six new pictures of those whose portraits have long hung in the

world's gallery of great men. us,-how many of ours,-how

How many of the Class who leave

many of those who are left with us,

-how many of those who are to come before we leave, will be found side by side with theirs in that gallery?

"Thy sons, dear old Yale, sing in loud swelling chorus,

When we think of the great men who have been here before us."

It were worth, to every one, a life-struggle to render his picture worthy of such a place, so that when he shall have walked as far up the future as life shall let him, he can look back along the lengthened walls, and, like Eneas in the gallery of Dido's palace, RECOGNIZE

HIMSELF.

G. W. F.

College Friendships.

WHAT is to be thought of them? Are they bright flowers springing up on either side of the dull track of ordinary College life, lending a beauty to the prospect, and health to the moral atmos phere? Are they white tents pitched by kindred hopes and tastes a little aside from the battle ground, where the tired, worn-out student-heart may retire to rest awhile from the toil and bitterness of the conflict? Where it may show its secret wounds, tell of its bitter disappointments, and its anguish in the struggle, sure of finding the balm of sympathy. Are they trees which a man should early plant in his college course, for the sake of their shelter, when the heats of envy and malice come to beat down upon his head, for the sake of their golden fruitage of warm love and kind support in despondency, of kindling joy and unfeigned congratulation in success? Are they

"Pshaw! Nonsense!"

I should have previously stated that I was reading the above to a person, who though no friend of mine, sometimes favors me with his opinion, and to do him justice he comes unpleasantly near the truth sometimes, in his criticisms. His name is ———— and to him I was indebted for the sudden compliment. I could not have chosen a more unfortunate subject than this to read upon to him. He doesn't care any more about College friendships or any other friendships than an oyster, except that he hates them. He can't see any beauty

in poetry either, except in some of the despairing malice of Byron and Poe.

But I was now in for it, and determined to give him the whole paper.

Friendship, I continued, here in College differs in kind and degree. Its character depends much on the nature, purposes and temperament of the individuals concerned. There are friendships of policy, friendships of politeness, friendships of heart, apples of wax, apples of sugar, real apples.

Just at this moment chancing to look out at my window, whom should I see but Wirepuller and Easytotoady, the very persons whom I had been thinking about only a minute before. A warm attachment had recently sprung up between these two, and what was singular about it was this: they were men of entirely different natures, habits and aims. They had as little in common as two students could have, and yet their conversations must have been of absorbing interest, to judge from the expression of their countenan

ces.

The first time that I noticed any attraction between them, was at the beginning of the third term in Junior year, though I have since been told, that at times they had been very intimate in Freshman and Sophomore years. I happened to be present when they first met after the vacation. Wirepuller's face was fairly radiant with delight. He seized his friend by the hand with such an air of perfect ecstacy, and poured forth inquiries with regard to his health, his mode of life during vacation, the exact period of his return, with such volubility that I was speedily convinced that I had entertained widely mistaken views as to the relation existing between them. As for Easytotoady, he seemed somewhat taken aback at first, but as soon as he had fairly got his head above water, so to speak, in the sea of affection, where he found himself so suddenly floating, the delighted confiding expression, which gradually overspread his features, his pleased though somewhat uncertain smile, confirmed me in the belief, that there must have been an intimacy between them, which I had not hitherto observed. After that I soon saw that they were indeed friends. Their walks were frequent, and every motion of Wirepuller's in the presence of Easytotoady was expressive of the deepest solicitude for that gentleman's welfare. It was whispered that Wirepuller had some petty office in view this term, but it was a very malicious person that said that. However, I was rather glad that had not observed them, considering what I was going to read the next minute.

There is a beauty in a College friendship, which we find in no other. Student-hearts are ever warm, generous, susceptible. They have not yet become gnarled and knotted, hardened and seared by disappointment and treacheries. They are gems, every moment disclosing new beauties beneath the workman's hand, gems which have not yet been bruised by rough usage, nor become sullied and tarnished through long neglect. Hence their union has this advantage over other gems, that its beauty and brightness are ever increasing. Besides all this, the mind of the student is eminently prepared to appreciate and desire such a union.

At this juncture of affairs, a low, distinct, prolonged, circumflexed whistle from wound its way into my ear, like a patent cork-screw recently sharpened. I don't see what he meant by it. However, I did not wish to leave off reading to inquire. It would have destroyed the effect.

True, they differ in kind and degree, as we have said before. Take, for example, Easyman's case. He has apparently, not an enemy in College. Everybody throws up his cap and cries out what a jolly fellow Easyman is, the happiest man in the class. (he prides himself on his ability to see where men's particular power lies) says Easyman has the knack of making friends. Some persons have. Nothing like tact, I assure you, nothing.

This did not suit at all. He had never been accused of any such knack himself, and he did not like to hear any body else slandered

in that way.

Humbug, said he, you don't understand that man at all; I'll tell you what it is. I've seen such men before. He's a regular popularity-hunter-forever trying to curry favor-sneaking a little this way and a little that, never relying upon himself, but dodging every way to keep on the right side of everybody I waited until

he paused, and then went on reading.—

Yet of all those who laud him there is not one to whom he can go and show his heart; not one of them all whose hand he can take, and know that it is a hand which would strike with a will for his sake, or open freely for his relief when the pinch came. (Poor Easyman! was too hard upon him.) He has not a friend in his class. True he has many very kind, very obliging acquaintances, but away down at the bottom of poor Easyman's heart, far below all his smiles, all his jokes, below all his apparent life, there is a dark corner, where he, not his substitute, whom men see, but

where he, whom they never see, retires; and the thoughts which he then thinks sometimes lay hold on despair. If he had a friend, one straight-forward, honest friend, into whose eyes he could look and see the warm wishes pictured there, which only can be seen there, that dark corner would soon be light enough; the shadow which used to be reflected therefrom across his brow, would not come so often, if at all. Poor Easyman, I would not give one real friend for all his popularity and apparent happiness.

did leave

I had much more to read, but I must admit that my room rather abruptly. I think he must have been taken with a sudden pain in the head. Mingled with the report of the closing door, were certain comments, expletives, criticisms, hints, etc., which, I am sure, the judicious reader would wish to have omitted, and all others will readily supply them from the context. However, I put away the paper, and sat looking steadfastly at two old elms before my window. I had seen them hundreds of times before, but now for the first time I wondered if they were friends. I always loved the old fancy, that trees could

"plagiarise a heart,

And answer with a voice."

As I looked at them standing there in the starlight, clothed in the rich green robes which God had given them, their leafy heads so close together, their old arms intertwined in a life-long companionship, I saw and knew that they were friends. There they stood talking and whispering, and I thought the low hum of their voices might be full of meaning, though I could not interpret it. They might have been talking of what they had seen and heard in other years, for how many nights in the times past, must man have stood beneath and talked of purposes and hopes for time and for eternity. How many schemes must have been unfolded in their hearing, how many pledges and warm assurances of support in undertakings good and evil, must have met their ears. Yet neither purpose, nor hope, nor scheme, nor pledge did they ever reveal. What better models could be asked, thought I, of College friends than these old trees. They first become acquainted on College ground when their beauty and grandeur is only beginning to appear, but with time they have grown closer and closer together until their very beings have interwoven. True, when storms come shaking them so rudely, they talk roughly to each other, it is to be feared. Often one stands in the other's sunshine, and a shadow for a moment comes between

them, casting a chill on their old hearts. Often one of them is gifted by nature with nobler honors than the other, but they never think of parting. They have known each other too long. Each has sheltered the other from too many rough blasts to part now. Each knows that the other does not willingly deprive him of a single ray of light, and that it is not the fault of either, that shadows will fall now and then. If one is unfortunate and nature refused him the proud wreaths and decorations of the other, there is no haughtiness or envy. Look for yourself, reader. Their old arms are still entwined, and the stronger leaning fondly toward the other, shares his honors with him as far as he is able, and the stricken one asks no better shelter. Springing from different sources, they have grown together, and years but increase and strengthen the bonds which unite them. The true, old College friends, and the old College trees, stand in their native dignity, firm, upright, independent. God bless them, both.

A. H. W.

The Judges' Cave.

I.

Either when the shoreless waters,

Whelmed the fallen world,

Billow-drifted,

Or, uplifted

From the Moon's volcanic mountains,

And far Earthward hurled,—

On a Rock, that, like a fortress,

Holds in watch the changeful wave,
Stands a broken, moss-grown bowlder,
And its fragments form a cave.
Rolled the centuries like rivers,
Toward the surgeless past;

History's pages

Wrote the ages,

And the acts of ancient nations,

Numberless and vast;

But the cave-crowned, rock-bound bulwark,
And the Nature-sculptured arch,

Knew nor heard of.

Hint nor word of

All the Old World's generations,

And their grand triumphal march.