Chapter 9

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO MISS H—— M——On her talking against slavery.

Richmond, February 28.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BY A. L. B. M.D.

The subjoined advertisement, which appeared, we believe, in the Lynchburg Virginian some time since, escaped our notice until recently. We are gratified that the opinion expressed by a correspondent of the "Messenger," in respect to the stanzas referred to, is sustained in sosubstantiala manner. We feel authorized to say that the name of the author can be communicated by us if desired.

"The author of the piece which appeared in the Southern Literary Messenger, recently, commencing—

will receive a Gold Medal, by writing to 'W. B. T.' Lynchburg, Virginia, and giving his name, which the writer of this notice wishes to have engraved upon it."

From Littel's Museum of Foreign Literature.

Byron and Brougham. It may not be generally known that the late Lord Chancellor Brougham is the real author of the famous article in the Edinburgh Review, on Byron's juvenile production "Hours of Idleness," for which Jeffrey was so severely taken to task in the satire "English Bards and Scottish Reviewers." We have this fact from an authority on which we can place the utmost reliance.

Scraps from the "Spirit of the Times."

ASIGNIFICANT QUESTION. Stuart once asked a painter, who had met with a painter's difficulties, "how he got on in the world?" "Oh," said the other, "so, so! hard work—but I shall get through." "Did you ever hear of any body that did not?" was the rejoinder.

CLERICAL ERROR. An ignorant priest celebrating mass, finding in the rubric, "salta per tria," meaning "skip three" (that is, three pages,) took three leaps in front of the altar, to the astonishment of the congregation.

A scrap from a conversation between too "literary and fashionable characters," in the immediate vicinity of Thorburn's garden.

"Hist now and I'll sing you asolo."

"Well, sing itso low, then, that nobody can hear it."

A wag of the first water closed an amusing and spirited article in the last Knickerbocker with the following "brace" of clever items. I have been sick of poetry since I saw the Vermont editor's quotation from Shakspeare. Speaking of the free negroes in New York, and their depredation on society, he says, that during the fervors of a summer's solstice, they come,

But more especially, since a friend of mine travestied a noble line of Byron's by applying it—while riding along a road which commanded a view of Weathersfield, Connecticut—to that place of onions, tears and pretty maidens:

"Niobe of nations—there she stands!"

The following epigram from the North American Magazine, is a "Bonne bouche."

We have placed the whole of the letter of our correspondent in Shepherdstown, (See Letters from Correspondents,) before our readers, and we do it the more readily, as it contains some gentle thrusts at ourselves, which we receive in very good part.

We take leave also to offer one or two words of explanation. The writer is totally mistaken in supposing that in order to obtain admission into the columns of the "Messenger," it is necessary that its contributors should be personally known to the Publisher, or his Editorial Auxiliaries, or that the contributors themselves should be individually known to fame. The great design of the Messenger, from its commencement to the present moment, has been much misconceived, if such an inference has been deemed in the slightest degree warrantable. Its principal aim has been, to foster and encourage native genius—no matter how obscure or humble, and without inquiring whether the writer be a friend and acquaintance, or a stranger. Its columns are open to the fair claims of him who inhabits the lowly cottage, as well as of the proud tenant of a wealthier mansion. That some articles have met with a kind reception which did not deserve it, is extremely probable; and it is not less probable, that some have been excluded, or hitherto suspended, for lack of proper discrimination in our council of criticism. We will endeavor to make amends however, by sharpening our optics a little in future; and, if we cannot please all, we will strive to give offence to none. Our correspondent we think, however, is a little harsh in his criticisms. It is easy to select particular words or passages from any production, and by showing partial defects, involve the whole in ridicule or censure.

We make this quotation from Pope, for the special benefit of our Shepherdstown friend. Does he see no beauty, no merit, no poetry, in the "Song of the Seasons?" We grant there are defects, and we endeavored gently to point them out; but we still contend that the writer (we have reason to believe him a very young man,) is endowed with talents of no mean order. Who has written more quaintly and obscurely than Ben Johnson or Cowley; or to come nearer to our own time, than Wordsworth or Coleridge? And yet who will deny to either of these bards the possession of genius. The remarks of our correspondent upon "The Passage of the Beresina," are, we think, also couched in too much severity. He seems to think there can be no good poetry without exact metrical arrangement and harmony; but there are numerous examples to the contrary. We do not say indeed that all his observations are unjust, but some at least strike us as hypercritical. We take pleasure in concurring with him however, in the high praise which he bestows upon the two little poems which appeared in the last number, to wit: "Beauty without Loveliness," and the lines to "Ianthe."

We hope that no one whose eye may light upon the fourth number of theTripoline Sketches, will forego the pleasure of reading it. The energy and enterprise of our brave countryman, General Eaton, were worthy to be recorded by such a pen.Note:We have to call the reader's attention to a typographical transposition oftwowords in the fourth number of the "Sketches." In the first column of page 261, eleven lines from bottom, instead of"Mourad, joined the Turks, others sided with the French,"read "Mourad, joined the French, others sided with the Turks."

Impartial justice would have required the insertion of the answer to aNote to Blackstone's Commentaries, even if it had not been demanded by higher considerations. The author has won many a trophy on the field of logic and eloquence; and even an adversary who should contend that his weapons were pointless, would not deny that they were highly polished, and dexterously wielded.

We are mistaken if the "Romance of Real Life" be not highly commended.

We particularly invite the reader's attention to the fourth number of the "Letters from New England, by a Virginian." It is replete with interesting facts and reflections, presented in the writer's peculiarly happy and forcible style.

The "Extracts from my Mexican Journal," are from a gentleman every way qualified from his opportunities for accurate observation, to present vivid pictures of the city of Montezuma and its environs. We hope he will feel no reluctance to furnish us with further glances at his journal.

Mr. Garnett'sAddress before the Institute of Education at Hampden Sidney College, never before published, needs no commendation from us. His ability as a writer, and his ardent zeal in the cause of education, are well known to the public. To the graver portion of our readers, especially such as have thought deeply upon the necessity of wise and extended systems of instruction, and their intimate connexion with the preservation of sound morals and rational liberty, this paper will be particularly acceptable.

The "Contrast," by a lady, whose pen has heretofore charmed our readers, will be read with interest. It is a touching illustration of the consequences which await the love of pleasure and a life of imprudence, as well as of the solid benefits which attend a contrary course.

The second number of "Hints to Students of Geology," is a learned epitome of the various theories with which geologists have puzzled themselves and mankind. That absurd views have been entertained concerning this science, does no more detract from its importance,—than that because of the vain and visionary speculations which were once indulged respecting astronomy, the now certain truths of that sublime branch of knowledge should be discredited.

The "Letters from a Sister," which have reached their seventh in the present number, increase in attraction. They will amply repay the reader.

We cannot say that we coincide in every particular with the able and eloquent author of the Review of the Orations of Messrs. Adams and Everett on the death of La Fayette. Some of his criticisms are undoubtedly just, but some perhaps have morepiquancythan the subject deserved. We cannot concur in the sentiment that the fame of La Fayette, or even of Washington, has placed either of those great men superior to eulogy. The most sublime events and the most heroic actions have generally found some poet or historian of sufficient qualifications to record them with dignity and effect. Even the most exalted truths which have ever dawned upon mankind,—the facts and doctrines of revelation,—have lost none of their grandeur in the simple narratives of plain and unlettered men. We somewhat fear too that a few of the passages in the review may be supposed rather toopoliticalfor a literary journal. We hope however that in this respect our apprehensions are unfounded.

To the same vigorous pen however, we award all the praise which is due for the judicious and discriminating notice of Mrs. Jameson's Book, which appears in the present number.

We can fearlessly recommend thepoetryin this number,—if not faultless, as at least superior to the carpings of illiberal and puerile criticism. There are some little great men in the world, who have the vanity to conceive that their taste and judgment (if they have any) is the standard for all mankind—and if all do not exactly conform to it, they snap and bark like the curs which infest our streets, and annoy the by-ways. True criticism is the sentence of a liberal and enlightened judgment, which delights as much in approving what is worthy of praise, as in condemning what deserves censure. By such an arbiter, and by such alone, let the specimens of native genius which we now present to our readers be tried. Reluctant as we are to discriminate, we cannot forbear to express the hope that the author of "Truth and Falsehood," and another piece in the present number,—will, from time to time, unfold his "Port Folio" for our special use—and that he will delight others with some of those dulcet strains with which he has beguiled his own toilsome and victorious march in the severer paths of science.

The lines commencing "Oh! give me that oblivious draught," are beautiful.

Philadelphia, Feb. 17, 1835.

I enclose five dollars for my subscription to the "Southern Messenger." Allow me to take the occasion to express my particular gratification in the perusal of the "Letters from New England." Although their merit as literary compositions, as bright and graphical descriptions of the condition and manners of an interesting people, much misunderstood, is of a high order, they have, in my estimation, a still higher value. They tend to remove prejudices excited by vulgar anecdotes and the practices of vulgar men; to bring the members of the American family better acquainted with each other; to cultivate a fraternal feeling and mutual respect among them; and to show that there is no important difference of character, education or habits, between gentlemen of the same grade in the South and North. Each have some local peculiarities in their modes of life, but none of them affect the substantial ingredients of their personal and national character.

If your Journal should do nothing more than promote this good feeling throughout our great Republic, it will entitle itself to the patronage and thanks of every sound American. With great respect,

JOSEPH HOPKINSON.

I am happy to tell you, that I hear your Messenger spoken well of in many high quarters. A young lady here, who, in talent, education and taste, has not, I think, her equal among the ladies of America, yesterday told me that it contained better original poetry than any other periodical she had ever seen.

I cannot let this occasion pass, without expressing my high sense of the merits of your most excellent periodical, the "Southern Literary Messenger." It is read here with universal applause. As a Virginian, I have used and shall continue to use my best efforts to promote its success here.

Permit me to compliment you, sir, on your undertaking; and deem it no flattery when I express myself delighted with the numbers of your work which have been thus far published. The sincere good wishes of every man interested in the cause of "southern literature," are with you; and if these wishes do but dictate, as I have no doubt they will do,sincere exertions, success will crown your efforts, and triumph attend your periodical. Your "Messenger" shall not depend upon the "Old Dominion" alone for encouragement in its pioneering pilgrimage. From the land of the palmetto and the orange-grove, shall tributes to your budget flow.Macte virtute.

I have received four numbers of the Southern Literary Messenger, and am well pleased with the work. I have no doubt but it will be more extensively circulated than any literary work in the United States. There is something in every number interesting and instructive to the youth, the middle, and the aged.

Your numbers of the "Literary Messenger" were received by the last evening's mail. My anticipations relative to its merit, though of the most exalted nature, were more than fully gratified. That you may be amply compensated, both in honor and lucre, for so laborious and magnanimous an undertaking, is my most ardent wish.

Permit me to add here, that I am heartily glad that theexperiment(for such it is,) of publishing a literary paper in the south, is likely to succeed. I do hope that the southerners, and especially theyoung men, haveprideandpatriotismsufficient to sustain the Messenger, both by their funds and talent. As a native of the south I feel an interest in its permanent success.

I am much pleased with the Messenger, particularly the third and fourth numbers, and hope you will continue as you have begun, and not let it degenerate and become filled up with the light stuff that is generally found in the columns of the periodicals of the day.

The opinion entertained of the Messenger, is, perhaps, more clearly manifested by becoming subscribers, than in any other way; you will therefore know that it is very favorably received in this section when I give you the following list of five subscribers.

We have given the communication of "Spectator" the disposition which he suggested, in case of its exclusion from our columns. It is due to the writer to state, that we lament with him, the innovations upon the ancient simplicity of Virginia manners, which are daily becoming more popular and fashionable. We remember well the time, when an attempt to introduce publicwaltzingbetween the two sexes, would have been sternly rebuked, by those who now not only tolerate, but encourage it. We think, however, that his satire is too severe and pointed; and might, possibly, do more mischief than good. We are aware that satire is almost the only weapon by which customs violating propriety, can be driven from society,—and especially from that circle which,par excellence, is called thefirst;but then, to be effective, the arrow must be keen and elegant; and neither barbed nor tipped with venom. We are not sure either, that "Spectator" strikes at the root of the mischief. Why should he level all his wit at the poor girls, and suffer their fathers, and mothers, and brothers, who aid and abet the custom complained of, to escape censure? Young females, just entering into society, are liable to receive the strongest impressions, from those who are most likely to share their confidence. It is one of the privileges of the sex too, to be won by assiduous attentions; and, if their heads are sometimes made a little giddy by adulation, it is less imputable to them as a fault, than to those flippant flatterers who pour the "leperous distilment" into their ears,—and as often laugh at the fruits of their own folly and insincerity.

We beg leave to say to our worthy young friend, and frequent correspondent, who resides somewhere in a nearly due north line from the Metropolis, that we had pledged our pages to an answer from another quarter to the "Note to Blackstone's Commentaries"—before the receipt of his essay on the same subject. With respect to hispoetical effusions, we hope he will not take the remark amiss, that, whilst we should like to gratify him, by their insertion—we fear that he has not bestowed sufficient care upon most of them—to authorise the belief, that our readers would also be gratified. We ask him candidly, to say, whether he does not think that the following stanza, in the "Lines to Lillia," might be considerablyimproved.

We confess that we cannot very readily perceive its claim to the rank of poetry, nor indeed penetrate its real meaning—though it is probable, that, owing to the peculiar character of the hand writing, the language of the writer may not be truly represented.

We have a number of favors on hand which we shall attend to as speedily as possible. Among those whose exclusion from the present number we particularly regret, is the article on thefine arts.

We have received the poetical communications of a writer who chooses, for some reason or other, to sign himself "Fra Diavolo;" but too late for our present number. We shall publish them in our next, according to his wish, "as poetry" (and very fine poetry it is,) but with some small omissions which wemustmake, not so much for the sake of our "orthodoxy," as for that of common decency, which the lines excluded would, in our judgment, grossly offend. Such things indeed, may be only "dramatic," and quite in character for a "Lover Fiend;" but we do not choose, for our part, to deal with one of his cloth, in any form or shape whatever. We have, in fact, no sort of taste for German "diablerie," which, in our judgment, sins against good taste, as well as against good morals. In saying this, however, we must not be understood to insinuate any thing against the character of our "unknown" correspondent himself, who, for aught we know, may be the very pink of virtue and decorum. We only speak of his pieces "as poetry," and not as articles of his creed, which we should be sorry to suppose them. Indeed it is sufficiently apparent to us that, in the worst parts of his verses, he is only affecting something that is foreign to himself, but which he happens to think very fine; and we regret that he should thus fancy to imitate such vicious models as Byron, Shelly, and other gentlemen of "the Satanic school," as it has been called, who, we think, have had their day. It is a pity, in truth, that he should do so; for he has evidently a fine vein of his own, and, we are confident, would do better if he would only dare to be a little more original. Let him reform his poetry, then, (we do not say himself,) and we will give him "a fair page," at any time, for the effusions of his genius, which, we can truly assure him, we shall always be happy to receive, and to display.

We thank our correspondent D. for the Parody of the Lines on the Death of Sir John Moore, which he has so obligingly sent us; and which, we think, is worthy of all the praise he gives it—for thepoetry. We believe, however, that we have seen it in print more than once already; and we must reserve our columns, as far as possible, for original matter. We are of opinion, moreover, (though in this we may be singular,) that it would not be exactly right, or in good taste, toprofane, as it were, one of the very finest odes in our language, by associating it in our remembrance, with a burlesque imitation of it, which might rather injure its beauty in our minds. Indeed we hate all parodies; or, at least, all such as cast an air of ridicule over their originals; because they give us a lower and baser pleasure, for one of a higher and purer strain. So we hope our friend D. will excuse us for shutting his article out, (good as it is in its way,) and send us something better for it, from his own pen.

As you do notknowme, I take it for granted that this communication will not be honored with a place in the "Messenger;" for I have discovered by your "editorial remarks," that the authors of almost all the pieces which adorn the columns of that work, are personsalreadydistinguished in the literary world, (as, for instance, "Death among the Trees," "the production of a distinguished female writer already known to fame,") or else they are individuals with whom you have a personal acquaintance,—as the author of "Lines on the billet of an early friend," whom you "know as a gentleman of fine taste and varied endowments," &c. &c. Now all this is very well, and no one can object to it, so long as the productions of those persons are really worthy of your notice, or of a place in the Messenger. And as the pieces which I have just quoted are very beautiful, I can make no objections tothem. But how the authors of some of the poetical effusions which grace the columns of your fifth number, have managed to get into your good graces, is to me a mystery, unless it was through a personal acquaintance with yourself, and your reluctance to wound their feelings by refusing to publish their pieces, for I know that you have too much taste to have published them through choice. I do not pretend to say that the poetical contributions for the Messenger are, generally speaking, indifferent; on the contrary, I believe it contains more truly excellent original poetry, than any periodical I have ever seen. Even the fifth number is not entirely destitute of beauty in this line. It contains several very talented and beautiful pieces of original poetry; among which, the piece headed "Beauty without Loveliness," stands pre-eminent. I have seldom met with a more chaste and beautiful piece of composition than that. In my opinion, it is surpassed by nothing that has ever appeared in the Messenger, unless it be the piece to "Ianthe," in the fourth number, beginning—"Think of me," &c. and signed "Fergus." You have not thought either of those pieces worth noticing in your "remarks;" but I am confident that if you will read them again, you will agree with me in thinking that they are surpassed by nothing that the Messenger has ever contained.

But while I admire these and many other beautifulgems, I cannot but marvel why you should crowd your columns with such trash as most of the pieces contained in your fifth number. For example, the "Song of the Seasons," by "Zarry Zyle," the "youth ofunquestionable talent, perception," &c. He certainly must be a youth ofgreat perception, and judges every one by himself, or else he never would have inflicted upon the public thestudyof his "song." I perfectly agree with you in thinking it advisable for him to change hisstyle, and write less obscurely; for as we are not all youths ofhis perception, it is quite difficult for us

"To comprehend, the mystery of what he means."

If, instead of talking about "amethystine beams," "bugle-bees," (a new species I presume, as I never heard of them before; perhaps Zarry meant "bumble" bee,) "old summer'sconck," robins withgoldenbreasts, (theyusedto bered,) andgauzewings, and "soughingblasts," &c. &c. he would give us a little morecommon senseand a little better measure in his next, we will like it better. But if Mr. Zyle's song were the only objectionable piece contained in the fifth number,—or if it were theworstthat it contained, we might "grin and bear it." But there are many others even more dull and common than this. I will name but one more—"The Passage of the Beresina." Now I appeal to you as a man of candor and good taste, to know if there is any thing in this effusion which should entitle it to a place in the Messenger? Has it one single attribute of true poetry? If it has I beseech you to point it out in your next number, for I confessIcannot discoverone. No, it has not evenmeasure. I beg you to take the trouble to read it over again, for I am certain you never gave it a very careful perusal, or you never would have printed it; your taste is too good. Read it once more, and if you can discover any thing likepoetry, or even like common sense in the following lines, I hope you will let us know what it is in your next:

Now I say if you can discover any thing likepoetryin these lines, or can tell us howthousandswho are "rigid and fixed indeath'scold embrace," can "clenchandcling," or "spurn" a friend to his "dark dreary place," you will very much oblige more than one of your subscribers. I could make you many other quotations from the same piece, equally as obscure as the above. As—

I should presume not, as it would be rather a difficult matter for the spirit tohave fled beforethe "dying be dead." Now the idea of the "blast'sspeeding on thewingsof thewind," is certainlyoriginal;but not satisfied withthis, the author has also hoisted death upon the same wings. I wonder what thewinddid in the meantime? Took ita-foot, I s'pose; or perhaps it borrowed death's wings for a few moments.

The two last lines of this piece would be very pretty, if it did not unfortunately happen to be impossible for the "smile of Hope" to linger upon the "face of the dead"before"the spirit be fled." Dead, fled, and dread, seem to be favorite rhymes with this author.

Your correspondent from "Eastern Virginia," has given you some excellent advice: I hope you will follow itnext time.

You say, those who dislike the contents of the Messenger, should write better pieces themselves. I do not exactly agree with you. We pay for reading the paper, and are entitled to thebestpieces thatarewritten for it, and not merely those of your personal friends and acquaintances. I am one of your subscribers, and most sincere well wisher.

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