It is an old, old subject, this of the man who has some music in his soul, but who is moved to express his soulful feeling by something else than the concord of sweet sounds. Not once during the whole course of the examinations has a word of complaint been uttered; but the time his come when pent-up sufferings must at last find vent in words. Neither the piano flend, nor the man who plays any of those hideously shaped, and fearful sounding instruments-whose names are known only to members of the Pierian Sodality-is here found fault with; but the man who thinks he can yodel. This man, we grieve to say, has more faith in his ability than those who room near him, and who have heard him practising. "Love is blind, and cannot see," as we all know; and in this case love is deaf and cannot hear. That it is a case of love, there can be no doubt; for he, the typical yodeler pursues the object of his passion, the very elusive and unattainable yodel, at all hours of the day and night. He kneels at his inamorata's shrine when first he wakes; and at the solemn hours of mid-night he flats a few sweet notes as the last strain of his farewell serenade before he goes to bed, or in the early morning he chirps out his cheerful clear-toned song to tell his fellow birds that he is up. He must be deaf; for surely he cannot hear the beloved yodel say-"not this eve," each time he passionately offers himself. He continues unceasingly to offer himself, and all around him, living sacrifices on the altar of his divinity, who will never smile upon him. Young man, be not deceived; trust her not, she's fooling thee." You cannot,-we are sorry to blast your high-blown ambition by the revelation,-cannot yodel. Requiescat in pace, and let us too requiescat.