The Club met pursuant to adjournment, when the society was called to order by a sneeze from the President. Snuff was distributed as usual-tripe and codfish ordered for six, and lobsters for the balance. Devotional exercises were then commenced by the singing of a psalm, in which Mr. Dryasdust greatly distinguished himself by the melody and sonorousness of his twang, to the no small discomfort of Mr. Soberside, whose nose, being sadly affected by a cold, no longer supplied with its usual facility the place of a sounding-board. A long and eloquent prayer followed from Brother Pomp, in which blessings and increase were earnestly entreated for our respective noses. After this the business of the evening was taken up. At the word from the President, "make ready," and each member thrust his hand into his box and seized a pinch of snuff-"take aim," and the right eyes of all were suddenly closed-the hands elevated to the nostrils-the weapons duly primed-" fire," and a universal sneeze aroseverifying the old motto, "mens sana in sano corpore." The manœuvre was executed admirably by all save Mr Swear-at-'em, who, being slightly beside himself with enthusiasm, made the mistake of thrusting the snuff into his left eye instead of his left nostril. The consequence may be imagined, but cannot be described. (Here Mr. Swear-at-'em swore he didn't swear a bit, and also swore it was a libel.) The Anniversary Poem was next in order, and amid cheers and bravos, hiccups, and "hear him," and while every one was yelling "silence" at the top of his voice, Mr. Lovelace arose to acknowledge the call.

"He must beseech the indulgence of the society for his want of preparation. Indeed, he had only taken a few moments to write a few Cantos, yet still he hoped they would admire that genius which could produce a very fine poem in a very short time." Hereupon a Heroic Poem, six Cantos in length, was executed by Mr. Lovelace with great pathos. The Secretary could only catch the two following stanzas-the rest defying King's English to embody it.

The echo had scarce died away, when up popped Mr. Bustle, and desired to amend the Constitution in the following respect:

Resolved, That beauty is no proof of brains."

“This," he said, "was his own opinion-it was the opinion of several gentlemen around him and he believed it was the opinion of every sensible person who was not handsome. But he did not offer this through vanity; for as he was not beautiful himself-although he might be 'an he would-how could he be vain! It was truth that he wanted-abstract truth-and if this amendment was not passed, he should certainly petition Congress to place an ad valorem' tariff upon beauty, to encourage our home manufacturers-the tailors."

Mr. Pomp felt compelled to take the negative of this question-he thought it an infringement on the rights guarantied to us by the Constitution, for that blessed instrument expressly affirmed, that "beauty was a conservative element." It was true he himself was beautiful-beautiful in the extreme--and he thanked heaven that it had made him handsome instead of diminutive. Moreover, although modesty forbid his saying that he was also smart, yet he felt confident that such was the fact, and this he thought

The remainder of this exquisite Poem Mr. Lovelace himself has kindly volunteered to write out for us. It may therefore be seen by the curious, by application at our Circulating Library.-[JEDDEDIAH SCATTERBRAIN.

was a sufficient concatenation of syllogistic argumentation to authenticate his assumption.

Mr. Cute guessed he didn't have any thing to say, but he'd like to remark, that they hadn't ought to bring up such questions thor! Yes! he would say to the gentlemen du tell-and speaking of beauty he could ask Mr. Pomp, from the very apex of his nose, be you? No, sir, don't say, for if this should pass he would at once betake himself hum.

Another resolution, introduced by Mr. Dryasdust, also caused a considerable sensation. It was as follows:

"Resolved, That no member shall hereafter be permitted to smoke more than three pipes successively, without a suitable interlude of small beer. Moreover, that two pipes be considered equal to one bottle of ale or three glasses of ginger-pop, and that it be so counted for the future in reckoning whether each member has done his duty.” "This," said Mr. Dryasdust," originated in experience, and was dictated by conscience. It was also," as he happily remarked, "intended solely to benefit the nose, by promoting in the same- -both the issues of life and the flow of fancy" Here he was interrupted, however, by Mr. Swear-at-'em, who rose, as he said, "to a pint of order." "Yes, Mr. President, I rise to a pint of order," continued he; "I should like to know, sir, if I hav'n't a larger nose than the gentleman? and is it not better polished, sir, and more condensed, sir? Then, sir, by the powers of mud, sir, it is entitled to more weight than the gentleman's, and I have the precedence of him, sir. Yes, sir, I have as much right to go before him, sir, as my nose has to go before me, sir; and I say, sir, his resolution is a detestable one, sir-a countenancing the enemy. What! ginger-pop, ale, and small beer, sir, when we can get brandy, sir! It is monstrous. I cannot think of it, sir! and, besides, I have a debt of vengeance to pay off on brandy, as it killed my father, sir." He hereupon moved that it be amended by brandy, which was unanimously seconded, and the "raw material" ordered forthwith. Pipes were then lighted all round, and a very warm discussion ensued as to the relative effects of hot oysters; and whether hot or cold, fried, stewed, or roasted added most lustre and intensity to the nose. Mr. Ganderleg insisted on the cold-Mr. Lovelace on the hotMr. Skewnose liked them stewed-Mr. Simple didn't-Mr. Bustle liked to open his own oysters-while Mr. Swear-at'em swore that brandy was the best after all. The members then proceeded to arrange themselves for the most interesting of all the *

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Your humble petitioner here regrets to say, that he has unfortunately lost the remainder of this most interesting report. He only remembers enough of it to add, that when the meeting adjourned every one of the members was fast asleep, while the President (to use his own expression) was dosing. Before morning, however, the snoring increased to such an alarming degree, that each one waked his neighbor up, and they were thus enabled to attend morning prayers in due time, and with a proper devotional frame of mind. Yours to command,

JEDDEDIAH SCATTERBRAIN, M. B. C.

The following "gem," which we have rescued from the pile of shot rubbish before us, we publish as a confession of faith, for those who meet with an untimely fate, and are destined never to see the promised land. It purports to be "Lines addressed to the President, NOTT, of Union College, by a promising young genius, upon his leaving by request."

"THE WAIL OF THE DEPARTED."

"Why do you mourn, despairing friends,
Or grieve in telling me my fate?
I shall, Nott, strive to make amends,
When once beyond the College gate.

"Why then, I ask, am I sent off?

I did, Nott, surely often flunk,

Red pepper and, Nott, I made tutors cough,
You know I was, Nott, often drunk.

"But waving all these useless claims,

Since now my fate's proclaimed,

I

go,

but leave this proof of brains,
The only thing I have, Nott, maimed."