to some sect in morals. Hence, no matter what the character of his production may be, it must meet with so many panegyrists, so many detractors, and so many neutrals, whose number may often be accurately calculated in advance with a pencil and catalogue. Now, no person wishes to contribute to this, or any other work, when his own character and standing are to shape the decisions of criticism upon an article whose merits and faults are never once taken into account. He cares nothing, perhaps, for the strictures of his enemies, but he is disgusted with the unmeaning flattery of his friends, who ought to treat him with open fairness and sincerity. Of course, there is but one remedy for this-let him completely conceal his name.

Your Editors have thought a few slight changes calculated to remove some objections now existing, and to increase the value of the Magazine. Instead of allowing each Editor in rotation to have the entire superintendence of a number, the inspection and consent of all will now be necessary to the admission of any article into our pages. In this way, it is obvious, a desirable unity of interest will be established among the Editors, and a greater degree of impartiality and correct judgment brought to bear upon the consideration of proffered pieces. This will also give us the privilege of banishing those long leading articles, in which the Editor of every number has been expected to show himself worthy of his present honors, if not to acquire additional glory. Now it so happens that these have been the very dullest articles in the whole Magazine-comparatively speaking. But the subjects of them may be said, in college dialect, to be truly "tremendous" comprising, for the most part, broad political doctrines, important eras in history, and the characters of the greatest poets and statesmen. This change, we think, will, also, tend to relieve the Magazine of an appearance of uniformity and heaviness which we have often heard mentioned as objectionable. The Editors' Tables will probably be written as before, with the exception of an alteration in form.

We hope all pieces intended for the Magazine will be transmitted through the Post-Office, and never handed in personally by their writers. We wish the names to be concealed till the articles are accepted, when they may be given to the Editors or not, at the option of the author. The Editors have determined to withhold their own names from the public view during the year. Contributors can act their own pleasure in reference to the publicity of theirs. At the conclusion of our official year, the names of all writers will be published. We have not space to give all the reasons for this change. Yet if you consider a moment, we believe you will see the propriety of the step. The Magazine should rise above all personal and party influences, and should rest entirely upon its own merits. If it is not worth supporting for itself, let it go down. Now a piece is just as good without the author's name, as with it-its merits just as prominent, its faults as glaring;;—as a literary production, it pleases, it wearies you just the But no, you want the privilege, do you, of whispering, "I ex

same.

pected more of A than that"-" Well, B never had my vote"—" Our society comes out pretty well in this number, don't it ?"—" If Z writes again, he will get an editorship next year--we must put him up to it."

But if we can do anything to promote an impartial, healthy criticism in college, and to cripple this narrow, mole-eyed, mischief-making spirit of party and clique, our efforts shall not be wanting. But this is merely one point. Suppose some one, who has gained no reputation in the division-room as a writer, by selecting his own subject and setting earnestly at work, produces a really animated and pleasing article ; the sight of his name at once turns away attention which the piece itself would attract and rivet. It is unnecessary to say, that every anonymous contributor will write with more freedom and ease; while it is evident he has no sufficient reason to neglect the utmost correct

ness.

And now, we have room only to invite and entreat all who feel interested in the fate of the Magazine to lend us their assistance. The invitation is extended with equal heartiness to the members of all classes. Do not get the idea that writing for the Magazine is an arduous, difficult task. Do not think you must plunge into intricate and profound reasonings, as though a syllogism were the natural garb of every truth, and the words "hence," "consequently," "therefore," " inasmuch," &c., were the very footsteps of gigantic thought. If you have any appropriate subject in your mind which interests you, write it out. If your subject more naturally comes out in the shape of a story-let it be a story, it may be the more welcome. At any rate, you owe us a trial— some really earnest attempts—and we shall wait with confident expectations.

We have thought that the occasion demanded something like these imperfect remarks. Perhaps they are useless--you will then pardon them on account of the spirit that prompted them. We confess, on looking back, that their tone could not be properly characterized as perfectly modest and deferential. But if we meet with complete success, you will, no doubt, hear us attribute it in part to our plain, downright speaking at the outset. But if, after all, the character of the Magazine should retrogade during the coming year, you will, perhaps, be allowed to quote the words of an eminent statesman-"it is not the first time, in the history of human affairs, that the vigor and success of the war have not quite come up to the lofty and sounding phrase of the manifesto."

COLLEGE RHYMES AND COLLEGE RHYMSTERS.

Poeta nascitur, non fit.-HORACE.

A man can no more make himself a poet,

Than what a sheep can make itself a goat.-OLD TRANS.

EVERY thing in college wears a peculiar character. The spirit of the place throws over all within its sphere of influence a marked, peculiar cast; as in some old cathedral every arch and aisle and cloister saddens and darkens the soul, and gives even to the sunshine streaming through the vaulted roof a tinge of sombreness and gloom. Even our college community wears a strange, though varied aspect. Its bonds of union and fraternity are such as bind no other bands of men-its pleasures are peculiar, and often unnatural—its duties exclusive, and for the most part appropriate to it alone. We live within ourselves, a serried band, unpenetrated and unknown by the masses of men around us—a sort of life within a life, a city within a city, separated, marked, distinct.

Nothing is more prominent among us, and consequently nothing more peculiar, than our intellectual development and character. We live among the ages that are past. We linger among the academic shades and stoic haunts and classic halls of Athens and of Rome, listening to the golden words of Socrates and Plato, and the sweet, yet stirring music of the older Bards, till our minds grow Grecian in their keenness and their power. We lose our hold upon these moving forms around us, and upon the tangible and visible creations of the living Present; and forgetful of the intervening ages, we mingle with the great Departed, and hold sweet converse, spirit with spirit, with the mighty dead, whose calm and earnest voices we yet hear echoing in the chambers of the Past. Thus we acquire a peculiar dreaminess and quietude of mind, akin to that which melody and song beget in the poetic soul. The world without is sealed-the senses are wrapped in slumber-the soul withdraws within itself, like a friar to his cell; and the bright creations of imagination spring into sudden being, and people with a new and glorious life the glowing realms of fancy.

Our metaphysical and philosophical pursuits, in like manner, serve to draw our thoughts away from the engrossing scenes of real life, and to turn them into serious and silent meditation. Such is the evident tendency of philosophic studies. Abstraction as well as meditation is an essential in Philosophy, and this abstraction is both physical and mental in its character. There is a soundless depth of silence in the true philosopher. The greatest thinkers and the best philosophers are they who stand aloof and separated from the mass of men around them. All true thinking must be done in stillness, in retirement-men may listen and observe and mark and learn in the turmoil and bustle of life, but they must think in silence, in seclusion.

We propose to notice at the present time the intellectual and literary

character of Yale, as exhibited in the many poetical productions which have in various quarters of late been brought before the public gaze. Most of these have passed beneath our personal observation; and we have therefore ventured to select them as the subject of a few general remarks. We shall rely of course upon the favor and indulgence of our readers, if we betray our inexperience and inability in the labor we have chosen; and we enter on the arduous task before us, hoping and believing that our toil will not go wholly unrewarded.

It will be proper at the outset to define the real character and mission of Poetry. It is a common error to suppose that every rhyme is poetry that skillful and melodious versification is the acme of poetic merit-that, in fine, the charm and power of poetry lies wholly in its metrical arrangement and accentuation, and is entirely extraneous to and independent of the thought which the language is intended to express. To those who hold to this opinion, the measured rhyme of Pope or Cowper affords far greater pleasure than the glowing thoughts of Ossian or Milton. They peruse the Essay on Man, or The Progress of Error, with far more enjoyment than the Allegro or Penseroso. They are delighted with the dress in which the thought is clad-not with the thought itself. They love the words, but not the thoughts of which the words are only the outward and visible exponents. Their distinction is altogether superficial and external. It relates only to outward and tangible forms, but has no reference to the inner, intangible realities of which those forms are representatives.

There is, however, a deeper and more real distinction than the one which we have mentioned a distinction in thought. This distinction has escaped the notice of those who still cling to the maxims and the definitions of the age of Elizabeth. An eminent writer of that school remarks: "Poetry is not distinguished from Prose by superior beauty of thought or expression, but is a distinct kind of composition; and they produce, when each is excellent in its kind, distinct kinds of pleasure. Try the experiment of merely breaking up the metrical structure of a fine Poem, and you will find it inflated and bombastic Prose; remove this defect by altering the words and the arrangement, and it will be better Prose than before; then arrange this again into metre, without any other change, and it will be tame and dull Poetry, but still it will be Poetry." This definition every man must feel to be imperfect and superficial it even bears within itself the acknowledgment of the existence of another, more radical, more complete. The distinction which is drawn with reference to Poetry as beautiful and elevated, or as tame and dull, is contradictory to the whole tenor of the passage, and itself admits the propriety of a distinction in the thought expressed. Let us contrast with the preceding quotation, the following from Macaulay: "The business of poetry is with images, and not with words. The poet uses words indeed; but they are merely the instruments of his art, not its objects. They are the materials which he is to dispose in such a manner as to present a picture to the mental eye. And if they are not so disposed, they are no more entitled to be called poetry, than a bale of canvas and a box of colors are to be called a