Since the appearance of our last number we have learnt that the way of the Editor, whether he be a transgressor or not, is hard. The head that wears a crown lies less uneasy than the one that endeavors to steer a magazine through the storms of an editorial voyage, — and the anarchist's plots which threaten a crowned head are not more alarming than the wrath of offended readers. However since the Christmas season approaches, the time of peace and good-will, we have no desire to fan the flame of wounded dignity but will content ourselves with assuring our readers of our regret that anything in our magazine should have been the innocent cause of offence to some whom we regard as especially worthy of admiration & emulation.
We sought to give honor where honor was due but take a good many other unsolicited favors it was unappreciated.
The spirit of joy and good-fellowship is abroad in the land and the magazine, adding its quota of good cheer extends to each and all of its readers its best wishes for Christmas and the New Year.
It is rumored that one of the fair inmates of No. 6 has definitely decided to attend the McDonald Institute as soon as she reaches the patriarchal age of seventeen. The decision is said to be result of the Guelph Invasion of two weeks ago. We conclude that there must have been very persuasive missionaries among the invaders, verily wolves in sheep's clothing, and as our number of co-eds is limited we suggest that precautions be taken to prevent similar catastrophies.
Yes, "Music hath its charms" they say Well may be that is right In every country there's some way By music to delight. The bagpipes Scotland's sons rejoice The Breton loves his drum Each son of Erin lends his voice To join the harp's "rum-tum."
In far Cathay the "reek-shreek-skreek" Of one-stringed violin, In Paraguay and Mozambique The hom-hom's barbarous din Is music; and the "washee-man" Thinks it is "muchee fine". The negro plays his rattle pan And swelters at the line.