The southern literary messenger, Vol. II., No. 11, October, 1836

In Short

This volume serves as a curated collection of contemporary thought, ranging from original poetry and historical summaries of the Barbary States to vigorous critiques of political doctrine and classical education. It functions as a mirror of its time, reflecting the Southern preoccupation with legislative rights, the value of the "learned languages," and the nuances of international affairs. Its enduring quality lies in its role as a primary witness to the 19th-century American intellectual climate, showcasing the rigorous, often combative, and deeply serious tone of mid-century scholarship.

The Story

The volume opens with a domestic, if somewhat melancholic, tribute: a poem by the grammarian Lindley Murray addressed to his wife. This sets a tone of high-minded sentimentality that permeates much of the issue’s creative work. From this intimate start, the reader is thrust into the global political theater with Robert Greenhow’s account of the Caramanli dynasty in Tripoli. Greenhow documents the collapse of the Pasha’s rule, the failed expectations of his heirs, and the tragic, violent suicides and exiles that follow, emphasizing the instability of power and the finality of political ruin.

Following this historical excursion, the perspective shifts to the ancient world through a dramatic dialogue between Moses and Aaron. This piece frames the biblical narrative as a high-stakes political drama, focusing on the immediate tension of the looming plagues and the vulnerability of the Israelites before Pharaoh. This leads directly into a lengthy, bibliographically dense guide to the "learned languages," where an anonymous contributor offers a rigorous, opinionated list of essential editions of Greek and Roman classics, dismissing some authors as "supposititious" or lacking "literary value" while championing others as indispensable mines of mythological and historical learning.

The conversation then turns to the immediate, domestic political landscape. The writers debate the constitutional nature of the American Senate, arguing over whether a representative is a mouthpiece for their specific state or a detached arbiter of the "public good." This intellectual sparring is tempered by lighter, travel-inspired observations: a breezy account of a train ride in Baltimore, where the author mocks the "potent, grave, and reverend seniors" of the government who are forced to sleep on dining-room pallets, and a theological scene featuring Martin Luther, who laments the moral failings of his era’s princes while debating with simple merchants in a tavern.

The narrative arc concludes with a shift toward dramatic criticism and social commentary. The editors analyze German and Italian plays, contrasting the rigid structure of classicism with the more vibrant, modern theatrical styles of the era. They then review a series of parliamentary sketches and a medical dissertation on physical diagnosis, before ending on a note of worldly observation regarding the "social facility" of Spanish tertulias. The issue leaves the reader with a sense of a world that is rapidly expanding, yet deeply anchored to the rigid, often exclusionary, social and academic standards of the mid-1830s.

How It Unfolds

The domestic intimate The issue begins with private verse, grounding the reader in the personal sentimentality that frequently punctuated the public discourse of the 1830s. It establishes the era's taste for refined, moralistic poetry as a precursor to more rigorous intellectual pursuits.

The fall of empires The scope expands to the Mediterranean, chronicling the decline of the Barbary states with a cold, historical detachment. This movement illustrates the period's fascination with the political instability of foreign regimes as a parallel to the reader's own precarious era.

The debate of antiquity The focus moves to the classroom and the library, where the value of Greek and Latin is fiercely defended against "modern" indifference. This section highlights the belief that a gentleman’s character is fundamentally forged through the study of ancient texts.

The American political struggle The narrative shifts to the home front, presenting a sophisticated, heated argument regarding the role of the U.S. senator. It captures the tension between regional loyalty and national unity, a recurring theme in the discourse of the pre-Civil War South.

The modern world reflected The final beats move through theatrical critiques and travel sketches, bridging the gap between high art and everyday experience. The issue concludes by juxtaposing the complexities of European politics with the mundane realities of travel and medical science.

The People

The figures in this collection range from the legendary to the obscure. Martin Luther appears as a weary, philosophical advocate for the common person, lamenting the corruption of princes while seeking refuge in the company of tradespeople. His presence highlights the era’s reverence for historical moral authority. The Marquis of Posa, as described in the dramatic critiques, serves as the archetype of the political enthusiast—a man whose soul is consumed by the "attainment of a favorite object," often to the detriment of his own safety and the peace of the state. He stands in stark contrast to the King, who is depicted as a suspicious, calculating ruler, forever searching for spies and betrayal. Mr. Peter Snook, a character from the lighter travel narratives, offers a more grounded, idiosyncratic presence; his habit of banishing inconveniences to "Jericho" adds a layer of human absurdity to the otherwise heavy, intellectual proceedings. These figures, whether historical or fictional, are defined by their intense dedication to their respective causes—be it religious reform, political intrigue, or simply the preservation of one’s own dignity in an uncomfortable inn.

In Its Own Voice

I glory in the sacred ties, Which modern wits and fools despise, Of Husband and of Wife.

The author expresses a defiant pride in the institution of marriage, framing it as a sacred bond against the cynicism of contemporary society.

So thus we hurl our white pebble from the river of Truth at the forehead of Goliah.

The writer employs a combative, scholarly metaphor to characterize their defense of classical education against the perceived threat of utilitarianism.

We found our rooms commodious and airy, and soon saw reason to bless our forethought, in having pre-engaged our accommodations, while compassionating the “potent, grave, and reverend seniors” of the land, as they cubiculated on pallets in the dining-rooms.

The traveler highlights the intersection of privilege and discomfort during a period of intense political activity.

What It's Really About

At its core, this work is an investigation into the preservation of order—whether that order is found in the rigid grammar of the classics, the structure of constitutional government, or the formal social tiers of the 19th-century elite. It grapples with the tension between the "old world" of established authority and the "new world" of shifting political allegiances and popular opinion. It is deeply preoccupied with the question of how to maintain a cohesive intellectual and social identity in an age of rapid, often unsettling, change. The authors seem to ask: what is worth keeping from the past, and what must be sacrificed to navigate the uncertain political and social currents of the future?

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of 19th-century prose will find this volume a rewarding, if demanding, experience. It offers a rare, unvarnished look at the intellectual machinery of the American South, showing how the educated elite synthesized global history, ancient philosophy, and urgent domestic politics. You will feel the weight of their convictions—their belief in the necessity of classical rigor, their suspicion of centralized power, and their preoccupation with the social graces of the time.

However, the modern reader must be prepared for the period's inherent biases. The writing reflects the attitudes of a society deeply rooted in specific racial and class hierarchies, and the prose—while precise and often elegant—can be verbose and didactic. There is a palpable sense of insularity; the authors are often speaking to a very specific, like-minded peer group. If you approach this not as a source of modern wisdom, but as an authentic, challenging artifact of a bygone mindset, you will find it highly illuminating. It remains with you as a reminder of how intellectual life was once conducted through the slow, earnest exchange of long-form essays, where a single question of Greek translation could be as significant as a debate on the floor of Congress.