_March 25, 1835_.
* * * * *
_From the author of the "Note to Blackstone's Commentaries."_
You judge rightly that I have no call to answer my censor. I have no
pride of authorship in the affair. I wished to awaken the public mind,
and he has aided me, for which he has my thanks. I have no controversy
with him. He argues against opinions I have not advanced, and, in his
last paragraph, comes in aid of that I had endeavored to maintain. By
his own showing a _quasi_ war exists _among ourselves_, under
circumstances which render any nearer approach to peace impossible. We
have the alternative of "a war-like peace, or a peace-like war," and
he wisely prefers the former. He predicates this decision on the only
principle for which I contended, viz: the effect of a continuing
necessity. I only suggested the _possibility_ of such a case. _He_
finds it existing _in fact_. It doubtless _might_ exist in various
ways. _Destruction_ is the precise object of _savage_ warfare. With
us, it is the _means_ to an end. With savages, it is the _end_ itself.
Had he seen, as I have, a few individuals of once powerful tribes,
escaped from massacre, and saved from utter extinction only by finding
shelter among the whites, he would not have to learn that _bellum ad
internecionem_ is not unknown among savages.
The style and matter of his essay both show an education which should
have taught him that a supercilious tone should find no place in a
controversy between an anonymous and an avowed author. _He_ wears
defensive armor. _I_ am naked. Is it chivalrous; is it manly; is it
fair, in a contest which should be conducted "as if a brother should a
brother dare to gentle exercise and proof of arms," to thrust with
"unbated point?" His point indeed is not envenomed, nor does he stab
malignantly, but he should have touched my scutcheon with the reverse
of his lance. To strike with the point, however gently, is a challenge
to combat of _outrance_. I decline it.
* * * * *
_Extract of a Letter from the Reviewer of Messrs. Adams' and Everett's
Orations_.
You say, "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." Granted, but what is _dignity_?
Does it consist in that sort of declamation which is meant to "split
the ears of the groundlings?" What is _effect_? Is it _stage effect_?
Is it made up of "gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss and thunder," and
images placed by the speaker's side to be apostrophized? The example
that you give illustrates the maxim that "the language of eulogy is
misapplied to transcendant greatness. It weakens and dictates the
truth of history."
You say "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."
Most true. The _simplicity_ of the narrative is its excellence. But
what should we say to a Gospel after the manner of Mr. Adams, or even
of Mr. Everett?
* * * * *
_Mr. White_:--The legitimate aim of criticism is, as you yourself have
more than once remarked, to point out the proper path towards
excellence. A true critic effects this by gently and courteously
exposing error, and lauding beauties where beauties are to be found.
So far as I can judge, neither gentleness nor courtesy can be said to
characterize the critique of your "Shepherdstown friend." The want of
these qualities would certainly have induced me to pass over the
letter in question, had it not received honorable notice from
yourself. In the pamphlet war between Matthew Carey and the
redoubtable Cobbett, the first apologizes for his own rudeness, by
quoting the old proverb, "fight the devil with fire," or something to
that amount. But this is bad philosophy; and in my brief answer, I
will endeavor as much as possible to observe that courtesy which your
correspondent has forgotten.
In the "Song of the Seasons" quaintness was aimed at, and aimed at
only because I thought the subject called for it. One part of my
object was to depict the minute relations existing between the human
heart and earth itself. Minuteness was necessary, and to be minute
without quaintness, would render any piece dull and pointless
analysis. With regard to obscurity, and the use of terms, I would ask
your critic, if when he had "_studied the song_," obscurity did not
disappear, and if the terms are not in keeping with the quaintness
aimed at. Indeed, I would ask him, if the terms used are not just such
as should have been used in any case. Beams _are_ "amethystine." We
will find an admirable application of the word in Keates' "Eve of St.
Agnes;" and Mrs. Hemans sings very prettily of the drowsy "Bugle-Bee."
By the way, let me in this last phrase, adopt the change recommended.
The stanzas quoted is the second of the "_Song_."
"A white roe wandered where sweet herbs and tender grass were
peeping;
His snowy head was poised in pride, his chainless heart was
leaping:
The '_bumble-bee_' had called the herd from icy solitude,--
And he had come at '_bumble_' call--fleet centaur of the wood!"
A vast improvement i' faith. The term "_gauze wing_," is as common as
the rhymes _love_ and _dove_. "_Soughing blasts_" are frequent in
_Wyatt_, and more frequent in _Shakspeare_. An amethystine beam thrown
on a red body produces a glittering gold, and thus the red breast of
"poor robin" was metamorphosed into one of gold. So much for the
criticism. As for the critic, he has most unequivocally proved
himself, by these syllable censures, to be one of the _anceps
syllabarum_ tribe. As such I wonder that you, who have so often
expressed your contempt for the whole race, should have opened your
columns to his communication. Is not his letter a specimen of "the
carpings of illiberal and puerile criticism?" Is not the writer one of
the "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 who snap and bark like the curs which infest our
streets and annoy the by-ways?" I have used your own words, and ask if
they are not applicable.
The Song of the Seasons (though never so little deserving,) has
received praise from a higher quarter than Shepherdstown. My home is
not very far from that village--near enough to know the character of
its people; and in truth, gentlemen of talent and distinction are
there with whom I have ever held it an honor to be acquainted. But it
is plain that the critique could not have been written by any one of
them. If I had no other reason for thinking so, I would say, "because
it is not in keeping with the good sense, accurate taste, and elevated
candor which I know these to possess." As for their townsmen, I have
never heard of any Longinus among them, whose praise would not be
disgrace. If your "friend" thinks an answer to this necessary, let me
hope that his name will accompany the communication; or if he is
unwilling to annoy, with private concerns, the public "upon whom Larry
Lyle has [already] inflicted the _study_ of his song," his
communication may be directed, not to yourself, but to his very humble
servant,