We would remind the students that in its new form THE TUFTONIAN will have ample space to devote to stories and articles of considerable length, which were necessarily barred out of the old form because of lack of space in one issue. In a college of the size of Tufts, and especially in one where so many are devoting themselves to literary lines of work, a magazine of this nature should not lack for meritorious articles for publication. In fact, the contributions should be so numerous that the task would be to choose the best among them, and the appearance of an article in the magazine should be deemed an honor worth striving for. The standard of the new magazine ought to be high, and it can be made so if the students will take sufficient interest in it to contribute to its columns. Articles should be written especially for publication,. and class-room essays ought to be prepared with the idea of suitableness for the college magazine. Editors do not and cannot constitute a magazine. It must have a constituency, and a constituency of frequent and willing contributors. Nearly every college man makes more or less effort along literary lines, and it is these very efforts that must be submitted for use in the college magazine, if either the writer or the magazine is to hope for success. Local publications are about the only mediums of literary expression open to the average college man, and offer opportunities which he cannot afford to neglect, especially if he aspires to a career making its demands along literary lines. It is the province of the college literary magazine to include all styles and forms of college literature, ranging from the essay and reflective verse to fiction and merry college jingle. By no means the least important is the verse. It adds much to the appearance and interest of the magazine, and sets forth the spirit of college life far better than prose productions. THE TUFTONIAN has in the past contained verse of merit, but it has been far too scanty. That latent poetic ability exists in Tufts is evident when the writing of verse becomes imperative. It is one object of the magazine to cultivate this talent and to bring it to light, and we invite and urge all to co-operate in keeping up the poetical side of the Tufts magazine. Verse alone, however, is not the only form of literature which is too scanty in our college magazine. The real, live, short stories are also too often lacking. This is the age of the short story, and college fictional literature naturally falls into this line. Too few of them, however, find their way to publication, and too few are written. If only college students could be made to realize the value of such composition, stories would be so numerous that we should have no cause for complaint. Probably no form of writing yields more to a student for the labor expended than the short story. It develops the perceptive, analytical, and descriptive faculties more than verse, and while it may not require the depth of logical thought which the essay demands, it does require greater versatility, and a better appreciation and knowledge of men and nature. Let every one, then, lend a hand in the magazine work. Remember that it exists for you, not for its editors. Write for it freely and constantly. Turn to its columns as a medium of expression for your opinions on all subjects, and we will endeavor to put a magazine in the field that will find a place for itself in the field of college journalism. The students and friends of Tufts College appreciate the work of several of the younger members of the faculty in putting textbooks of their own into use in their class-room work, and in placing them before the college public. The publication of creditable text-books by the instructors of any college will tend to place the methods and character of the institution before the public, and by giving it a wider and more tangible reputation, will draw to it more students from a wider area. To be in a measure cosmopolitan is the aim of every wide-awake institution, and any means of securing this is to be looked upon as worthy of the highest commendation from all interested. It is to be hoped that we may be able to notice further publications from our faculty in the near future. FOR the general school and academy purposes for which this book is designed, we have seldom seen a more attractive collection of familiar songs. None of the selections are new, and many, in fact, are so old that they have passed into our national life almost as a part of our existence. The collection includes departments of patriotic and national songs, school and college songs, familiar songs, and songs of devotion. Of these, the first will doubtless prove of most value. In so far as the book aspires to be a compilation of college songs, it falls short of its mark. Many of the old familiar college airs are included, but no work of this kind can or should aspire to be a compendium of those rollicking melodies which give our college glee clubs their popularity. Among the familiar songs are many iof the songs of the race which will not die. With these are ncorporated several more difficult and less familiar selections, like "The Soldiers' Chorus," from "Faust," "Lutzow's Wild Hunt," "The Prayer," from "Der Freischütz,” and several arrangements from Mendelssohn. The first division of the book contains an introduction to the study of music adapted for graded schools, beginning with the very rudiments, easy melodies in double and quadruple measure, and practice on the major scales, and continuing through nine wellarranged grades to the practice on the chromatic scales, in writing from dictation, and unison and part singing. The distinguishing feature of the book, as its publishers claim, is the range and variety of its selections. THE FLOWER OF ENGLAND'S FACE. By Julia C. R. Dorr. New York, Macmillan & Co. The above is the romantic title of a neat little volume of sketches of English travel, by the author of "Friar Anselmo." The collection contains chapters descriptive of many of the most delightful and hallowed spots of Wales and old England. Mrs. Dorr seems to have chosen those very scenes about which we know so little, but which we hold sacred in our minds as the homes and birthplaces of England's best and noblest men and women. And in presenting them to her readers, she has seemed to touch upon the simplest circumstances and humblest surroundings in such a suggestive way as to bring the sacred spots and their immortal spirits before us more vividly than volumes of description. With a delightfully easy, graceful, chatting style, she takes us from the misty cloisters of the old cathedral at Chester, and the old verger's stories of Charles Kingsley, to the ruined castle of Queen Eleanor the Faithful, at Conway. Through the forests of Arden we seem borne in a haze of delight and devotion. To us are opened the gates of the ruined castle of Kenilworth. We hear the trumpets of the brave Simon de Montfort; we almost clasp the gauntleted hand of old John of Gaunt; we look into the dungeon of Edward the Second; we see Elizabeth in all the pride of her imperious womanhood; and we hear the echo of the sobs of poor Amy Robsart, and see her gliding like a spirit down the winding turret stairs, that she may claim the pity of her queen. At quaint Stratford-on-Avon we are brought face to face with all that remains of the surroundings amid which Shakespeare lived and died. But it is at Hawworth, the home of the Brontés, that we feel the deepest thrill. Little incidents from the sad, sweet lives of Charlotte and Emily are so woven in with the picture of the strange old hillside town that we feel the holy influence of the pure lives of those two noble sisters, and our hearts go out in sympathy as we read of the love and devotion which the simple people of the little village felt for them. The whole book is written in such a tender and appreciative, yet chatty and confidential, style, that we seem lifted above the tedium of the journey, and travel, as it were, upon the wings of the literary genius of old England, and in a mellow atmosphere of hallowed tradition and purest sentiment. It is a delightful book for a weary hour, and one comes from it as from the ethereal presence of the noble women about whose lives and homes cluster its incidents. BOARD OF EDITORS ORREN H. SMITH, '96, Editor-in-Chief. R. K. MARVIN, '96, Managing Editor of "The Tuftonian.” S. B. JOHNSON, '96, Associate Editors. A. B. START, '97, Exchange Editor. W. H. BELCHER, '96, Managing Editor of "Tufts Weekly." J. A. COUSENS, '98, Associate Editors of "The W. A. MOORE, '98, Tuftonian" and News EdW. R. RANSOM,'98, ) itors of "Tufts Weekly." E. R. SAMPSON, '96, Alumni Editor. G. L. THOMPSON, '97, Divinity School Editor. [They are seated about the table, upon which burns a lamp; some are reading, some not. On the side of the room, next the window, near the door, the casket, long and black, rests upon its supports. The moon throws intermittently an unsteady light across the casket, into the room. It is late in the evening.] THE COUSIN. It is no use. I cannot read while he lies there. THE NEPHEW. It must be late—my watch has stopped. THE COUSIN. It is twenty minutes past eleven. Mine never stops or loses. THE OTHER COUSIN. there? How long has the great clock stood |