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thought and instruction is presented to the mind in the works of that distinguished Carolinian, who was as familiar with every spring and function in the fabric of social government as the skilful anatomist with the nerves and organs of the human body.

This devotion of the talent of the South to the field of politics has, in a great measure, been the result of necessity. The systematic warfare of the North against the institution of slavery, has induced those who might otherwise have pursued a calmer but not less brilliant career to rush to the defence of their interests. The agitation thus produced has been general and continuous. Not confined to the more cultivated classes of society, it has been diffused through the masses, and thus has materially diminished the number of readers, as well as the number of authors, of polite literature. A period of political agitation, or of civil strife, is not a period for the cultivation of Belles Lettres. When the rights of property are assailed, when the fire-side is in danger, there is but little time for the study of philosophy or the pursuit of literature. The only authors who are then produced, are those who make it their province to analyze the social compact, to proclaim political freedom and rights, and to exhort their countrymen to a steadfast assertion and unyielding defence of those rights. During the revolution in England, which established the 'Protectorate on the ruins of royalty, the young Latin secretary of Cromwell arose to some eminence as a political writer. But it was not until the storm had passed away, and order was once more restored to the distracted realm, that the unfading fame of Paradise Lost eclipsed the political distinction of John Milton, the defender of the Liberty of the Press. In the department of literature which such civil strife produces, we boldly and confidently challenge a comparison between the two sections. Until New England can rival the fame of Jefferson and Madison; or the more modern disciples of the Dane school achieve something worthy to be compared with the searching disquisitions of Cal

houn, the South may rest quietly under the taunts of inferiority which one of her own sons, a few years ago, hurled against her in order to curry favour with the modern Athenians of Boston.

The other cause to which we referred, which has retarded the rise of literature in the South, is to be found in the active enterprise of her sons, urging them to seek their fortune in some new home in the far West. This has prevented that growth of population which is essential to the maintenance of a home literature. Those who have thus left their homes, immersed in the struggle for independence in a new country, have but little time or inclination for the pursuit of letters, while by their voluntary absenteeism they sap the population which might otherwise sustain such pursuits at home. Nor is this tendency to emigration due, as has been charged, to the institution of slavery. It produces the impoverishment at home of which it seems to be the result, and is thus, to our minds, a subject of regret. It proceeds from the restless spirit of adventure so remarkable in Southern youth, and from that ardent love of political distinction which we consider the bane of our society. They meet, it is true, with their reward, for it is a fact worthy of notice, that a large majority of the aspiring emigrants to new countries, who have attained the preferment which they sought, have been originally from the Southern States.

He is an unwise physician who can only form a diagnosis of disease, without skill to suggest a remedy. If we have succeeded in pointing out the importance of a literature to the South, and in alluding to some of the causes which have prevented its development, we have but half fulfilled our duty until we suggest a remedy for the evil which exists. Indeed, in these remedies are embodied other causes which have prevented the attainment of this desirable object, for the neglect of duty involves consequences as deplorable as the positive commission of

wrong.

In order, then, to build up a Southern literature, we would urge upon the South the importance of sustaining exclusively

her literary institutions. We doubt whether all other causes combined have done more essential injury to the prosperity of the South, than the neglect of her colleges for Northern institutions. In the item of capital, the most important in a political aspect, who can calculate the loss which the South has sustained by such a suicidal policy? The capital thus expended beyond her borders is never again heard of, unless, perchance, in the circulation of abolition documents, or the furnishing of Sharpe's rifles and revolvers for Kansas emigrants. But it is not in its political aspect that we desire to consider this question. By the encouragement of our own institutions, we elevate the general standard of intelligence, we improve the character of our common schools; and for the Yankee pedagogue and old-field school, we substitute a Southern teacher, born and reared amongst us, and devoting his energies and talents to the formation and advancement of literature. Nor is this all. A literary class is established in our midst— a corps of Alumni, bound together by a common devotion to Alma Mater, are dispersed through our State. A thirst for literature is engendered, libraries are built up and encouraged, and young men, who would never have heard of a collegiate education elsewhere, are every year introduced into society to elevate its tastes and adorn its circles. We venture to say that there can never be a home literature where there is not a reading public, and every step that is taken toward promot ing the general intelligence of the community, is a new incentive to the exertions of genius. We rejoice to see that a disposition thus to encourage our own colleges and universities is growing up at the South. It is founded, indeed, on a different principle than that for which we are contending, but yet a just and noble principle of self-preservation. Let it be continued, and while the capital expended in education will be retained at home; while our youth will be educated better for the stations which they may be severally called upon to fill, while a blow, prompted by just resentment, will be thus

struck at the Northern nurseries of abolition, it will not be the less grateful to Southern pride to know that we will be pursuing the surest policy to build up a sound and wholesome literature.

Scarcely less important than this is the encouragement of Southern literary periodicals. Let the market for Southern talent be in a Southern magazine. These periodicals are the nests from which young genius first tries its wing before it braves the atmosphere of a chilling public opinion. We speak that which we know when we assert that there are the elements of a Southern literature now in our midst. Properly supported, a Southern magazine would teem monthly with the emanations from aspiring citizens of the republic of letters. Is it asking too much of the true Southerner, who recognizes the importance of what we have said, that out of his abundance he would contribute something to the accomplishment of such an end? We conjure the thinking men, the reading men of the South, to come forward to the support of that periodical, through the medium of whose columns we now address them. But a short time since a magnificent donation was bestowed upon the prosperous Agricultural Society of the State. All honour to the generous donor, all success to the useful recipient. But is it not of equal importance that Southern enterprise should be directed to the cultivation of letters? If a generous interest were taken in the Southern Literary Messenger, which has already done much for the honour of the State, and of which Virginia and the South may well be proud, and also in a similar enterprise about to be established in Charleston, it would tend more than aught else to stimulate the literature of the entire South. Thus would we have to boast of our glorious old State as of a column founded upon the affections of a brave and honest people as on a rock, rising in the Doric simplicity of her political structure, strong, massive and elegant, and adorned by the graceful Corinthian capital of a pure and classic literature.

THE WINDS FROM OUT THE WEST.

The Winds from out the West that stray,
They bring a kiss for me to day,
From one they passed upon their way.

O happiest Winds that ever blew,
Who in your hither course have been
In her embrace. Alas, between
That envious hills should intervene
To hide her from my view.

O missive Winds, to night return-
The lamps in Orion's belt that burn,
Their light will lend you to discern

The chamber where she lies;
And where perchance in maiden dreams,
She murmurs like the purling streams
The bashful tale of love that beams
Within her hazel eyes.

Inform her softly whence you came,
And whisper low to her my name,
And see if any virgin shame

Suffuse her gentle face

And mark if in her sleep she sighs-
And if the robe that round her lies,
Shall eloquently fall and rise,
With agitated grace.

O Winds from out the West that strayed,
With such a sight of such a maid,
Your pilgrimage shall be repaid-

And you shall cease to rove,

And shall, O Winds from out the West,

Be cradled into endless rest,

Reclining on the queenliest breast

That ever sighed for love.

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We have purposely delayed acknowledging the receipt of the first number of the University Literary Magazine for the reason that, as it appeared just at the close of the last session, our greeting would not have reached the editors in their collegiate sanctum, had we been prompt to render it. They have now returned to the college and we are in daily expectation of receiving the second issue of this agreeable and spirited publication. "Nos docti indoctique toti scribimus," is the motto under which it comes forth-a very modest bit of Latin for gentlemen who are being taught the whole range of the sciences, but not borne out in the contents, which the indocti seem to have nothing to do with. Several articles in the number before us, of which we may be pardoned for mentioning as specially note-worthy those entitled "On Love" and "Catharine of Arragon," appear to us quite up to the level of the best magazine literature of the day, and certainly far above the mark of the old "Collegian." The "Literary Magazine," if properly conducted, will exert a happy influence upon the taste of the students of the University, and prove a valuable auxiliary to the Chair of BellesLettres.

Apropos of the University, we rejoice to learn that the number of matriculates for the present session is greater than at any former period, while the sphere of usefulness of the institution is constantly extending. A new Professor of Greek, Basil A. Gildersleeve, Esq., a graduate of Heidelberg, has been added to the corps of instruction, and with the opening of the next collegiate term, the Professorship of History and General Literature will be inaugurated. By a munificent endowment of Philip St. George Cocke, late President of the Virginia Agricultural Society, the Visitors will be enabled, at their meeting in February next, to take preliminary steps for the establishment of

a school of Agriculture in connection with the University, by which facilities will be offered for the education of Southern planters in all that relates to the increase of productiveness and the improvement of our lands.

The noble picture of the "School of Athens," designed for the new Hall of the Rotunda, has already been received and is now on exhibition in our city. It was copied through an order of the Alumni, from Raphael's magnificent fresco in the Vatican, by M. Paul Balze, a French artist of celebrity, and has been pronounced by Horace Vernet, Sir Charles Eastlake and other eminent painters, a faithful and beautiful reproduction of the original. When this picture shall have been elevated to the place it is to occupy, and when the statue of Jefferson, upon which Galt is now busy in Florence, shall have been completed and erected, the Rotunda will be rich in artistic treasures, and some generous patron of polite learning, imitating the splendid example of Mr. Cocke, may endow a School of Painting and Design, which shall open to the lover of art the means of mastering its principles, and send forth among us the beautifiers of life.

We beg to acknowledge with thanks the kind things said of the Messenger by the editress of the Kaleidoscope-a paper which we always receive with pleasure, and which we are glad to believe is surely winning its way to public favor in the South. Mrs. Hicks has been a zealous laborer in the cause of Southern literature, and her graceful pen is employed with the happiest effect and with kaleidoscopic brilliancy in the editorial columns of her excellent monthly. Petersburg has reason to be proud of its press, and should sustain its literary organ with the liberality that it extends towards all other useful and worthy enterprises.

We take the following Sonnets from the Charleston Mercury. They are given without the name of the author and with no explanation of the tragic incident to which they refer, but we recognise in them the graceful finish and the generous

feeling of Paul H. Hayne, and the reader will apprehend at once that they were suggested by the sad fate of the gifted TABER, who fell recently in a duel near Charleston. As a tribute to departed worth they have a melancholy interest

SONNETS.

I.

"Whom the gods love, die early!"-it may be-
But standing, noble friend, beside thy grave,
Whereon already the lush grasses wave,
Nursed by the pitying skies' serenity,

(While the pent grief expands, the tears gush free,)
I do arraign the fiery Fate, whose blow,

In thy bright morn of years, hath laid thee low,
Whose noon had held all gifts of fame in fee.
Thou wert a Prince in manhood; every grace
Of generous nurture, and of genial blood,
Beamed in thy presence, and thy lordly face
The dial of a clear and lofty mood;

Yet now thou art a phantom-all is fled;
The grace, the glory,-God! can'st thou be dead?

II.

For aye thou art before me! day and night,
A ghastly visage, wan, and crowned with gore,
Doth haunt my steps, and front me evermore,
Darkling between my spirit and the light;
I cannot purge my memory, cleanse my sight;
Blood hovers in the sunbeams; the sweet air
Of the calm evening is no longer fair,
And universal Nature owns the blight.
Alas! what boots it? individual grief,
On the wide ocean of man's common wo,
Shrinks to a current, oh! how vain, and brief,
Dwarfed in the height of that eternal flow;
Yet strong to dim Love's joy-illumined eyes,
And shut from Hope the peace of earth, and skies.

We find the following exquisite fragment in the Albion, attributed to MORTIMER COLLINS, an English poet. It is entitled the "Serenade of Troilus," and it

surely breathes the very music of a love song, such as maidens have hearkened to with beating hearts, from beautiful Cressida to dreamy Genevieve. Listen

This is the very song that Troilus
Sang to his Cressida, what time the gust

Howled through the long still streets of watchful Troy.

O love, sweet love, thou sleepest all the night-
Sleepest, soft pillowed in the purple dusk,
While I am pining for thy silver voice.

Come forth, come forth, my sweet, my Cressida.

Softly the blue sea wraps the island shores,
Softly the colourless air enfolds the world,
Softly around the plane the ivy twines.
Even so, the while gold starlight holds the sky,
I softly would embrace thee, Cressida.

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