to be oracles to the nation. As he seated himself I watched him narrowly. I felt drawn towards that man. After the court adjourned I approached him; our eyes met, 'twas he, I knew it was, Quilp of the Indicator, Chief Justice of the United States! In my dream I had been traveling for many years in a foreign land, and had just returned to my native home. I was advised to seek the acquaintance of a very notable man in the vicinity. Quite a remarkable man he was, a real philosopher. He followed no profession; he did not need its support. But he was a scholar, for he loved study. Few were better versed than he in any science or department of knowledge. He lived quietly by himself, pursuing his own business, now gleaning the harvest fields of classic lore, now grasping the sublime theorems of Mathematics, and now rambling along the gayer paths of literature; he lived the life of a gentleman scholar, whiling away the intervals between the severe studies of Philosophy with music of which he was not only a ‘distingue amateur,' but also a skilful "artiste." In fine, he was one whom men respected for his learning and gentlemanly character. I sent him my card, and received a polite invitation to visit him. I called at his study: he rose to welcome me-as I live, 'twas Samson Brass! Our hands met warmly, and we spoke to each other of the Past. I glanced around the room; it was just as you would have expected; a large and choice library was there as a matter of course; in diverse niches, you beheld several marble statues which came all but living from the chisel of the ablest sculptors, and the walls were hung about with the canvass of the greatest artists; an ingen. ious orrery stood in one corner of the room, and a half opened door revealed in an adjacent apartment a large collection of philosophical apparatus, a well furnished laboratory, and a cabinet of "antiques" and curiosities. There was a comfort and luxury about every thing. Observing an old book on his table which he had just laid down, I took it up. It was the bound Nos. of the Indicator! . Again a change came upon my vision. The fame of a great philosopher reached my ears. He was a student of ancient lore. He had listened to the divine teachings of Plato, and was master of the learning of the Stagyrite. He followed the path of philosophical history in all its devious windings through the Dark Ages, the subtle transcendentalism of Germany, and the schools of Scotland, even to the present time, and made himself master of all its principles. He then retired into the inner chamber of his own heart and sought to solve the problem of Being there. The reflections of his colossal mind, he embodied in a new system of mental philosophy, which, protected by his powerful reasoning, and enforced by his massive eloquence, gave promise of creating a new era in the history of mental science. His name was on the lips of all scholars, and his principles at once became the subject of general controversy. I felt that I must meet this great philosopher. I half guessed in my mind who he was; and when we met, it was really he, my old friend Nestor! We lingered long together; spoke much of the half-remembered Past, glanced our eyes across the ever bright and pleasant Future, and -my dream had changed. "In the bivouac of life," I met Ichabod. I recognized him in a moment, for there was no mistaking him. He knew me also at first sight, (for Ichabod never forgets a friend,) and in a moment we had clasped hands and leaped backwards over the thirty years that had elapsed since we had left college walls together. We were class-mates again, and hours passed away as we called up to recollection one and another of the happy scenes that we had previously mingled in, and lived over again some of those days "lang syne" which we bad once sadly thought had passed away forever. I found Ichabod living for some end, and accomplishing it too. He was a student, but not a mere student. He loved study for its own sake, but though he gave his heart to its pursuits, it was not for his own gratification. Ichabod was living to make the world better, and he did. His position was one of usefulness as well as respectability and happiness. Few had a wider influence,none could exert it for a better purpose. He had made the sacred desk his calling, and he told me that he would not change it for any other which the world could offer. I could but envy him as I shook his hand and went my way. Still dreaming, I was in the Senate Chamber of our national Congress. It had been for weeks the scene of stormy eloquence and angry debate. The interests of two great sections of our country were at an issue and threatened to shake the Republic to its centre. The fiery orators of the North and South had encountered each other in hot debate, and the Senate Hall had echoed to their fierce contention. At this juncture, the Southern Leader rose from his seat, and there was silence. With calm, yet earnest eloquence, he plead with those angry men. He was the representative of a Section, but he would act the senator of the land. The Constitution-he would defend it with his last breath. The Union-it was sacred, and he would cling to it as the last hope of the nation. He demanded that the North should recognize Southern rights: he promised that the South would respect the rights of the North. His withering rebuke fell like fire on those hot headed orators who but sought to fan the flame of discord, and they shrunk away from the angry flashing of his eye. He ceased, and all parties yielded to the conciliation of of the great Southron, and the question was decided by compromise and harmony. But the orator who thus swayed the stormy Senate, and saved the Union from ruin -he was like one I had seen before. I spoke to him, and he was indeed the Great Unknown! I asked him of his welfare and how he had thus risen to his high station, but the vision fled and I awoke. And I had been dreaming, and what I had seen was only a night-vision. Most truly, Messrs. Editors ONE OF THE SENIORS." Whew-w-w-w! Je-u-pi-ter!! Bless us! what a DREAMER our class-mate is ! He must be one of the "sleek-headed men and such as sleep o'nights;" [some folks dont, for studying for the Valedictory.] Such strange dreaming completely overpowered us; we never blushed so much in all our lives before. But really, we have not an idea of cutting such a figure in the world. We-justices, philosophers, senators, &c.? No, no! could'nt think of the thing; one of the Seniors" must excuse us. We born to be great?-We protest against it. The editorial corps remain "in statu quo" with but few exceptions. It is worthy of remark, however, that Quilp sports a dashing red tippet, and continues to carry his head under that shapeless something which he calls a cap, but we anything else. It is also noticeable, that Samson Brass has cut off those huge whiskers behind which he was wont to stalk so dimly, "like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing light," as Ossian says. There's nothing new about the rest of us. EPILEGOMENA. WITH this Number closes the first volume of the Indicator, as well as the duties of those by whom it has thus far been conducted. It is with unfeigned regret that we take up, for the last time, the Editorial pen, to say good-bye to the Indicator, and to all who may have honored it thus far with a perusal. Long will this year of college editorship live in the memory of every member of the Board. Though not devoid of care, and petty vexations, it has been on the whole, a right pleasant office: and our hearty thanks are due to those whose partial kindness bestowed it upon us, if only for the many merry hours we have spent together in attempts to fulfil our responsible duties. Our only regret must be that we have not been better able to justify their choice. The year that seemed so long and so prolific in anticipation, is short and meagre enough to look back upon: our Editors' life is gone, “like a tale that is told :" and of the many sage plans we made or were going to make, for the edification or amusement of our somewhat limited" public," scarcely the tithe has been realized. But while we have left much undone, and done even our little imperfectly, we hope that we have at least avoided what ought not to be done. Much in these pages will offend the eye of criticism: nothing, we trust, that of Morality, or true Religion. To say that we have not satisfied ourselves would be only to repeat once more what may form the burden of every closing word of every labor, great or small, in life. We cannot even hope to have satisfied others; and to confess this is only to declare fulfilled the prophecy with which we commenced. But we can say with a good conscience, in these our last words, that we have performed the only promise made in our first; we have done our best, and done it right willingly. To start a periodical of this nature, has been no slight task for hands so inexperienced as ours; but the work has had our honest endeavors, and such as it is we commend it to the good will of those for whom alone it was intended-our fellow students. And now, with many a heartfelt wish for the future prosperity of the little bark we have launched, and many a pleasant reminiscence of the voyage thus far, and many sincere thanks for the kindness of all who have been our companions thereon, we bid you, Readers of the Indicator, a hearty FAREWELL. Amherst College, April, 1849. WM. G. HAMMOND, JR., OVERTON YOUNG. "Alii multa perficiunt: nos nonnulla conamur: If the world like it not, so much the worse for them.-Cowper. AMHERST: PUBLISHED BY THE EDITORS. |