acter of our great men, I must hand him down to posterity in as strong colors as my feeble pencil is capable of touching. He is about four feet six inches in height, of shoulders somewhat though not disagreeably broad, hair inclined to grey, good complexion, a little bronzed by exposure to the sun, skin in some parts of his face wrinkled and rugged, in others. as smooth as marble. He generally dresses in Oxford mixed pantaloons, and a brown surtout. His voice is flexible, and he speaks in an earnest, eager, and insinuating style. His pace is very rapid, though his gait is not so bad as it might

He is a foreigner, as may be discovered by a pleasant peculiarity in his accent. He has always been of a literary turn, and haunted places of public education; for before coming to this country, he had been engaged in a traffic similar to that he now carries on, with the students of the Dublin University.

Your Honor has for the last year or two been very much persecuted and several times driven from the college buildings, by the voice of authority. But he says that he has an affection for the students, and accordingly bears up under his distresses with all the perseverance of a martyr. We have no doubt but that when he dies his spirit will perform the same regular journeys from Boston to the Colleges, that it has been so long accustomed to in life. I have a great mind to write an anticipating epitaph; but I will refrain, for I might be led to assassinate him, for the sake of seeing it look pretty upon his tombstone.

17th. Sent home Miss Laurent's Album with an apology for not writing in it. Told her positively that owing to the neglect of my early education I was unable to transcribe a single sentence, being always obliged to employ an amanuensis. She was very sorry, and said it must be very inconvenient and unusual for a gentleman not to be able to write. Assured her that it was more common than it is generally supposed to be.

18th. Lounged about in the Athenæum Gallery, and felt miserably; for I saw LA-TOUCHE taking notes. Met a cravat, a bonnet, a pair of whiskers, and a great many fools. Fell in with a college friend who accused me of lying in wait to find matter for an article. Was on the point of resenting the insult, when, on raising my eyes, they encounteredwhat is it to you whom?

19th. What with themes, forensics, letters, memoranda, notes on lectures, verses, and articles, I find myself considerably hurried. When it comes to composing in a room with six visiters, two of whom own dogs, and all of whom are very sociable and talkative, there are few things more disagreeable. I always like to be alone when I have pen or pencil in my fingers. Talking of writing, it is said that Schiller composed with his feet in ice, Hoffman on inspiration picked up in an ale-house, Alfieri on the back of a wild horse, and Anacreon doubtless on the top of an empty cask.

20th. Undertook to make a few visits. Of some dozen people I called upon, ten were out and two were stupid; so I made the best of my way back again. AIRY is walking about very much agitated, being probably in a poetical frenzy. I may possibly have mistaken a vulgar agitation for the dreaming inspiration. Poor fellow! He came near breaking his neck the other evening, in a search after practical poetry.

21st. LA-TOUCHE called on me. He was very rough, and insisted upon a little sparring; the consequence of which was that we were mutually very much bruised. It will be necessary for me to take some lessons in self-defence, or cut his society.

22d. Suffering from the effects of my contest, when the Editor calls upon me for copy. He tells me that LA-TOUCHE had been very active for the last two or three hours. It certainly takes a great deal of animal excitement to rouse his intellect. Not that he is naturally sluggish, but there is a strange propensity about him to riot in indefinite and vague aginations, without deigning to condescend to the industry of chirography, or the vulgarity of pen and paper.

24th. Indefinitely stupid. Effected in the course of the day a small walk of some three or four miles. It is not quite so cold as it has been, though a fire is remarkably comfortable even yet.

25th. It is astonishing what people one will sometimes meet with! Perfectly astonishing!

NOTES AND NOTICES.

No. V.

CLUB ROOM-Editors discovered in classic attitudes-green table in the centre-wicker basket gaping ominously-back numbers of the Collegian, scraps of paper, parings of pens, proof-sheets and inkstands lying about in Editorial confusion.

EDITOR.

Welcome, brothers! one and all
Once more welcome to the Hall!
Robust Geoffrey,-gentle Arthur,—
Frank and Sherry,-Hock and Father,-
Welcome with your smiling train
Back to your books and quills again.
Despite my positive assertion
To rate you for your long desertion,
No sooner do your well known eyes
Meet mine,-than all my anger flies.
Besides I know that had you seen,

How awkwardly I wooed the muse,-
How changed, my eyes from grey to green,-
My wreath of bays, to wreaths of blues,—
You would have left the whirling dance,
The silken chain of pleasure broke,
Retreated from gay Beauty's glance,

And sorrowed at your cruel joke!
A joke indeed! To make me bear
My heavy quill behind my ear,

Weighed down with ink, and with vexation,
While you laughed off the light vacation!

A joke indeed! To make me brood,

And pining here in solitude,

Alone, unknown, unnoticed be,
And you, forsooth, in revelry;

And while you frisked away the night,
To make me fume, and fret, and write
With bilious brow, and inky paw,
To stuff the printer's hungry maw!
By all my ills, and aches, and bruises!
By Jove, Apollo, and the Muses,
I'll have revenge,- -But I'm so glad
To see you, that I can't get mad,

is light,

And therefore my revenge
That in the Club Room all to-night,

No member, when he speaks, enclose
One word or thought in heavy prose,

But with his digits beat the time,

And yoke his lines with jingling rhyme!

(LOCKFAST gives a guttural-TEMPLETON sighs plaintively-SHERRY rolls his eye-AIRY rubs his hands-GEOFFREY strokes his legsHock starts from his seat.)

Носк.

SHERRY.

AIRY.

GEOFFREY.
AIRY.
GEOFFREY.

SHERRY.

AIRY.

CHORUS.
EDITOR.

I love a rhyme!

Its cadence sweet!

The melting chime of flowing feet!

I love the sounds of measured lines,-
Like breezy whisperings through the pines,-
For Mr. Pope their power begs,
To praise the Grecian heroes' legs!
A cutting rhyme 's a sharp harpoon,
To throw out in a sly lampoon!
A rhyme,-fit melody for birds,-

Supplants the use of Cupid's dart,
For with a verse of flattering words,

You'll gain a fickle maiden's heart.
And as the timid pigeon seeks,―
Hark! Our worthy chairman speaks!
My friends, I thought that at this meeting,
I'd furnish more than empty greeting,
So ordered up a steaming steak,

Of which I hope you 'll all partake.

(LA-TOUCHE and LOCKFAST grunt in approbation.)
And meantime while the steak is basting,-

And while our time and lamps are wasting,

Let us employ their rapid flight,

To do the business of the night.
Thus far our worthy publication
Succeeds beyond my expectation.
From Charles's stream to turbid Nile's
The world grins down approving smiles.
Three hundred printed copies fly
To every clime beneath the sky,
And London cit, and Russ, and Turk,
And Swede, alike nod o'er our work.
The ladies love to laud our lays-
Subscribers chuckle,-papers praise,-

AIRY.

EDITOR.

TEMPLETON.

Readers cannot read for roaring,—
Critics cannot sneer for snoring,—
And all our enemies, though few,
Lie buried back in No. II.

I have at home some inspirations,
One heap of neat communications !
And, Brothers, I will soon be back,
And bring with me the swelling pack.
And here I have a bundle of petitions,
Of very urgent import to the CLUB;
One wants to know about the new editions,—
Another begs advice about his shrub ;
While this is from a beauteous Boston Belle,
Who asks if we mean her by " Isabel."
This is a paper from a student, laden

With sorrow at our lack of College lore;

(exit.)

This a letter from some pretty maiden,
Who vows our College phrases quite a bore.
This
page is from one bad in his finances,-
And this from "Mary" begging more romances.
Here in this greasy packet that you see,

Laments an old subscriber, Thomas Tummer,
Who firmly says we promised there should be
But pages forty-eight in every number,
And swears we have no right by law or fate,
To make them read besides another eight.
(Enters holding up a huge bundle)
Lo! this budget of donations!
See the pile of lucubrations!