OLIVER OLDSCHOOL.
P. S. For the satisfaction of yourself and readers, who might otherwise suspect me of malevolence towards some individual, (of which I know myself to be incapable,) I beg leave to assure you that, although the portrait which I have endeavored to sketch is not a fancy piece, my sole design in presenting it isgeneral, not particular. It is to aid, as far as I possibly can, in banishing from our land a fashion, not only preposterous, absurd and filthy in the highest degree, but actually disgraceful to rational creatures. Let it go back to the savage Cossacks, from whom 'tis said to be borrowed, and no longer beastify (if I may coin such a word,) the appearance of the rising generation.
From the Augusta (Ga.) Sentinel, Jan. 15.
To the Editor of the States Rights Sentinel:
SIR:—Some friends, whose opinions are entitled to deference, deem it incumbent on me to avow, or disavow the authorship of a dozen couplets, lately become a matter of grave and high controversy. Though supposed for twenty years past to be mine, they have recently been ascribed, by sundry acute critics, first to O'KELLY, and then to ALCÆUS. Disdaining, heretofore, to notice such charges of plagiarism, from a perfect confidence in the ultimate power ofTRUTH, and a contempt for this petty species of annoyance, my silence is now broken, only in compliance with the wishes of those whom I esteem. Valuing these rhymes very differently from others, it becomes me, on so unimportant a subject, merely to avow myself the author. The lines in question, then, good or bad, are mine alone; neither Alcæus nor O'Kelly has the smallest right to them. Originally intended as a part of a longer poem, which, like the life of him for whose sake I projected it, was broken off, unfinished; they were published without my knowledge or consent, and, however the contrary may have been assumed, contain no personal allusions. Whatevermylife may be like, whether roses or thorns, the public is in no danger of being troubled with my confidence.
I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient, humble servant,
RICHARD HENRY WILDE.
Washington, 31st Dec. 1834.
[Communicated for the Southern Literary Messenger.]
The first advertisement of "WALTON'SANGLER," appeared in "Captain Wharton's Almanacks" as Old Lily in his Life and Times calls them.
It runs thus: "There is published a Booke of eighteen pence price called the Compleat Angler, or the contemplative man's recreation; being a discourse of Fish and Fishing, not unworthie the perusall.
"Sold by Richard Marriott in St. Dunstan's Church Yard Fleet Street. 1653.
"Motto. 'And Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a fishing: they say unto him we also go with thee.'—Johnxxi. & 3."
The following, from an old paper, will no doubt interest some of our readers.
"We have lying before us a volume of Shakspeare, in a tolerable state of preservation, composed of several of his plays, published at London, in pamphlets, at different periods during his lifetime, probably from 1609 to 1612; and it is more than probable that the author superintended their publication in person. We think this edition will settle many points as to the true reading, in cases at present in dispute, and also give the correct spelling of the name of the immortal poet, which is Shake-speare, and divided in the same manner as above. The first is a part of the tragedy of Henry VI. entitled 'The Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster.'"
The next is,
"The TRAGEDIE of King RICHARD the Third.CONTAININGHis treacherous Plots against his BrotherClarence:the pittifull murther of his innocent Nephewes: his tyrannicall Vsurpation: with the whole Course of his detested Life, and most deserved Death. As it has beene lately acted by the Kings Majesties Servants. Newly augmented, by William SHAKE-SPEARE. LONDON, Printed byThomas Creede, and are to be sold byMathew Lawedwelling inPaulsChurch-yard, at the Signe of theFoxe, 1612."
The third is quaintly entitled,
"THE MOST LAMENTABLETRAGEDIEOFTITUS ANDRONICUS. As it hath svndry Times beene plaide by the KINGSMASTIESSeruants.—LONDON, Printed forEedward White, and are to be sold at his Shoppe, nere the little North Dore ofPauls, at the Signe of theGun. 1611."
The last is,
"THEFAMOUS HISTORIEOFTROYLUSandCRESSEID, Excellently expressing The Beginning of their LOUES, WITH THEConceited Wooing of PANDARUSPrince ofLicia,WRITTEN BYWILLIAM SHAKE-SPEARE. LONDON, Imprinted byG. Eld, forR. BenianandH. Walley, and are to be sold at theSpred Eagle, inPaules Church yeard, ouer against the great North Doore. 1609."
The address to the reader of this play, has too much originality and merit to omit.
"A neur writer, to an euer reader.
"Newes.
"Newes.
"ETERNALL reader, you haue heere a new play, neuer stal'd with the stage, neuer clapperclawd with the palmes of the vulger, and yet passing full of the palme comicall; for it is a birth of your braine, that neuer vnder-tooke any thing commicall, vainely; and were but the vaine names of commedies, changde for the titles of commedities or of playes for pleas; you should see all those grand censors, that now stile them such vanities, flock to them for the main grace of their grauities: especially this authors commedies, that are so fram'd to the life, that they serve for the most common commentaries, of all the actions of our lives, showing such a dexteritie, and power of witte, that the most displeased with playes, are pleased with his commedies. And all such dull and heauy-witted worldlings, as were never capable of the witte of a commedie, comming by report of them to his representations, have found that witte there, that they never found in themselves, and haue parted better wittied than they came; feeling an edge of witte set vpon them, more than euer they dreamed they had braine to grinde it on. So much and such savored salt of wittee is in his commedies, that they seeme (for their height of pleasure) to be borne in that sea that brought forth Venus. Amongst all there is none more witte then this: and had I time I would comment upon it, though I know it needs not, (for so much as will make you think your testerne well bestowed) but for so much worth, as euen poore I know to be stuft in it. It deserves such a labour, as well as the best commedy in Terence or Plautus. And beleeue this, that when hee is gone, and his commedies out of sale, you will scramble for them, and set vp a new English inquisition. Take this for a warning, and at the perill of your pleasures losse, and judgments, refuse not, nor like this the lesse, for not being suelied, with the smoaky breath of the multitude; but thanke fortune for the scape it hath made amongst you. Since by the grand possessors wills I beleeue you should haue prayed for them rather then been prayd. And so I leaue all such to bee prayd for (for the state of their wits healths) that will not praise it. Vale."
From the Albion.
One of the enormities of Protestantism, which shocks the Papists, is the marrying of our Clergy. What is to be said of the Roman Catholic Bishop England, who, going on a foreign mission, takes out with himfour nuns?—
Having shown this sprightly contribution to our Roman Catholic sub-editor, he begs leave to offer an explanation of the seeming inconsistency:—
A late number of Frazer's Magazine contains an elaborate review of "Roberts' Life and Correspondence of Hannah Moore," in which are interspersed much of the keen sarcasm and provoking levity for which that periodical is distinguished. The reviewer concludes as follows: "For Mrs. Moore we have a high regard, as a staunch tory and good churchwoman, though of the so-called evangelical clique. She was however practical in her piety; and this is the sure test of sincerity. Be her name therefore honored! She was an extraordinary individual, and would have been such had she not been an authoress. We esteem her personal character far above her literary. In the one she was truly great, in the other respectable and prosperous. To sum up all, she was a practically wise and prudent woman; nevertheless her prudence was an overmatch for her wisdom. To perfection she wanted two grave requisites—greater intuitive knowledge, and ahappy husband. The first she derived at second hand and from shallow streams; the last she avoided altogether. She thus escaped one great trial; but they who retreat from battle have no claim to the victor's wealth."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
Air—"The Lass of Peatie's Mill."
Air—"The Lass of Peatie's Mill."
E. A. S.
We send forth our herald a fifth time, with renewed confidence in the kind disposition of our patrons to give it a glad welcome,—to visit its imperfections with sparing censure, and to regard with favor whatever merits it may possess, in sympathy for its Southern origin, and the probable advantages involved in its final success. We are much cheered by the somewhat unexpected, and perhaps unmerited plaudits of a large portion of the periodical press, and especially that part of it which has heretofore enjoyed a kind of literary monopoly—but which generously merges every thing like a feeling of rivalry in the more honorable and patriotic sentiment of devotion to the great cause of American literature. From our northern and eastern friends indeed we have received more complimentary notices than from any of our southern brethren without the limits of our own state. We say this not in a reproachful spirit to our kindred, but in a somewhat sad conviction of mind, that we who live on the sunny side of Mason's and Dixon's line, are not yet sufficiently inspired with a sense of the importance of maintaining our just rights, or rather our proper representation in the republic of letters.
With the almost unbroken voice of public approbation to cheer us along, we have nevertheless heard of a few whose tastes are so exquisitely refined that they cannot relish our simple fare. We are sorry, very sorry indeed, that they will not be pleased; and in proof of the sincerity of our grief, we hereby invite these accomplished gentlemen toimproveour pages by contributions from their own pens. We hold the opinion that they who undertake to denounce so boldly, ought to be prepared to back their judgments by their own performances.
We continue the original and excellent "Sketches of the History and Present Condition of Tripoli, &c." They increase in interest to an American reader, as they approach the period which records the hostile collisions of the United States with those formidable powers. The valor of Decatur, and self-immolation of Somers, Wadsworth and Israel, at the commencement of the present century, are still fresh in the memory of thousands.
The authors of the original articles "On the Study of the Latin and Greek Classics," and "Memory—an Allegory," evince no inconsiderable share of intellectual power. To the former especially we may be excused for remarking that, more simplicity in style would not detract from the vigor and originality of his thoughts. There are some persons who either from choice or the peculiar character of their minds, love to dress their sentiments in quaint and obscure diction, butsimplicityis at last the transparent medium which reflects more strongly and clearly the force and brilliancy of the understanding.
The able author of the "Note to Blackstone's Commentaries," is entitled to be heard, even on a subject of such peculiar delicacy—a subject upon which it is natural that the best heads and purest hearts should essentially differ. Whilst we entirely concur with him that slavery as a political or social institution is a matter exclusively of our own concern—as much so as the laws which govern the distribution of property,—we must be permitted to dissent from the opinion that it is either a moral or political benefit. We regard it on the contrary as a great evil, which society will sooner or later find it not only its interest to remove or mitigate, but will seek its gradual abolition or amelioration, under the influence of those high obligations imposed by an enlightened christian morality. These are our honest sentiments, which we do not espouse however in derogation of the equally honest convictions of other minds.
The "Letters from a Sister," the three first of which appear in the present number, and which shall be regularly continued, will be read with interest, notwithstanding the numerous diaries and epistles which treat upon the same subjects.
We entertained some doubt about the admission of "The Doom" into our columns, not because of any inferiority in the style and composition, but because of the revolting character of the story. The writer, with apparent sincerity, states it to be founded upon actual occurrences; but we confess that it seems to us a wild and incredible fiction. True or false however, we derive from it this sound and wholesome moral,—that sooner or later wickedness will find its just reward,—and that of all the passions which ravage the heart and destroy the peace of society, there is none more detestable than revenge. The hero of the tale, who is described by his friend the writer, as "a light hearted and joyous fellow," was in truth a remorseless fiend; compared with whom Iago and Zanga were personifications of virtue; nor does the idle phantasy of a supernatural vision, or the pretended influence of fatalism, palliate the deep enormity of his crime. If the writer, who assumes the signature of "Benedict," really had such a friend, he should have drawn the mantle of oblivion over his dark frailties, and never have recorded them with seeming approbation. He should have avoided too, certain profane and unchaste allusions in his manuscript, which we have been obliged to suppress; for we scarcely deem it necessary to repeat that the "Messenger" shall not be the vehicle of sentiments at war with the interests of virtue and sound morals—the only true and solid foundation of human happiness.
We invite attention to the third letter from New England, by a Virginian,—whose talents, learning, and acute observation of men and things, and whose easy style of composition, qualify him in a high degree for the task of a tourist.
The paper from our friend "Oliver Oldschool" will we hope be read by the Dandies, if such creatures ever do read any thing calculated to produce improvement either in mind or morals.
Theselectedprose articles in this number will, we doubt not, be read with pleasure and interest. The article on "American Literature," and the impediments which retard its progress, is entitled to a patient and deliberate reading. Its sentiments and language, if they should be so unfortunate as not to command, at least deserve attention. The author has happily combined solidity of argument with grace and beauty in composition.
As we intend from this time forward to be less indulgent than heretofore to our poetical contributors, so we hope that the specimens now presented, if not all of equal merit, have at least enough to save them from censure. It is not expected indeed thatCRITICISMwill be either silent or forbearing; for we have never been so fortunate as to light upon any production, in prose or verse, in which its searching and microscopic eye might not detect some slight blemishes.
It will be perceived that we are again favored with a piece from the pen of Mr. Wilde; and we seize this opportunity of expressing the great pleasure we feel in transferring to our pages (under the head of "Variety") the letter of that gentleman, in which he assumes explicitly the sole authorship of those beautiful lines, which have been alike claimed for an ancient Greek bard and a modern Irish poet. The enemies of Mr. Wilde's literary reputation will now recant their unmerited charge of plagiarism, and one of the most exquisite poems which the genius of our country has produced will remain the undisputed property of its owner.
The author of "A Song of the Seasons," who assumes the quaint cognomen of "Zarry Zyle," (we wish he had chosen some other,) is unquestionably a youth of talent, and acute perception of all those minute, lovely and delicate objects, both in the natural and moral world, which can only be discerned by minds of superior mould. We beg leave however to suggest for consideration, whether he does not take too much pains to appear obscure—whether he does not too studiously delight in dressing up his thoughts in that mysterious and eccentric form of expression, which has detracted so much from the usefulness and popularity of men of genius. But for this fault, Coleridge, we doubt not would have ranked among the greatest bards of the present age. As it is, his reputation is only seen through the dim shadows of twilight—it does not blaze with the splendor of open day. Simplicity, unaffected simplicity, is the great rule in composition, as it is in the manners and conduct of life; and he who departs from it, does so at the hazard of not securing the just reward of his merits.
The Anniversary Meeting of this Society was held on the 3d and 4th Feb. 1835, in the Hall of the House of Delegates. The first evening was exclusively devoted to the transaction of business. On the second evening a learned, elaborate and elegant address was delivered by Professor Tucker of the University, to a numerous auditory, and was listened to with great attention. Mr. Maxwell of Norfolk presented to the Society the identical pistol with which Captain John Smith killed the Turk Grualgo, at the siege of Regal; and in his peculiarly happy manner, dilated upon the singular good fortune and heroic qualities of that extraordinary man. We shall speak of this valuable relic of antiquity, and of the traditional history upon which the fact of its identity rests, more particularly, in the February number. It is with great pleasure that we announce to our patrons that the Proprietor of the "Messenger" is authorised, by a resolution of the Society, to insert from time to time in his paper, under the direction of the standing committee, such portions of the manuscripts, &c. belonging to the Society, as the committee may select for publication. In our next number we hope to avail ourselves of this privilege—and it shall be our endeavor to urge the claims of the Society to the general attention and earnest regard of the public.
This form of ourJanuarynumber not having gone to press untilFebruary, has enabled us to pen the above.
I send you these lines1without the writer's name. It is one of many instances in proof of what I have long believed, that selections might be made from the unpublished writings of Virginians, composing a volume of which any country might be proud. The writer of the above throws off such scraps at idle times, without effort, and without pretension. With so much of the inspiration of poetry, he has nothing of its madness, and will never consent to be known to the world as an author.
1"Beauty without Loveliness." See articleabove.
So it is in other branches of literature. A man who has sense enough to write a good book, very often has too much sense to publish it. In countries where the division of labor has made literature a separate trade, necessity often overrules the judgment of the writer, forcing him to publish against his will—se invitoas well asinvita Minerva. No such necessity exists here, and hence, among us, few publish, but those who should be perpetually injoined the use of pen and ink. Thank God, the literary reputation of Virginia has never suffered much by such scribblers. We have a few such, but their writings were too bad to do much harm; they never crossed the State line.
Might you not take a hint from this consideration? The merit of your publication will give a wide circulation to all that it contains. Are you not then bound to be chary in your selections, and not lend your wings to bear to distant lands the weak twitterings or the tuneless chatter of the Pie and Sparrow kinds? The nightingale does not pour her note until their noise is stilled. Print only for poets, and poets will write for you. This is the true solution of the difficulty you have so strongly stated in your last number.
It is not in Virginia alone, that the writings which are permitted to see the light afford an inadequate idea of the literary resources of the country. It is not fair to judge of the poetical talents of our northern neighbors by the labored dulness of a Barlow; or by the writings of a certain literary cabal, which is trying to push its members into notice by mutual puffing and quotation. Halleck is not one of the firm; and Halleck is a true poet. But his writings first came out anonymously; and it is the blaze of his genius which has betrayed him to the public eye. The darkness in which it shrouds itself, distinguishes it from all that shines only by reflected light. Men hunt for diamonds in the night.
Even in England, where the trade of literature embraces writers of a very high order, I am not sure that the very best minds are devoted to it. Some of the finest poetry in the language was found among the manuscripts of Judge Blackstone. Nobody knew that Charles Fox wrote poetry until after his death. But he did, and such as no writer need have blushed to own.
Among the caprices of the "genus irritabile vatum," is that of hiding their talents. Some, from sheer spleen, will not write. John Randolph used to say that he would go to his grave "guiltless of rhyme." Yethe talked poetryfrom morning till night.
As I am out a purveyor for your journal, and not a contributor, I am bound to see that they, from whose writings I pilfer, come by no wrong. I must therefore enter a complaint on behalf of the friend whose letter I sent you, describing a scene on the Mississippi. His "clumps" of trees your compositor has cut down to "stumps." Can you wonder that your neighbor (contemporaryI believe is the word in fashion,) thought his letter but "so so?" He was no more bound to suppose that this was a misprint, than to reflect that a traveller, writing from the wilds of Missouri to a friend, might innocently make an unimportant mistake in quoting from a book that perhaps never crossed the Mississippi. But though he has to bear the brunt of the censure, it should in justice fall on you or me. The thing was well enough as a letter. The fault was in publishing it. But I shall attempt no defence. I thought it but "so so-ish" when I sent it to you, and therefore I said so. It was a plain unvarnished description, which had enabled me to see very distinctly what was well worth seeing, and I wished others to see it too. Had the composition been of a different character—had the painter thrusthimselfbetween the spectator and his picture, or so glossed it over that every object was lost in undistinguished glare, I should have given it to the public eye by other means. I should certainly not have defaced with it your modest pages. It surely would not be hard to fix on some periodical in which any sort of tinsel would be welcome, and find itself in congenial company. Such is the proper receptacle for all the trumpery wares of frothy declamation, incongruous metaphor, false eloquence and flippant wit, which make up what is commonly called fine writing. There, in the gay confusion of glass bead and gewgaw, any bauble, however worthless, finds its place, escaping censure by escaping notice.
To take more shame to myself, I acknowledge that the misquotation struck me as I copied the letter. But the turn of the passage did not admit of its correction; and I did not think it worth while to append a note to tell what every body knows, and no one needs to know.
But I shall do better in future. While you continue to publish what I send you, I shall continue to cater for you. In doing this, I shall henceforth cross the t's and dot the i's in my copies, although this should have been omitted in the original. "I am wae to think" indeed, as Burns says, what small critics would do for want of such mistakes. A link in nature's chain (the last and lowest indeed) would be lost. Theauceps syllabarum"the word catcher that lives on syllables" would be starved out. The race would be extinct for want of food. The king of these insects bears among naturalists the formidable name of thedragon fly. The boys call him themusquito hawk. He shall have no more food from me. Your friend,
X. Y.
... I yesterday sent you some lines composed "Lang Syne," and written from memory.... Do not print these things, I beseech you, unless you like them. At the hazard of rapping my own knuckles, I shall quarrel with you if you publish much trash. You may lose a subscriber by rejecting it; but you will gain ten by every number you issue in which every article is good. Horace tells us that neither gods nor men can endure middling poetry. And what shall be said of that which is not even middling? Let us take an example. Byron's name is sacred to the muses. No man whose lips are not touched with the fire of inspiration should be allowed to use it. Yet we have him shown up, and words put into his mouth in many a piece, the writers of which cannot even count theirfeet.
"I was much delighted with the third number of the Messenger. It was really a fountain of pleasure to me, and I shall never forget the feelings which I experienced on reading the story entitled 'My Classmates.' I must believe that there cannot be any thing than the most flattering hopes and prospects of your success in your truly laudable—your truly patriotic undertaking. The people of Virginia, if none others, will support its cause. They cannot—no, they will not—they have too much love for the honor of Virginia, to let the 'Messenger' of science and literature suffer for the want of their most liberal patronage. But you are not laboring for Virginia alone: it is for the south—thewholesouth; and might I not add, for the whole country? For who doubts but that the Messenger is destined to call into active exertion the genius of the south? And who would deny but the south has genius which would do honor to thewholecountry in any walk? I shall never believe but that the land which produced a Henry, a Washington, a Marshall, a Madison and Monroe, can also under favorable auspices, produce a Cooper, Irving, Paulding, orany man. 'Go ahead,' as David Crockett says, 'since you are right.' I send you a subscriber."
"We are highly pleased with the Messenger. Its execution in themechanical department, is peculiarly neat; I see no periodical, that in this point, will compare with it. And its contents are so diversified, that there must be something adapted to almost every taste—that is—every taste that has its foundation in correct principles."
We have on hand a variety of articles in prose and verse, which we shall dispose of as soon as possible. Some of these favors are of decided, and some of equivocal merit. Others are so illegibly written, that it passes our skill to decipher them.