Part 19

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 public _waltzing_ between 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 the _first_; 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 his _poetical 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 considerably _improved_.

"Take the verse and oh if joy, Blooms to print one votary there Bear the strain with thee and brightly Thou shalt in its joys share."

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 the _fine 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 we _must_ make, 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 the _poetry_. 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, to _profane_, 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.

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FROM SHEPHERDSTOWN, JEFFERSON COUNTY, VA.

As you do not _know_ me, 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 persons _already_ distinguished 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 to _them_. 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 beautiful _gems_, 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 of _unquestionable talent_, perception," &c. He certainly must be a youth of _great perception_, and judges every one by himself, or else he never would have inflicted upon the public the _study_ of his "_song_." I perfectly agree with you in thinking it advisable for him to change his _style_, and write less obscurely; for as we are not all youths of _his 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's _conck_," robins with _golden_ breasts, (they _used_ to be _red_,) and _gauze_ wings, and "_soughing_ blasts," &c. &c. he would give us a little more _common sense_ and 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 the _worst_ that 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 confess _I_ cannot discover _one_. No, it has not even _measure_. 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 like _poetry_, or even like common sense in the following lines, I hope you will let us know what it is in your next:

"Thousands lie here; kindred and aliens in race, They are rigid and fix'd in _death's cold embrace_; They _clench_ and they _cling_ in the last dying grasp, And the living, the dead, reluctantly clasp: Or, fearing a friend in his last cold embrace, They spurn him beneath to his dark dreary place."

Now I say if you can discover any thing like _poetry_ in these lines, or can tell us how _thousands_ who are "rigid and fixed in _death's_ cold embrace," can "_clench_ and _cling_," 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--

"With unearthliest cries, grim phantasied shapes Brood o'er the senses ere the spirit escapes; On the wings of the _wind_ how swift speeds the blast, With pinions all viewless it fleets as the past;-- Oh say, does it bear the spirits that have fled, In the last bitter _strife_, ere the _dying_ be _dead_?"

I should presume not, as it would be rather a difficult matter for the spirit to _have fled before_ the "dying be dead." Now the idea of the "_blast's_ speeding on the _wings_ of the _wind_," is certainly _original_; but not satisfied with _this_, the author has also hoisted death upon the same wings. I wonder what the _wind_ did in the meantime? Took it _a-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 it _next 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 the _best_ pieces that _are_ written for it, and not merely those of your personal friends and acquaintances. I am one of your subscribers, and most sincere well wisher.