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the old coat of gray. BY BLONDINE. The following beautiful p<»em was written by the daugh ter of Mrs. L. Virginia French, at the age of sweet sixteen. [Editor of The Sunny South. It lies there alone;—it is rusty and faded, With a patch on the elbow, a hole in the side; But we think of the brave boy who wore it, and ever Look on with pleasure and touch it with pride. A history clings to it;—over and over We see a proud youth hurried off to the fray, ^ ith his form like the oak and his eyes like the eagle’s— How gallant he rode in the ranks of “the Gray!” It is rough, it is worn, it is tattered in places, But I love it the more for the story it bears— A story of courage in struggle with sorrows, And a heart that bore bravely its burden of .cares. It is ragged and rusty; but ah! it was shining In the silkiest sheen when he wore it away, And his smile was as bright as the glad summer morning When he sprang to his place in the ranks of “the Gray.” There's a rip in the sleeve and the collar is tarnished, The buttons all gone with their glitter ana gold; ’Tis a thing of the past, and we reverently lay it Away with the treasures and relics of old. As the gifts of a love, solemn, sweet and unspoken, Are cherished as leaves from a long-vanished day, We will keep the old jacket for sake of the loved one Who rode in the van in the ranks of “the Gray.” Shot through with a bullet, right here in the shoulder, And down there the pocket is splinted and soiled; Ah! more—see, the lining is stained and discolored! Yes, blood-drox>s the texture have stiffened and spoiled. It came when he rode at the head of the column, Charging down in the battle one deadliest day, When squadrons of foemen were broken asunder, And Victory rode with the ranks of “the Gray.” Its memory is sweetness and sorrow commingled,— To me it is precious—more precious than gold; In the rents and the shot-holes a volume is written, In the stains on the lining is agony told. That was ten years ago, when in life's sunny morning He rode with his comrades dowD into the fray, And the old coat he wore and the good sword he wielded Were all that came back from the ranks of “the Gray.” And it lies there alone. I will reverence it ever— The patch in the elbow, the hole in the side— For a gallauter heart never breathed than the loved one ] Who wore it in honor and soldierly pride. Let me brush off the dust from its tatters and tarnish— \ Let me fold it up closely and lay it away; It is all that is left of the loved and the lost one Who fought for the right in the ranks of “the Gray.” j OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HONORABLE ANDREW JOHNSON. Ex-President Andrew Johnson, the newly- j elected Senator from Tennessee, is a character j whose traits, as well as public life, are attracting j a great deal of journalistic notice. All in all, if I not the greatest of our living statesmen, he un- j doubtedly occupies the largest space in the public | mind. Whether in wisdom he is superior to all , other men of his day, is a question which ought j and must be submitted to the historian and biog- j raplier who shall write when excessive devotion ! of friends, as well as the angry passions of ene- j mies, sleep with the generation of men who j shared it, and who will write history as it is j uninfluenced by loves or hates. While it would be impossible to find, in the whole South, an impartial pen—for everybody is either the friend or enemy of Mr. Johnson—facts may be given in reference to his life and public service, and especially his dominant traits, which the country would read with interest. The writer of this sketch, having studied Mr. Johnson and having been much with him, sub mits that his true character is greatly misunder stood. For forty years political enemies have pronounced him a demagogue, and even many good people who were not his enemies believed him to be a demagogue. This grew out of the fact that Mr. Johnson believes, and always has believed, that the people who need legislative protection are those who have no position, and are never seen or heard as lobbyists about legis lative bodies. No man in America is further from being an agrarian, and no public man that I have ever known so uniformly and under all circumstances acts upon his conviction of duty, resting alone upon principle. Mr. Johnson is not a combative man, as he is understood to be. He is just the reverse; but when duty drives him into an issue, his rule has always been to take the offensive. In social life he is kind and genial, but not brilliant. Close and intimate relations with him always make a life-time friend; and indeed, the most wonderful power of this man of mark is his tenacious and ever-enduring magnetism. 1 Once a friend, always a friend, can be truly said j of almost every one who in life has formed an attachment for him. This comes in part from his ! own enduring attachments when once formed. Mr. Johnson has no smiles for his friends, and ! makes no to-do in receiving them, but nothing is i better settled than that he would die by them. Of course, in the great struggle of 1861, the ! great bulk of Mr. Johnson's friends heaped upon ; him nothing but curses, and with one voice they 1 would have condemned him to death. That in war the man who of all others had been most honored should come and rule over them as Mil itary Governor, was in their estimation a crime nnparalelled. After the war came, no city in the whole South was more intensely Southern than Nashville. All shouldered the musket and j i started from the fair city to fight Yankees, sigh for loved ones left behind, and curse the Mili tary Governor. More than forty of these men ; the other day voted for Mr. Johnson for United States Senator against three of their most popu lar commanders and comrades-in-arms; and when Mr. Johnson's election was proclaimed at the capitol, the immense crowd rushed from the scene, and in ten minutes nearly all the busi ness houses were closed, the people were on the j streets and rushing to the hotels, congregating in public places, some crying and some shout ing, but all joyous; and, as by spontaneous ac- tion, from all parts of the eity and from the country the people came, until by night they , were prepared to give Mr. Johnson such an ova- Ition as no public man ever had in the city, not excepting General Jackson when he returned from his victory at New Orleans, or the Marquis de Lafayette when he visited ns in 1825. Mr. Johnson goes to the Senate with this one j great predominating thought,—to aid, judi ciously and wisely aid, in giving to the coun try a restored and purely civil government. His life has been an eventful one; he wants no strife, and will have none unless driven to the wall. He is now sixty-six years old, but well-preserved. Though not a classical scholar, he has acquired a great deal of information, and is a fair English scholar. From an obscure boy whose early and only known virtue was to love and support by his own hands a widowed mother, he made him self a splendid mechanic. When quite a young man he was a leading member in the lower House of the State Legislature, then State Senator, then ten years in the lower House of Congress, then four years Governor of Tennesse, then six years [For The Sunnv South.] YOUTH—THE JOYS OF LIFE. BY NETTIE LOVELESS KIERULTF. “ O. what a world of beauty passes away With the winded hours of youth!” Ah ! how sweet are the halcyon days of youth; how radiant, “when life is young and heart elate,” ere care has brought its age or the world its contaminations! Then we feel this is indeed a beautiful, beautiful world! We behold its beauty on earth, sea, and sky; “in the faintest star that trembles out in the blue, smiling arch of heaven, which, like some wave struggling to reach a far-off land, dies just as it reaches the shore.” We behold it “in every tint that paints the blooming flowers of summer, and that flames out in the stars at night; in roseate life that spreads out its sweet enchantments to our long ing gaze ! Hope and Fancy clothe the future with glittering garments, throwing the charm of success upon even’ coming event. Thank God for this season of freshness—these years of happy in the United States Senate, then two years Mili tary Governor of Tennessee, then Vice-President of the United States, then President of the Uni ted States for nearly four years, and now, in the prime of his intellectual manhood, he is returned to the Senate of the United States. JACOB DUNDERHED SPEAKS. Augoosta, Geokchia, March 1, 1875. Mr. John H. Seals: Dear Sir,—I vas got meinself vrom Qwin und Bendleton, yon dees city, a gopy of dot butiful baper vat you vas got yourself out mit, Der Sunny Soud, bei Etlanta. Veil, dot vas a butiful baper und a butiful names, doo, Der Sunny Soud. It vas a names so fool of butiful sendimends und bleasant regomembrai es — Der Sunny Soud ! Yes,— You may boast of der Nort, Uud its shkadius on ice; You may boast of der Vest, Und its grains—veil, dot’s nice; You may boast of der East, Und breg of its skooils Yere learuin’s got easy, Und dere's more knaves den fooils. But geef me der blaees Vere das vedder’s ser heis— Vere shweet Liberty leefs Und der beobles bate vice ! Yes, give me der blaees, Says my heart und my mout, Mein blace bei adopshun— Mein dear Sunny Soud ! Dot vas der sendimends of Jacob Dunderhed, Mr. Edditur; und mein frau she vas obsairfed, “Dot’s so, Jacob; dot’s so !” Und I tole yon vat it vas, ef I know meinself, und I tink it vas, you vould put your name behind der front of dot leetle notes yourself. Aber, dot makes nodding out, about it. 1 at vas der oose of heving a butiful goondry, butiful reevers und moundens, butiful vimmens und sebmart mens like Meestress Bryan, und Alex. Stephens, und Ben. Hill, und Mr. Seals, und Jacob Dunderhed, und some more like dot, ef we hed no butiful babers like Der Sunny Soud ? Now, der New York Letcher, und der Gimney Gorner, und der Saturday Xight vas all good babers for der beebles in his vays, mebbe; but ve vas got room enough, I shall tink, for anoder—• for a good home baper, like Der Sunny Soud— vere our home beobles can build ourself oop a home literariness, und don’t vas got any neces sariness to gone away oil' in der schnow, und ice, und der vite Bolar pears goondries to dig it out, und pay for it, too, by cheminy! Dot's so, too, Mr. Seals ! Now, vone dimes ago I vas been a noosebaber mens meinself, bei der “Ameri- kanische Zeitung,” nnd as I made moneys enuff mit dot beesinesses to gotmeinselfs a poor house, I vas always got great sympaddies mit noosba- bers. und abofe all, vor der noosebabers von der Soud. So no medder ef you vas a dembrance mens yonrselfs (dembrance vas a goot tings, by cheminy !) dot makes nodding out, I dook mein self a gooble or dree glaises of lager bier, und I drinks meinself a doast to Der Sunny Soud. It vas dose: Here's to der Soud—der dear Sunny Soud, Dot land of der brafe und dot home of der free, Whose beobles shoost now vas so down by der mout, But vas got ’emselfs now so fool oop of glee ! Und here’s to our bress, und der new Sunny Soud! May it vas all der dimes brosbrous und free ! May its edditurs nefer got down bei der mout, But makes moneys like leafs von der dree ! Now dot vas a goot vishes, to be sure: und ef yon vonld like to hear from Jacob vonce in a vhiles, like dot, Mr. Edditur, vhy I dink I vould drop yon a line or dwo. shoost to help you gife goot done and helty sendimends to Der Sunny Soud. Jacob Dunderhed. P. S.—How vas dot Ben. Bootler beesnes mit you ? Don't you vas got some gledness dot old Shpoons vas goned oop der laidle? Bully vor Dompson, I says; yes. Den here's to Dompson, mit dose P, Who leef d bei der nashun's gradle, Dot man who shlacht old spooney B., Und sendet him oop der laidle ! Fashionable women are making their own dresses this winter, and confessing it, too. Sad, sad it is to watch the lapse of time, the magician. The bright-eyed, blushing school girl, quick with ready wit and smiles, with her fair hopes for the future, feels confident of tfie ever-brightening joys which the gilded world holds up before the admiring gaze. Disappoint ment has not yet visited the brave young heart— tried it as by fire and brought it forth as gold refined. But time rolls on, laden with its joys and griefs to the expectant world. What the sorrows or disappointments of the fair maiden are, none can tell,—that is carefully locked in her own breast; but sure tbeir traces are upon the pensive brow and in the depths of those calm, sad eyes. If kind fortune cheer the way, the voice rings out gladly and the lips smile; but ab! how suddenly the shadow chases the sun light from the sparkling face. Time has changed the laughing, hopeful girl. Where are the bright dreams and hopes of the days that are dead ? Like autumn leaves, they have fallen and passed away, hallowed by many a sigh. A battle with the world withereth the spirit, for there is no love there to refresh the soul. God is love, and in its mad race for gold the world has forgotten its God. The years have glided on, on, and now let us look at the pensive maiden. Ah ! time has still wrought a sadder change. She is now a sorrow- stricken old woman. She has had many joys, but there is a row of graves in the church-yard— every branch has been severed from the withered old trunk, and it mournfully awaits its fall. Death is all that is left now. But looking up the dim, shadowy aisles of. the past, the hopes and dreams of youth loom up—still bright, still beautiful—and the old heart throbs more quickly and the withered lips smile as the mind dwells on the fond memories so dear to every heart. How the memories of youth mellow and sweeten with time! “From the trials of life” we hear the old woman murmur; I have gathered many golden fruits of the spirit, and learned that God’s mercies are over all his works. Come, sweet Death! Ah ! new joys to the spirit to launch out on the stream of Jordan,—to look back on the receding shores of the world, whence come softly murmured farewells,—to look forward across the chilly stream to the bright-shining shores of eternity, whence the music of a thou sand harps is sweetly floating,—to look above, and behold the face of God, smiling and sweetly saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joys of life.” [For The Sunny South,] SMALL FOOLISHNESS. People are prone to one idea. The world is constantly being taken charge of by a fancy. For instance, we have the age of gold, the age of iron, the age of peace, the age of revolutions. We have a reign of broad brim hats, another of narrow brims; an era of short coats, and another of long coats. We have an age of utility, and another when show enters most largely into all that is worn or otherwise used. This same thing enters into and influences all the relations of life. The old time when such names as George, Thomas, William, Robert and James were thought good enough for boys, and Mary, Martha, Sarah, Jane and Jerusha were all the most devoted parents desired, have gone the way of all sublunary things; we find in their stead, Willie, Rollie, Wallie and Charlie for the future statesmen, orators and philosophers, whose mates are designated as Lillie, Minnie, j Linnie and Birdie, with all the variations that ! can be sung upon those two terminal letters, ie. ! I could not have respected my grandfather if his name had been Willie. He was old. gray, fatherly and wrinkled. “Uncle James” had an honest sound about it which suited the lips of j nephews and neices. while grandfather Willie j would have been simply horrible. Grandmother Minnie ! But it will not do to ! pursue the subject further. I will, however, ask: Will the people, not all. but most people, poor, ignorant, silly things that they are, never learn that good taste and good sense go hand in hand, and ihat is most beautiful which is most harmonious—not most harmonious with youth nor with age, hut that which is most harmonious in all the meanderings of that crooked road from the cradle to the grave ? Abnot. [For The Sunny South.] A VALENTINE From a Little Boy of Sine to a Little “Torment” Aged Eleven. I want to write you something on a pretty little theme. And I think I’d better do it while my muse is in a dream. With a pretty little girl I’m deeply now in love. And the one to whom I write is the very little dove. If I should say I love you, you must not think I’m bold— For without your little sympathy I’m left out in the cold; This sort of courting some say is the very height of bliss, But I “kinder ’* like the sort that's seasoned with a kiss. Don't you ? I have sent Cupid on—he is bidden not to tarry— To tell you for me that I “sorter ” want to marry. Some time in the future, if you think we shall agree; I will call round to see you, if you say you’ll have me. ’Twould make me feel as happy as a king upon his throne To lead you from the altar to a cottage of my own; And to make it all complete—you must let me be frank— We shall need a little “ shaver ” for you and I to spank! The space intervening is a long time to wait, And upon my tender feelings the thought will ever grate; But I’ll make lots of money while Old Time is running, So the milliner with her bills can never come a-dunning. I vow the cold shall never bite your pretty little toes. Because I shall put some big ones with them—I will those. “You bet!” These sentiments, I think, ought to make you very happy; If you say you'll have me now. I'll come and ask your pappy. I should like to close my song with something soft and sweet, But my muse has roused up and has gone out on the street; But when he comes back and begins again to slumber, I’ll remember what he dreams, and tell it, “By thunder!” You ought, anyhow, to be pleased with this valentine, Because my name is T and yours is Emmie-line. Now, you need not try to catch me, for I'm off like a flea; ••The best laid schemes of mice and men,” you know, “gang aft aglee.” [For The Sunny South.] THINGS GENERALLY. BY b. ridges. One of the noblest actions and the greatest il lustrations of rigid economy that I ever heard of was a man in an adjoining county, who starved himself to death the other day to save money to keep up his policy in a life insurance company. Was it not grand ! Among the many troubles of this wicked world, there are none perhaps more conducive to profanity than the first few days’ tussle with a new pair of shoes. I have read somewhere of troubles that turned hair white in a single night; I’ve heard of the troubles underwent by Joan d’ Arc, of John Brown and other distinguished in dividuals, but their troubles sink into insignifi cance when compared to the trouble I speak of, ridiculous as it may seem. Did you ever notice how a woman writes a letter ? You couldn’t hire her to use pen and ink. She always takes a pencil—a short one, for 'you never saw a woman have a long pencil in your life—at least I never did—and then-takes a book, sits down in a low chair, puts the" half-sheet of note-paper on the book, bends her head to the book, grasps the pencil as if she wanted to squeeze the marrow out of it, and when she gets down the date and “My dear,” she stops, raises her lmad and drums the end of the pencil against her teeth while she stares at the floor and stud ies what to write next. When the idea strikes her, she writes down one word and then shakes herself all over and says, “Oh! shucks, that won’t do !” But she always concludes to let it go after she has drummed on her teeth and stud ied awhile (she wasn’t studying about the letter either). When she gets about half through writing what she wanted to say, she signs the name. After she has folded it up, the letter is re-opened and a P. S. added. Then she puts it in an envelope, opens it again and an N. B. is added. Before she sends it she has written all around the edges, all over the letter in big characters, and tops the whole off with “Please excuse this scrawl.” The first thing a man does when he reaches a warm fire after exposure to the chilling blasts of winter, is to lay hold of a poker and commence ! a vigorous punching of the fire, as if the fire was to blame for his being cold. This is exactly what Smith did the other day when he rushed into my bachelor apartments. I kept my mouth closed, however, and resolved - on revenge. I invited him around last night, and just before he came I had the poker red hot. Smith came in hurriedly with his month puck ered, nearly froze to death He reached for the poker. In the sixtieth part of a second there after he dropped it and asked for arnica. No arnica being handy, I gave him a bottle of pain- 1 killer. His hand hurt him too much to notice | the label, and by the time the pain-killer touched the unfortunate hand, Smith was a blazing piece of red hot humanity. Never saw a man so hot. He was so hot that his conversation for several hours afterward was brimstony, for he spoke ' pathetically and often of a hot place. He wears his hand between mush poultices and sweet-gum salve, and swears that he’ll never j punch another fire in this world, nor in the next j if there is any way to get around it. But I guess ! there'll be no “chilling blasts” in the world ! he’ll go to next. Poor fellow ! [For The Sunny South.] DO WE TALK SLANG? BY SUSS H. R. B. We deny it emphatically! We hate, detest, \ abhor every perversion of our beautiful English. 1 But, really, this thing is becoming alarming! I We can scarcely open our lips without uncon sciously giving utterance to some abominable i slang expression. We are asked at table if we like such and such a dish. “Not much,” we reply quietly, and are straightway amazed at the chorus of "laughter with which our innocent re- mark is greeted. “What is the matter?” we ask stiffly, adding j in an aggrieved tone, “ If there’s anything to pro voke mirth, ice can’t see it!” Another burst, during which we feel that we have a legitimate right to be insulted, and still more so when our ruffled feathers are stroked the wrong way by the remark: “Who would have believed that you would ever talk slang?” “Slang!” we exclaim in great indignation. “Not if we know it!” and in endeavoring to ' swallow onr feelings with our coffee, we devoutly wish we had possession of the man who first started this wicked wresting of our mother- tongue. We would go for—we mean we’would soak him in nitro-glycerine for awhile, then blow him sky-high; ar.d when the scattered particles of that man came together again, he wouldn’t be worth a cent!—pshaw!—we meant to say, that i before he reached this earth again, he would have reason to ask, “How is that for high?” What would the elegant speakers and rhetori cians of the past think of such abuse of our ver nacular? It is enough to bring them back from the grave, which were a consummation devoutly to be wished. Wouldn't the slang-slinger sing low for the rest of his frightened days? We say now, as we have said before, we don’t talk slang; and we are exceedingly anxious to see the man who says we do. THE SUNNY SOUTH. WHAT THE PRESS THINKS ABOUT IT. Certainly no paper ever received such enco miums from the press. We make a few short extracts from different editorials, and could fill columns with just such. Shall publish another column in next issue: It is just what the South has long needed, and will be a cherished and welcomed visitor to the people of the South.—Enterprise, Tenn. It is a large, eight-page paper, and equal in every respect to any similar publication hailing from the city of New York. It is worthy a place in every household in the Sunny South.—Com mercial, Tenn. The Sunny South is charming in itsj typog raphy, and exceeds in beauty anything of its class which we receive. It is elegantly illustra ted and its literary contents are unequaled.— Xewbury (S. C.) Herald. The paper is a model of neatness in its make up, and its columns are brim full of choice read ing. Every department of the paper is-in the hands of able and competent managers. We wish the enterprise great success.—Courier, X.C. It makes a splendid appearance, and is the most promising eft’ort to establish a first-class literary paper in the South that has been made for a good while. Let us hope that it will suc- deed—indeed, let us determine that it shall suc ceed.—Presbyterian, S. C. This new literary weekly in size and typo graphical appearance certainly surpasses any thing ever before brought out in the South, and is fully equal to anything North. It has a good temperance department, a chatty domestic cor ner and a spicy editorial column.—Musical Mil lion, Va. We do not hesitate in pronouncing it the best literary paper published in the South or North. The illustrations are chaste and gotten up in the highest style of the art. Its columns are filled with choice original matter. This valuable paper should find its way to the fireside of every home in the South.—Choctaw Herald, Ala. The Sunny South will be filled weekly with sprightly stories, original poetry, essays, sketches art and literary notes, etc. It is beautifully printed and elaborately gotten up every way. Let our people support such of our own papers as successfully vie with Northern publications. We class The Sunny South with this number.— Star, Wilmington, X. C. It is a weekly eight-paged literary paper, and will fill a void that has long been felt in our midst. The typographical appearance of The Sunny South is equal if not superior to any sim ilar journal published in Yankeedom, whilst its columns are filled with a variety of superior reading from the most eminent writers in the South.—Xew Em, Texas. It is in all respects, the equal of any Northern weekly, and is not filled up with the miscella neous trash that gives many of them their noto riety. Many of our best Southern writers are among the contributors. J list such a paper is a felt want at the South, and we hope the enter prise may meet with abundant encouragement.— Charlotte (X. C.) Chronicle. It is the same size and style of the New York Ledger and is the best literary paper that has ever been published in the South. It has an able corps of contributors, is finely printed on beautiful paper, and we hope is destined to be successful and take the place of the sensational (rash that now to such a great extent floods the South—all from the North.—Staunton Spectator. The editor-in-chief is Mr. John H. Seals, a gentleman of experience and approved ability as a journalist, who is to be assisted in the various departments of the paper by the best talent in the South. In short, all the arrangements for The Sunny South show a determination on the part of its proprietor to make it an honor to our section and a means of entertainment and im provement to every family into which it enters. It deserves to be liberally patronized.—Missis sippi Soidh. Its pages are devoted to literature, romance, science, education, temperance and Southern progress, and it is the very embodiment of ex cellence in each of these features. We have ex amined its articles with care and can commend as we can but few of the popular literary papers of the day. It is able, earnest, zealous, truthful, moral, pure and sincere in its noble mission in behalf of literature, temperance, education, sci ence and progress. We commend it to the people of the Northwest.—Iowa Plaindealer. It is the most beautiful specimen of artistic ty pography we have seen issued from any South ern press, and the talent, genius and learning displayed in its stories, editorials, etc., are of the finest order. Taken as a whole, The Sunny South is superior to any of the Northern publi cations of like character that are liberally pat ronized by the Southern public. We hope that the Soutnern people will rally to the support of Professor Seals, and aid in building up a litera ture in the South worthy of her talents and peo ple and in keeping with her progress in other branches of civilization.—Central City, Ga. We welcome it as an evidence of a spirit of literary enterprise in the South, which prom ises us an independent home literature. The paper is neat in its appearance, handsomely illustrated, and full of useful and entertaining reading matter. The character of the initial number and the character of the editors and con tributors, insures The Sunny South a position in the foremost rank of American literary papers. We hope the people of the South will sustain this commendable home enterprise, and intro duce The Sunny South into every family circle. Let it be received as a friend, and let it supplant those Northern papers which have shown such an unfriendly spirit to our section.—Courier- Herald, Tenn. We welcome the advent of The Sunny South with hearty good will. It is to us a bright mes senger from a warmer clime, and forms another link to bind ns to the noble State that gave it birth. Though in its infancy, it is an infant Hercules, and is already one among the best publications North or South. Its biographical sketches are germs of future history—a history, as it were, in embryo. Its romances are over flowing with originality and purity of thought, and cannot fail to please and interest even the most recherche and exacting. These, with many other articles in prose and poetry, make up a periodical both instructive and attractive. May the future of The Sunny South be ever as bright and buoyant as its young life promises—Courier, Virginia. In all respects it is equal to the literary publi cations of the North, is devoted to the literature of the South, and should find its way to the fire side of every Southern family. We trust lovers of good reading in our section will patronize The Sunny South. There is no reason why we should not build up and sustain periodicals equal in merit to any in the North; we have wri ters of ability, whose productions reflect credit and honor upon themselves and their section. But they have served to give character to North ern literature, while of us it is said that we have neither periodicals nor literary men and women. The fault is with us; we have not encouraged Southern periodicals, and our people have been forced to send their subscription elsewhere. Let us rally around The Sunny South and make it the representative and exponent of Southern j literature.—Holly Springs Reporter, Miss. A