CONTENTS OF NO. DLIV. THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE.-Conducted by the Students of Yale University. This Magazine established February, 1836, is the oldest col- lege periodical in America; entering upon its Sixty-Second Volume with the number for October, 1896. It is published by a board of Editors, annu- ally 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 Memor- abilia it is intended to make a complete record of the current events of college life; while in the Book Notices and Editors' Table, contemporary publications and exchanges receive careful attention. Contributions to its pages are earnestly solicited from students of all depart- ments, 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 com- petition of all undergraduate subscribers, at the beginning of each academic 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 sub- scriptions 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 LITER- And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame ; THE HE above applies principally to Heaven as seen by Mr. Kipling; but it also applies to this busy world, and incidentally to our own warm corner thereof. And that's the application that I would have you bear in mind. The greatest playwrights, the greatest novelists, the greatest story-tellers give interest to their compositions, not by the climax or dénouement, but by the structure that upholds it. This is a general rule and there are exceptions. But I will show you what I mean. For instance, the audience at a performance of that very exciting play "Secret Service," has its feelings wrought upon, not by what actually happens (at the moment when it happens) but by what seems imminently liable to happen. So in the first act of Macbeth (a play by William Shakespere) the dramatic effect is not obtained by the consummation of VOL. LXII. 32 Duncan's murder, but by the knowledge of the intention to murder him, and the drawing-near of the "moment." So it is with work. The completed novel should mean more to its author as a guarantee of so much work done than as an article that can be sold for good money, A man is proud to be on the football team; but I take it he should be prouder of the work that has put him there. The man that breaks the I. C. A. A. record for the half mile race does a fine thing: but the work that he did in preparation for his race means more than the fact that he breasts the worsted ahead of his competitors and in recordbreaking time. The ideal, then, is work for work's sake,— work for the joy of the working. And never mind success and fame; for if the work be sound they will take care of themselves, or be taken care of for you. All you have to do is to work and work and work, with energy and pains. In a very clever passage of a story I read the other day, a young man on Commencement Day walks out of the chapel triumphantly waving a sheepskin, and crying, "Educated, by God!" Now if that young man really was educated (which he wasn't, as you may see from his vulgar language), would he have been so pleased with his veneer as to shout about it? I think not. He would more likely have communed with his stout heart and said, "I have worked like anything during the last four years, and I enjoyed that. If I had worked harder I would have enjoyed myself more. And, if I must think of my success at all it is with feelings of disappointment, for, as things are I am only educated, whereas if things had been as they might have been I would now be well educated-and have more capacity for work in the future." A very well-known and a very unmentionable writer has said, "There are two tragedies in life, the things you want and get; and the things you want and don't get." Change the wording a little. In the halves of the epigram for "want" substitute "work for"; and then examine the teaching. You work for a thing and get it: that is a tragedy. Isn't it? You work hard for the crew. You make it. And it's a tragedy because you don't feel half as satisfied as you thought you would. In like manner, only more on the face of it, it's a tragedy if you work for the crew and don't get it. But the epigram (I firmly believe it to be a truthful one) says nothing about the work part as being a tragedy. Every ounce of work you put into your run for the crew is so much satisfaction to yourself. If not at the moment (which allowing for blisters it won't be) then afterwards. Not one ounce of work and its attached complement of satisfaction can be lost. 'Ponder, William! . . But as for success! If comes and it goes. Never constant; and always disappointing save in one respect. It shows that the worker has worked; and it capacitates him for more work and harder work. That is the use of success! Ponder !" The hard workers are not conceited, self-satisfied men; but they have confidence in themselves-confidence which does not come to them through success, but through the knowledge that they can work. The conceited self-satisfied men are the God-gifted men: the man with a glorious voice who won't learn to sing; and the man with a glorious shape who won't learn his game whatever it be. These are the men who revel in success, and there are many such. For success in their case is a different article from that used by the workers. It is thrust upon them, it comes without work, and, being what they desire, pleases them. And naturally, for they do not know that work for work's sake, with or without results, is a finer thing and a more satisfying thing than the biggest success in the world. The worker looks for success. That is why he works. But he delights in the means, and if he attains the ends, they become in turn other means. Every word written, every step run, every stroke pulled, every yard gainedif hard work be represented thereby-is a success in itself, whether it be the wrong word, a slow step, a misapplied stroke, or a yard that should have been two to prevent the ball from changing hands on downs. The LIT. triangle is pleasant to have, not because it is very large and made of eighteen karat gold and can be seen from a great distance and represents a certain amount of undergraduate literary success; but because it recalls the hours when one might have played-and didn't. Now the men in '99 and 1900 who are trying for the LIT. should understand this, and it will make their work better. What is the pleasure of having an article accepted to the hours spent in the production of the same? But if by some strange chance you prefer the acceptance to the production-why then the noble, rich fields of undergraduate literature are not for you. And you had better stop writing. You must love your work for itself. If you don't love to write, why find something you do care for; and then work. Again '99 and 1900 bear in mind the words of the Professor and: "Ponder, William-Ponder!" Gouverneur Morris. |