boots, straps, and stocks into the garret. Old clothes, bye the bye, are no slight recommendation of this season. One never thinks of whistling or singing in a new suit-and new boots-reader, did you ever have a pair of fashionables drawn in tight proximity to a flourishing vegetable crop? if you did, you never got them in March. No, this is the month when one is decidedly out: out of doors, out at the elbows, and out of cash. Yet gayety is abroad-jocund, light-limbed gayety-quickening the blood in its courses-sending a flush to the cheek, and a liquid beauty to the eye.

ease.

Alas! there is one whom we should have addressed at this time, whose cheek no spring will flush, whose eye will no more joy in the pleasant light of the sun. Yestermorn he passed through our ranks with the merriest heart and the loudest laugh, among us; to-day he is carried forth, and his comrades ask for COLLINS, not among the living. The hushed voice, the inquiring eye, and the suppressed step of his companions, tell that he died not as others die, wasted slowly by disThe waters covered him. But while we mourn a class-mate, and twine myrtle about the shaft broken, rudely, suddenly broken, there are others, whose grief is not like ours. With them was his childhood and years of youth. Watchings, and tenderness, and prayers, and hopes, were theirs. With fond anxiety they were waiting the near period when they should receive a son ripened into the scholar, bringing with him, and about him, the certificate of his academic course finished but alas! he will never return the embraces of friends; his coun; tenance is changed-the shroud and sheet are there.