Some of our readers may perhaps complain, that more than a due proportion of the present number is devoted to the Muses. It may be so; but our apology is, that some of the pieces have been so long on hand, that to delay their publication would almost amount to exclusion. If all the poetry is not of equal quality, there is still enough which is excellent; enough to demonstrate beyond all question, that if our Bards would only take courage, and rise superior to the fear of foreign rivalry, the highest success would crown their efforts. Among the pieces which have afforded us more than ordinary pleasure, we may be allowed to enumerate the "_Peasant-Women of the Canaries_," "_The Heart_," and that which we have taken the liberty to designate by the title of "_True Consolation_." The oftener that we read these, the more we like them; but we shall restrain the ardor of our own feelings, lest our readers should suppose we indulge the presumptuous thought of influencing their judgments. It is with real pleasure that we insert two productions from the pen of the _Hon. R. H. Wilde_. These would be enough of themselves to disprove the charge of plagiarism preferred against that gentleman during the Georgia election, in respect to the charming lines which appeared in our first number, and which we stated were generally ascribed to him. It is to us passing strange, that the sacred repose of the republic of letters, should be disturbed by the agitations and conflicts of party politics. Notwithstanding that the authorship of "_My Life is like the Summer Rose_," has been confidently claimed by some for O'Kelly, an Irish poet,--and by others for an ancient Greek bard named Alceus, we still adhere to the opinion that that beautiful effusion is the bona fide and genuine offspring of Mr. Wilde's muse. Upon this subject, however, we shall reserve a more particular expression of our sentiments for a future number. We have already expressed our opinion of the bards of Mobile and Tuscaloosa. May we not expect a continuance of their favors? The humorous "_Parody on Bryant's Autumn_," or rather on his piece called the "_Death of the Flowers_," will strike every one acquainted with the productions of the New York bard, as an admirable imitation of his style. It is the more excellent, as Bryant's sombre imagery has been made to assume a light and sportive dress. We could say much in commendation of many of our other poetical contributors, if it were not somewhat improper to invade too much the province of our readers. We hope, therefore, that they will not for a moment believe that we slight or undervalue their favors. EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS. FROM AN EMINENT LITERARY GENTLEMAN, NOW A RESIDENT OF LOUISIANA.