For the Southern Literary Messenger.
SONG—By the Author of Vyvyan.
SONG—By the Author of Vyvyan.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
S.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE CEMETERY.—From the Russian.
THE CEMETERY.—From the Russian.
We flatter ourselves that our patrons will not be displeased with the feast which we have set before them in the present number of the Messenger. We have not commenced with the egg and ended with the apple, (ab ovo usque ad malum,) according to the ancient custom; nor placed the substantials before the dessert, as in modern entertainments; but have rather chosen to mingle them without order or arrangement,—that our guests may partake as their respective tastes and inclinations may dictate. The scientific reader will be attracted by the communications of Dr. POWELL, and PETERA. BROWNE, Esq. of Philadelphia. By the former gentleman, who is now actively engaged in geological and antiquarian researches in the western country, we are kindly promised occasional aid; and, to the latter distinguished individual, we owe our thanks for the warm interest he has evinced in our infant enterprize.
Of Mr. WIRT'Sletter, it would be superfluous to speak, more especially as it is accompanied by some excellent remarks by a highly intelligent friend,—himself destined to become an ornament to the profession of which he speaks.
The general reader cannot fail to be pleased with many, if not all the communications which are inserted. In the article headed "Example is better than Precept," he will recognize an elegant and vigorous pen;—and, in the "Recollections of Chotank," it will not be difficult to perceive that the hand employed in describing the generous customs and proverbial hospitality of that ancient portion of our state,—is one of uncommon skill in the art and beauty of composition. The article from the Petersburg Intelligencer, entitled an "Extract from a Novel that never will be published," (but which we hopewillbe published)—though not expressly written for the "Messenger," will be new to most of our readers. If we mistake not, the writer has furnished strong evidence of talent in a particular department of literature, which needs only to be cultivated in order to attain a high degree of success.
The poetical contributions, which are entirelyoriginalin the present number, whilst they do not need our eulogy, we cannot permit to pass without some special notice at our hands. The "Power of Faith" will not fail to attract the lover of genuine poetry, especially if his heart be warmed with christian zeal. It is written by a gentleman whose modesty is as great as his merit; and whose writings, both in prose and verse, will do honor to his native state. The sprightly effusion among the prose articles which is headed "Sally Singleton," is from the same hand. Of "Death among the Trees," it would be unnecessary to speak, as it will be readily recognized and admired, as the production of a distinguished female writer already known to fame. We take pleasure in placing in the same company two other charming effusions, by writers of the same gentle sex, whose assistance in our literary labors we shall always be proud to receive. We allude to the "Address of the Genius of Columbia to her Native Muse," and the "Lines to an Officer of the United States Navy, by E. A. S." The "Sonnet, written on the Blue Ridge," and the "Stanzas, composed at the White Sulphur Springs of Virginia," are both the productions of the same superior mind. There is not only decided power, but a most attractive pathos and bewitching melancholy in the two productions referred to. We hope that the author will continue to adorn our columns with the offspring of his gifted muse. The author of "Lines on a Billet from an Early Friend," will always be a welcome guest at our literary table. We know him as a gentleman of fine taste and varied endowments. The "Cemetery" is from the pen of a young Philadelphian of fine talents. He need not at any time apprehend exclusion from our columns.
If we have chosen to speak last of the author of "Musings," it is not because he is least in our estimation. On the contrary, we sincerely esteem him as among the favored few, to whom it is given,—-if they themselves will it,—to reach the highest honors, and the most enduring rewards, in the empire of poesy. The beautiful and graceful picture of Venice, presented in our present number,—of Venice despoiled of her ancient glory—yet still glorious in ruin,—will command, if we mistake not, general admiration. Successful as the author always is, in his light and fugitive pieces, he gives evidence of a power to grasp the highest themes, and to sport with familiar ease in the least accessible regions of fancy. Why does he not seize the lyre at once, and pour forth a song which shall add to his country's honor, and insure for himself a chaplet of renown? Why does he not at once take rank with the HALLECKS, the BRYANTSand PERCIVALS, of a colder clime? He is every way qualified to do it.
To our numerous correspondents and contributors, whose favors have not yet appeared in print,—we owe our acknowledgments, and in some instances an apology. Our space is exceedingly disproportioned to the quantity of matter which we have on hand; and, of course, we are driven to the painful, and rather invidious task of selection. We have many articles actually in type, which we are necessarily obliged to exclude from the present number. Among them may be enumerated "A Scene in Genoa, by an American Tourist," the "Grave Seekers," and other fine specimens of poetry. The "Reporter's Story, or the Importance of a Syllable," "The Cottage in the Glen,"—the poems from Louisa and Pittsylvania, and from various other quarters, shall all receive the earliest possible attention. The high claims of our correspondents in Mobile and Tuscaloosa in the state of Alabama, shall also be attended to; and, we hope that others in distant states, will not deem themselves slighted if not now particularly enumerated.
The "Eulogy on Lafayette," transmitted from France, and handed over to us by a friend, shall appear in the next number.
We have read with pleasure, the love tale composed by an accomplished young lady in one of the upper counties; and, whilst we do not hesitate to render a just tribute to the delicacy of sentiment and glowing fancy which distinguish her pages, candor compels us to urge one objection, which we fear is insurmountable. The story is wrought up with materials derived from English character and manners; and, we have too many thousands of similar fictions issuing from the British press, to authorize the belief that another of the same class will be interesting to an American reader. We should like to see our own writers confine their efforts to native subjects—to throw aside the trammels of foreign reading, and to select their themes from the copious materials which every where abound in our own magnificent country.
For a similar reason, our friend from Caroline must excuse us for declining to insert his sketches. We have no "dilapidated castles," nor any "last heirs of Ardendale," in our plain republican land.
Neither can we insert in our pages (though we should like to oblige our Essex correspondent,) any thing which bears the slightest resemblance to afairy tale. We prefer treading upon earthly ground, and dealing with mortal personages.
To our highly respected correspondent, who addressed a letter to the publisher in June last, from Prince Edward, we take this opportunity to say, that our columns shall be freely open to discussions in behalf of the interests of education. We conceive that the cause of literature is intimately connected with it; and we have it in contemplation to present ere long, to the public, some candid views, in regard to the policy heretofore pursued in the Councils of our State, on this interesting subject. We are enemies to every system founded upon favoritism and monopoly; and we are advocates for the equal application of those pecuniary resources which the bounty of the state has dedicated to the cause of education. We have no idea that the Literary Fund, the common property of us all, ought to be so managed as to defeat the purposes of its founders; in other words, that it should be so wrested from the original design of its creation, as to benefit only two classes of society—the highest and the lowest,—the extremes of wealth and indigence,—whilst the great mass of the community are excluded from all advantages to be derived from it. This system may suit particular individuals, and may subserve particular ends; but it is at war with the best interests of the state, and ought to be exposed, so far as the honorable weapons of truth and justice shall be able to expose it.
The suggestions of our highly intelligent friend from South Carolina, who we presume is a temporary resident in one of the northern states, are entitled to much respect and consideration. We quote the following just sentiments from his letter:
"American literature, although increasing, is still at an immense distance in rear of that of England, and Germany and France. And why? It is owing entirely to thedivided attentionof our literary characters. However profound and capacious their minds—and however great their powers of thought, and brilliant and forcible those of expression, it is impossible for them to succeed, at the same time, in every department of knowledge. No man can distinguish himself in any one pursuit, when his mind is applied to a dozen. Let him bend his faculties upon a single object; and with industry and perseverance, he will assuredly secure its attainment. Among us, we have no professed students, whose lives are devoted to the acquisition and development of learning. All men of talents rush early into the absorbing pursuits of politics; and together with providing the means of support, continue in them for life. So long as this is the case, it cannot be expected of us to present eminent men, in any way calculated to compete with those of the Old World.
"It would be a useful and an ennobling task for some one, well qualified to examine the subject in all its bearings, to offer an expose of the various causes for the low ebb at which our national literature now stands, and the means by which they might be subverted."
We should be much gratified if some one of our many intelligent subscribers would furnish us an essay upon this interesting subject. None would be more likely to present it, in some of its strongest lights, than the writer of the letter from which we have quoted.