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[page 126, column 1, continued:]
THE AGE. A Satire pronounced as a Valedictory Poem before the New York Society of Literature, at its Second Anniversary, January 22, 1845. By Alfred Wheeler. C. Shepard, 191 Broadway.
“In presenting the following Poem,” says Mr. Wheeler in his preface, “the author regrets that neither time nor opportunity has been afforded for such corrections and additions as would, in his humble judgment, add much to its merit.” Mr. Wheeler has done himself an injustice by putting forth his Satire without first making the additions hinted at, for which, we suppose, the “New York Society of Literature” must be held accountable. All the satirical parts of Mr. Wheeler's “Satire” appear to have been left out, for we have not been able to discover anything that bears a resemblance to satire in a very careful reading which we gave it; and the “personal friends” who urged its publication before the necessary additions could be made which its title calls for, showed but little discretion in their friendship for the satirist. The freedom of the press has put an end to satire. When men have the privilege to abuse wrong-doers in plain prose, there is no inducement to insinuate abuse against them under the cover of assumed names in rhyme. The open blackguardism in which editors of newspapers and their correspondents indulge, makes all satire in rhyme appear extremely weak and unpalatable. But the vices of the age which are every day held up to derision in all manner of ways, cannot possess much zest when slightly alluded to in ten-syllable verses, after the manner of the satirists of the last century.
Mr. Wheeler satirizes the stage in the following verses, which we extract as a specimen of his manner:
“Now turn we, in our plaudits of the age,
To scan the beauties of the modern stage.
I mean not living, beauties, who amuse
Themselves and us with powder, chalk, and rouge;
But the refinement and legitimacy
Which make the drama now so rich and racy.
Time was when men of genius there were needed,
To act the parts which else would pass unheeded;
But now, ’twill answer if they’re almost fools —
Besides, they make the most efficient tools.
Thus tragedy and comedy are scarce,
For both are blended in the vulgar farce;
And once, ’twas thought, that they who judged the play,
Around the boxes sat in bright array —
That honor we’ve accorded to the pit.
With whom all jest and bombast pass for wit;
And as they like the mimic rage or tears,
So they reward with hisses or with cheers.
The best of every play is never seen —
That which is hid from us behind the screen;
When Hamlet and the Ghost sit tete-a-tete,
Or Richard dead becomes intemperate;
Or when Othello rants at Desdemona
Because she didn’t die the way he’d shown her.”
It is some time since we read the Rosciad, but we think we may safely aver that it contains nothing like this.
The “New York Society of Literature” has made us acquainted with this new satirist, and the satirist has introduced us for the first time to an acquaintance with the “New York Society of Literature.” We shall of course hear from the society and the satirist again.
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Notes:
This review was specifically rejected as being by Poe by W. D. Hull.
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[S:0 - BJ, 1845] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Criticism - Literary (Briggs ?, 1845)