The Messenger, Vol. 7, No. 4 by UR Scholarship Repository

Vol. VII.

RICHMOND,VA., JANUARY,1882.

No. 4.

EDITORS:-Mu Sigma Rho, PERCY G. ELSOM, D. M. RAMSEY; Philologian, A. J. MONTAGUE,C. R. SANDS. BOARD OF PUBLICATION:-Philolo gian, G, W, HURT, H. W. TRIBBLE, T. L. WEST; Mu Sigma Rho, J. A. BARKER, G. C. BUNDICK, J. F. GUNTER.

[ The following little poem is by an unknown author, and was given to us bya friend. We are sure that our readers will appreciate its pathos.] . THE

OUTCAST

Found dead! dead and alone ! There was nobody ne ar-nobody near When the outcast died on his pillow of stone. ' No father, no mother, no sister dear, No friendly voice to soothe or cheer, Nut a watching or pitying tear. Ah! the dty slept when he died alone In the roofless street on his pillow of stone. Many a weary day went by Whilst wretched and worn he begged Âˇ for bread, Tired of life and longing to lie Peacefully down with the silent dead. Hunger and cold, and scorn and pain, Had wasted his fo,m and seareJ his brain; Till at last on the frozen ground ' The outcast died. 'Twas there he was found. Found dead-dead and alone, On his pillow of stone iu the roofless street; Nobody heard his Inst; faint moan, , Or knew when his sad heart ceased to beat; No mourner lingered with tears or sighs, " But the stars looked down with pitying- eyes, And the chill winds passed with a waihng sound O'er the lonely spot where his form was found.

Found dead ! dead! but not alone; There was somebody neat;-somebody near To claim the wanderer as his own, And give a hu111eto the houseless here; One , when every human door is closed To his children scorned and poor, Who opens the heavenly por tals wideYes, God was there when the outcast died.

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Richmond CollegeMessenger MOLIERE.

If a French cnt1c were asked .to whom, in the whole range ,of French literature, he would give the first place-not forgetting the grandeur of Corneille, the pathos of Racine, the sublimity of Bossuet, the elegance of Voltaire-he would probably say, to Molière. And who, one might ask, is this man whom you rank ,so high?. The son of an upholsterer. The son or' an upholsterer, and you prefer him to all the other writers of France ! How 'is that? It is because, as La Harpe has said, "Moliere is, of all those who have ever written, the one who has the best observed man without announcing · that he has observed him." His comedies are apart from all other comedies; · comic dramatist no nation, either ancient or modern, has produced who can be compared to him. What can be more, lively than the plays of Congreve, Farquhar, Vanbrugh, and Sheridan ! Wit sparkles in almost every line ; but the wit has b een doled out in regular portions, and as much of it falls to the share of the vale,t and . waiting-maid as to their masters and mistresse;. It is very different in Molière's com~· edies. We find there an examination of near] y all the follies and vices of in.an, and the charm of perfect naturalness pervades. In another respect, also, Moliere differs from all other writers. Satirists, tho'ugh aiming to correct and improve man by means of ridicule, the most powerful of .all weapons, have rarely attained the desired end. Horace, indeed,

"Still charms with graceful negligence, And Without method talk, us into serise ;"

but his works had little effect on the society or manners of his day. The same m~y be said of Juvenal and Persius, and in modern times of Boileau, Pope, &c. But the satires of Molière have had a visible and most desirable effect. But what effect, you ask, have they had? Have there been fewer misers since the Avare, fewer libert ·ines since the Fe.stin de Pierre, fewer hypocrites since the Tartuffe? Assuredly not; human nature is too h 4rdened to be altered by a comedy. · What, then, has Moliere done? Let us see. In the early part of the reign of Louis XIV., the f\Obles were overbearing and insolent in their manners; the doctors, for the most part, stupid and ignorant quacks, and the ladies affected and pedantic to the last extreme. But in the latter part of the seventeenth century, what a change do we observe! We find instead of insolence, politel),ySSand courtesy; instead

Moliere.

-of ignorance in the medical profession, learning and science; and good sense and good taste, after a long sleep, resume their sway over both sexes. Although the progress of civiliza'i.ion, the more discriminating study of the ancients, the works of other writers, and the general influence of the times, took considerable part in effecting this memorable change, yet, to a great extent, it was due to the inimitable pen of the dramatist. Moliere had little faith in : the· power of physic or physicians. He said orice to the king : "I chat awhile with a physician, he prescribes remedies for me, I do not take them, and I recover." And well might he have had little faith in them, if he has giv~ us a correct picture of them, as, allowing for satire, he doubtless has. The principal pieces in which he attacked the miserable cnarlatans are Le Medecin Malgré Lui and Le Malade Imi\gi• ·naise, in the latter of which we find the character of Diafoirus, a physician who is recommended by his uncle, on account of his blind admiration for the ancients and obstinate refusal to accept any of the so-called discoveries of ,the day, such as the circulation of the blood and other like nonsense. But it was against the literary women of Paris that Moliere directed his keenest darts and his most crushing satire. The celebrated Hotel de Rambouillet was , established by Catherine de Vivonne, widow of the Marquis de Rambouillet. It soon became a literary circle in which the most distinguished persons took part. There might be seen Richelieu, the greatest statesman; Conde, the greatest general; Corneille, the greatest poet of the age. Although the Hotel de Rambouillet improved the language and did much good to literature, in general, affectation reigned there supreme. ' Its members avoided all ordinary phrases, and endeavored to clothe the most trivial thoughts in new and striking expressions. One .of the most famous persons by whose society it was honored was Madeleine de Scudery, who, in her interminable romances of the Grand Cyrus and Clelie, ascribed to the ancient Persians and Romans medireval chivalry and French courtesy. These works soon became the fashion, and every one aimed to be like her heroes and heroines. , Moliere, struck with the ludicrousness of this, and, perhaps, somewhat piqued at the ladies' unfavorable criticisms on his plays, put on the stage Les Precieuses Ridicules. Gorgibus, a provincial man of the middle class, brings to Paris his daughter Magdelon and his niece Cathas, whose heads have been completely turned by the romances that they have read. Disgusted • with their homely names, they have changed ·them to the more euphonious ones of Polixene and Aminte, and wish to think, act, and talk exactly like Mademoiselle de LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND VIRGINIA

Richmond College Messenger.

Scudery's heroines. Both have excellent 6ffers in marriage; both refuse, because their lovers desire a speedy consummat--ion of their wishes, and this, they say, is preposterous. Manclane did not marry Cyrus until after years of separati9n and trials. " .There must be," says Magdelon, "adventures, rivals, persecutions of fathers, jealousies conceived by false appearances, complaints, and despairs. But to make love only in making the marriage contract and to take the romance b.y the end, nothing can be more gross than that, and the vision ,of it, alone, makes me ill." In this Moliere does not exaggerate. Julie d'Angennes, the beautiful daughter of the Marquise de Rambouillet, would npt consent to marry the Duke of Montausier until after a twelve years' courtship; so much Platonic love did the ladies of that period exact! But let us return to the ·Precieuses. Their lovers, angry .at their rejection, determine to play ·a trick on them . They send to see. them Mascarille, a clever valet, dresse2d' as a marquis. He tells Magdelon and Cathas that he has heard so much of ' them that he could not resist coming to see them. They are delighted to be complimented by a person of such high rank, and ·go into ecstacy over an absurd sonnet which he reads. They ~11three ·converse in the •fashionable jargon, Mascarille sends for musicians, and they are in the midst of a dance when Gorgibus arrives with the suitors, who undec eive them, to the infinite disgust of Gorgibus and confusion of the girls. This ch~rming little piece, perhaps, did some good, but it was far from curing the evil. · Near the close of his qi.reer, Moliere again took _up thi~ theme, and produced the Femmes Savantes, the most amusing, brilliant, and delightful of all his comedies. "In no one instance," says Mr. Hallam, " has Moliere delineated such variety of manners, or _displayed so· much of his inimitable gayety and power of fascinating the audience with very little plot, by mere exhibition of human follies." The characters of Philaminte, Belise, Armande, Tri ssotin, Vadius, and Chrysale, are drawn as Moliere alone could draw them. Philaminte is a true "savante." She rules her household with a rod of iron; she drives away her maid, not because she has broken any porcelain or glass, not because she has stolen silver or j ewelry, not because she has been unfaithful. "No," says she, "these would be trifles; she has, with an insolence s~cond to no other, after thirty lessons,' insulted my ear by the impropriety of a low and barbarous word, which Vaugelas condemns in decisive terms." Bélise thinks that everybody is in love with her, although she admits that all her lovers have revered her too highly ever to declare their love. Son;e of them, she says, refrain

Moliere.

from visiting her in order to show their respect for her; others ridicule her on acrnunt of their jealous rage, while despair has induced some . \ even to marry. Armande professes to think that a woman ought to wed herself to philosophy only, and that to marry a man would be very bestial. Chrysale is far from liking the ways of his learned wife, si~ter, and eldest daughter; most of his affection is cent~e·d in his younger daughter Henriette, who does not admire her mother's attainments, and openly declares her ignorance of Greek . . He likes the homely manners of the women of the preceding age. '' They did not read," says he, "but they lived well; their household affairs were all their l~rned conversation; their books were a needle, thread, and a thimble, with which they made their children's clothes. • But the women at present are very far from these customs; 'they wish to write . and to become authors. At my house everything is known except what ougfo to be . known; they know all about the moo.n, the polar ·star, Venus, Saturn, and Mars, with which I have no_ business. My whole house is employed in reasoning, and by reasoning they have driven away _reason . One burns mY. steak while · she reads some beautiful history; and another dreams over soine verses when I ask for somethipg to drink." The · ladies are ·shocked at such ideas, and · Belise wonders that she can be the sister of such a man. This piece was too much for the learned women. Their pedantry gradually lan_ guished and died. Thus with a veritable Parthian dart did Moliere put an end to this absmdity, which has revived, in our own times, under the name of JEstheticism. Would that the stage would cqme to the resctle ! But, alas ! the present age, though offering a;nple fund for satire, produces no Moliere. In 1667 the Tartuffe, the best of Mos liere's, and con~equently the best of all comedies, was first performed. He had composed it three years before, but had not been allowed to put it on the boards, on account of the opposition of .the clergy. Strange that an exposure of hypocrisy shou_ld have been considered as an attack on religion! Few plays present a grrnt~r variety of characters. That of Tartuffe is the most detesta,ble, as well as one of the m9st perfectly delineated; that dramatic literature affords. In the Avare , we see the folly of avarice, in Le Bourgevis Gentilhomme, the man who desires to put · himself above his rank. In absurdity of .these works Molière bas painted others, in the Misanthrope , he has p:iinted ,himself. Comedy, this plan is called! There are few trage. dies that arc more touching. Pathetic it would be at any rate, but how much more so is it, when we know that the sincere Alceste is Molière, and the heartless coquette, Celimene, his wife, Armande Bejart.

Richmond College Messenger. Moliere is one of those few writers ' admired by all nations, but his supremacy, so readily acknowledged by all succeeding _generations, like that of most great men, was far from being admitted by his contemporaries. The discerning few perceived and appreciated his merit, but many of his best plays were unsuccessful. He was betrayed by his wife, deserted by his friends, and the life of the greatest comic genius of the world was a sad one. The king, one day, asked Boileau who was the greatest man in his kingdom. "It is Moliere, sire," replied Boileau, without hesitation. "I am not of your opinion," said the king, thinking, perhaps, that he was a much greater man than the comedian Moliere . But posterity has confirmed the judgment of Boileau; for time lrns stripped Louis the Fourteenth o~ most of his borrowed glory, while it has served only to enhance that of Moliere. He has painted men as they were in his day, as they are in ours, and as they will be in all others. His comedies are a faithful mirror, in which we see everybody, with one exception. We see our acquaint- · ances, our friends, and our enemies, but we do not see ourselves. We are there, do not doubt it, but we do not re<;ognize ourselve~, and 1' we apply everything to others. Let us beware of this fault; let us ·• glance at ourselves, and profit by the good lessons which Moliere ' has given us. All honor to the dramatist who exposed folly, censured C. . vice, reformed manners, and restored good taste !

,CHIVALRY.

It is difficult to disrobe chivalry of the romantic habiliments which poets and novelists have fantastically folded about this institution; and it is no less difficult to carry ourselves back in imagination ,over ten centuries of change and progress, and see in its proper light the state of civilization of Western Europe which produced and nourished chivalry. However widely men may differ in regard to the influence of chivalry upon civilization 1 yet, when a view is taken of the period in which it flourished, and of the object which the noble knight ever kept before him, it must be acknowledged that it was truly a merito. rious institution. In order to get a clear concepti,on of this subject, it is necessary to bear in mind the political and religious condition of Europe at the time when this · institution rose and flourished. The Roman Empire had fallen, and, like the fall of the majestic oak in the forest, which bruises and mangles all the smaller ,, trees under ,it, this

Chivalry.

fall crushed the high sense of honor and noble ambition which were preeminent qualities in the Roman character. Along with the other things that went down with the de clin e of the Roman Empire, was the love of learning . This affected all West ern Europe . What did the mari of the Middle Ages care for the immortal Âˇpoems of Virgil or the glorious works of Cicer o ? Li ving without any specific purpos e, and void of that amb ~tion which leads both individuals and nations to grand achievement s, a majority of th e n-ien of this period were eking out the.ir existence. Feudalism held complete sway. Far more impregnable were the barri ers by which the liberties of ind ividua1s were circum1e,cribed,than were the W,alls of stone surrounding the baron's castle. The heart of him who had auth ority was more impervious to the demands of justice, than the mail armor to the viol ent blows of a foe's blade. Might was the standa rd of right; consequently the weak and unprotected were the recipients of great cruelty and oppression. When a lord was oppressed by th e king he vented his spleen by oppressing the baron, and he in turn relieved himself of his ill-humor by maltreating Âľis vassals. The feudal baron withdrew into his gloomy <.:astleand heartlessly imposed upon the serfa and tenants, who had no source of redress for their grlevances, since the baron himself was the magistrate. Of course, there must be a check upon thi s injustice and lawlessness. One such che ~k is found in the riv alry of the chiefs themselves, whose mutual jealousy made them somewhat lenient toward their vassals. Another is found in the Church, notwithstanding its corruptions at thi~ period; yet, by interposing it did much for the protection of the weak. Beyond the checks just mentioned, there was an agency which proved far more potential in the redress of evils than all other instrumentalities . of that age. The human heart, however crushed and bruised by tyranny or dwarfed by selfishness, is, nevertheless, endowed with an impulse of generosity and a sense of justice which urge man to actiOil when he sees his Âˇ fellow-creatures unj'ustly oppressed. This magnanimity of soul was, indeed, the card inal principle which led to the grand institution of chivalry, far renowned in story and in song. Add to this tbe gl'eat honor paid to the profession of arms, ancf, likewise, the high regard and delicate gallantry of the Teutons toward' the female sex, and it will give a clear idea of the causes which led to the rise and success of chi v.alry. Chivalry sprang from feudalism, and was its brightest flower. It was a gallant offspring, and, althou gh it didn't long survive the depart ure of its moiher; still it did much by way of reforming her vices.

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Having noticed the origin of this romantic institu~ion, let· us look for a moment at the gallant knight himself, whose matchless valor thrills our hearts with admiration. At the age of seven, the training of the boy who was a candidate for knighth~od was commenced. Being placed in a castle under a govern~r whose ·cluty,it was to give him lessons in all that pertained to the Order of Knight-Errantry, he remained there until he arrived at the age of fourteen. During this time th€ appellation of page was given him, and his duties were, in addition to his lessons. in chivalry, to carve, wait upon the table, and perform other menial services about the castle, which were not at that time considered humiliating ; . but his leisure hours were spent in accompanying the ladies of the castle in their pleasure walks and rides, and on their expeditions of hunting · and fowling. At the castle the page was surrounded by grand ladies and valiant knights, whose influence ever filled his youthful nature with the highest emotions of gallantry, honor, love, arid bravery. History informs us that the page, even before he reached His teens, usually selected a young lady, at whose feet he displayed all his gal 1' lantry; and the lady, on her part, undertook the polishing of his" manners. The page was also instructed in -the principles of religion, which occupied no insignificant place . in the creed of the medireval kn•ight. " The love of God and the ladies," says Hallam, "was en r, joined as a single duty. He who was faithful and true to his mistress · was held sure of salvation in the theology of the castle.'' We remark, in passing, that we here have an illustration of the fact that human nature remains essentially the same in all ages. At the first thought, we are astounded to see the , reverence and devotion of the youthful page toward the object of his ambition and idol of his life; but the page of ten ~ummers, who in the twelfth century wor• shipped at the shrine of the goddess of his affections, was no ,more the slave of his angelina than the bare-footed school-boy of the present day who engages in the combat of assault and battery with his rivals "for her dear sake." · At the age of fourteen, the pa1;e became a squire, and, 1sad to say, at this interesting age .he was compelled to put an end to hjs office of love, as attendant of the female -sex, and to become the attendant of the knight. His duties were then of a more arduous nature. To lead t,he war-horse to battle, to prepare the knight for the contest, to lead in another horse when !iis lord was dismounted, to rush to the ' assistance of his master · when hard pressed, constituted the pri,ncipal du~ies of the squire. Eternal constancy being ,, a test of true knight-

Chivalry. hood, the squire, on leaving theI castle to assume the duties of hisI • more honored calling, never proved unfaithful to the guardi ~n angel to whom he had paid his vows, and whose benign influence he haq received while being educated at the castle-his alma mater. This is ~ compliment to the knight which cannot be paid to all esquires at modern institutions of training who indulge in the u~e of "calico." Such was the training, such the duties, and such the life and char acter of the squire until he reached the age of twenty-one, when the dream of his boyhood, the longings and labors of his maturer years, ' were realized-he became a knight. We p~ s over the ceremonial initiation of the knight, wµich was ad~ ministered with much solemnity. These exercises were more solemn than the reader would suspect, if he judges from the laughable initiatiop of Don Quixote at the inn, upon starting out on his famou~ tour. The most vivid imagin~tion can picture no,thing more splenq i1d and romantic than a knight of the fourteenth century. In the heyday ,of chivalry, when the knight was in the acme of his glory, he was a grand figure. What is there in all the military displays of moder~ times so superbly grand as the knight of this perio1, mol/,~ted upon his richly caparisoned steed , glittering in his costly armor of steel, with plurrie•and crest and helmet, with lance and mace ,al},Q battle-t 1xe, going forth upon some errand of mercy? While we contemplate the institution of chivalry, .som~ e~.?mpl~s ,of the illustrious knight involuntarily come to our minds. Among the French knights who distinguished themselves in that knightly land of France, stands prominently the chivalrous Bay:;ird. rifo one doubts that he deserves the unniingled praise and admiratiop bestow:ed upon him in the appellation "the fearless and blameless." He posse~sed the qualities of the noble knight in their perfection and . purity, beautifully combining the ~alor of the wan:ior with the humane· spirit of the philanthropist. We can't. help thinking of Sir Philip Sidney as a brilliant example . of the English knight. To his other manly virtues he added the attainment of being a finished scholar. One incident in the life of Sidney will serve as aii illustration of the 'magnanimity of the true, knight. As he was being borne from . the battle-field, having received · a mortal wound, he complained of thirst, whereupon a bottle of water was procured for him. As he was,about to drink, he was touched by • a wistful .look of ~ wounded soldier who fixed his eyes upon the water . Taking the glass, untouched, from his own lips, Sidney handed it to

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the suffering soldier, with the words: "Thy necessity is yet greater than mine:" But the glory of knight-errantry has passed away. When civilization, in its' resistless progress, demolished the moss-covered walls of the baron's castle, it likewise crushed the institution of chivalry. The invention of gunpowder was an important agent in the overthrow of knight-errantry. The- chain armor and helm.et and breast-plate might be impervious to the arrow and lance, but they were powerless to resist the cannon-ball. Chivalry lasted longer in Spain than in any other cpuntry of Europe, and passed away, 'at the close of the sixteenth century, amid the inextinguishable laughter produced by Cervantes' immortal romance of Don 'Quixote, which is, beyond a doubt, one of the most humorous works ~ver written in any language. Although c;:hivalry,as an institution, is reckoned with the things of the past, yet its influence still lives. It is true, that, as we stand on the elevated plain of the civiliz'ation of \he -nineteenth century, and look back on the knight of the Middle Ages, we see that he was not fred from imper fections, but his virtues outweighed his vices. " From the. knight of the Midddle Ages," says a prominent writer,'' grew the gentleman of modern days, the elements of each remaining the same. This 'is a character ,new in history. Antiquity produced heroes,but not gentlemen." So it may be said we owe the noblest human type the worlp bas ever known to the same influence which shaped chivalry in the period of the Middle Ages. Âˇ ' So long as the chivalrous gentleman shall be regarded with such high esteem as he is generally held, especially in our own Southern land, a veil of charity should be folded over the defects of the medirevalÂˇ knight, so that his virtues may shine with greater brilliancy. As we turn away from the departed knight of the Middle .Ages, we trace afresh the carved letters on his mouldering slab, while our lips meekly murmur the sentiment expressed : ' "His bones are dust, His good sword rust; His soul is with the saints, we trust." , PALM.

,Legare.

LEGARE. There is a tendency in this country to let many of our greatest men sink into oblivion, and especially obvious does the truth of this statement appear in the South. We , shali 1_1ot here discuss the causes of this tendency, but simply ;:;aythat it is a fact which we must accept, however unwillingly. _, Among these illustrious men of the South who are only known, with few exceptions, to the student of political history, Legaré is prt-eni1nently conspicuous. We would not be understood as saying that the only knowledge we have of such men is 'to be gained from the political record~, for. the biographies of many such men can be found in every compl~te library in the South; still few, except political men, read them. Let us ponde i; awhile upon the subject of this piece. Few names have come to us from the balmy South more deserving, heroic, and greater than Legare's. If we will only think upon the lives of such men we will find that we ha~e not go~e back into the past to grope in the Lethean shado~s, but as we progress in our study the ·paths will illume with sparkling genius. Hugh Swinton Legare was born in Charleston, S. C., on the second of January, 1797. His father was of French origin; in fact, was an immediate descendant from one of the French emigrants who fled to Carolina soon after the "revocation of the Edict of Nantz.'' . Legare's mother belong,ed to the <;elebrated family of Scotch Swintons-" the hardy warriors of the border." The reader will remember that Scott refers to this family in his Halidon Hill. In passing over the boyhood of Legare we would simply note the death of his father ; his (yoµng Legare) terrible illness owing to being · inoculated with small-pox, the result of which retarded his growth and completely stunted the development of his lower limbs. In this connection one of his friends remarked that, "seated, his length of body, set off by a broad, manly chest, a nobl e head, and an air unusually imposing, he loolfed of commanding person; but, risen, he seemed in a moment to have shrunk out of his bodily advantages." ':fhus afflicted, we see that he was precluded from taking bodily exercise, or entering into the sports and plays so characteristic of boyhood. Despite these bodily infirmities Legare made good use of his time. _ Few boys could be foun,d with a mind so soundly and fully developed, and wi.th an information so comprehensive and accurate. He entered the State College, in Columbia, at the age of fifteen. /

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He was noted as a student; indeed, his power of concentration and mental application was looked ' upon as a wonder by his fellow-students. Legare, in his college life, did not confine himself to his prescribed studies, but was a great reader, spending all his time after , college nours, and especially his holidays, in the State Library. We find him, also, taking an active part in the 1iterary societies, and soon gained for himself an enviable reputation as a logical and eloquent speaker. He was familiar at this time with -the great epic and tragic poets of Greece and Rome, and along with these Milton and Shakespeare. He thoroughly knew French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and in after life added German to his attainments in the line of modern languages, a language which few English scholars ft that time studied. Legare went to Europe in 181 8. Here lie travelled not as many do-to say that they have travelled-but he looked and he learned. The active mind, retentive memory, and brilliant imagination were garnering, ip. this old historic world, rich and profitable 111aterialfor the use of his clear and logical judgment. The separation from his mother and native land, while on 'the one hand it served to sadden him, still, on the other, a separation so Âˇpainful nerved him to pursue his studies more vigorously in order to dispel his ennui. , . The theatres and operas of Paris had few attractions for him, save as places eminently suited to see and study the people. He successfully did this, for Mr. Legare was a student of human nature. He studied the French people-that impulsive, restless people-and with his wonderful insight he was penetrating the character, v!rtues, and foibles of that strange nation. In Paris he was no infrequent visitor at the Legislative Chambers, where he listened to the debates of such men as Manuel and Chateaubriand. From this incident in Legare's life, perhaps, we may account for his familiarity with French politics. From Paris Mr. Legare went to Edinburgh. Here he prosecuted with his peculiar energy his chosen profession-civil law. Legare soon stood first in his class. We have read of a very interesting occurrence between the professor of law and Mr. Legare, in which our young American completely overwhelmed the old Scotch professor, to the delight and edification of the students. Many have attributed Mr. Legare's .vast knowledge of jurisprudence to his train_ing at the old Scotch metropolis. Legare returned to his home, in Charleston,_in 1820. Here his . ability could not be smothered. That the 1>,eopleappreciated him is

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Legare.

manifest from ·his election to the State Legislature in the fall of the . ab.ove·-mentioned year. Legare's incipient political life was marked by no action specially brilliant ; in fact, he was considered° by his fellow-members as a work. ing-man. However, time showed that honors had been, and were, in store for him. About the second session of the Legislature Mr. Legare obtained much reputation, and his debates were considered the most clear, forcible, and eloquent of that body. We shall casually note his political career as a legislator, member of the United States Congress, diplomatist, attorney-general of his State, and attorney-general of the United States under the Tyler administration . • His political life was characterized as bold and straightforward, at the same time marked by no demagogism . As a stump-speaker, he was ope of the most formidable in this country; as a member of Congress, he was one of the ablest in that body, besides gained great personal popularity among his fellow-members; as a diplomatist, he had no superior in the Federal Government ; as an attorney general, he was in his appropriate sphere. In this last-ri1entioned position he was following the chnice of his life, and here his genius and powers as a lawyer rose above the din and turmoil of the bustling American life. While n9ting Legare's career as an attorney-general, perhaps it would be well for us to pause awhile upon this eminent man as a jurist . Entering the Charleston bar at the age of twenty-six, he soon gained the reputation as a lawyer of much depth, profound and philosophical among such men as Petigru, Hayne, Drayton, King, and Grimke. This bar, at that time, was the ablest in the South; in fact, we suspect, the ablest in the United States, ahd for Legare to be so highly held among such men is a compliment which few young men of this country ever received. This outline of Legare would be incomplete if we were to omit his literary attainments. We have seen that Mr. Legare was a scholar. He mastered the classics, physical and moral sciences at an early age; so we see that no lack of education hindered him from writing, as he was eminently fitted for this both on account of his superior education and broad and impartial judgment . Legare was. a fine writer. The Southern Review owed much of its first success to Legare's contributions. Indeed, the lamented Bledsoe, after speaking of the aid that the Review received in its start from varioµs eminent writers, says, " it must be confessed, nevertheless, that it was vitalized-made a living representative of the most advanced culture of the age-by the genius and learning of Legare.'' This is no unmeaning compli_

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ment, for Mr. Bledsoe was a man that never wrote otherwise than his feelings and judgment prompted. Among the contributions of Mr'. Legare to the Southern Review, we find the following articles from which the reader can form his conception of the versatility of Legare as a man of letters: "Cicero de Re· publica,'' '' Kent's Commentaries,'' "Classical Learning," "Memoirs of D'Anguesseau," "Jeremy Bentham," and "The Public Economy of Athens;" are classed among his deep writings; while "Lord Byron's Character and Writings," "Hall's , Travels in North America," and " ' <.::irPhilip $ydney's Miscellanies," exhibit Legare's capacities . as a writer of fine literature. Among all of his writings it is generally conceded that his article on "The ·Origin, History, and. Influence of Roman Legislation" is his finest production. In speaking of this essay, · Mr. Bledsoe says that the subject is treated "with a depth of research and a clearness of logical acumen unequalled, to our mind, in the best essays, upon a kindred subject, by Brougham and Hallam." . It strikes us that the mere enumeration of these writings are shfficient to convince any one that Legare was a profound historian, while if we read thein-we say this without fear of successful contradiction-we will be · compelled to ·conclude that Legare was a clear thinker, a ready writer- · in fine, a man of genius. The year 1843, Mr. Legare went to Boston to "particip:ite in 'the Bunker Hill Celebration," and here, after a brief ill.µess, on the 20th of June he died. In this outline of Mr. Legare, we have called him a great man. Well, we have formed our notions of Legare's greatnes~ from .facts, and these facts, to our mind, necessitate the conclusion that he was a wise and great man. · The reader plainly sees that we have painted • Mr. Legare iR a l>lunt, matter -of-fact manner. ' We would conclude by noting Mr. Legare's character. · A~. a son, he was obedient, respectful, and loving; as a brother / genero~s, affectionate, and true; as a neighbor, he possessed pity and charity,and was ever ready to render favors . In this illustrious man .we find noth• ing strange, not even that eccentricity which usually accompanies genius. He was brave, generous, and chivalrous; his honor unsullied, his probity unimpeached. Is there aught in such a character not to be admired, respected, and cherished? Is there aught which we should not ever strive to emulate? Surely not, for these •elements make the 'distinctive charactersitics of men.-in fine,' these elements make the man. M.

A New Treatise Wished For. A . NEW TREATISE

WISHED FQR.

We saw not long since in a religious journal that some writer had said that woman's needle is the broadsword of Satan-doubtless alluding t-J the frivolities of fashion, to which it is supposed our fair sisters are specially addicted. That writer ,forgot an instrument common alike to both sexes-the tongue; We suggest a new treatise on the tongue. There is need for it; and the author who would write such a work well would secure plaudi.t and profit. Not exactly a treatise like Goulbourn's "Idle Word," nor as Hewey's on conversation. Both g.ood in their way, and profitable; but defective, the more, in' not saying what t'hey should 'have said than in saying what they ought . not to say. Such a treatise as we wish for would, we imagine, deal in some part of it with the topics, How we s)1ould use the tongue? and when 7 and where 7 What themes ~e should handle, and on what 路 occasions, and before what audiences, and with what motives, and whether, in the nature of things, some of us wou]d have been better off if we had had no tongues. An expansion of St. James's letter would furnish at least a section. Unintelligible discussions-discussions in which neither talker nor auditor knew of what the discussion waswould come in, doubtless, fo~ a share of treatment. Such路 discussions, e. g., as one finds in Emerson's essays or in some of Gilfillan's r,h~psodies. Profitable use of the tongue-in words of comfort to the dis- fressed, or of guidance to the doubting, or of warning to the tempted. Religious use of the tongue-in prajse, in worship, in exhortation, in prayer. , Profane use of the tongue-sweari'ng, cursing, blaspheming. slandering, &c. C<;>rruptinguse Bitter use C?fthe tongue-backbiting, of the tongue-misleading; contaminating, violating purity of thought and of heart. It is astonishing, in the number of speculations indulged in by German theorizers that some. one of them has not attempted to count how many moments of the hours composing the day each man and woman 'employs in using the , tongue. For the amount of work required of them, how poorly furnished most1 tongues are. We were present 路 not long since in a company 'of young 路people. With ' every purpose to make tpe hours pass pleasantly and profitably, there was woful lack of anything like conversation . We do not remember that a single rememberable thing was said the whole e~ening. For other members of the body, one makes provision. He -clothes his arms and his chest, he brushes his hair, he washes his face, he does not venture before others , without some attention to his I

Richmond College Messenger

person. Why neglect the tongue in the preparation ? If man is a talking animal, he ought to have something to talk about. Food for thought enough in our father's library or in the good books which auy one can now get-food for talk, too, Âˇprofitable and wise ; but the tongue goes into company without any taste of the rich delicacies at hand, and it rattles on (poorest of paupers as it is) as if it had the richest and rarest possessions. No thoughtful man would make our parlors and family gatherings "coversaziones." To expect a jewel at the closing of every sentence would be di,sappointing and tt:dious ; but is it too much to ask that intelligent , people should sometimes talk about something else besid~s the latest fashions or the common current news of the day? the little tittle-tattle which infests every neighhorhood? The last sermon our minister preached might be talked . of, if not _ir~membered, something more of it; than the text; specially , if we caught its spirit and if it had revived and animated us. The world is all alive Âˇ with new thoughts, new discoveries, new truth. Men go to and fro and knowledge increases and is increasing. Why not put some of this into our talk? 1 When the treatise is,in preparation we bespeak a place in its' pages.,, We want to write a chapter on the conversation of young men among them.selves---:w.hen no one of the fair sex is present.

A CARD. _By request of the local editor of the Messenger, I wrote one or tw_o little pieces of pleasantry which appeared in the local column of the October No. Some individual outside of. college replied to one of these locals, in the November No. Supposing that the new corps of editors would still extend the courtesy of the editorial column to me (as my first Âˇ piece was written and .replied to as an editoral), I immediately wrote a rejoinder, which I expected would appear in the December No. But for reasons best known to themselves, two of the editors saw fit to suppress it. I now give this rejoinder, as originally writte:t?, and shall place beneath it a signature which will effectually relieve the two editors of any "responsibility" which may accrue. I have only to add that if this self-styled "Solomon" (/) sees fit to reply, I hope that he will have the manliness to sign his own name. The Messenger is emphatically a college paper, and is intend ed tq be the exponent of our student life. The literary department con-

The New Gardens.

' tains our crude attempts at compositi on, relieved by a local column into which we bring scraps from the class-room and campus, interspersed with good-humored hits at each other. Yet, while this paper is conducted entirely b y students, its columns are always open to the friends of the college, and we gladly publish anything they may write. Presuming upon this, something, sheltering its elf behind the nickname of one of the students, attempted a reply to a piece of pleasantry which appeared in the local column of the October No. We are constantly ashamed of our awkwardness and inexperience, and we lay no claim to a knowledge of journalism. , But we believe that we do know something of courtesy and of what constitutes a gentlenwn, and we are so green as to think that journalistic courtesy is but the embodiment of those principles inherent in every high-toned soul- nurtured and developed at the mother's knee. With such conceptions, we unhesitating~y say, that whatever wrote the piece signed "Solomon" violates every principle of, journalistic courtesy, and falls far beneat~ that standard of gentlemanliness to which the students of Richmond . College endeavor to att ain. We are not willing to lower the tone of our columns sufficiently to reply to this puny production ''in kind,'' for we have long since learned We have made no attempt to "not to throw dirt with the dustman." discover the source from which this effusion emanated ; we have not cared to draw aside the screen behind which it has sneaked into . our college affairs. Its desperate attempt at wit would excite our sympathy were not our pity overmastered by cqntempt for this indirect prying into the affairs of others . What ever it may be, we beg leave to inform it that we are capable of managing our own little affairs without its interference. CARTERHELM JoNES.

THE KEW GARDENS; The citizens of London have been steadily moving and building westward, so 'that the last open space in the form of a public pleasureground is in the . royal gardens at Kew. Here a deep margin of noble forest-trees surrounds the brilliant l':xotics of the botanical gardens, with their masses of intense and vivid color. I first visited th e old Orangery, a noble conservatory, 'dated 1761, now devoted to trees from the British colonies,-from Australia, 0

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India, &c., &c. From •the lawn I saw the quaint old red-brick palace in which the blind King of Hanover spent the last years of his life; here, also, Queen Charlotte lived ; and on _an old sun-dial here is recorded that on this spot (1725) Bradley made pis two great astronomical discoveries. But I own I .forgot these associations as I looked at the noble and broad boughs of the Turkish oaks, the evergreen ' oaks of the South, the majestic cedars of Lebanon, full of grand repose, the yucca gloriosa, with its tall spire of white blossoms, and the stately Palms. To see the last trees in perfection we went to the Palm-stone, the largest tropical-ho~se in existence. The blaze of light here is softened by the dim arcades of shadowing leaves overhead, some rising in graceful, feathery clusters, others spreadi_ng gigantic, te~t-like foliage:. The vegetable ivory Palm has a stem which creeps on the ground sometimes for twenty feet and then lifts its head barely three or four feet. I was much struck by the peculiarly melancholy ch_aracter of the Australian trees, whose narrow leaves, attached edgewise to the stem, produce the strange appearance of l!- shadowless, colorless . fordt. Thete are a few exceptions found in a magnificent pine, rich and glossy, from 100 to I 50 feet high, and the exquisite fan-like foliage of the Norfolk-island pine, and some trees of New Zealand. The great lily of the Amazon opened the day of my visit, and I shall never forget the delicious perfume which flooded the house ·as the creamy bud opened with a slight noise, revealing the delicate pink within. The great leaves rested in perfect repose on the silver flo9d and spread over the stone margin of the tank. Near it was another beautiful, though smaller, lily, whose leaf was a marvel of coloring, underneath a rich purple, with its divisions of amber color. There were, also, the c,uri ous pitcher -plants and the palm that grows • in the waters of the Indian ocean: tanks filled with the papyrus and the water-lettuce, of which only the skeleton appears. I saw a beautiful ·blue Australian lily, measuring · twelve inches across, and the sacred lotus of Egypt, with its delicate pink flowers and vivid leaves. Among the floral curiosities were the caricature-plant, with its curious marks, . and the · telegraph-plant of India, remarkable for the spontaneous, jerking motion of its leaves; alternately rai sed and lowered. There is a valuable bot~nical library and several botanic museums in these grounds. Museum No. 2 is devoted to mosses, ferns, seaweeds, mushrooms, &c. Museum No. 1 is especially beautiful, as it contains the flower-bearing plants; but, perhaps, the last museum has 1

EditorialDepartment

more extraordinary specimens _than the others, for here you find a model of a parasite ~f Sumatra, whose flower is from three to six feet 路 across and has no leaves or stem ; a pine which consists of t_wo leaves only, each six feet long; and a bowl-like c,up, which is the actual receptacle of the roots of the double cocoa :nut of the Indian ocean ; besides historical relics, such as a portion of a ship of Henry VIII. ; a piece of old London bridge, 650 years old; a part of the oak under which Wellington gave his orders at Waterloo, and theHerne's Oak, of Windsor, under which Shakespeare represents Falstaff as waiting. On every holiday, and on Sundays and Mondays, crowded steamers. pass up the Thames to these gardens, which are the delightful resort of all,classes of people; and from this place valuable medicinal . and productive plants are 'distributed to the colonies, largely increasing their resources. E. F. M. 路

Editors Messenger: I see in your last issue a letter asking the路author of 路the line, "The conscious water saw its God and blus!,ed." The line is by Richard Crashaw, one of the so-called metaphysical poets of England, who died about 1650. It appears in a collection of his Latin poems, and in that language ran thus : '' Nympha pudica Deum . . vidit et erubuit." Respectfully, B.

EDITORIAL

DEPARTMENT.

VALEDICTORY.

With the completion of this issue the duties and pleasures connected therewith of the present corps of editors cease. Then, instead of being thought(?) " the observed of ali observers," they will descend to the lower walks of college life, "unhonored, unwept, and unsung," " without a local habitation or a name." The places that knew them will know them no more. Tlie pleasant meanderings among the Exchanges, Locals, and Personals, will be as strangers to them. Instead of their quiet sanctum, "where oft in the stHly night " they could commune with those they love-to write about-they will be set adrift to seek a" lodge in some vast wilderness," where the recipients of the toe-pullers are "making night hideous" with their dismal groans. And the worsr part of this is, that the toe-pullers may, thinking ". the

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proper ·study of mankind is man," lay hold of the scratching appendages of the ex-editors them selves, to test the suppleness of their joints. Is it any wonder, then, that they should prefer the quiet repose of tht: editorial sanctum? That they should retire, is "a foregone ~onclusion," and cheerfully do they accept the verdict. That they desire that distinction which is the recognition of having faithfully performed their duties as editors, they do not deny. But they do deny that they 1 as editors, are as desirous of fame as he who set fire to the Temple of Diana, accounted one of the seven wonders of the worid, in order that hi5 name might descend to posterity; or, like that beauty of the Spanish court, who, when her name was omitted in an abusive satire, through respect for her feelings, requested the writer to insert it, thus be ing willing to be thought infamous in order to become famous. And, on the other -hand, neither are they so free from the desire of fame as to be _willing to depart from the editorial sanctum, like Ulysses ·from the cave of Polyphemus, in the guise and garb, or nom de plume, of No-man. If th ey have afforded any pleasure to their readers they have been amply repaid . · That they gave to tp.eir readers ,:, a lot-of nonsense, was due to the fact that they thought "A little nons ense, now and th en, Would be reli sh ed by the wisest men.''

The editors, too, have derived pleasure from their connection 'with the journal. True, they are not quite as fond of scribbling as it is said Coleridge was of talking. Gharles Lamb, in his inimitable style, tells of an amusing incident in which this love of Coleridgewas displayed. One evening Lamb, having stopped for a few moments at · Coleridge's house, Coleridge, as usual, launched out into an anecdote, and, as was his habit, closed his eyes while doing so. Having proceeded for some time in his narrative, fearing Lamb would leave him, he caught hold of a button on Lamb's coat, and continued His narrative. Lamb's patie11ce finally deserting him, he quietly took out his penknife and ·very gently severed the button that connected him with his loquacious friend. Lamb then went to fill an engagement, and on his return to Coleridge's house, after an absence of two hours or thereabout, he found Coleridg e still graspin g the button, and proceeding in his talk as serenely and calmly as ever, having been utterly unconscious of the departure and return of his friend ! Since the editors are to. surrender their pen, they must say that, not even if they had had their choice, would they, or could they, have ch~sen more acceptable men as editors for the M essenger than their

·•

Editorial Department.

successors. The societies are to be congratulated on the choice they have made ; the readers on the rich treat there is in store for them. Truly, a "gude time is coming" to all connected with the Messenger.

We do not know when Oscar Wilde was born; but must, from subsequent events, infer that " It was the time that lilies blow And clouds are highest in the air."

And who knows but that the trees clapped their hands, while the winds whistled joyfully? who knows but that the birds sang gleefully and . the ~rooks meandered pensively when the apostle of nature, the interpreter of the sunflower and lily, was brought forth? It was an epoch in the history of the world ! . We had not thought that our beloved country would ever feel the tread of this great man. But we have hved to see it. Yes, Oscar has come. We almost hold our breath when we make this record. He is here. He says that he found the Atlantic ocean tame and commonplace. This proves his unbiassed judgment . He does not allow his concl~sions to be warped by the opinions others have expressed. Thousands of poets and thinkers have gone into ecstasy when looking upon the ocean. Byron, we believe, told it to roll on ; and, as far as we know, it has rolled on ever since . At any rate, it was rolling on when we saw it last. But we would not linger on what displeases Oscar ; let us turn to that which finds favor in his eyes. The greatest event which has happened since his arrival-the newspapers give us daily bulletins-is his visit to Niagara Falls. " February 9th '' memorable morning-" Oscar Wilde breakfasted early, and wrapping himself -in his long fur coat, stood on the veranda of the hotel for nearly an -hour, steadily gazing upon the scene before him." Impressive tablea~ ! Sublime spectacle ! Oscar Wilde looks at Niagara , Falls. Niagara Falls look at Oscar Wilde. They both look at each other. What the falls thought of Oscar is not known; what Oscar thought of the falls is thus chronicled by th t; pencil of the reporter who, with palpitating heart, stood at his elbow listening for the verdict: "At first Mr. Wilde was disappointed in the outline." "The design was wanting in grandeur and variety of outline . But the colors were beautiful.'' What finally overpowered him was the view from underneath the falls at Table Rock. " It was there that he realized the majestic splendor and strength of the physical forces of ) /â€˘

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nature." "The sight was far beyond what I had ever seen in Europe . . It seemed a sort of embodiment ·of pantheism.'' We must naturally conclude that he was brimful of emolion, and that some outlet must be found for his overflowing feelings . . Fortunately, an outlet was found. It was in the private album of Prospect House that he gave vent to his feeling. In that book, now immortalized, the pen of Oscar traced these words: '~ The roar of these waters is like the roar when the mighty wave of democracy breaks on the shores where kings lie couched at ease." Before laying down our pen and heaving the proverbial sigh of relief, we wish to take the friends of the Messenger into our ~onfidence and make a few remarks relative to the interest of our college paper. We are desirous of arousing in the students more enthusiasm in behalf of the Messenger, yet we shall not call to our assistance the beauties of rhetoric or the laws of logic; but merely make a few suggestions which it is to be hoped shall commend themselves to the consideration of the readers. That every member of the two iiterar .y societies should feel an lrdent interest in ·his paper does not need to be asserted; but going farther we say that every student of Richmond College should feel concerned about his college paper, being the literary repres,mtative of his alma mater, and going, as it does, to the best colleges in the States and in Canada. Without fear of being styled a constitutional croaker, we say that such a high and unselfish love is not felt for the Messenger by some of the students. Many do not subscribe because their roommates take the paper,' whi,le · others depend upon borrowing their neighbor's copy. Come, gentlemen, this should not be so. Help the Messerger by taking at least two copies, one for yourself and one for y-o-u-r~mother. · The students are aware that the Messenger is supported largely by jts advertisements, hence the importance of procuring them. Upon this subject we have three suggestions, which are respectfully submitted ' to the students: (1.) Patronize men who advertise in the Messenger. (2.) When · you are trading, let the merchant understand by some inddental remark that his advertisement secured your patronage. (3.) Let each student feel that he is appointed a committee of one for procuring advertisements. By acting upon these principles, next October, when the joint meeting of the societies ,is held,. it will be found that the Messenger shall not be asking for help, but entirely out of debt.

Editorial Department.

It has ever been a mystery to us that the College does not advertise in the Messenger. When w~ look among our exc:hanges we see that each one has a handsome advertisement of the college where it is published, but in vain do you look for such information in the Messenger. That the Messenger is worthy of patronage, that it needs financial aid, that it would be advantageous to the college to advertise in the college paper, are facts too patent to every mind to require any discussion. Will not the faculty give us a handsome advertisement in the next publication? We indulge the hope.

Beilig a month behindhand in this issue, we note with mournful alacrity the death of Captain Chamberlayne, senior editor of the Richmond State. We would be derelict to our duty, as well as disregardful of our feelings, did we not chronicle a death whi~h is lameajed by so many people. We wish that we were competent to write of him as he was deserving. In the years yet to come we shall vividly , recall the time and fondly cherish the privilege . that we, in our boyhood, had the opportunity and pleasure of reading his dashing and forcible writings. The colleges of Virginia will sa<lly miss Captain Chamberlayne, for they lose in him a most earnest champion of true education. Himself a scholar, he rightly appreciated the benefits of education, and ever endeavored to promote its influence. Education llJone has not lost an able exponent, but almost the entire people of this State have sustained a great loss in his death. Virginia mourns the ' death of Captain Charnberlayne ! She sadly feels the need of his bold writings and faithful patriotism. Yes, all miss him who knew him-all deplore a death which has cut down one in the meridian of his glory-a ' Âˇ death which has befallen him like an '' untimely frost' '-a death which has suddenly obscured a genius as the black clouds hide the "bright exhalation .in the evenfog" ! But we forbear, as" There is no need F,or man to strike his plaintive lyre and fail, For fail he mu,t if he attempts thy praise.

' Emerson, the philosopher, poet, and essayist, will be seventy-nine next May. He is fond of using , note-books, always carrying , one in his pocket. No matter where he is, on his walks or during conversa~

Richmond College Messenger.

tion, if a thought occurs . to him he pulls out his note-book and pencil and records it. These notes he transcribes into a larger book, without any regard to system. When he wishes to write . a lecture, he turns over the leaves of this note-book, culling extracts as he goes, and Âˇ crossing them out to show that they have been used. His lectures are said to be little else than a collection of these notes, gathered at odd times. From his pecuhar notions about the over-soul, he is as likely, when he speaks in public, to begin at the end or in the middle as at the beginning. "The venerable W. W. Corcoran, Washington's milli0naire and philanthropist, has just beer-tguilty of another good action, in bestowing on Columbia College the splendid gift of a large and valuable lot of ground in a most eligible portion of the Capital city.' '-State. lvlay his days be long, and may his declining years be as the setting of the sun-gentle, peaceful, glorious. He is one of the few who does not wait until death to erect a monument to himself; but who, living, beholds with his own eyes those things which will keep his memory \.~ green. We know nothing that has been done in these late days that is more silly than the issuing of the 306 bronze medals to the men who VOtfd for Grant at the Republican Convention. The originators of the notion ought themselves to see that it is a mistake.

LOCALS . Examinations!

Through?

E-x-am-i-na-ti-o-n-s I

Did you make it?

.. The campus looks green once more, but how muddy ! R-a-t ! greets our ears. students.

We despise the term, yet like to have new

Locals. Why cannot an orator tickle nine Indian boys? cause ·he can jest-tickle-eight. See?

Give it up?

Be-

"What will you give me if I restore your eyesight " ? asked the quack. " I will see," said the ·blind man. We (some of us) begin to breathe freely once more, as examinations are over. Oh! how "utterly" good we feel! Den't many students "take calico" here; .but those that do add this. school to their regular tickets are its ardent Sl}pporters. He is tall, slender, and wears a moustache; he is not very handsome, still is a regular "lady-killer." Oh! David(my)son, Beware I how you sling your little stone ! ' She: "Mr. Slow, are those two men that have just passed, bro- ' thers ?" He' : "I-aw-know that one of them is: but I'm-awnot quite sure of the other .'' "I wouldn't give five cents to hear Bob Ingersoll on tl;le ' Mistakes of. Moses,' but would give $500 to hear Moses 011 the mistakes of Bob Billings. · Ingersoll."-Josh Teacher in high-school at -: "Are pro .and con synonymous terms?" Schola r.: " Opposite." Teacher: "Give an example." JI Scholar : " Progress and Congress ." , I

An Irishman who, very near-sighted, was about to fight a duel, insisted that he should stand six paces nearer to his ant11gonistthan _ the otl1er to him, and they were both to fire at the same time. A married lady subscribed to the Messenger not long since. :!'his is a good example. We love to see the Messenger patronized by sucl;l; indeed, it makes us do better. May the above-mentioned lady never have cause to regret her investment.

RichmondCollegeMessenger. Foot-ball is all the go; still, as the suns grow warmer, base-ball becomes more visible, and soon the countless "curves" will be flying '; around in all directions, yes, in so many innumerable ways that the matl1ematicians will not be able to trace them. A-gentleman has been searching diligently for Xenophon's "Analysis" for the past few days. We suspect he is looking for Xenophon's Anabasis. Oh ! such a mistake is too "utterly beyond" to be excused! May the Greeks have mercy on thy soul, thou barbarian. Well, luck was against us in that bean-jar guess we made, and some other fellow has the pants and the silk umbrella. We find this consÂˇo : lation, however, in the fact that we are a poor guesser: Seeing a fellowÂˇ waiting on our girl the other day, we guessed he liad cut us out; but we ai;e a poor guesser, and he hasn't. Hurrah! The local editor asks gentie criticisms this time, as he is m~ch di~turbed by oyster-war. He dre~ms of those oysters, and wonders, if he ever get home again, whether these precious vegetables will be gone: Oh, thou delicious inhabitants of the shells, stick to the bottom, and we will scrape for you next summer with renewed vigor! ' \

Editors Messenger: Allow us through your columns to return our many thanks for the resthetic box received from Piedmont, and express our regrets that more of our friends did not contribute ; yet it was 1:nough for that present. Now, in conclusion, we would say to our other resthetic friend~, Better late than ever. No. 3, 3 IN No.

- ,--

The Mu Sigma Rhos are to have a public debate on the 22d of April and the Philologians on the 10th of March. ' The young orators .are tuning their melodious voices for the occasion. Do your best, Âˇboys, for the young ladies will be present, and 'twould be a pity to fail-well, not that-but a pity not to do as well as you a!e accustomed to do. Can we not have something in which to place the mail after the postman brings it up? This would cost little and be a great benefit.

.Locals.

The students, as a body, cannot "keep the run" of the postman as he makes his morning and evening trips. . "Uncle Sam's" box does well enough in its place; but this box is of no use as a receptacle for distributing the students' mail; i. e., this box does not hold the letters coming from . home, sweethearts, and others, but merely holds letters going out to these. This is an urgent request for a small gift.

Here is an testhetz"cpiece that we found in a room not far distant from our sanctum : " Consider the lz"lies: they toil not, neither do they spin ; yet even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Solomon didn't have on his dyke. He should have arrayed himself in lilies, knee-pants, &c., and you bet he would have turned the Âˇscales. Balls bloom with lilies and sunflowers. We have had to wai"t for our lily-pictures. Our pasteboard sunflowers are quite well caked over and present a tidy appearance. We shall be in full costume, and ' when the green grandeur of spring marches forth, shall lay them all in the shade . Wild Oscar shall go in sackcloth, and we shall come forth with the song of birds, as sunflowers, even as a bed of roses, yea, as a lake arrayed in the apparel of lilz"es." Now, this is exceedinglv-utterly beyond-resthetic; so much so, that we, who are not initiated into the green-ball mysteries of lakes, cannot appreciate it; but we-nevertheless, notwithstanding, though, but, &c.,-'hope to see the realization of these lily lake phenomena.

""'

CLEVERLY CAUGHT.-Quite an amusing incident has lately come within our knowledge, and as is our usual custom with reference to such matters, we fay it before the readers of the Messenger: A colored "brother," dPtermining to embark on the matrimonial sea, proceeded without delay to make known his desire to a <listinguished divine. " Marster," quoth he, "I wants to know if you ken marry me and Jane jest presackly like you does white people, an' ef , you ken, I'll pay you $5, '<lout fail." The good man (to whom $5 just then appeared more than usually desirable), with pleased countenance, declared his willingness to officiate in the most proper manner, adding, that to increa se the impressiveness of the ceremony, he would bring other white witnesses. The eventful day arrived in due time. The minister conducted the ceremony with unusual earnestness, which, being over, he expectantly stepped .forward to claim his fee. "No, sa~, marster; I ain't marrid

Richmond College Messenger.

like no white folks; you can't git my money; you ain't kissed de bride I" The minister reluctantly admitted that he was fairly caught, since he had always regarded kissing the bride as a very important part of his usual marriage ceremony. The building-that long-talked-of building-is shooting up into space, and soon the roof will claim kin with the stars. But, then, gentlemen of the honorable Board, while embellishing the roof and the exterior, please don't forget the base1:1ent, that basement in which, the oracles say, a gymnasium is to be placed. Pause! ye honorable gentlemen of the Board, and consider how necessary the gymnasium is to the student's health. It is better than doctors and medicine 's; it can dispel

.,,

'' All maladies, Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms Of heart-sick agony; all feverish kinds; Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs; Intestine stone and ulcers ; cholic pangs, Demoniac phrensy, moping H1elancholy, And moon-struck madness ; pining atrophy, Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence; Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums."

The local editor takes leave of his many friends, begs pardon for all that has not been witty and smart, and for all 'Yhich has not been beautifully and rhetorically expressed. He heaves a sigh of relief, smokes the "pipe of peace," and lays aside his numerous pistols and 'knives to grow rusty from inactivity. He asks his readers to forget his imperfections, and he will strive to forget his own numerous thrash'irigs. Well, this ends the present existence of 'the edi,tor of this department; so, when' he is gone, quote to yourselves the old proverb: ".De mortuis nil nisi bonum." How sweet is repose ! We extend a hearty welcome to the coming editor of this 'department, and can assure him that this is tlze place of all others in the Messenger and that he will never have cause to regret his position. We-give a letter froin Hon . Jefferson Davis, replying to our request to deliver the annual oration before the literary societies in June next. The letter is so kind and courteous in 1its tone that we feel ju3tifiable in departing from all former precedents by publishing it. It is a general

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Personals.

regret among the students that Mr. Davis did not accept our invitation. We haven't a doubt that hi1, speech upon such an occasion would be equal to the highest expectations; for he is a finished scholar, polished orator, and has a manner very forcible and persuasive : "BEAUVOIR,HARRISONCOUNTY,MISS., 24th February, 1882. "Gentlemen,-Your kind letter of the 19th instant was received last night, on my return from a brief absence. I was both surprised and .mortified to learn that your former letter had n.ot been answered. It · was too highly valued to be forgotten, and I confidently believed it had been duly arknowledged. The failure is more regretted because, being unable to accept your complimeptary invitation, you were enti.tled to an early notification of that fact. "It would give me peculiar satisfaction to meet the members of yo~r societies on so interesting an occasio~, and at a place associate_d with so many memories which, though sad, are proudly cherished. Please give fitting assurances to those you represent, of my grateful appreciation of the honor they have conferred upon me, and of my regret that it is not practicable to avail myself of their invitation, .offered in terms most gratifying .to one whose love for his country, and hope for its future, turn to the young men to whom its destinies ·are soon to be entrusted. · , "With best wishes and cordial regard, I am "You 'r friend, · JEFFERSONDAVIS. Lake, D. M. · Ramsey, "A. J. Montague, C. H. Jones, J. L. Committee.''

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PERSONALS. I

Lucian Cocke, '76-77, is practising law in Salem, Va. Eaton Nance, '77 -78, is engaged in farming in New Kent. W. T. Oppenheimer, '78 -79, is at New York Medical College. J. Wm. Boyd, '76 77, is engaged in his profession in Buchanan, Va . Geo. Wm. Coue, '77 78, is cashier of the Mallory . Line railroad, Galveston, Texas. J. Henning Nelms, B. L., '79-80, is practising law in Smithfield, Isle of Wight county, Va. , E. F : Settle is back. He looks well, ·and, of course, will cut as big a .dash as ever amongst the girls. · Tim Rives, '78-79, is practising law 'in Prince George county, Va. How about the '{,' Horizontaf,'' Tim?

Richmond College Messenger.

W. F. Ha_rris, '76 -77, is pastor of two promising churches, one in and the other near Covington, Va. W; W. Field, B. A., has lat~ly taken to himself a better half. Our congratulations and best wishes attend him. Littlebury Nance, B. L., '77-78, is Commonwealth's attorney for Charles City county. We wonder whether he has forgotten his Ashland trip! W. A. Vaughan, '79-80, is at the Philade _lphia Medical College. Drop us a line, old boy, and let us hear whether you practice the "curve " in your profession. W. T. Hutchings, '76-77, having taken the degree of B. L. at Yale last June, is now practising his profession in Danville, Va. Ho~ about those "siders," " Bill " ? A. L. Pleasants and Harry Colquitt have left us. They are both in business in the city. We -are sorry yciu are gone, boys, and miss you mightily. May life be all that you anticipate. Edmund Morris has also left us. He is in business in the city. May you have success. The University of Maryland has just conferred the degree of M. D. on Chas. L. Steel, a former student of our coliege. That he wiil be 'successful in his profession we haven't a doubt. '' Charlie," have you forgotten the pleasant times we had at "Point of Forks" ? The following appeared in the ' 'correspondent" column of the Richmond Dispatch of the 2d instant: "The degree of M. D. ,was conferred upon seventy-three graduates, ten of whom were Vi,rginians, one being from your city-Dr. Charles L. Steel-who last year graduated here with distinction at the Dental College, receiving the degree of D. D. S. I learn that he is also a graduate in chemistry of some other institution, possibly your Richmond College. You may well feel proud Of your 'lone star'' representative at our University, and we hope you will send us more of the same sort next year." '

EXCHANGES. Good bye, Exchanges, one and all ! Anothe _r will now preside over this department, and criticise you; we are gone. With this issue we jump into the sunny field of 1iberty with a triumphant hurrah ! Don't you envy us? What is happier than a retired college editor? Nothing-absolutely nothing. You may eat molasses-candy, and think you are happy; you may look at the smiles that wreathe your sweet-

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Exchanges.

heart's face, and imagine yourself joyful; but, unless you've been in editorial harness, and enjoyed the Âˇgetting out of it, you don't know what happiness is! t's worth a trip from New York here to see us. When we meet an acquaintance, we are not content to give. him one hand-we extend him both,-so great is our joy at being free ! Foolishness aside, however. In retiring, we wish _for our many exchanges such a measure cif prosperity as shall leave nothing wanting in their successful career; and we beg of you, brother editors, the boon of your kind remembrance-your broad mantle of ch~rity-not to cover our pages, .but our unavoidable deficiencies. The January No. of The Album is 11pQnour table. We always like to hlve exchanges of the girls, but this one is specially welcome. Its staodard is high, matter good, and sparkling with wit and jovialitysuch wit and merriment as alone can be penned by the fair owners Of tapering fingers and imaginative minds. May The Album be in the future as it has been in the past, is the wish of the Messenger's retiring Exchange editor. There is room, we think, for improvement in the typpgraphy of the Institute Journal. It uses entirely too large type for head-lines. Big heads and big bodies go well enough together, large type and posters suit eat h other; but, according to our notion, a college paper and a circus-bill are, and ought to 'be forever, two distinct things. The . Nelson county Examiner favors us with its visits. Its local columns are read with a relish by one member of our staff, who seems to regard their contents as "news ,from home." In several particulars the Examiner rises above the tone of the average county paper. COLEMAN WORTHAM.

EDWIN WORTHAM.

C. &:i :El. ~OET~..A.J:v.:C., GENERAL COMMISSION MERCHANrrs, No. 18 South Thirteenth Street, RicHMOND, Virginia. ,Personal attention given to the sale of Grain, Flour, Tobacco, Provisions, &c.

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