The Georgia collegian. (Athens, Ga.) 1870-current, March 05, 1870, Page 4, Image 4

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4 ATHENS, GA. Saturday Evening, March 5, 1870. Published by the Literary Societies of the University. EDITORIAL CORPS. Dei wstheiiiau Society. Phi Kappa Society. XT. B. HILL, WM. A. SHORTER, J. B. B. SMITH, I. P. HUTCHINSON. TESMS OF SUBSCRIPTION, Single copies, one year. $ 2.50 “ “ six months 1.50 “ “ three months 1.00 Clubs of five, one year II .00 “ “ ten, “ “ 20.00 “ “ twenty, one year 40.00 And an extra copy to the one who gets up a Club of 20. all Letters to “Georgia Col lEOIAN,” Athens, Ga. INDUCEMENTS TO AGENTS. Any one who constitutes himself an agent, and gets us 5, or more than 5 subscribers, can have the advantage of our club rates. Thus one who gets 5 subscribers (at $2.50 each), need remit us only $11.00 ; if 10 subscribers, he need remit only $20.00. Answers to Correspondents, “ Q.” —Your article is rejected be* cause in the first issue we had much on the same subject. Will be glad to hear from you in future. “ B.”—The piece of poetry is not printed for the reason that we have another article of the same nature. The other contribution cannot be sent to the printer, as it is written on k both sides of the payer. hope you will write f&r us frequently. The name of each contributor must accompany the articles sent in ; otherwise they will be rejected. The names of the writers should bo en closed, with the articles, in sealed en velopes. If the article bo rejected, the sealed envelope will not be open ed. The design of this arrangement is to secure perfect impartiality. Wo expect to have regular correspondents at Emory College and Mercer University. Our paper is named “ Georgia” Collegian., to show that it is not local in its object. We solicit contributions from the Oxford and Penfield students, and from all the other institutions of learning in this and adjoining States. The citizens of Athens are re spectfully notified that they can sub scribe for tho Collegian at the book store of A. M. Scudder, or at the office of the Southern Watchman. JS@T“ We hope that the Graduates of the College—especially those who have graduated since the war—will not only subscribe, but interest them* selves to procure subscribers for us. Contributions solicited from the Alumni of tho College, tho stu dents at the institutions of learning throughout this State and other States; and from the friends of the University generally. THE GEORGIA COLLEGIAN. The Province of Poetry Is sadly abused. Daily incursions are made into its boundaries by thiev ish and outlandish marauders, whose sole object it seems, is, not to contend for renown, but to despoil and perse cute this lovely paradise. These de predators are heathens, and need tho light of truth; they are pirates, and rob the coast of every gem; they are brigands who strip and despoil the temple of its sacred relics; they are monsoons, that blight every flower in the realm ; and they ought to be chained in the narrow confines of their own A. B. C. home. But the misfortunes of Poetry stop not here. Treachery and grossness have entered the hearts of some of those who aspire to rule tho king dom. Is there not a man to uproot the conspiracy and banish tho trait ors ? The legitimate themes of Poetry are not rightly appreciated, or else they are unmercifully prostituted We wonder if the ballad-mongers of the present day feel that they enjoy the blessing of Melpomene ? Do the quack comic bards get their inspira tion from Thalia 1 And seriously, do the star-gazers and common herd of rhymesters imagine that Calliope has secured for them a “ private box” in the great opera of Eternal Fame? If so, ah ! sweet must be their repose afcd sublime thoir Complacent Although Pootry is potent in one sense, yet it is tender and fragile, and needs to be guarded. Like a spot less virgin, it derives power from in nocence and purity; and though its silent rebuke repels many undue ads vances, yet when the seducer comes, it wants tho physical strength to strike the ruthless invader. Every true poem must have an el ement of the Beautiful; and hence tho great and dominant theme of po etry is the Beautiful. A discrepancy might appear bore, since it is univer sally conceded that Sublimity is one of tho domains of pootry; but poet ry of this description must bo the sublimely beautiful, as every so-call ed sublime poem will testify. As to whether tho Ludicrous and Ridicu lous should possess a piece in poetry, we are very skeptical. If it does, it certainly comprehends the very low est class of poetry. Tho reason is obvious. Poetry is invention, is im agination, is taste; but the Ludic rous aod Ridiculous consist in the combination, arrangement and dispo sition of materials already at hand ; and this implies but a little exercise of the imagination and less of taste. Os the higher and nobler themes of pootry, the sublimely Beautiful and the beautifully Melancholy are nearly on a par. Were it not for casting, defiance in the face of many able cri tics, we would award the palm to the latter. Among the finest and most meritorious examples of the latter are to be specially mentioned Byron’s “ Senacberib,” Poe’s “ Annabel Lee,” and Hood’s “ Bridge of Sighs.” For instances of the sublimely Beautiful, of course we go to Milton. There is no true poem that cannot be included under the held of the Sad, Mysterious, Sentimental, Beau tiful and Sublime ; and some of these are subordinate divisions. If Wit and Ilumor have places here, it is because they are usurpers; and they should be cast from their ill-gotten thrones. That tho Humorous, the Ludicrous and .Ridiculous are not among the cardinal and essential el ements of poesy, is demonstrated from the history of poetry. And, if this be not sufficient, we can appeal te Eternity for evidence. Poetry is the language of Heaven, for do not the mangels “sing day and night;” and is it not preposterous to suppose that anything but what is pure, and holy, and lovely, and gracious, and glorious (which is the Beautiful) is chanted by God’s cherubim and sera phim ? The mind of man is too limited to comprehend tho idea of Eternity; but through its language, poetry, we are enabled to read and interpret its monstrous hieroglyphics looming up in the vast and fathomless expanse of its awful obscurity. These hiero~ f' ’phios, Silence, Mysteriousness, auty and Sublimity, when taken gly, predicate nothing ; but when considered together, in tho language of Poetry, they spell— Eternity ! A Valuable Suggestion. In a letter from Judge Iverson L. Harris, containing a handsome do* nation to the Collegian , this distin guished gentleman makes the follow ing valuable suggestion : “ Traco tho history of Franklin College, from its original endowment —its Trustees, Faculty and Students, yearly, until you reach the year 1870. A Chronological table embra cing the uames of graduates of each year ; where from; who are dead ; who alive; their College distinctions; what pursuits they have entered up on ; their success in the battle of life ; with short biographical sketch es procured from friends familiar with their lives—cannot, in my esti mation, but be invaluable. It will bo a record reflecting the highest honor, on the Societies, the University, and Georgia.” While wo tender to Judue O Harris our thanks for his encoura£r ing financial aid, we at the same time, would thank him for his honor ed advice, tho worth of which we readily recognize, and in accordance with which wo shall make arrange ments to act. ' BSau Contributors must write only on one side of the paper. Extract From tho Commencement Oration of B. 11. llill, Jr., delivered Monday Evening, Aug. 2d, 1860 : “ The moral malady, the social distemper, the political epidemic of this age, is the mania for equality. Equality! A word unknown in God’s vocabulary; which is full of infidelity to God’s law, and of trea son to God’s government. The most fatal form in which this madness has yet been exhibited, is in the attempt to degrade woman to political equal ity with man, in many of the na tions considered civilized and Chris tian. But to the student of South ern civilization, there is inexpressi ble comfort and hope in the fact that our true native Southern women have thus far exhibited no symptom of this disease. Here at least, wo man still comomes courage with modesty; intelligenoe with refine ment; usefulness with delicacy, and power with retirement. Here the voice of woman has not degenerated into the traders’ equivoque, or the politicians’ brawl. Whether we should dig our capital earth, or invite it from other lanS; whe ther we should fill our fields and forests with immigrants; whether we shall make our own laws, or live under the rule of others, are ques tions about which Southern men differ. Send us if you will, Dutch, Irish, Turk, Mongrel and Chinamen; soad armies of Union invaders, trea- carpdt bag rufers s¥id African voters, but spare, oh, spare our Southern land the infliction of Womans’ Rights Conventions, fe male demagogues, and Yankee she he’s! I have walked amid the flowers; fresh blooming in the early morn ing, and gazed on the beautiful tints of the rose, the pink and the violet; and gazing, I have said is there any color in nature or art which can ex cel these? .1 have looked at the heavens when the clouds were re treating, and as I gazed upon the distinct, yet indistingnishably ming ling colors—the arching Bow of Promise—l have said, surely these caught their hues from the mind of the Almighty in that auspicious mo ment when He was happy with the thought of ordaining peace to man. I have gazed upon the western sky when the sun was setting, and have been lifted up with rapture, as I be held the happy clouds laughing with the ever-varying and beautiful col oring which tho almighty rays of the god of light were pencilling on their rugged crests; and I have said, surely the sun, fearful, lest when gone, he should also be for gotten,.is making a death-effort to ineffaceably impress the world with the beauty, softness and splendor of his power. 1 ake away our blooming flowers, and leave us a wilderness of thorns; brush the rainbow from our heavens and leave us in perpetual deluge ; bid our setting sun to pencil no more our skies, nor photograph again