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OUR MAGAZINE LITERATURE.
We commence our article with a list
of the most prominent monthly periodicals of the country, which are as
follows: The Democratic Review,
The Knickerbocker, Graham's Magazine, The Lady's Book, Sargent's
Magazine,
The Pioneer, The Lady's Companion and The Southern Literary Messenger.
In
the above order, we propose to offer a few thoughts concerning the
character of each, and shall conclude with a remark or two touching the
tendency of
this kind of literature.
Were it not for its ultraism in
politics, we should consider the Democratic Review the most valuable
journal of the day. Its editor,
John L. O'Sullivan, is a man of fine matter-of-fact talents, and a good
political
writer, though not a brilliant one. The principal contributors to the
work
are Brownson, the new-light philosopher, Bancroft, Whittier, Bryant,
Hawthorne,
and Miss Sedgwick. Now the productions of such minds are always worth
reading,
for they are imbued with the true spirit of talent and genius; and that
Magazine
which employs such writers cannot but become eminently useful, and in
the
end, a source of reasonable emolument. Another interesting feature of
the
Democratic Review is the department of Criticism, which we think has
generally
been conducted in a candid, sensible and upright manner. Beside the
notices
of new books accompanying each number, it generally contains two or
three
elaborate reviews, which make it an agreeable work for men of letters.
And
as to its embellishments, (for everything must be pictured into the
world
now-a-days,) we consider them of the most truly valuable kind, being
accurate
and well-executed portraits of eminent men. Now if is were not for the
ultraism
of its proprietors, we should probably be favored, from time to time,
with
the counterfeit presentment of a Whig politician or writer, for, after
all, there are some few men of talents even among the Whigs. Would
not
a step like this be making the Magazine more truly democratic than it
is?
and would it not be likely to add materially to the subscription list
of
the publication? Most highly indeed, do we esteem the Democratic
Review,
and, take it all in all, we acknowledge only three as its superiors in
any
country: namely: Tait's Magazine, Frazer, and Blackwood. And these it
will
fully equal, when it has had the advantages of their experience. But to
proceed.
The glory of the Knickerbocker is for
ever departed. Once, it was a thrice welcome messenger of intellectual
entertainment to everybody,
ladies, gentlemen and all. Nearly all our distinguished literary men
have
at times, made it the medium of their communication to the public. But,
alas!
the good names now connected with it are few and far between, and its
subscription
list is rapidly dwindling away. A secondary reason for this, we
imagine,
is in the bad management of its pecuniary affairs; as it has been sold
to
a Boston publisher, and, being printed there, is a Boston magazine, and
no
more the Knickerbocker. But the principal cause of its
melancholy
decline, may be traced to the peculiar and unappreciated talent of its
editor,
Lewis G. Clark. The only redeeming quality which we (mind, we
don't
say the public) can find in this gentleman, is in the fact that
he
is the brother of the date Willis G. Clark, who was one of the most
gifted
of our poets, and an exceedingly pleasant prose-writer. Mr. Lewis Clark
has
made a considerable noise in the literary world, but how he has
made
it, would be difficult for his best friends to explain. One of our
readers
might remark, "Why, don't you know, it was by a long newspaper
discussion,
several years ago, between himself and his partner, Mr. Edson, wherein
each
one called the other all the hard names in the world." Another, and a
friend
of his, points us to the Editor's Table of the Knickerbocker, with the
significant
assertion, "That is the monthly production of Mr. Clark." Our answer to
this
remark is, that it is not so. But allowing it to be true: what is the
"Table,"
but a lot of detached sentences culled from various newspapers,
concerning
books aud authors, together with extracts from rejected articles which
the
gentleman passes off as original? The present condition of this
periodical
is that of a poorly-cooked-up concern, a huge handsome-looking body,
but
without a [page 303:] soul. The sooner it dies,
the better
will it be for the proprietors; but if they will secure an able and
efficient
editor, we doubt not tut that it might be placed in the noble station
which
it once occupied.
The most popular of all the magazines
is that published by Mr. Graham, who is a practical business man and a
friend to men of talents of every east. Every article which he prints
is liberally paid for, and he
has the honor of patronizing a large number of eminent writers in prose
and
verse, than any other publisher in the country. Can we say more in his
favor
or in favor of his magazine? But a word or two on the other side. The
embellishments
of Graham are not quite as good as they might be, because they are too
many.
It would suit our fancy better, though perhaps not that of the public,
to
receive one gem of an engraving every month, instead of three
or four
of an inferior quality. Neither do we like the nominal editor of
Graham's
Magazine. And why? Because, though a pretty good compiler, he possesses
too
many of the peculiar characteristics of Mr. Lewis G. Clark. Mr. Rufus
W.
Griswold is wholly unfit, either by intellect or character, to occupy
the
editorial chair of Graham's Magazine.
The Lady's Book, edited by Mrs. Hale
and Mrs. Sigourney, is upon the whole a clever magazine for the
entertainment of ladies. We should
like it better if the productions of gentlemen were excluded
altogether, for
it would then be a unique affair. A lady's book should be supported by
ladies
alone. Some of the stories published in this periodical are exceedingly
good,
but the majority of them are "stale, flat and unprofitable." A certain
portion
of sentimental nonsense is quite indispensable, but it would be well to
make
this portion as small as possible, and we hope the Editors of the
Lady's
Book will do all in their power to bring about this state of things.
Let
fewer stories be written and more essays -- a less quantity of rhyme
and
more true poetry.
Sargent's Magazine. As yet, we have
not made use of
that modern but most expressive word humbug, but now we are
compelled to do so. Sargent's Magazine is a perfect literary humbug,
and for the following
reasons. But first as to its origin. A certain aspiring gentleman,
having,
so we are told, a capital of some $15,000, which he was anxious to
invest
in a literary enterprize, obtained the name and services of Mr. Epes
Sargent,
who was then disengaged,! and started a new magazine. Being in receipt
from
that time of a handsome salary, Mr. Sargent devoted his whole attention
to
the cause. Having an extensive acquaintance with the literati, he
could
command any quantity of puffs, and so the work was issued with a grand
flourish
of trumpets, although wretchedly printed and illustrated. Besides the
usual
contemptible fashion plates, it was interspersed at the very outset
with
etchings, copied from English u magazines and books. Now as to the
contributors.
Among the , distinguished names announced as such were John Q. Adams
and
Mr. Paulding. How did they become such? why! as follows. Eight
lines
of poetry, abstracted from a lady's album, were printed in its pages
without
the author's consent, and the name of the Ex-President announced to the
world
as a regular contributor to the work. Another, but inferior piece of
poetry
was printed and advertised as having been written by Mr. Paulding, and
yet
Mr. Paulding politely declines the honor of being the writer. The only
two
really fine articles that have appeared in it, are a poem by Holmes,
and
a story by Hawthorne. But whose are those loud-sounding names which are
monthly
arrayed on the cover of Sargent's Magazine? it may be asked by the
inquisitive
reader. We will tell you, for we know them well. Mrs. Helen Berkley (we
hope.
to be pardoned for these contradictions) is Epes Sargent; Miss
Emma
F. Allston is probably Epes Sargent; Mrs. Kenneth Rookwood is
undoubtedly
Epes Sargent; Samuel Samson, clerk, is Epes Sargent; Henry
Stanhope
Lee is Epes Sargent; John Hanmar is probably Epes Sargent; and
we
doubt not but that all the other articles published without a name are
by
Epes Sargent, and of course the remaining articles by "The Editor[["]]
and
"Epes Sargent" are also by Epes Sargent. According to this arrangement
therefore,
the Magazine in question does not belie its name, for nine pages out of
every ten are by the editor Epes Sargent. This we suppose is to avoid
the inconvenience of paying for good articles by good writers. While at
school, Mr. Sargent wrote astonishingly well for a youth, but those
productions have not been improved upon in his manhood. His mind and
power of writing have not increased with his years; and, if we mistake
not, some of the articles published in
his present magazine as original have appeared in other
periodicals in Boston years ago.
A little more than a year ago, a very
good magazine, entitled the Boston Miscellany, was started, edited by
Nathan Hale, Jr. It
was [column 2:] supported by some of the ablest
literary
men of Boston, and gave token of a goodly promise. A quarrel having
taken
place between the editor and publishers, a separation took place
between
them, and Mr. Tuckerman was engaged to fill the vacant chair of editor.
On
a hint from Hale, Lowell the poet started a new periodical, called the
Pioneer,
in opposition to the Miscellany. As the case now stands, the
latter
is dead, very dead, and the former in the full tide of successful
operation.
It is printed in beautiful style, edited with great ability, and
supported
by a number of our most classical writers. Among men of taste it is,
and
we hope will continue to be, a great favorite. Its themes are of a
dignified
character, and the tone f its criticisms high-minded, candid, sensible,
and
just.
The Lady's Companion is a milk and
water concern, edited
by penny-a-liner and a foreigner named Hamilton. It is a receptacle of
nonsense
from first to last, of picture nonsense, fashion nonsense, poetical
nonsense,
and prose nonsense. Of course we do not allude to the occasional
productions
of Mr. and Mrs. Seba Smith, Mrs. Embury, and one or two other writers
of
reputation. It is a work of no beneficial influence whatever, and ought
to
be annihilated.
Last, but not least, we come now to
speak of the Southern
Literary Messenger, which has probably diffused more valuable
information
throughout the Union than any other literary work, for the past five
years.
But, alas! its honest, worthy, and hard-working originator, editor, and
publisher,
is no more -- he has paid the final debt of nature, and a host of
friends
will bemoan his loss. Many able productions in the departments of
tales,
essays, and poetry, have appeared in the pages of the Messenger, and we
trust
that the same names which have so long been associated with it, will
continue
to amuse and instruct the public by their efforts, and that an able
editor
will speedily be employed to secure to it its former high-standing.
In speaking of the mass of matter
published in the above-mentioned
periodicals, it can only be designated as sentimental, love-sick, or
fashionable
stories, and unmeaning rhymes. Now, if this be true, who can deny that
an
exceedingly bad influence is exerted by our magazine literature?
Thousands
of articles are written, prompted by nothing but a petty ambition, and,
when
published to the world, do a great deal more injury than good. Instead
of
instructing the youthful mind, they "please with a rattle, tickle with
a
straw" -- instead of instilling a sound morality, they inculcate a
neglect
of everything that is valuable -- instead of making the poor contented
with
their condition, they descant upon the luxury of fashion and wealth,
causing
a thousand hearts bitterly to ache for an imaginary want. Is not, then,
this
kind of literature a nuisance? Ought not its influence to be checked?
True
-- but how can this be one? Let every candid and upright man, who
believes
that the tendency of this literature is bad, refrain, carefully and
continually,
refrain, from purchasing the magazines which publish it. People may
talk
and talk, but all in vain -- nothing will have the desired effect but
the
keeping back of the necessary funds. As to those who tax their brains
to
produce this literature, let them enjoy, (if they are satisfied with
it,)
their only legitimate reward, viz: the flattery of fools -- foolish
young
men and foolish young women. Let every person who acknowledges such men
as
Ingraham and Willis, (Willis, we mean, as he is now -- not as he was
formerly,)
and such women as Helen Berkley, and all their followers, (for their
name
is legion,) let such people, we say, be laughed at for their taste, and
see
what will be the effects of the ridicule. The conclusion of the whole
matter
is this the light literature of the present day, particularly as
disseminated
in our fashionable magazines, is almost without a single redeeming
quality.
L...
~~~~~~~
COMMENTS BY THE
E
DITOR. -- We have consented to publish the foregoing, not
because
we agree with it, but because we do not. We like occasionally to differ
with
our correspondents, by way of allowing their independence -- reserving
to
ourselves, however, the high privilege of expressing our disagreement
with
their views, opinions, prejudices, predilections and decisions. Now the
writer
of the above is, of course, altogether in the wrong; the magazines of
our
country are the most admirable affairs imaginable -- polished corners
of
the temple -- caned cariatides on the portico of literature. The
generous
commendations in the newspapers which always herald their monthly
appearance
are perfectly disinterested and just, and if we are to believe them,
nor
heaven nor earth nor the waters under the earth ever contained anything
so
beautiful, so exquisite, so superb, so splendid, so entrancing and
soul-subduing.
What makes it very wonderful is, that though every number never can be
surpassed, the next is better still, and thus "the agony of praise is
piled up," till Pelion towers over Ossa, and the acme of superlative is
overflown by
[page 304:] the wings of mounting exaggeration.
Nevertheless,
our fat friend the public -- good, easy, old gentleman -- sits in his
elbow-chair and laughs at the attempts made to gull him into believing
that silly stories are "grand and thrilling," and that revamped
engravings -- than which he can
buy a hundred better for a few shillings in any print shop -- are
elaborate and magnificent specimens of art. He sits quietly, letting
his boys and girls,
if they will, take in the pretty books while he, sensible person!
continues
to read the New World, an wonder how anybody can possibly be so stupid
as
to find entertainment in any other periodical whatsoever.
Now there was one peculiarly forcible
reason, why we
liked no to print the foregoing comments. They are too severe,
and,
as toute le monde et sa,femme knows, we cannot bear to be
severe; it
is not our way. We praise everything; it encourages American literature
and
makes "Young genius. plume his eagle flight,
Rich, dew-drops shaking from his plumes of light"
Where a critic is so savage and ferocious and cruel and hard-hearted
and brutal, as not to praise to the utmost the pap and porridge of
literature, hour the deuce does he expect to have any jellies and that
"Perpetual feast of nectared sweets
Where no crude surfeit reigns?"
Certainly, he ought to sing " Io Paean" over all things good, bad an
indifferent -- then he is called a good-natured fellow, a discerner of
excellence in others,
a nice, pleasant individual with a heart as warm as a buckwheat cake --
ought
to be. For a reputation like this being very ambitious, we don't like
to
be severe and never are -- are we, dear, mild, mellifluous Miss
Jenkins,
etc ?
But what avails running on in this
way, like John Neal, hurry-skurry? "Behoveth us,"as Knowles fifty times
in every play has
written, "behoveth us" to be sedate and serious. Really, our
correspondent says harsh and unkind things in a pleasant way. We like
the Knickerbocker and the rest, and consider them very well edited. We
have a high personal respect for the editors. As for Sargent's
Magazine, though in its infancy, it has, we are told, begun to go
alone; and if Mr. Sargent does write all the articles, so much the more
to the credit of his industry, and to the Protean
character of his style, now assuming the guise of a lady, now that of a
gentleman:
at this minute Helen Berkley, and at the next Sam Sampson, (what a
funny
name!) That we wish Mr. Sargent the most measureless success, our
readers
well know from the notices which have graced our columns.
A word in conclusion. We can't say
that we ever
read any of these Magazines. We have frequently tried to, and couldn't.
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