The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 2, October, 1834

From that hour all Lucille's happiness was at an end; her fairy palace was shattered in the dust; the magician's wand was broken up; the Ariel was given to the winds; and the br...

We had all assembled round the cheerful fire, that cracked and blazed in the wide old-fashioned hearth. The labor of the day was over. My father, snugly placed in his great easy...

He had been blind from the age of three years. "I know not," said he, as he related these particulars to Lucille one evening when they were alone; "I know not what the earth may...

The favorable reception of the first number of the Messenger has been a source of no small gratification. Letters have been received by the publisher from various quarters, appr...

Mr. Bulwer's novels have acquired no inconsiderable degree of popularity in the circles of fashionable literature. Whether they are destined to survive the temporary admiration...

Can I ever forget the happy days and nights there spent: The ardent fox hunt with whoop and hallo and winding horn: And would even TEMPERANCE blush to look, after the fatigues o...

In my youth, I read novels to a pernicious excess. They enfeebled my memory; unfixed my power of attention and my habits of thought; blunted my zest for history; dimmed my perce...

With regard to the style of eloquence that you shall adopt, that must depend very much on your own taste and genius. You are not disposed, I presume, to be an humble imitator of...

Breathe not thy notes with spirit tame, Nor pilfer, from an honor'd name, The praise that crowns the sons of fame. Be not by imitation taught, To blend with thine, the vagrant t...

How sad, how frightful the abode, How dread the silence of the tomb! There all surrounding objects speak The haunt of terror and of gloom-- And nought but tempests' horrid howl...