Page images
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][merged small][merged small]




In this, the first number of "THE CLIFTONIAN,” we feel that a few words of preface will not be out of place, possibly may be expected. It does seem rather daring for so young a School to start a Magazine; but we believe the School will not require any apology from us on this head; and outsiders will probably look with some indulgence on our temerity, regarding it as one symptom amongst others of that youth which after all is possibly not an unmixed evil.

We do hope to be the organ of the School, to be the mirror in which its progress will be reflected for many years to come. And it will be no small matter if twenty years hence, in the libraries of Brown, ma., and Jones, mi., a nook, may we hope, a sacred nook, will be reserved for the old file of "THE CLIFTONIAN."

University honours, cricket matches, football, all the woof and warp of our stirring life in this place will here find its chronicle. Leger scores will flourish, goals will be decked with immortal bays; and whatever of literary elegance, of taste, of earnest sympathy with nature, with art, with society, may spring up amongst us, we hope to treasure in "THE CLIFTONIAN" as in a casket. In "THE CLIFTONIAN" there shall be free play for all our School energies. Here the grumbler shall grumble over his grievance; the reformer shall

propose his remedy; the "queer fellow" shall trot his hobby; the partisan shall back his colours.

We know that our first number is a kind of trial business; and we would ask for it an indulgent reception at the hands of the School. In fact "THE CLIFTONIAN" is nothing but what the School makes it. Our great pride is that we represent the School, and our honest endeavour will be to realize that feeling and that idea. "THE CLIFTONIAN" will not necessarily be published every month. The publication will be at irregular intervals, depending upon the accumulation in our box of matter suitable for





Whene'er a School has reached a certain size
Burning ambition will as sure arise-
Ambition-soaring as etherial vapour

To make known to the world a monthly paper.
Still honoured more is Rugby's honoured name
By her bright "Meteor's" Editorial flame;
Harrow its "Tyro" boasts-the reason clear
All folk allow that it has lived a year.

And there it is, and there it thrives, and weekly draws it's breath,

Not knowing of its forerunners what should it know of death?

Allow me-where's my Editor? oh dear,

To introduce oneself is very queer,

My name is (I could tear myself with rage);

I have it look upon my

title page.

I own a staff of Editors, the best without a doubt,

Yet even they (so good am I) could scarcely get me out.
Can it be that I was heavy-oh dear, no not at all;

Perhaps I was not done enough, perhaps I'm rather small.
Enough of this vain badinage. My readers young and fair,
In me you find a Journal as free as mountain air:
Political events to notice I don't deign,

Events I chronicle are of a more congenial strain.
But out I am, and here I am prepared to do or die;
Cliftonians list to what I say, I do not listless sigh;

My life is in your hands, whether-when years have rolled
And happy Time life's future shall unfold,

I still may live, and like an honoured friend
Claim as of yore your skill for me to lend.
Or whether when the novelty has flown
The toy is thrown aside, and left alone
A pitiable spectacle, and fit for jeers,


prey to evil prædicators' sneers.
Not such a fate attends me I am sure,
With this my comfort I can feel secure,
So readers all farewell-a fond adieu
Until we meet again in No. II.


« PreviousContinue »