But now thy face even through the gloom shines brightly—
Oh! Perseus, sleep.
And may the waves, and may our sorrows slumber,
And may all snares be broken in our path;
And on our foes, great Jove, for Perseus number
Thy tenfold wrath.”
“Solventur fletu tabulæ: tu, lector, abibis.”
Hermeneutes.
“OUR MAGAZINE.”
Reader, our salutation must be brief—our correspondents have left us but brief space, in which to give it thee; nevertheless, we cannot take our leave, without introducing to you the dignified personage on our title-page. ’Tis but his likeness. He has long since gone—otherwise, we should not dare take upon ourselves this familiarity; but now we may here both gaze at, and converse about him with freedom. All will readily recognize that distinguished individual, Gov. Elihu Yale, the patron of our Institution, (whose name it bears,) and the benefactor of mankind. We have not space, were we able, to give him his deserts. Let his epitaph, written in the good old style, and being that which expresses most in the fewest words, speak for us.