THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER
The ninth number of this Periodical is received, and contains even more than its usual quantity of excellent matter. We are glad to see also that this matter is, in the present instance, entirely original. There is not a selected article in the book. The outward appearance and typography is [sic] unexceptionable, and in no respect has the South occasion to regret the enthusiasm with which she has lent her aid to the support of the Messenger. We will endeavour to find room for a running notice of some of the principal articles in the present number. The sixth of the Tripolitan Sketches sustains the reputation of the preceding papers. The Letters of a Sister are also very spirited, vivacious, and well written. The third number of the Fine Arts, evinces a just application of the subject; and, in many respects, is excellent. The Article on Recent American Novels is crude and undigested. -- The writer is evidently unacquainted with his theme. -- This opinion of "The Insurgents" is exaggerated, and he has forgotten the talented novels of Mr. Kennedy & Dr. Bird in his wholesale denunciations. The Dissertation on the Characteristic Differences between the Sexes is a paper of unusual value. The subject is treated in a manner really masterly, and would be sufficient of itself to give a character to any Periodical. Lionizing, a tale by Edgar A. Poe, is an admirable piece of burlesque, which displays much reading, a lively humor, and an ability to afford amusement or instruction, according to the direction he may choose to give to his pen, which should not be suffered to lie unemployed, and will not, we trust, be neglected.
There are also some excellent sketches of Virginia Scenery viz: The House Mountain visit to the Virginia Springs, Dagger's Springs, and The Red Sulphur Springs. We refer our readers confidently to the Critical Notices in the present Number. We have read with interest the remarks on the Promessi Sposi of Manzoni [sic]; on Mrs. Butler's Journal; and on our townsman Mr. Kennedy's new novel, Horse-Shoe Robinson -- of which latter the publication, although long anxiously expected, has been, for what reason we know not, deferred. The poetical pieces are all above mediocrity. The lines to "My Child" are admirable; and we have seldom seen any thing of the kind more beautiful than "My Native Land," by Lucy T. Johnson.