Having hereby announced the division of his subject into ten (little) heads, he proceeded to discuss it, to the entire satisfaction of all who heard him. The next Freshman announced his subject in a little different style. Rising with a calm and dignified manner, speaking in a tone clear and sonorous, he asked, "When is brown bread inhabited ?" The tutor looked blank. The Freshmen opened their mouths, and turned their ears to catch the episode. The reader looked heroic, as he further proceeded’“ When it has a little Indian in it.” All drew a long breath. The exercises proceeded with no further developments on the origin of the Indian race.

While we are on the subject of Freshmen, we take the opportunity of saying, that by apologizing, in a perfectly satisfactory manner, for their unintentional interruption of the Presentation exercises, they have shown themselves honorable and gentlemanly. But we have been, nevertheless, called upon, in an indirect manner, by the teachers in one of the boarding schools, to reprove them for their outrageous and impudent" behavior under the windows of said boarding school, during the small hours of Pow-wow night. We are sorry to receive such accounts from '62, but we must remember that "boys will be boys."

The Editorial Fraternity take pleasure in acknowledging the receipt of tickets to the Strawberry Festival of the Wooster Place Church. As we entered the crowded apartments,

Beauties to right of us,
Beauties to left of us,

Beauties in front of us,

Giggled and laughed.

Otherwise, everything went merry as a marriage bell. In one of these festivals, however, a sight was seen which, though not so merry, still gave greater promise of a future marriage bell. A beautiful "strawberry girl, clothed in ringlets and a blue dress," who seemed to have fainted, through excess of excitement, leaned upon him who was by her side; but as he was known of old as a champion of the unprotected," all fears for her safety were banished.

We have two remarks to make. 1st That if an editor is to express his opinions on matters and things in College, it is best to express his own opinions. 2d. That if editors cannot dig "the root of all evil" out of their fellow students, to make room for the roots of the Yale Lit. to thrive in their affections, they must, in the benevolence of their hearts, dig it out of New Haven society, by means of advertisements. If any Yalensian has fault to find with either of these propositions, let him write an article on the subject, for which we will be most thankful. And though our actions may not meet with public favor, we could heartily wish that we had a window" (Mr. Printer, don't you leave out that n) "in our editorial breast," through which the good intentions of our editorial heart could be fully discerned but since we have, as Charles Lamb* would say, something which far more resembles a pane in another part of our editorial corpus, we must let this be our apology for the fact that no more pains have been taken with this number of the "Lit."

* A brother Editor on the mention of a "window in the breast," always says something about a "pane in the stomach." We are, therefore, in some doubt whether he "skinned" it from Charles Lamb or Charles Lamb from him. We acquit ourselves of all plagiarism.

What are you Laughing at?

I propose this question in all seriousness. You may never have felt more solemn in all your life, than at this moment, while reading these lines; nevertheless, I now give you a metaphorical poke in your ribs, and gravely ask, "What are you laughing at?" It may be, I shall repent having propounded this question, lest before you have heard all I have to say, I may be made the object of your mirthfulness. But did you ever endeavor to trace the multifarious causes of laughter? The important, serious, ill-timed, ridiculous and foolish causes? The necessity and abuse of laughter? The manner, pleasant and disgusting, of various persons while laughing? These all afford food for some reflection, even if it is not very profound. It is then from these considerations, and not from any puerile curiosity, that I inquire again, "What are you laughing at?" Perhaps you are one of those who never laugh. Who go through this jolly, sunny world, without a smile; who through a natural disposition or education, live among the various, mirth-provoking scenes of human folly, human weakness, and human pseudo-wisdom, without changing a muscle. If you are one of these stoics, please close this magazine, and brood over your acridity.

To such as you, I do not wish to speak. God pity you! I say, for you deserve no pity from men. You should be branded on the back,

as they brand French criminals, and though time may heal the cautery, when adversity with its hard, iron, hand slaps you on the back, out it will come, the Hater-of-mirth. Thank heaven, there are not many like you.

History tells us of one man who never laughed but once. Marcus Crassus, surnamed Agelastus for this reason, had the enviable distinction of being provoked into a smile, only once in his life, by seeing a jackass eating a thistle. The sight of this weed, no doubt-"pricked the sides of his intent" to such a degree, that for once he was obliged to shake them. A witty Frenchman, on hearing this, replied that he never laughed so much, as when he saw a donkey kicking up his heels, and from sympathy, he was obliged to rire (to laugh).

Our Saviour, it is said, though on what authority I have never discovered, was not ever known to laugh. But are we prepared to believe, that he who wept for, and felt, and knew, all the sorrows and sufferings of others, could not also laugh and rejoice outwardly with their pleasures and happiness? Both are sympathetic emotions, and can we suppose, that he who was the embodiment of a perfect humanity, possessed the one, without the other? No, laughter is God-given; the safety-valve of pent-up griefs, and suppressed sorrow.

The causes of laughter are, of course, as many, as its occurrence is frequent. But we fear that the greatest cause of all, is,-nothing, How many times, my dear Sir, or Madame, have you laughed at nothing? I know you can't tell. And yet there's a presumption in favor of your being a sensible man or woman. I don't mean to say that you, particularly, have sinned in this respect. It is almost a universal weakness.

We cannot enumerate all the various modes of laughing, but in a great measure, a man's character may be determined by his laugh. Do you hear that loud, coarse, grating, cachination coming from the stentorian lungs of the vulgar rowdy; a laugh, which, when joined to a feeling of exultation or defiance, is brutal and insolent. Such laughter indicates at once the want of a general, gentle refinement. It savors of street corners, and is a sign of coarse boisterousness. We all of us expect, when we hear it, to find that its source is a person of gross features and form, suggestive of pantaloons turned up in a broad fold, as far as the knee; a huge cravat used to relieve a fiery-colored shirt and collar. This laugh tells the man, as much as the whistle

denotes the locomotive. Does not this correspond to the experience of all? It is just such a laugh as we might expect to hear, when, if placed in its owner's power, we should appeal in vain for mercy or protection. It is the jubilant shout of cruelty over weakness; it is the pæan of the bully.

There is another kind which is just as hard to bear, whose roughness and harshness is planed away, but, on the other hand, is sharp and bitter. It is the low-toned, sneering, derisive laugh; which casts a shade of disbelief on all you say, which turns, by its manner, every earnest thought into ridicule, and which it is so hard to meet and rebuff, because of its almost imperceptibility. It is that which represses an honest expression of feeling, and drops gall into all natural outbursts; which makes you cringe, if you have a real manly heart, in spite of yourself. Were you constituted otherwise, did you possess a sufficient amount of brass, you could put it down; but your susceptibility to its effects proves a delicacy, which shrinks from such a contest. If there is any thing that arouses a man's hatred, if there is any thing that excites his demoniacal passons, it is this under-tow of derision which carries you off your feet, do what you will. It is not the bold, open, cannon-shot of an honest enemy, which overturns your argument, or your opinions at once; but it is small shot coming from an intangible quarter, so to speak, which wounds you and stings you, and which you can neither fly from, nor resist. Of the two kinds of laughter which I have described, the former is to me, the more agreeable. I would not trust one possessing the latter, out of my sight. It is this practice of what is vulgarly called "snubbing," that has done more to make hypocrites of truthful men, done more to bury candour, and hide honesty, in the breasts of their possessors, than all that original depravity, and a natural tendency to deceit, could ever have accomplished. It is the work of the devil, with human demons for his instruments. Have none of you ever felt it? When you knew not, perhaps, of the presence of such an one, though experience may since have given you an intuitive perception of their proximity, and you have let out your honest nature and honest feelings, when you have spoken warmly of something good and true, and thus exposed yourself to that sarcastic smile, or more bitter contemptuous laugh, how your whole soul has leaped back, just as you withdraw your finger from hot iron, and, perhaps, for days after you feel the shock. O, it is cruel. With the nonchalance of a surgeon, they use the scalpel, and then with careless finger touch the exposed nerves, which

If you have sustained any

shiver and contract under the infliction.
such injustice, then be careful how you sneer yourself.

Then again there is that silly, simpering laugh, of some girls, or that vacant, half-idiotic laugh of some men, both of whom seem to take it for granted that this world is one grand comedy, and that nothing has ever been said or done which is not laughable and ridiculous. Who, at the most trifling causes, and most inopportune occasions, will burst into a loud laugh, and which serves to make every one around them most uncomfortable. It is charitable to suppose that this habit is a natural, physical defect; that they do not possess the power of moderately controlling their risibles, although in other respects they have been gifted with perfectly sound bodies. I say it is charitable to suppose that it is a physical weakness, but it is also true, that Americans, especially fashionably educated American girls, are addicted to this habit. To say nothing of the disgust that it creates in sensible minds, to see one of these ephemeral bits of humanity almost continually perceiving something funny hid in a thing in which no one would ever have expected a recondite facetiousness, this habit generates a weakness of mind, and fickleness of purpose. They have a right, however, to appropriate to themselves many so-called jokes, on the same ground that Columbus claimed this western world, for they certainly are the first discoverers. I have previously said that this is almost a universal fault. It is particularly universal with this class, if I may be allowed the expression. With most people it is a mistake which they make, in spite of their good sense; with these, it is a habit resulting from their want of it. The Spectator says, that those in the habit of laughing immoderately, do so from an unconscious pride, arising from a feeling of superiority, for the nonce, over those at whom they laugh. "Every one laughs at somebody that is in an inferior state of folly to himself." If this is true, very foolish must be the objects of their mirth. That a constant tendency to laugh at all seasons, and at every thing, betokens a weak mind, no one will pretend to deny.

A drunken laugh comes next to this, and its similarity to it proves, that in both cases, men have not their quota of common sense. The high falsetto key at which it is pitched, the uncontrolled voice, that peculiar tone, which all who have heard will recognize at once, indicate that the brain has been stolen. It is the "Evoe," "Evoe," of modern bacchanalians; the laugh of the wine-fiend who is deriding their helpless condition.