Chapter I: on "English Poetry," tracing as it does the rude and (9)

She thus describes the motions of persons on ship-board, in rough weather: "Rushing hither and thither in all directions but the one they purpose going, and making as many angles, fetches, and ridiculous deviations from the point they aim at, as if the _devil had tied a string to their legs_, and jerked it every now and then in spite." p. 18.

At page 99: "Supped, lay down on the floor in absolute _meltiness away_, and then came to bed." "When I went on, I was all but tumbling down at the sight of my Jaffier, who looked like the apothecary in Romeo and Juliet, with the addition of some _devilish_ red slashes along his thighs and arms," p. 107. "Away _walloped_ the four horses," &c. p. 131. "How they did _wallop_ and shamble about," &c. p. 149. "Now I'll go to bed; my cough's enough to kill a _horse_," p. 153. "Heaven bless the world, for a _conglomerated amalgamation_ of fools," p. 190. "He talked an amazing quantity of _thickish_ philosophy, and moral and sentimental _potter_." In truth, "_potter_" and "_pottering_," seem to be favorites equally with _daudling_, and she as frequently makes use of them. For instance, "He sat down, and _pottered_ a little," p. 58. They "took snuff, eat cakes, and _pottered_ a deal," p. 182. "After dinner _pottered_ about clothes," &c. p. 220. "Sat stitching and _pottering_ an infinity," p. 230--and many other varieties of the same word. But of the infinite number of literary novelties of this sort, it would be impossible, within the limits we have prescribed to ourselves, to give more than a few specimens. We will take two or three more at random: "My feet got so perished with the cold, that I didn't know what to do," p. 230. "He was most exceedingly odd and _dauldrumish_. I think he was a little '_how come'd you so indeed_.'" p. 195; "yesterday began like May, with flowers and sun-shine, it ended like December, with the _sulks_, and a fit of crying. The former were furnished me by my friends and Heaven, the latter by myself and the _d----l_." p. 198. "At six o'clock, D---- roused me; and _grumpily_ enough I arose." _1b._ "At one o'clock, came home, having danced myself fairly off my legs." p. 227.

Such blemishes as these, apparently uniting the slang of the boarding school and the green room, deform the work of Mrs. Butler, and are much to be lamented, became they may have the effect of blinding the hasty, prejudiced or fastidious reader, to the many beauties which are to be found in its pages. Indeed the work has already encountered the severest criticisms from the newspaper press, imbittered by the many censorious remarks of Mrs. B. upon the manners and institutions of the country; her severe, and in many instances just strictures upon the state of society in the cities in which she sojourned; and the supercilious sneers which she has uttered against the editorial fraternity, "the press gang," as she uncourteously denominates that numerous and powerful body. The censures of her book, are doubtless, in the main, well deserved; but in their excess, the merits which the "Journal" unquestionably possesses in great abundance and of a high order, have in many cases been passed by unheeded by her indignant critics. And here we cannot refrain from the utterance of a remark which has frequently occurred to us, and which is brought forcibly to mind by the reception which Mrs. Butler's criticisms upon America have met with: we think that too much sensitiveness is felt by our countrymen, at the unfavorable opinions expressed by foreigners, in regard to our social, political, and moral condition--and that the press, as the organ of public sentiment, is prone to work itself into a superfluous frenzy of indignation, at what are generally considered "foreign libels" upon us. To be indignant at gross misrepresentations of our country, is an exhibition of patriotism in one of its most laudable forms. But the sentiment may be carried too far, and may blind us to evils and deficiencies in our condition, when pointed out by a foreigner, which it would be well for us rather to consider with a view to their amendment. It may so far blunt our sense of the justice of the maxim "_fas est, ab hoste doceri_," as to induce us to entertain jealousy and aversion for the most judicious suggestions, if offered by others than our own countrymen. Entertaining these views, we have read Mrs. Butler's work, with a disposition to judge of it impartially; and while we have perceived many instances of captious complaints in regard to matters of trifling importance in themselves; and frequently a disposition to build up general censures upon partial, individual causes of disgust, displeasure or disappointment--we feel bound to say, that, taking the work as a whole, we do not think a deliberate disposition to misrepresent, or a desire to depreciate us, can be discovered in it. The strictures upon our modes of living, our social relations, &c. are often unworthy the writer. She complains for instance, that "the things (at the hotel in New York,) were put on the table in a slovenly, outlandish fashion; fish, soup, and meat, at once, and puddings, and tarts, and cheese, at another once; no finger glasses, and a patched table cloth--in short, a want of that style and neatness which is found in every hotel in England. The waiters too, remind us of the half-savage highland lads, that used to torment us under that denomination in Glasgow--only that they were wild Irish instead of Scotch." vol. i. p. 49.

Frequently too, she complains of the audiences before {527} whom she performed, with occasional reproof of their ungracious conduct in not sufficiently applauding her father or herself: She says, of the first appearance of the former at the Park Theatre:

"When he came on they gave him what every body here calls an immense reception; but they should see our London audience get up, and wave hats and handkerchiefs, and shout welcome as they used to do to us. The tears were in my eyes, and all I could say was, 'they might as well get up, I think.'" Vol. i. p. 93.--And on another occasion: "The people were stupid to a degree to be sure; poor things, it was very hot. Indeed I scarcely understood how they should be amused with the School for Scandal; for though the dramatic situations are so exquisite, yet the wit is far above the generality of even our own audiences, and the tone and manners altogether are so thoroughly English, that I should think it must be for the most part incomprehensible to the good people here,"--p. 110.

At the Philadelphia audiences, she grumbles as follows:

"The audiences here, are without exception, the most disagreeable I ever played to. Not a single hand did they give the balcony scene, or my father's scene with the friar; they are literally immoveable. They applauded vehemently at the end of my draught scene, and a great deal at the end of the play; but they are nevertheless intolerably dull, and it is all but impossible to act to them,"--p. 157.

Of the ladies of this country, she seems to have formed a low estimate in many respects, and to look upon them generally with no little contempt. Of those in New York, she says: "The women dress very much, and very much like French women gone mad; they all of them seem to me to walk horribly ill, as if they wore tight shoes."--And again: "The women here, like those in most warm climates, ripen very early, and decay proportionably soon. They are, generally speaking, pretty, with good complexions, and an air of freshness and brilliancy, but this I am told is very evanescent; and whereas, in England, a woman is in the full bloom of health and beauty, from twenty to five and thirty; here, they scarce reach the first period without being faded, and looking old. They marry very young, and this is another reason why age comes prematurely upon them. There was a fair young thing at dinner to-day, who did not look above seventeen, and she was a wife. As for their figures, like those of the French women, they are too well dressed for one to judge exactly what they are really like: they are, for the most part, short and slight, with remarkably pretty feet and ancles; but there's too much pelerine and petticoat, and 'de quoi' of every sort to guess any thing more,"--p. 88.

This is a delicate subject, and one on which we should be averse to enter the lists with Mrs. Butler, prejudiced as she most probably is. But some of her observations on the mode of nurturing females, strike us as exhibiting good sense: In the following note to the above, we apprehend there is much truth:

"The climate of this country is made the scape-goat upon which all the ill looks, and ill health of the ladies is laid; but while they are brought up as effeminately as they are, take as little exercise, live in rooms heated like ovens during the winter, and marry as early as they do; it will appear evident, that many causes combine with an extremely variable climate, to sallow their complexions, and destroy their constitutions."

We are sorry to be forced to say, that there is also much sound sense and unwelcome truth in her remarks upon the situation of married females in our fashionable circles generally, (although the picture is overwrought and is more peculiarly applicable to northern females,) which we quote from Vol i. p. 160.

"The dignified and graceful influence which married women among us exercise over the tone of manners, uniting the duties of home to the charms of social life; and bearing, at once, like the orange tree the fair fruits of maturity with the blossoms of their spring, is utterly unknown here. Married women are either house-drudges and nursery-maids, or, if they appear in society, comparative cyphers; and the retiring, modest youthful bearing, which among us distinguishes girls of fifteen or sixteen is equally unknown. Society is entirely led by chits, who in England would be sitting behind a pinafore; the consequence is, that it has neither the elegance, refinement, nor the propriety which belong to ours; but is a noisy, racketty, vulgar congregation of flirting boys and girls, alike without style and decorum."

This view of manners is drawn from the society of the cities of New York and Philadelphia;--appended to the above extract, is a note, entering more into the details of her impressions regarding their fashionable circles, which we give entire:

"When we arrived in America, we brought letters of introduction to several persons in New York; many were civil enough to call upon us, we were invited out to sundry parties, and were introduced into what is there called the first society. I do not wish to enter into any description of it, but will only say, that I was most disagreeably astonished; and had it been my fate to have passed through the country as rapidly as most travellers do, I should have carried away a very unfavorable impression of the _best_ society of New York. Fortunately, however, for me, my visits were repeated and my stay prolonged: and in the course of time I became acquainted with many individuals whose manners and acquirements were of a high order, and from whose intercourse I derived the greatest gratification. But they generally did me the favor to visit me, and I still could not imagine how it happened that I never met them at the parties to which I was invited, and in the circles where I visited. I soon discovered that they formed a society among themselves, where all those qualities which I had looked for among the self-styled _best_, were to be found. When I name Miss Sedgewick, Halleck, Irving, Bryant, Paulding and some of less fame, but whose acquirements rendered their companionship delightful indeed, amongst whom I felt proud and happy to find several of my own name; it will no longer appear singular that they should feel too well satisfied with the resources of their own society, either to mingle in that of the vulgar _fashionables_, or seek with avidity the acquaintance of every stranger that arrives in New York. It is not to be wondered at, that foreigners have spoken as they have, of what is termed fashionable society here, or have condemned, with unqualified censure, the manners and tone prevailing in it; their condemnations are true and just as regards what they see: nor perhaps, would they be much inclined to moderate them, when they found that persons possessing every quality that can render intercourse between rational creatures desirable, were held in light esteem, and neglected, as either bores, blues, or dowdies, by those so infinitely their inferiors in every worthy accomplishment. The same separation, or if anything a still stronger one, subsists in Philadelphia, between the self-styled fashionables, and the real good society. The distinction there, is really of a nature perfectly ludicrous; a friend of mine was describing to me a family whose manners were unexceptionable, and whose mental accomplishments were of a high order; upon my expressing some surprise that I had never met with them, my informant replied, 'Oh, no, they are not received {528} by the Chestnut street _set_.' If I were called upon to define that society in New York and Philadelphia, which ranks (by right of self-arrogation,) as first and best; I should say it is a purely dancing society, where a fiddle is indispensable to keep its members awake; and where their brains and tongues seem, by common consent, to feel that they had much better give up the care of mutual entertainment to the feet of the parties assembled, and they judge well. Now, I beg leave clearly to be understood, there is another, and a far more desirable circle; but it is not the one into which strangers find their way generally. To an Englishman, this _fashionable_ society presents, indeed, a pitiful sample of lofty pretensions without adequate foundation. Here is a constant endeavor to imitate those states of European society, which have for their basis the feudal spirit of the early ages; and which are rendered venerable by their rank, powerful by their wealth, and refined, and in some degree respectable, by great and general mental cultivation. Of Boston I have not spoken. The society there, is of an infinitely superior order. A very general degree of information, and a much greater simplicity of manners render it infinitely more agreeable,"--pp. 161-2.

As few matters, worldly or spiritual, escaped the observation of our authoress, it is not wonderful that her pen was occasionally dipped in the political cauldron. But as her ideas are in most instances tinged with her own national prejudices, we shall not dwell upon them longer than to say that she sees already a decided aristocratic tendency among us, and to quote the following summary of her opinion as to the permanence of our institutions and government:--"I believe in my heart that a republic is the noblest, highest, and purest form of government; but I believe that according to the present disposition of human creatures, 'tis a mere beau ideal, totally incapable of realization. What the world may be fit for six hundred years hence, I cannot exactly perceive--but in the mean time, 'tis my conviction that America will be a monarchy before I am a skeleton." p. 56. If argument with a lady on such a subject could be reconciled to the precepts of gallantry, it would certainly be unprofitable where the causes of her belief are so vaguely stated. And we think she has furnished the best argument against herself in her frequent comparisons of the condition of the mass of the people of this country to that of the laboring class in England, in which she constantly decides in favor of America. It will scarcely be argued that a people enjoying such blessings as she ascribes to the condition of the mass of American citizens, could easily be induced to change their government, and yield up a certain good for a doubtful improvement--far less that they would willingly submit to a form of government which they look upon as particularly odious. The following passage shows what are her views of the condition of the laboring classes among us:

"I never was so forcibly struck with the prosperity and happiness of the lower orders of society in this country, as yesterday returning from Hoboken. The walks along the river and through the woods, the steamers crossing from the city, were absolutely thronged with a cheerful, well-dressed population abroad, merely for the purpose of pleasure and exercise. Journeymen, laborers, handicraftsmen, tradespeople, with their families, bearing all in their dress and looks evident signs of well-being and contentment, were all flocking from their confined avocations, into the pure air, the bright sunshine, and beautiful shade of this lovely place. I do not know any spectacle which could give a foreigner, especially an Englishman, a better illustration of that peculiar excellence of the American government--the freedom and happiness of the lower classes. Neither is it to be said that this was a holiday, or an occasion of peculiar festivity--it was a common week-day--such as our miserable manufacturing population spends from sun-rise to sun-down, in confined, incessant, unhealthy toil--to earn, at its conclusion, the inadequate reward of health and happiness so wasted--the contrast struck me forcibly--it rejoiced my heart; it surely was an object of contemplation, that any one who had a heart must have rejoiced in."

We had intended to make several additional extracts from what we think the better portions of the Journal, such as would exhibit the authoress in her most favorable light. But we have "_daudled_" so long on the way, that those extracts must be brief, and will probably fail to do the justice we proposed to the fair writer. As however, we have not selected the _worst_ of the passages from those which we deemed it our duty to censure, we may be forgiven, if we should fail to quote the _best_ of those which exhibit her good sense and ability as a writer.

Of the fate of the aborigines of this country, she says:

"The chasing, enslaving, and destroying creatures, whose existence, however inferior, is as justly theirs, as that of the most refined European is his; who for the most part, too, receive their enemies with open-handed hospitality, until taught treachery by being betrayed, and cruelty by fear; the driving the child of the soil off it, or, what is fifty times worse, chaining him to till it; all the various forms of desolation which have ever followed the landing of civilized men upon uncivilized shores; in short, the theory and practice of discovery and conquest, as recorded in all history, is a very singular and painful subject of contemplation.

"'Tis true, that cultivation and civilization, the arts and sciences that render life useful, the knowledge that ennobles, the adornments that refine existence, above all, the religion that is its most sacred trust and dear reward, all these, like pure sunshine and healthful airs following a hurricane, succeed the devastation of the invader; but the sufferings of those who are swept away are not the less, and though I believe that good alone is God's result, it seems a fearful proof of the evil wherewith this earth is cursed, that good cannot progress but over such a path. No one, beholding the prosperous and promising state of this fine country, could wish it again untenanted of its enterprising and industrious possessors; yet even while looking with admiration at all they have achieved, with expectation amounting to certainty to all that they will yet accomplish; 'tis difficult to refrain from bestowing some thoughts of pity and of sadness upon those, whose homes have been overturned, whose language has past away, and whose feet are daily driven further from those territories of which they were once sole and sovereign lords. How strange it is to think, that less than one hundred years ago, these shores, resounding with the voice of populous cities--these waters, laden with the commerce of the wide world, were silent wildernesses, where sprang and fell the forest leaves, where ebbed and flowed the ocean tides from day to day, and from year to year in uninterrupted stillness; where the great sun, who looked on the vast empires of the east, its mouldering kingdoms, its lordly palaces, its ancient temples, its swarming cities, came and looked down upon the still dwelling of utter loneliness, where nature sat enthroned in everlasting beauty, undisturbed by the far off din of worlds 'beyond the flood.'"

There is eloquence and good feeling in the following:

"In beholding this fine young giant of a world, with all its magnificent capabilities for greatness, I think every Englishman must feel unmingled regret at the {529} unjust and unwise course of policy which alienated such a child from the parent government. But, at the same time, it is impossible to avoid seeing that some other course must, ere long, have led to the same result, even if England had pursued a more maternal course of conduct towards America. No one, beholding this enormous country, stretching from ocean to ocean, watered with ten thousand glorious rivers, combining every variety of climate and soil; therefore, every variety of produce and population; possessing within itself every resource that other nations are forced either to buy abroad, or to create substitutes for at home; no one, seeing the internal wealth of America, the abundant fertility of the earth's surface, the riches heaped below it, the unparalleled facilities for the intercourse of men, and the interchange of their possessions throughout its vast extent, can for an instant indulge the thought that such a country was ever destined to be an appendage to any other in the world, or that any chain of circumstances whatever, could have long maintained in dependance a people furnished with every means of freedom and greatness. But far from regretting that America has thrown off her allegiance, and regarding her as a rebellious subject, and irreverent child; England will surely, ere long, learn to look upon this country as the inheritor of her glory; the younger England, destined to perpetuate the language, the memory, the virtues of the noble land from which she is descended. Loving and honoring my country, as I do, I cannot look upon America with any feeling of hostility. I do not only hear the voice of England in the language of this people, but I recognize in all their best qualities, their industry, their honesty, their sturdy independence of spirit, the very witnesses of their origin, they are English; no other people in the world would have licked us as they did; nor any other people in the world, built upon the ground they won, so sound, and strong, and fair an edifice.

"With regard to what I have said in the beginning of this note, of the many reasons which combined to render this country independent of all others; I think they in some measure tell against the probability of its long remaining at unity with itself. Such numerous and clashing interests; such strong and opposite individuality of character between the northern and southern states; above all, such enormous extent of country; seem rationally to present many points of insecurity; many probabilities of separations and breakings asunder; but all this lies far on, and I leave it to those who have good eyes for a distance." Vol. i. pp. 187-8.

From her description of a voyage up the Hudson river, which is one of the most beautiful portions of the work, we can give but two brief passages:

"We passed the light-house of Stoney Point, now the peaceful occupant of the territory, where the blood in English veins was poured out by English hands, during the struggle between old established tyranny and the infant liberties of this giant world. Over all and each, the blessed sky bent its blue arch, resplendently clear and bright, while far away the distant summits of the highlands rose one above another, shutting in the world, and almost appearing as though each bend of the river must find us locked in their shadowy circle, without means of onward progress." Vol. i. p. 207.

* * * * *

"Where are the poets of this land? Why such a world should bring forth men with minds and souls larger and stronger than any that ever dwelt in mortal flesh. Where are the poets of this land? They should be giants, too; Homers and Miltons, and Goethes and Dantes, and Shakspeares. Have these glorious scenes poured no inspirings into hearts worthy to behold and praise their beauty? Is there none to come here and worship among these hills and waters, till his heart burns within him, and the hymn of inspiration flows from his lips, and rises to the sky? Is there not one among the sons of such a soil to send forth its praises to the universe, to throw new glory round the mountains, new beauty over the waves? is inanimate nature, alone, here 'telling the glories of God?' Oh, surely, surely, there will come a time when this lovely land will be vocal with the sound of song, when every close-locked valley, and waving wood, rifted rock and flowing stream shall have their praise. Yet 'tis strange how marvellously unpoetical these people are! How swallowed up in life and its daily realities, wants, and cares; how full of toil and thrift, and money-getting labor. Even the heathen Dutch, among us the very antipodes of all poetry, have found names such as the Donder Berg for the hills, whilst the Americans christen them Butter Hill, the Crow's Nest, and _such like_. Perhaps some hundred years hence, when wealth has been amassed by individuals, and the face of society begins to grow chequered, as in the old lands of Europe, when the whole mass of population shall no longer go running along the level road of toil and profit, when inequalities of rank shall exist, and the rich man shall be able to pay for the luxury of poetry, and the poor man who makes verses, no longer be asked, 'Why don't you cast up accounts?' when all this comes to pass, as _perhaps_ some day it may, America will have poets. It seems strange to me that men such as the early settlers in Massachusetts, the Puritan founders of New England, the 'Pilgrim Fathers,' should not have had amongst them some men, or at least man, in whose mind the stern and enduring courage, the fervent, enthusiastic piety, the unbending love of liberty, which animated them all, become the inspiration to poetic thought, and the suggestion of poetical utterance. They should have had a Milton or a Klopstock amongst them. Yet after all, they had excitement of another sort, and moreover, the difficulties, and dangers, and distresses of a fate of unparalleled hardship, to engross all the energies of their minds; and I am half inclined to believe that poetry is but a hothouse growth." Vol. i. pp. 212-13.

Our friends, _Oliver Oldschool_ and _Anthony Absolute_, will be pleased to observe that Mrs. Butler abjures the _Waltz_, and agrees with them in objecting to its tendency:

"Dr. ---- called, and gave me a sermon about waltzing. As it was perfectly good sense, to which I could reply nothing whatever, in the shape of objection, I promised him never to waltz again, except with a woman, or my brother.... After all, 'tis not fitting that a man should put his arm round one's waist, whether one belongs to any one but one's self or not. 'Tis much against what I have always thought most sacred,--the dignity of a woman in her own eyes, and those of others. I like Dr. ---- most exceedingly. He spoke every way to my feelings of what was right to-day. After saying that he felt convinced from conversations which he had heard amongst men, that waltzing was immoral in its tendency, he added, 'I am married, and have been in love, and cannot imagine any thing more destructive of the deep and devoted respect which love is calculated to excite in every honorable man's heart, not only for the individual object of his affection, but for her whole sex, than to see any and every impertinent coxcomb in a ball room, come up to her, and, without remorse or hesitation, clasp her waist, imprison her hand, and absolutely whirl her round in his arms.' So spake the Doctor; and my sense of propriety, and conviction of right, bore testimony to the truth of his saying. So, farewell, sweet German Waltz! next to hock, the most intoxicating growth of the Rheinland. I shall never keep time to your pleasant measure again!--no matter; after all, anything is better than to be lightly spoken of, and to deserve such mention." Vol. i. pp. 227-28.

Mrs. Butler seems to have no great love of the dramatic _art_--that is, the art of stage performance. {530} Several pages in the second volume are devoted to this subject, (pp. 59, 60 and 61) in which she argues with great force in support of the position, that acting is "the very lowest of the arts." Like all her criticisms of subjects connected with the stage, it is an admirable passage; but it is too long for quotation. A shorter one conveys the same idea, in eloquent language:

"I acted like a wretch, of course; how could I do otherwise? Oh, Juliet! vision of the south! rose of the garden of the earth! was this the glorious hymn that Shakspeare hallowed to your praise? was this the mingled strain of Love's sweet going forth, and Death's dark victory, over which my heart and soul have been poured out in wonder and ecstacy?--How I do loathe the stage! these wretched, tawdry, glittering rags, flung over the breathing forms of ideal loveliness; these miserable, poor, and pitiful substitutes for the glories with which poetry has invested her magnificent and fair creations--the glories with which our imagination reflects them back again. What a mass of wretched mumming mimickry acting is. Pasteboard and paint, for the thick breathing orange groves of the south; green silk and oiled parchment, for the solemn splendor of her noon of night; wooden platforms and canvass curtains, for the solid marble balconies, and rich dark draperies of Juliet's sleeping chamber, that shrine of love and beauty; rouge, for the startled life-blood in the cheek of that young passionate woman; an actress, a mimicker, a sham creature, me, in fact, or any other one, for that loveliest and most wonderful conception, in which all that is true in nature, and all that is exquisite in fancy, are moulded into a living form. To _act_ this! to _act_ Romeo and Juliet!--horror! horror! how I do loathe my most impotent and unpoetical craft!" Vol. ii. pp. 16-17.

In another and sadder strain, there are many beautiful portions, from which we can only select the following--and with this our extracts must end:

"'Tis strange, that Messenger Bird threw more than a passing gloom over me. If the dead do indeed behold those whom they have loved, with loving eyes and fond remembrance, do not the sorrows, the weariness, the toiling, the despairing of those dear ones rise even into the abodes of peace, and wring the souls of those who thence look down upon the earth, and see the wo and anguish suffered here? Or, if they do not feel,--if, freed from this mortal coil, they forget all they have suffered, all that we yet endure, oh! then what four-fold trash is human love! what vain and miserable straws are all the deep, the dear, the grasping affections twined in our hearts' fibres,--mingled with our blood!--how poor are all things--how beggarly is life. Oh, to think that while we yet are bowed in agony and mourning over the dead,--while our bereaved hearts are aching, and our straining eyes looking to that heaven, beyond which we think they yet may hear our cries, they yet may see our anguish, the dead, the loved, the mourned, nor see, nor hear; or if they do, look down with cold and careless gaze upon the love that lifts our very souls in desperate yearning towards them." Vol. ii. pp. 54-55.

We have thus endeavored to give our readers an idea of this very remarkable book--a task of no little difficulty from its variable features, its mixture of sense and silliness, of prejudice and liberality--almost every page bearing a distinct and peculiar character. There are many things which have elicited censure, on which we have not laid any stress, and among these are the frequent exhibitions of attachment to her native country, and preference of its people, its customs, its laws, &c. to those of America. We cannot find fault with her for so noble and so natural a sentiment, even though it should lead her to depreciate and underrate us. Besides, she acknowledges the blindness of her partiality to England, and speaks of it with great candor, as a national characteristic:

"How we English folks do cling to our own habits, our own views, our own things, our own people; how in spite of all our wanderings and scatterings over the whole face of the earth, like so many Jews, we never lose our distinct and national individuality; nor fail to lay hold of one another's skirts, to laugh at and depreciate all that differs from that country, which we delight in forsaking for any and all others." Vol. i. p. 90.

The chief fault of the work will be found in the dictatorial manner of the writer. A female, and a young one too, cannot speak with the self-confidence which marks this book, without jarring somewhat upon American notions of the retiring delicacy of the female character. But the early induction of Mrs. B. upon the stage, has evidently given her a precocious self-dependence and a habit of forming her own opinions. There is perhaps no situation in which human vanity is so powerfully excited, as that of the favorite actor. The directness of the applause which greets his successful efforts is most intoxicating, and mingles so much admiration of the performer with delight at the performance, that he or she, whose vanity should resist its fascinations, must be a stoic indeed.[3] The effects of this personal homage, added to the advantages {531} of her birth, and her really masculine intellect, are apparent in Mrs. B's Journal. But she also displays some fine feminine traits, which the flatteries of delighted audiences, the admiration of ambitious fashionables, and the consciousness of being the chief Lion of the day, could not destroy. Her sympathy for a sick lady, lodging in the same house in Philadelphia, is frequently and delicately expressed; and various other incidents shew that kindness and generosity are among her prominent qualities. Many pages are devoted to the subject of religion, and as appears from them, she was attentive to the performance of her devotions: Yet we cannot but think her religion as displayed in this book, more a sentiment than a principle; rather the imbodying of a poetical fancy, than that pervading feeling of the heart which enters into and characterizes the actions of those who feel its influence.--In conclusion, we will repeat what we have said before, that there is much to admire and much to condemn in this work--enough of the former to render it one of the most attractive (as it is one of the most original) that has recently issued from the press; and in censuring its faults it will be but justice to bear in mind a sentiment of Mrs. B.; "After all, if people generally did but know the difficulty of doing well, they would be less damnatory upon those who do ill." p. 114, vol. i.

[Footnote 3: This position has been beautifully illustrated by some modern English writer, but by whom we have forgotten. Mrs. Butler is fully aware of the intoxicating nature of the applause bestowed on actors, and speaks most sensibly on the subject, although she is probably unconscious of its full effects upon her own feelings, and manner of thinking and writing.

"Excitement," says she, "is reciprocal between the performer and the audience; he creates it in them, and receives it back again from them: and in that last scene in Fazio, half the effect that I produce is derived from the applause which I receive, the very noise and tumult of which tends to heighten the nervous energy which the scene itself begets."

The idea is farther carried out in the following striking passage:

"The evanescent nature of his triumph, however an actor may deplore it, is in fact but an instance of the broad moral justice by which all things are so evenly balanced. If he can hope for no fame beyond mere mention, when once his own generation passes away, at least his power, and his glory, and his reign is in his own person, and during his own life. There is scarcely to be conceived a popularity for the moment more intoxicating than that of a great actor in his day, so much of it becomes mixed up with the individual himself. The poet, the painter, and the sculptor, enchant us through their works; and with very, very few exceptions, their works, and not their very persons are the objects of admiration and applause; it is to their minds we are beholden; and though a certain degree of curiosity and popularity necessarily wait even upon their bodily presence, it is faint compared with that which is bestowed upon the actor; and for good reasons--he is himself his work. His voice, his eyes, his gestures, are his art, and admiration of it cannot be separated from admiration for him. This renders the ephemeral glory which he earns so vivid, and in some measure may be supposed to compensate for its short duration. The great of the earth, whose fame has arisen like the shining of the sun, have often toiled through their whole lives in comparative obscurity, through the narrow and dark paths of existence. Their reward was never given to their hands here,--it is but just their glory should be lasting." Vol. ii. pp. 61-62.]

EDITORIAL REMARKS.

In presenting the ninth number of the Messenger to our readers, we take occasion to make some brief references to its contents. Besides contributions from old friends, to whom we have been formerly indebted, it contains _seven_ prose articles from new correspondents, some of whom are entirely unknown to us, all of whom are welcome to our pages.

Of the sixth number of "_Sketches of the History of Tripoli_," it is only necessary to say that it is worthy of and sustains the character of the preceding numbers. The same may be said of the "_Letters of a Sister_," in which the vivacity that has elicited so much praise of the former numbers, is not diminished.

The descriptions of Virginia scenery, in the article on "_The House Mountain_," and the "_Visit to the Virginia Springs_," are highly attractive. The former is remarkable for its graphic delineations and glowing imagery--the latter abounds with useful information, conveyed in an attractive style; and its writer describes the scenes he visited with great clearness.

The third number upon the "_Fine Arts_," is an admirable article. The writer warms as he progresses with his subject.

We would particularly recommend the article on the "_National Importance of Mineral Possessions_," &c. The application of general truths to our own peculiar situation, is made with much force in that article.

Our stranger correspondent, _Anthony Absolute_, has very delicately satirized the opposers of the amusement of dancing. His style is evidently modelled after that of some of the numbers of the Spectator, and he is uncommonly happy in keeping up a vein of quiet humor throughout. His grave irony is highly amusing.

The writer of an article on "_Recent American Novels_," seems to us to have expressed some opinions hastily, and to estimate the merits of some of our native writers incorrectly. He has surely overlooked the author of _Calavar_, in classing the successors of Cooper and Irving, as "dwarfish," and their efforts as "puny." He was not in fault in passing over the author of "_Horse-Shoe Robinson_," as that work had not appeared when his article was penned; and _Swallow Barn_ does not rank as a novel. We believe that Mr. Kennedy and Dr. Bird will prove themselves worthy successors to Cooper and Irving (so far as the latter may be considered a novel writer,) when the mantles shall fall from their shoulders--nor will Mr. Sims, the author of Guy Rivers and the Yemassie, (either of which, we apprehend, are superior to the Insurgents,) be far behind. The reviewer seems to us rather inconsistent in his allusions to Cooper, Irving, Paulding and Miss Sedgewick: But we have not room to particularize. With regard to the two former, the opinions of a _Young Scotchman_, in the interesting letter which we publish in this number, are worthy of attention. We are happy to say, that extracts from his "_Letters on the United States_," will be continued in the Messenger. We doubt not they will be read with avidity.

"_Lion-izing_," by Mr. Poe, is an inimitable piece of wit and satire: and the man must be far gone in a melancholic humor, whose risibility is not moved by this tale. Although the scene of the story is laid in the foreign city of "_Fum Fudge_," the disposition which it satirizes is often displayed in the cities of this country--even in our own community; and will probably still continue to exist, unless Mrs. Butler's Journal should have disgusted the fashionable world with _Lions_.

The prominent article for this month, we have not yet alluded to; it is the "_Dissertation on the Characteristic Differences between the Sexes; the Influence of Woman_," &c.--a subject of great and abiding interest, treated in a masterly manner. The comprehensive views taken by the writer, of the whole subject; the copiousness of his illustrations, and the happy manner in which they are brought to sustain his various positions, are striking features in this able article. We think we incur no risk in expressing the belief, that this Dissertation when completed, will be the most perfect essay on the subject, in the whole range of English literature.

"_The Grave of Forgotten Genius_," and "_Lionel Granby_," will have their attractions, we doubt not, for many of our readers. The writer of the latter possesses powers of description of no mean order. He paints objects and characters skilfully, though at times his style is somewhat overloaded with words. We shall receive his future chapters with pleasure.

The poetical contributions for this number are generally excellent. We are constrained to forbear any particular notice of them, by the briefness of the space which we have to occupy.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The humorous strictures on modern fashions, by our friend "_Oliver Oldschool_," did not reach us in time for insertion in the present number; he will appear in our next. We have received two tales from "an inexperienced girl of sixteen," entitled "_Lucy Carlton_" and "_The Sanfords_," which, although they exhibit considerable talent, are very deficient in incident. The {532} sketching of character is mostly good, but the author fails to make effectual use of the materials which she brings together. We shall insert "The Sanfords" in our next, as the best of the two. The story entitled "_Remorse_," is inadmissible. The narrative presents some dramatic scenes and situations, of which the writer has but partially availed himself; but defects of language form the principal objection to his story. In answer to _Octavian's_ inquiry, we must say that his lines are by no means equal to those from his pen formerly inserted in the Messenger. And as it would be impossible to publish all the contributions received, unless the Messenger were twice its size, we are constrained to leave out some which are even passable. "_English Poetry_, Chap. II," and further extracts from the _MSS. of D. D. Mitchell_, will appear in the next No. "_The Curse of the Betrayed One_" possesses considerable merit, but is deformed by faults of metre, easily amendable. With the author's consent we will make a few corrections in his poem, and insert it in our next number. We will exercise the same pruning prerogative upon the tale of "_The Reclaimed_." The poetical contributions of Mrs. Emma Willard, of Troy, are welcome, and will appear as early as possible; also some beautiful effusions of a deceased lady of Matthews county, Virginia. "_Extracts from the Autobiography of Pertinax Placid_, Chap. I," will have an early insertion.

In addressing the numerous correspondents whose favors have not yet appeared in our numbers, we avail ourselves of the opportunity to make a few general remarks, which are due both to ourselves and to those who write for the Messenger.

Although our poetical contributions have in general met with high approbation, and though many effusions which we have had the honor to present to the public, have received the just praise due to the lofty promptings of the muse--we have noticed some strictures upon certain articles which we had considered it our duty to insert in that department. We do not purpose to defend all our poetical contributions from censure. It is far from us to claim for them the merit of uniform excellence. But we wish to show our readers, that to look for such uniformity in the contents of a work like ours, would be unreasonable, and to inform them of the principle upon which our selections are made from the mass of materials placed before us.

It must be held in mind that the Messenger is a new enterprise, in a section of country where such a work has never before been sustained for any considerable length of time--that one of its leading objects is to draw forth and encourage literary talent, and to build up in the south a literature distinct and separate from that which shines in the legal forum or the arena of politics. In order to carry into effect this object, (which we think laudable in itself,) it is necessary that we should display a greater degree of forbearance with inexperienced aspirants to literary honors, than would be expected from a discriminating editor, placed in other circumstances. Had we merely the task before us to amuse our readers, it would not be difficult to select from other sources the materials for our work, and abandoning all editorial responsibility, render the contents of our pages unexceptionable, by a choice of the best productions from other publications. But would this course fulfil the great object of the Messenger?--would it compensate our readers for the suppression of the many noble productions which we have already presented to them--works which, although in a minor form, we trust those who have perused them "would not willingly let die?" The duty we have assumed, is to foster the productions of native writers--to awaken, especially in the south, a literary spirit, an ambition to excel in the cultivation of polite learning--and to give our humble aid in stimulating the ambition of our youth, by offering a fit repository for the offspring of taste and genius. Whether we collect and place on permanent record the fugitive productions of men already known to fame in other walks, or bring forward to public applause the first efforts of youthful talent, we equally fulfil the main object of our labors, by exciting the admiration and awakening the ambition of others, possessing latent powers perhaps unknown to themselves, until struck forth by a natural and praiseworthy emulation.

In the performance of the duty which this object enjoins upon us, there are many sources of perplexity of which our readers can scarcely be aware. Our judgment in regard to the numerous contributions which we receive from all quarters, leans, as it ought, to "mercy's side." The exhibition of ability, although qualified by many faults of conception or manner, claims our attention and favor. We look to the future; and if in the most faulty production we find promise of improving excellence, or redeeming traits which counterbalance the writer's errors, we think it our duty to afford him an opportunity and stimulus for improvement. For these reasons articles are not seldom inserted in the Messenger, which exhibit defects of conception and style, which it is no part of our duty to amend, but which we believe to be counterbalanced by beauties or merits indicating that their authors are capable of better things.

One complaint that we have to make of our contributors, regards the carelessness with which they write; for this want of correctness, mostly verbal it is true, but frequently extending to the sense, rendered obscure by faulty construction of language, imposes upon the editor the constant task of revision, and the responsibility of correcting manuscripts at his own discretion. The labor we do not grudge; but it should be performed by the writers themselves; and we cannot too strenuously urge upon our friends greater care than in many instances they have thus far bestowed upon the finishing of their articles. Their own careful revision would no doubt lead to the more perfect amendment of inaccuracies than could be made by an editor, who in most instances cannot be supposed to share the full views of the writer on the matters in hand. Our own relief from the labor of revision is a secondary consideration, and one which we should not urge; but by relieving us from much of that labor, the writers would greatly increase the value of their contributions.

DEFERRED ARTICLES.

Among the numerous articles for which room could not be found in the present number, are, reviews of Lee's Napoleon, Bancroft's History of the United States, Sparks's Washington Correspondence, The Infidel, a novel, by Doctor Bird, and a notice of the excellent Inaugural Address of President Vethake, of Washington College.

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SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.

Vol. I.] RICHMOND, JUNE 1835. [No. 10.

T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.

EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION.

The contents of the present number of the Messenger will be found various and entertaining, many of them possessing uncommon merit. They are, like those of the last preceding number, entirely original.

The continuation of the _Manuscripts of D. D. Mitchell_, is highly acceptable. The description of a Storm on the Prairies is told with much vigor, and will compare favorably with a similar scene in Mr. Hoffman's excellent itinerary of a Winter in the West.

Nos. XV and XVI of the "_Letters of a Sister_" are delightful. The vivacity and elegance of the style, and the feminine grace which breathes through the whole correspondence, are peculiarly observable in these numbers.

The 2d and 3d chapters of "_Lionel Granby_" exhibit an improvement on the first. But we think the writer has chosen a bad model, since he displays sufficient ability to render his writings interesting without imitation. Perhaps unconsciously, he has fallen into what may be denominated the _Bulwerian_ style, one which pleases less than almost any other in the hands of an imitator, as like that of Byron it is essentially an egotistical style.

Our reforming friend, "_Oliver Oldschool_," has hit off with great force some of the fashionable assemblages of the present day. Without entertaining a zeal in the reproval of these extravagancies, quite commensurate with his own, we are fully aware of the justness of his strictures upon those modern customs which banish _social_ intercourse from what are intended for social parties, and burthen the enjoyment of pleasure with so many qualifications as to make it little better than _pain_.

The story of "_The Sanfords_" is the production of a young girl; and if the reader should not find in it the skill of riper years, or the deep interest of more stirring fictions--still, we trust he will agree with us in the opinion, that it is highly creditable to the talents of a young lady of sixteen and promises better things, when experience and observation shall have stored her mind with incidents, and taught her the art of using them with effect.

"_English Poetry, Chap, II_," is highly meritorious. We scarcely supposed that so trite a subject could have been rendered so attractive. Our correspondent has evidently studied his subject with great care, and, which is better, _con amore_. He does not follow in the beaten track, but has the boldness to differ from many former critics; and there is a freshness and originality in his remarks which cannot fail of being admired by the classical reader.