EDITOR'S TABLE. "I hear," said the Saint, "that the University is going to tax itself for athletics,-" "-instead of the Freshmen?" I inquired. "Yes," said he. "Now, what is the reason of that?" "The reason,” I replied, “is based on the proverb that an ounce of fear is worth a pound of friendship. And the current price of fear in the Freshman class is about five dollars per ounce." "But why shouldn't the Freshmen pay?" asked the Saint. "It's good for them-I paid, when I was a Freshman!" "I also," I replied. "But there is a tendency among minor organizations to increase, and the Freshmen cannot differentiate between complacent good judgment, as exhibited in refusing to subscribe to the seven-ups team, and downright bad form in turning away the manager of their crew." "What is the attitude of the faculty?" asked the Saint, thoughtfully. "That they wish to see the Freshmen live to grow up," I replied. "And the college at large?" said he. "-thinks with David Harum, that a reasonable number of fleas are good for a dog," I answered. The Saint shook his head. "Something tells me," he said, "that the Freshmen will have as much to pay as ever,-and the rest of the college rather more." DEJECTION. Oft as I fail when I would fain succeed, When mediocrity, not excellence, Of all my hope and striving is the meed. Blindly I curse hard fate that has decreed That, with mean powers, I yet should have a sense Of higher things, and, still with impotence, Must yet strive on, though striving fail indeed. Full sick at heart, with dull despair imbued, I long to change my lot for that of him, Content with paltry things but meanly wrought, -Harvard Advocate. THREE QUATRAINS ON DEATH. Youth. White-clad destroyer of our young delights, His ruthless fingers crush our garlands' bloom; Maturity. The mists of night eternal shroud him deep, And heavy poppies droop o'er brows and hair, To pallid lips he lifts the wine of sleep, Old Age. Expectantly within the door he stands, A gentle pilgrim from the Sacred East; To greet his Friend, forgetful of the feast. -Radcliffe Magazine. A REVERIE. While softly Autumn's bounteous hand Awhile I give myself to dreams, The sun fast sinking now to rest, The veery's echoing vespers cease, 'Tis twilight now-upon the ground And idly still I dream alone -Wesleyan Lit. THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE.—Conducted by the Students of Yale University. This Magazine established February, 1836, is the oldest college periodical in America; entering upon its Sixty-Sixth Volume with the number for October, 1900. It is published by a board of Editors, annually chosen from each successive Senior Class. It thus may be fairly said to represent in its general articles the average literary culture of the university. In the Notabilia college topics are thoroughly discussed, and in the Memorabilia it is intended to make a complete record of the current events of college life; while in the Book Notices and Editor's Table, contemporary publications and exchanges receive careful attention. Contributions to its pages are earnestly solicited from students of all departments, and may be sent through the Post Office. They are due the 1st of the month. If rejected, they will be returned to their writers, whose names will not be known outside the Editorial Board. A Gold Medal of the value of Twenty-five Dollars, for the best written Essay, is offered for the competition of all undergraduate subscribers, at the beginning of each academic year. The Magazine is issued on the 15th day of each month from October to June, inclusive; nine numbers form the annual volume, comprising at least 360 pages. The price is $3.00 per volume, 35 cents per single number. All subscriptions must be paid in advance, directly to the Editors, who alone can give receipts therefor. Upon the day of publication the Magazine is promptly mailed to all subscribers. Single numbers are on sale at the Cooperative Store. Back numbers and volumes can be obtained from the Editors. A limited number of advertisements will be inserted. The character and large circulation of the Magazine render it a desirable medium for all who would like to secure the patronage of Yale students. All communications, with regard to the editorial management of the periodical, must be addressed to the EDITORS OF THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE, New Haven, Conn. A MATTER OF ATTITUDE. A FEW years ago it was not uncommon to see in current periodicals discussions as to whether poetry were not a lost art; or if not, did it not deserve to be? Doubtless poetry was of some value in those primitive days, when men had little else to do but to roam over green meadows with an oaten flute, singing songs to admiring herds of sheep and goats: but when instead of pastoral flocks there are huge factories with their many hundred hands to oversee and dashing railway trains, what is poetry but sheer nonsense and waste of time? The discussion seems to have died a natural death, and the yearly output of the poet's fancy is undiminished, yet that men should have taken this adverse position is significant, because considering much of the production of these latter days, much of the understanding of poetry, it was so eminently reasonable. By a false and estranged attitude towards life the poets and painters of the present have been too apt to bring upon themselves the deserved condemnation of sensible men, who see in poetry only a foolish yearning after a mythical Golden Age, a sentimental doting 19 VOL. LXVI |