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
to _improve_ our 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, but _simplicity_
is 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.
The _selected_ prose 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 that CRITICISM will 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.