The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1852-01-17
For The Cecil Whig.
THE LITERATURE,
and The LIteratf Ocfhe Age,

matter now hoouln@ lhe country, one would be
led TO say: this is an age otlilcrature; and we,
literary people. The announcement of new
publications comes TO us with every daily paper,
and scarcely week passes but we behold-and
without telescope assistance either-some new
star in the literary galaxy. To the superficial
observer, we appear reading nation, with no
lack OF book writer's and publishers. But, be-
fore we arroeate TO ourselves, and our age.
these high sounding titles, lei us examine that,
which passes current among us as Literature
Let us see il il measure up to the p.oper stand
ard-If il come forth pure from the alembic and
pass unscathcd through the furnace, though it
be seven times heated. Let us scrutnze the
claims of those who stand up as the priests and
prophets OF this generation. Arc their revela-
tions true; or, are they prophets of Baal the
legitimate sons Of Levi, or some hirrling crew
who have stolen the ephod and the mrc9
Literature is the embodiment ofrhousht 1.-THE
classification Of Opinion; or, the revelation of
Will, made in somc comprehensive form. 1t.
object must be to instruct and purify, to make
man wiser and better; and it is true or false lust
high aim. With the mortal part ofInan'> nature,
Literature has nothing to do. The graliica-
ton Of the senses comes not within its province
its mission is high, holy, ,piritna1-i appeals
TO the ''Diviniry within, and kindlrs the "spark
immortal,' sinking beneath '.ths clay"
How far this definition which we feel conf
dent is a correct onc-will apply 10 the grea,
mass OF matter thrown from the press and guped
down with snch gulosily by the people, we ask
the reader to inquire. That works ofthe high
est literary merit are published almost daily, We
will moi deny; but we blush to acknowledge,
that the public mind seeks not for what exa,s
AMI purfes, bat gluiS upon that which dcbascs
and conlamnaes. Beyond doubt, the largest
portion Of the reading matter Of the present day
may be caSscd under the popular term of"light
literature IA term synony nous with unrroflable
IN too often with psrniciou,. Upon the book
shelves OF at least seven trnths OF our young
men, will be found the disgusting lrwlncss of
Paul de kock, and the fiat, souIess illusions
ola James, mingled with the insipd ritrrvcs-
cence, OF the thousand and one would-be novel
lists of our own coanry.
A tangible evidence, that the literary 'asle of
the great mass of our people, is no real taste at
nll but only species Of outside afIcctaion. i.
30 be found in proirssrdy literary circles, and
among persons, whose pretensions reach even TO
the summit Of perfection, albeit their claims
range little higher than the base. Wcallule TO
the everlasting cry of mysticism, or pedantry.
with which every production is hailed, that bears
the slightest trace OF thought; or, is not clothed
in the same sterco'yped terms, as when our
lan"Gase was less copious than now, or standard
works not within reach of the many. We start
ell out with the idea, that literature is spiritual
in il nature and effect. Surrounlca as we are
with matter. from the cradle to the gravc-hav-
ing to combat, and provide for it; is il strange,
that things Of spiritual character should be 10
us, TO certain extent, obscure? Nay more.
how can he expect to Iavc any understanding
or appreciation of these things, unless we, for
the time, throw off the flesh with its affections and
lu>tS, and bring the SOUL the mmatera, the d.
vine part ofour nature into action. aye Scribes
anl PhaIisecs, hyrocrites'' Ye, who are pull
ed up with vain conceit We, who have no high
er object in life than to crafty the senses! wkat
right have ye to pass judgment on the souls
language. Wonder not that TO you the Oracle
reveals itself in mystical adumbra,ions. What
to you seems but strange noises, unmeanine
groans, mysterious and unntelligbc, is 10 the
Priest, who spends his life in one continuous
sacrifice al the shrine ofliteralure or, TO the
humble Worshlpper, who anon bows himself
rcvcrcnllally al the altar, the utterinys oflhat
heavenly spirit which there holds audience with
men. ''With the mysties for mysticism's sake"
TO nse the words Of one OF Americas brightest
stars-''we have no patience whatever, Int
ttele Is in the breast Of every man ofreal genius,
hidden, pcnt up fire, which must find its way
out into lie, or prey upon the very vlals.
What wonder, then, il it sometimes flash forth
in fantastic shapes, or embody itself in some
strange forms, unrecognized by the volaries of
Sense.
We have alluded in a former paragraph to the
kind OF matter, which usually passes current
among lis as Literature; and we would ask, in
all seriousness, what claim has this nbominabe
bhwdry-this lileless aglomaration of words and
sentences, without likeness or affinity to ausht
else IN the Universe, either moral, mental, or
physical-this sickenine, overstrained sentiment
tallty-to the title of Literature. In what point
do they make men wiser or better? Do thew
awaken the finer and nobler sensiblilies of the
heart! Do they call forth the latent energies
ofthe soul, remind man Of his Immortality, point
him TO his destiny, and:s,ernly bid him 90 and
accomplish that whereunto he is sent? DO
they provide food for thought, call up the mag
NATIVE powers from their embryo sccnsion. and
lead them onward. upward in their sublime
flight! Mother work is only eyil.-Thc af-
fcc'ions OF the heart are dehascd-its warm.
gushing emotions TUNED from their original