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ually ripening toward perfection; a movement that augurs well for the future. The two longest poems in this volume do not please us, because they show the author's faults in the strongest light, with few of his excellences: but some of the smaller are exquisitely beautiful. He excels especially in pourtraying the higher emotions of love. This forms one great charm of Endymion: and the tender passion, in its purest, noblest moods was never more exquisitely painted than in Mary," ," "The Statue Love," "A Gift," and most of all in that beautiful ballad "Isabelle."

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But since space, and the peculiar nature of our periodical forbid us to pilfer any of these treasures, we will only commend our readers, as before, to the volume: which, by the way, in outward appearance is one of the most attractive we have lately seen.

"ORTA-UNDIS, and other Poems, by J. M. Legare."

This young aspirant for Olympus, is a late graduate, we are told, of the University of Virginia, and a member of the same talented family which has already produced one of our country's most brilliant ornaments. Whether any more "of the same sort" are left among them, we cannot say, but if there be, the author of "Orta-Undis" is not one. He is said to have been from childhood a devoted wooer, alike of earthly maidens, and the Nine. What his success has been with the former we know not: but the Muses have most evidently given him "the mitten." In the hundred pages of rhyme he has offered us, we find some two or three pieces of simple, touching, beauty, the "Reaper," and " Amy," for instance. The rest is only saved from mediocrity by being most undeniably bad,—a sort of tipsy prose. We pity the poor damsel to whom in his "Last Gift," he promises immortality, if that be her only chance: even if by any accident his fond visions are accomplished, we should deem celebrity in such verses to be only a mode of being

"damned to everlasting fame"

The poem from which the book is named, is the last, and one of the shortest in it: a strophe, as he most unaccountably (so far as we can see) sees fit to call it, in barbarous rhyming Latin. We have only room to quote four lines: and by them we'll put for company, a stanza from a poem which had we the copy by us, would pay far better for the trouble of reviewing, than those of Mr. Legare.*

"Johannis Gilpini Iter, Latine Redditum." One of the cleverest jeux d'esprit of the day, lately published in a neat little pamphlet by Zieber & Co., Phil.

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Well kind Reader here we are before you once again, and what think you of our third appearance? We have toiled through these hot days and weeks to deck ourselves out in a becoming garb and all we hope now, is that it may be suited to your taste. Is it so? Do you like it, or do you think the dress ill-becoming? Perhaps you do not know what an importance your judgement of the Indicator has in our eyes. A great deal depends on your opinion. If we could only stand unseen beside you we should watch with interest your very look as you took your seat in your easy chair and began to turn over our pages. We should notice every expression of your countenance;-every glance of your eye, and as you read one piece after another, we should long to take a peep in upon your mind and see there the process that was silently going on. And then we should want to tarry till you had finished the last page so that we could see whether it was a pleased or dissatisfied air with which you laid the book aside.

Men like to be independent, but Editors are not and cannot be. They have got to be governed by the will of others, else they stand in danger of being Editors only in name. Whether such a condition of things is right or wrong, good, bad, or indifferent, we have nothing to say. We have only to do at present with the fact, and being a fact, it accounts for our desire to know your sentiments concerning us. If we stand in danger of being guillotined, we should like to know it before it becomes impossible to avoid the axe, and if we are likely to lose your favor and be proscribed for our mismanagement, we should at least try to retain the one and escape the other, could we only learn beforehand that you were finding fault with our efforts. Editors may do much to fashion out the frame work of society, but as you must stand by and direct their efforts, in this sense at least, you do more and are more powerful than they. Did you never read how the boy of Themistocles was the greatest man in Greece?

We should be disappointed to hear no fault-finding with our undertaking, we are surprised to hear so little. We cannot hope to make the Indicator perfect though we try. No one expects to find perfection in a college magazine. There must be much that is obnoxious to the critic's ban, in a periodical conducted by hands so inexperienced as ours. Though the writers who contribute to its pages may possess talents of a high order, they can have had but little practice in writing and so their style must necessarily have its imperfections. Yet even here we find a reason why the under-graduates if not the Alumni of our Alma Mater should take an interest in our Magazine. Is it not better that these imperfections, such as they are, should first appear in these pages and be corrected here, before they should go out as such to a world whose critics give no charity to inexperience? Who would not rather meet the ordeal here than elsewhere?

We had prepared a longer gossip with our readers, but the printer is inexorable.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Our friend "Jenkins," as he had perfect right to do, writes us some animadversions on our course. To the charge of typographical errors and other blunders in our last, we plead guilty and hope that he may find them avoided in this. But when he "impugns our judgment and impartiality" in a certain matter, we respectfully beg leave to differ from him and hold our former opinion still. If the prose he promises us be as racy as his letter, we shall be glad to receive it.

"Too Soon" was received too late for this number. It shall appear in our next. We are not hungry enough for " The Poet's Breakfast." It is respectfully declined.

We shall take pleasure in publishing "Miscellaneous Sonnets" in our next. "Fragments," and "The Mission of the Great," are postponed.

"First Love," and "Recollections of Quodville," No. 2, shall appear in our

next.

"We would recommend to the author of "The Poet's Grave," that he read over his piece in connection with the Fifteenth Lecture of Blair's Rhetoric. We insert the first stanza, since it is too good a specimen to be lost.

He sleeps! the child of phantasy

Has sunk to rise no more,

Like hollow waves that beat against

Eternity's black shore,

And the lightning fires of intellect,

That played around his brow,

Lie like old Ocean's hidden pearl

So low and sheenless now.

"Childhood's Dream," and " Our Native Land," have been devoted to their propriate use.

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If the world like it not, so much the worse for them.-Couper.

SEPTEMBER, 1848.

AMHERST:

PUBLISHED BY THE EDITORS.

PRINTED BY J. S. AND C. ADAMS.

MDCCCXLVIII.

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