We briefly announced a few days ago, the receipt of the February number of the _Southern Literary Messenger_. It is one of the richest and raciest numbers of that Journal yet issued from the Press. The judicious introductory article on the necessity of select reading; the continuation of the Historical sketches of the Barbary States; Palæstine; the Biographical notice of the late Professor Cushing of Hampden Sidney College; the Review of the Eulogies on, and Reminiscenses of the late Chief Justice Marshall, are among the solid treasures of the Messenger of this month. Sketches of Lake Superior in a series of Letters which are "_to be continued_;" the Cousin of the Married and the Cousin of the Dead, a translation from the French; Lionel Granby, Chapter 8; the Castle Builder turned Farmer, and Rustic Courtship in New England, have each their beauties, excellences and peculiarities. Of the lighter contributions, of the diamonds which sparkle beside the more sombre gems, commend us, thou spirit of eccentricity! forever and a day to our favorite Edgar A. Poe's _Duc de L'Omelette_--the best thing of the kind we ever have or ever expect to read. The idea of "dying of an Ortolan;" the waking up in the palace of Pluto; of that mysterious chain of "blood red metal" hung "_ parmi les nues_," at the nether extremity of which was attached a "cresset," pouring forth a light more "intense, still and terrible" than "Persia ever worshipped, Gheber imagined, or Mussulman dreamed of;" the paintings and statuary of that mysterious hall, whose solitary uncurtained window looked upon blazing Tartarus, and whose ceiling was lost in a mass of "fiery-colored clouds;" the _nonchalance_ of the _Duc_ in challenging "His Majesty" to a _pass_ with the _points_; his imperturbable, self-confident assurance during the playing of a game of _ecarté_; his adroitness in slipping a card while his Infernal Highness "took wine" (a trick which won the _Duc_ his game by the by,) and finally his _characteristic_ compliment to the Deity of the Place of "que s'il n'etait pas de L'Omelette, il n'aurait point d'objection d'etre le Diable," are conceptions which for peculiar eccentricity and graphic quaintness, are perfectly inimitable. Of the criticisms, the most are good; that on Mr. Morris Mattson's novel of "Paul Ulric," like a former criticism from the same pen on Fay's "Norman Leslie" is a literal "flaying alive!" a carving up into "ten thousand atoms!" a complete literary annihilation! If Mr. Morris {348} Mattson is either courageous or wise, he will turn upon his merciless assailant as Byron turned upon Jeffrey, and prove that he can not only do better things, but that he deserves more lenient usage! Last but not by far the least in interest, is Mr. Joseph A. Q. Z. Miller's "Autography." We copy the whole article as a literary treat which we should wrong their tastes did we suppose for a moment would not be as highly appreciated by each and all of our readers, as it is by ourself.