been speedily diverted from their course by the eccentric conduct of Wilson, who was rolling about on his seat, and tossing from side to side, like a Chinese shuttlecock, shaking in every limb, as if suffering from an attack of the palsy, and as the rays of a street lamp shot into the carriage in passing, I could discover his face undergoing as many contortions, in his attempt to smother his laughter, as that of the clown in a pantomime.

We had now turned out of a direct course, and were making our way through a narrow, dingy street, or rather alley, with the external aspect of which I was totally unacquainted. Stopping, at length, before a mean, dirty-looking dwelling, and emerging from the carriage, there was some considerable contention between my two friends, as to which should have the honor of handing the Signora from the coach, and escorting her into the house; a point eventually gained by Wyckoff, though most strenuously opposed by the other; a circumstance that appeared the more wonderful to me, as he had not previously made the least objection to any of Tom's assiduous attentions. The latter proceeded with great care and circumspection to hand out his new inamorata, and had nearly succeeded to perfection, when an envious blast of wind, blowing back her veil into the coach, which, there being caught by one of the curtain hooks, as she descended upon the walk, was stripped entirely from her hat, revealing to our astonished gaze, (that is, to Wyckoff and myself,) in the light of a lamp, which seemed to have been placed in the window of the house for the very purpose, not the flashing eyes and olive complexion of one reared beneath the sunny skies of Italy, but all the strongly marked features of Africa's sable daughters, clothed in "the shadowed livery of the burnished sun."

At a revelation so totally unexpected on my part, and ludicrous, Wilson, the arch deviser of the plot, burst into a most obstreperous roar of laughter, in which, as soon as the first surprise had subsided, he was joined by myself, with right hearty good will. But Wyckoff, taking it much more seriously than we had apprehended, grasping the innocent cause of our merriment by the arm, while every limb trembled with passion, cried out in a voice of thunder:

"And who the deuce are you, you sable witch of Endor, that have lent yourself to this foul scheme to disgrace me? Tell me, or I will hurl you to the ground, and trample on you there." "O, lor a massa, Massa Wyckoff, don't hurt poor black woman. Me Massa Wilson's washee woman, and me 'ud like to hab Massa Wyckoff's washee, too."

"So, I am to thank you for this night's work," said he, throwing the poor woman from him, and turning with a menacing

attitude full upon Wilson; "through your plotting I have been brought into this indignity of making love to, and kissing a negress, black as Erebus, and am forever disgraced."

This thought appeared to be altogether too much for his endurance, for covering his face with his hands, he rushed from the place and disappeared with the speed of a rocket. (The remainder unavoidably deferred till the next number.)

TO THE MEMORY OF E. P. M.

EACH burning gem that shines with quenchless light,
Beheld by thee through many a starry night:
Enkindled thoughts within thy soul of fire,
None but celestial visions could inspire.
Espoused by Nature, as her child alone,
Zeal led thee to explore her realms unknown;
Each step where few had gone so far before,

Revealed new worlds, and gave new strength to soar.
Planets and comets, in their radiant course,
Owned to thy search by what mysterious force,
Returning each to run anew his race,

They move in beauty through the fields of space.
E'en thus was all thy toil, thy death so young,
Repaid with joys untold by mortal tongue.
Martyr to Science! she hath placed thy name
Among the few who gain such lofty fame:
Some future Herschel with thine eye shall see
On every star a monument to thee;

Not more enduring than thy fame shall be.

K.

EPILEGOMENA.

READER, we again greet thee with a good-natured bow. Our graver work is done, and we can not resist the impulse to have with thee a right hearty laugh. Yet a few sober words first concern us. Since last we met, another gala-day, yet tinged with sadness, has passed over Old Yale. The senior class have left the time-honored halls of our University, and turned with lingering steps away. The Farewell has been spoken, in an appropriate oration and poem, which were highly creditable to their authors, and seemed to please the mature mind of age, as well as the lighter fancy of youth. It is now ours, who remain, to sustain well the many interests which employ and enliven college life.

Hast leisure, reader, a fragment of an hour to spend with us? Come, then, and we will introduce thee into our sanctum. It is, in sooth, a "very witching time;" the long drawn tale of midnight is sounding from the chapel bell, and the "inamorati" are,

one after another, climbing the rickety stair-way leading to their place of rendezvous. The apartment has not yet recovered its composure, after enduring, through the day, the heat of some 90°, and its temperature resembles that of a furnace ready for some scorching operation. And, indeed, such is its character; for it trieth every man's work. A tall white figure is standing in one corner, which might be mistaken for a ghost; but another view reveals one of the most eminent of our number, (whose por cupinish head and peculiar dress, demonstrates a very recent acquaintance with hori zontality,) trying, with most admirable perseverance, to pick up a dim lamp, which seems disposed to "go out." The increasing light discloses a great variety of objects, among which the "box" on the huge round table, seems the center of attraction to the jolly looking faces that have just entered.

"Pray be seated, gentlemen," said the ghostly lamp-lighter, with the air of a man satisfied with himself and his operation. To do him justice, however, he now began to look more human.

The table was soon surrounded by the "inamorati." There sat Phlogiston, the very image of fun, looking wistfully at the depository in the middle, as if he expected something worth coming for. Opposite sat the Speaker, trying to look dignified and swell bigger than his natural frame-work; and between them, on either side, were two members, who silently waited farther developments.

The Speaker arose with vast and awful dignity; "Gentlemen: ahem! my thoughts on this occasion, the most eventful of my life, are too big for utterance! While the world are sleeping below, the stars are gazing upon us, and the pole is balancing itself in calo, to watch our proceedings. The winds are breathless with attention. Many a poor wight would be sleepless, knew he that his fate was in such terrible suspense. How mighty, then, our responsibilities! The council-chambers of kings, the deliberations of senates, and-ahem-and-"

"Let him refer to his notes," piped a small voice from the right. The chair was filled much quicker than it had been vacated.

"Are all present ?" asked the Speaker, with a desperate effort, wildly glancing his eye round the circle. All answered to the inquiry, except Ichabod, who was nowhere visible.

"I move he be drawn in," said Flamingo, turning back his chair to a hazardous angle, and thrusting his nether appendages under the table.

"By the bed bugs," added Fidget, as an amendment.

A noise was now heard without, evidently the quick footsteps of somebody in a great hurry. The door suddenly burst open, and in stalked the aforesaid Ichabod, his face glowing like a comet, and a formidable roll of manuscripts in his hand, which he violently thrust into the box. Then wiping away the sweat of his brow, he sank into the first convenient receptacle, very much in the manner of a wilted cabbage leaf.

"Now, gentlemen, the contents of the box." Upon this, Bufo thrust his hand into the receptacle, and drew out some half a score of sonnets, and other poeticals. "A grand haul,” observed Fidget; "the sun must be in Pisces; no! a mistake, by Virgo! Now for a taste; what comes first ?"

"TO MY FAVORITE CAT.
"Cease, poor pussy, cease thy mewing,

Lay thee quiet, on my knee;

Dost yell, because a storm is brewing,

To soak the fur that sparks on thee?"

"Ha! ha!" roared out Flamingo, "that fellow is guilty of a great feliny, and deserves the benefit of a cat o' nine tails. I move he be condemned." The motion was carried by a tumultuous "aye," and straightway "poor pussy" was thrust into the coffin.

A convulsive movement was now observed on the left cheek of Phlogiston, which seemed communicated to his dexter arm, as he jerked about a manuscript, (over which he had been scowling for the last five minutes,) very much in the manner a "charley" corrects the "devious steps" of a "sick gemman o' night." At last his big thoughts came out in words, quick and intermitting, like the short and rapid puffs of a high pressure steam engine:

"Wh' what's this?

Critical observations-on critical analysis-with curious remarks-on English Reviewers-and considerations-showing the utility-of a knowledge of'—"

"Whew! whew! that's intolerable," gasped Bufo.

"Real Scotch, as the snuff-taker says," added another.

As for Fidget, he brought his fist upon the table with such vehemence, that the inkstand flew into the air like a rocket, and, turning a summerset, made a liberal discharge of its contents on the countenance of the honorable member.

"An eclipse, or rather solar spots," roared out a voice from the other side of the room. It was considered a dark attempt, however, and the inklings of pity went round, at the sad plight of Fidget, who was enlightening his countenance by the use of a white coat sleeve, and looked as woe-begone as if the ladies had cut his acquaint

ance.

"By Venus, an amatory poetical correspondence," suddenly exclaimed Flamingo, glancing at a paper he had just drawn from the box; "Julia and Harry." Upon this we involuntarily smacked our lips, while he proceeded :—

"TO JULIA.

"Fair lady, I love thee-and no one shall dare

To chide me for loving a creature so fair."

"Good," exclaimed Bufo; "but stop, where did he get it? Ah! a strong smell of tobacco smoke :

'I love it, I love it, and who shall dare

To chide me for loving the perfumed air?'

"Evidently an attentive reader of the Magazine. But what says the sweet lady?"

"TO HARRY.

"I'll sit upon thy knee, Harry,

I'll watch beside thy bed:

I'll kiss thy burning cheek, Harry,

And bind thine aching head."

"Very affectionate," devoutly whispered Ichabod, from his retired perch, rubbing his hands. As for the rest of us, our emotions was unutterable.

"When I am dead and gone, Harry,

You'll always think of me;

When sleeping in my grave, Harry,

You'll come and weep with me."

"But, hark!"

"Love and imagination," exclaimed a trio, simultaneously; and a heartier roar of laughter never startled the ear of Old Night, as we rolled about, absolutely in convulsions.

"Shade of Horace! what have we here?" now burst from the lips of Fidget, who,

having recovered his equanimity during the foregoing scene, was displaying a neatly written manuscript: "A Latin ode, preceded by a dedication."

"Editores! Inutile est rogare tuam benignam indulgentiam, dum, legitis hoc carmen; nam cognosco patroni estis literarum. Cognoscens hoc, confido favori tuæ. Dico in explanatione, Thea significat tea."

"Professor in embryo!" exclaimed Phlogiston.

"But what comes next?"

"Da me, da me, hic theam."

"So be it; a goddess!" responded Flamingo, suddenly raising himself into a perpendicular position.

“A measure-full of sweetness," chuckled out Bufo, pursuing the same theme. Thereupon arose most grating confusion, and when order was restored, the tea had cooled.

"Ah! a tale, gentlemen," said Phlogiston, as he drew out a huge bundle of foolscap, and glanced at the title: "The Oaken Bow, a story of ancient times.' Please to hear it read."

Enough," cried Fidget, after listening with great uneasiness for ten minutes; "I move we practice archery with the 'oaken bow,' having the manufacturer thereof for a target."

"String him up, rather," rejoined another.

Then followed a great quantity of illegible and unintelligible articles, the sight whereof would irritate Job: poetry, without sense, rhyme, or measure; essays, which "shape had none distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;" tales and sketches, marked for destruction "primâ facie:" all which suffered execution together.

"Gentlemen," said the Secretary, "please to hear the summary of our nocturnal

labors."

"Lines to J.,' 'Ode on a Lily,' The Songster,' and sundry other effusions, have been woven into a garland to deck the temples of oblivion.

'The Death Watch' is rejected.

'A Growl from the Dog Star' was truly frightful.

'E's' Stanzas are respectfully declined.

The Essay on English Reviews' was received too late for examination.
The Fairy,' poor thing! vanished by a touch."

The report was accepted by acclamation. A short and peculiar sound now drew our attention to Ichabod-the man on the back seat. His body was bent forward in a mathematical curve, and his head, obliquely inclined, was bowing profound assent to every motion that came before the "inamorati." At short intervals, there flowed from the most prominent organ of the face, or thereabouts, a low, but clear and snor

ous note.

66

Special business," said Bufo; "I move it be taken up."

"Wake up," vociforated Phlogiston, with stentorian voice, into the ear of the sleeper. The startled Ichabod sprang like an image driven by electricity, or a decapitated hen, and dashing his head, like a battering ram, into the breast of Bufo, plunged with that unfortunate individual, under the table. "Chaos and Old Night" followed; the table was inverted, carrying with it the lamp, and scattering the members into the darkness, whence they groped without farther formality.

Communications for the next number must be handed in immediately.