VOL. II. No. I of the Spectrum is an improvement upon most of the numbers of last year. It contains one or two good "heavy articles," interesting extracts from the diary of a young surveyor, some slight abuse of the Faculty, and a copy of verses called "Dished," which would indisputably prove - if there were no other evidence - that the study of the mere exact science is not favorable to the spirit of poetry. In the course of eight verses the poet informs us that he has been dropped from '75 to '76. "Would that the Faculty had been more merciful!" say the readers of the Spectrum.

THE last number of the Amherst Student is a good though rather heavy one. From a paragraph in it we infer that Amherst Sophomores emulate the far-famed boys of Marblehead in their reception of strangers. Visitors, especially ladies, are greeted with hoots and yells from the class of '76, assembled in a crowd for that purpose. The Student condemns his practice in words which are strong, but not too strong. The only poem in this number is a short but pretty one, called The Prayer of Phidias.

THE College Spectator, for October, appears under the auspices of a new board of editors, who, we regret to say, do not commence their literary career with a proper regard for their own integrity. In the opening poem they show their taste for German literature and their familiarity with the language by giving, as the fruit of their own or a contributor's genius, a very pretty translation from Uhland, which was the delight of our childhood, and which we have never forgotten. The last verse will be familiar to most of our readers:

"Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee;

Take, - I give it willingly;

For, invisible to thee,

Spirits twain have crossed with me."

A leading prose article, headed "Offsets," is, however, of undoubted originality. In this the author has attempted too mighty a theme; some gleams of sanity are discernible in the first paragraphs, but, after these, we trace by gradual steps the overthrow of what may have been a mighty intellect.

It begins, "Nature upon her tablet has written that silvery drops of rain must come from clouds, black and portentous," etc. The reader would here naturally expect some explanation, - what is the tablet? when was it? where was it? why and how did nature write? etc., - but no explanation is given. The writer hurries on, discovers that day is followed by night, stands beside the rivers Tigris and Euphrates, inspects the "remnant of Babylon," has a word for the Mede, another for the Persian, gets himself surrounded by the "tottering walls of the Coliseum," "hears" them crumble, notes, in passing, the destruction of Carthage, and so on, down through Alaric, Greece, the Heruli, and the Caesars, until he is brought up sharp by the inquiry, "And now what is man?"

This he answers in the words of the poet, and again lapses into a series of sententioe, from which we select a few specimens.

"Nothing enduring, nothing sure. Why, man but moistens his lips from the cup of true pleasure, which, at intervals, kind fortune extends to him."

"In the garden of life the plant of felicity is not a perpetual bloomer."

"In the grand cathedral of time the organ, at the touch of providence, does not play joyous melodies continually; but for every peal of merriment at the birth of a soul, there must be a requiem at its exit from earth."

"Was not John Randolph's oratorical power offset by John Randolph's bodily weakness and debility?"

"The great wealth of Stephen Girard found its offset in his low and pitiable existence."