Part 18

Our city has lately been favored with a short visit from this celebrated lady, who has distinguished herself so much by her Illustrations of Political Economy, and other popular writings. She excited, of course, no small sensation in the _monde_ here, in which she appeared like a "star shot" _brightly_, (we cannot say "_madly_") "from its sphere;" and she has certainly left a very favorable impression of herself behind her. We had the pleasure ourselves to be in her company for a short time, and have set her down in our _souvenir_ as a woman of fine understanding; a ready talker; easy, affable, and unaffected in her manners; and altogether more feminine and pleasing than we had expected to find her.

We understand that Miss M. is making a sort of moral and political _reconnoissance_ of our country, for the purpose of giving the British public a more accurate account of our institutions, and the state of things amongst us, than any one has yet done. In some points, we think, she is admirably qualified for such a work; but in others, we should apprehend, she may be a little deficient. She has good sense, certainly; and, we suppose, a good disposition to do us justice; but we doubt whether she will have the best opportunities for obtaining full information upon some subjects; and, in many cases, her very sex must shut her out from the most proper sources of intelligence. Still she will, no doubt, give us something rather better than the scandal of Mrs. Trollope, or the blunders of Basil Hall. So we shall look out for her book with interest; and not the less for having seen and chatted with her for a few moments, whilst she was here.

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Miss M. we believe, is not at all poetical; but, it seems, she has inspired a friend of ours, who is also a friend of the Muses, to write the following tribute to her merit, which, with his permission, we append.

LINES.

ON MISS MARTINEAU.

When Martineau came, I was curious to see What sort of a body the damsel might be: A writer of sensible stories, I knew, On labor and wages; but was she _a blue_? Was she grave as a judge? Did she talk like a book? (A sort of man-woman,) and how did she look? So I waited upon her, and, venturing near, I whispered some words in her ivory ear; When she broke forth at once in her voluble chat, And talked away freely of this and of that, With such feminine ease, and such masculine sense, Without any portion of pride or pretence; (_Illustrating_ all that she said with a smile, That showed she could charm if she thought it worth while;) That I dub her, you see, "an agreeable dame, And worthy of Hymen, as well as of Fame."

_Richmond, Feb. 28_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EPITAPH.

ON A YOUNG LADY.

Where this bending willow weeps, All alone, Myrtilla sleeps: Softly scatter nard and myrrh, Lest ye should awaken her.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EPIGRAM.

ON A WALTZING GIRL.

There's a charming young girl that I know, And I've thought that, if I were a beau, I should like to engage her in chat, To feast on her smiles, and all that, And drink her sweet words as they flowed From her musical mouth, like an ode; But there's one thing that shocks me, I own, And drives me to let her alone: She has one of the worst of all faults-- _She is fond of this new-fangled waltz_.

Q.

ANOTHER.--ON THE SAME.

She is pretty, I agree; But she waltzes, sir, you see; And I would not give a fig For a _dancing whirligig_.

Q.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES.

Oh! to forget her!--_Young_.

Oh! give me that oblivious draught That comes from Lethe's silent shore! And when the charming cup is quaff'd, I may forget--and love no more.

Forget? Forget? And can it be? And is there aught beneath the sun Can wean my constant heart from thee, Thou lovely and beloved one?

Ah no! Remembrance cannot choose But hold thy precious image fast; And Time, whatever else I lose, Shall spare me that--till all is past.

Long nights of sorrow may elapse When all the stars of joy are set; This heart may bend--may break perhaps-- But never, never can forget.

MONOS.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE TRUE FOUNDATION.

Quisquis volet perennem Cautus ponere sedem, &c. _Boet. Lib, II, Met. 4_.

Say, wouldst thou build a lasting seat, Secure from Fortune's rage; A quiet and a safe retreat, To rest thy weary age?

Set not thy house upon the sand, By ocean's sounding shore; Vain Pleasure's palace cannot stand When tempests rise and roar.

Nor yet upon the mountain's side Command thy tower to rise: How oft the airy hall of Pride Calls lightning from the skies!

But build upon the solid rock, In that sweet vale of green Where the Good Shepherd feeds his flock, And wait life's closing scene.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.

There's a tuneful river In Erin's Isle, Where the sunbeams quiver In silvery smile; Where the leaves that fall 'Neath the autumn sky, Grow gem-like all, And never die: And such is the stream, by truth enlightened, That leaves the breast by wisdom brightened, Where even the joys that the storms dissever, Are turned to gems that glow forever.

There's a darkling tide In the Indian clime, By whose herbless side There's a sulphury slime-- To the flower that it touches, A scorching wave,-- To the bird that approaches, A weltering grave:-- And such are the waters of bitterness rising In the desart bosom of dark disguising; And the birds of joy, and the flowers of feeling, Must perish, wherever that wave is stealing.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES

TO MISS H---- M----

On her talking against slavery.

You're a foe to all slavery, Harriet, you say; Then why do you talk in so charming a way? For I too have surely a right to be free, And yet you are fastening your chains upon me!

_Richmond, February 28_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TRUST NOT.

BY A. L. B. M.D.

"Ay they that find Affection's perfect trust on aught of earth, Have many a dream to start from."

Trust not to aught of earthly mould; O! trust not woman's love-- The warmest heart will soon grow cold, The purest faithless prove.

Put not thy trust in glowing smiles, Or lips of rosy hue; O! fly thee far from woman's wiles, Her heart cannot be true.

O! never trust the sunny beam In maidens sparkling eye, How bright soever it may seem, It glistens but to die.

The lips that once could speak of love, Can breathe another strain; And, O! the warmest breast may prove The seat of proud disdain.

Then leave the hall of love and song, Cast off the gaudy chain, Nor worship with the craven throng, Where truth must sue in vain.

VARIETY.

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 so _substantial_ a 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--

'I'd offer thee this heart of mine If I could love the less,' &c. &c.

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."

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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.

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Scraps from the "Spirit of the Times."

A SIGNIFICANT 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.

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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.

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LADY'S REPLY TO AN IMPERTINENT.

"Louisa, you've the brightest eyes, They look me _through_, just like a dart." "Do they, Sir Fop?" Louisa cries; "If so, I'm sure _they see no heart_."

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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 a _solo_."

"Well, sing it _so low_, then, that nobody can hear it."

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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,

"from the sweet South, _Stealing and giving odor_."

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!"

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

I'm sorry dear M----, there is a damp to your joy, Nor think my old strain of mythology stupid, When I say that your wife had a _right_ to a boy, For Venus is nothing without a young Cupid.

But since Fate the boon that you wished for refuses, By granting three girls to your happy embraces, She meant, while _you_ wandered _abroad_ with the _Muses_, Your _wife_ should be circled at _home_ by the _Graces_.

EDITORIAL REMARKS.

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.

"A perfect judge will read each work of wit, With the same spirit that its author writ; Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind."

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 the _Tripoline 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 of _two_ words 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 a _Note 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's _Address 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 more _piquancy_ than 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 too _political_ for 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 the _poetry_ in 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.

EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS.

FROM PENNSYLVANIA.

_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.

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FROM WASHINGTON CITY.

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.

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FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA.

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.

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FROM GEORGIA.

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_.

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FROM ALABAMA.

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.

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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.

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FROM OHIO.

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

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FROM TENNESSEE.

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.

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FROM WESTERN VIRGINIA.

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.

TO CORRESPONDENTS, CONTRIBUTORS, &c.