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LIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM-BENJAMIN B. MINOR, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.

RICHMOND, JANUARY, 1844.

NO. 1.

Knowledge, rest content, whilst any scheme for Intellectual improvement and Literary honor is demanding their support ?!

THE EDITOR TO HIS PATRONS. Hoping that a "merry Christmas" has gladdened your hearts, leaving them untouched by its frost, For the ensuing year, our own efforts shall be we again greet you with "a happy New Year." unremitting and we will receive the constant aid What matters it that chill Winter has come, binding of many of the ablest pens in the Union ;-Esall Nature in his icy chains, if he touch not with sayists, Poets, Novelists, Critics and Historians. his torpor the generous impulses of noble hearts? They have assured us of their good will and some Though his blasts howl around us, as now, making have given solid proof of their intention to sustain es almost idolize "our own fire side," where we so us. THEY DEEM IT ESSENTIAL TO THE SOUTH TO "tranquilly abide," it may still be sunshine and Spring HAVE SUCH A WORK AND CRY SHAME UPON HER SONS within our minds. Let the frosts of selfishness FOR NOT SPEEDING IT ON WITH MORE GENEROUS AID. Dever freeze the generous current of the soul; but Nothing is wanting, in order to sustain, in the heart let the genial warmth of kindred spirits, the ardor of the South and with the South in its heart, the of chaste Love and the fervor of devoted Friend- best toned, best printed and best filled Magazine in shup keep it limpid, flowing and sparkling forever. the whole Union, but Patrons; or, to speak more There is a glory and a use in Nature's winter, plainly, prompt, paying subscribers. with all its cold and storm. With what grandeur and splendor the mountain rears its snow-turbaned head! What Beauty spangles the gem-decked trees! What Joy fills the throng that glide, like spirits in a dream, over the surface of the shining lake! And beneath Winter's chilling robe spring the fowers and the grain. But what glory, what beauty, what good in the blasts of human passion, or the benumbing selfishness of Ignoble Natures?

the "

We foresee that the pretended, or supposed cheapness of lower priced Periodicals will be an obstacle in our way. Common honesty requires that those who do not furnish but three dollars' worth should demand no more. Is it not better, judicious and economical readers, to give a guinea for a guinea than a shilling for a sixpence; or, what is still worse, than imitate the gourmand, who gave his last guinea for an ortelan? Many think, that after The monarch of the sunny clime could not be their money has been changed into good Messenger persuaded that Winter ever laid his stiff hand upon paper, they get what is worth a premium. The flowing streams and made them bear the tramp existence of the Messenger, with its distinctive If he was as ignorant of the freezing tone, is and has been worth to the South more thouthe heart, what Bliss he knew! May sands than enough to establish it forever. The sunshine of Christmas mirth, New Messenger can not be too large for a month's readYear hap. nd every day joy keep you from ing. By reduction of size and loss of character, experiencing it, and make you as incredulous of it it could be brought to the level of three dollar as was the Eastern King of the existence of ice. cheapness,-but no true friend can desire to see Another year, with its hopes, its duties and its this done. You may lop the noble oak, until noaims, is opening before us. Different occupations thing is left but its unsightly trunk, fit only to invite the energy of our spirits. Go on with brave be burned; or you may cut it down and leave hearts and strong hands-the wilderness of Life only its misshapen stump; but, in order to enjoy will fall before you and smiling homes and spreading, its beauty and shade, you must extend its spreadteeming fields will reward and bless your efforts. ing branches, by watering its roots and fertilizing We approve the custom of the Editor commen-its soil. Sooner than see the Messenger dispareing each volume with a little friendly chat with aged and brought down from its present exalted pois patrons. He has to thank the firm and stead-sition, we had rather see it fall. Southerners, fast, to incite the faltering, to arouse the supine you can preserve it, as it stands; and who had not and invoke anew the aid of all the friends of Literary Enterprise. He has to congratulate his readers upon the delight he has afforded them, to unfold to them his plans, and to commune with them about his prospects-ah! and he has to regret that many are so indifferent to the noble cause, in which he is What are the few thousand patrons of the Mesengaged, as to withdraw, or withhold their encour-senger to the vast number of those to whose inagement and support. How can any, whose hearts terest, to whose patriotism and appreciation of and minds have been visited by the "Day-star" of laudable enterprise it strongly appeals? We can

VOL. X-1

rather see the proud monument, reared in honor of some noble achievement, shattered by the lightning, or uprooted by the earthquake, than suffered to moulder and decay, by the neglect of those who should have cherished and perpetuated it.

not rest satisfied, nor feel proud of the South until she has sent us TEN THOUSAND subscribers.

66

IPHIGENIA AT TAURIS.

A DRAMATIC POEM.

IN FIVE ACTS. ·

(Translated from the German of Goëthé.)

the ships freighted with heros and all the munitions of war;
but in vain they waited for propitious winds. Agamemnon,
King of Men," the commander of this mighty host, had
killed the favorite stag of Diana, and the Goddess, in dis-
flagging sails."
pleasure, allowed "not one favoring breeze to swell his

We are almost ready to resolve that we will have this number if we have to go through the land, a second Peter the Hermit. Come then, ye sons of the South, who love your own land, and ye sons of the North, who wish a bond of union with The Grecian host, destined for the destruction of Troy, was assembled at Aulis. All was now ready and each Greyour brethren-who wish to reciprocate that gene-cian bosom burned to avenge the injured Helen. There lay rous patronage which your every effort receives from us;-Come and enroll your names in behalf of the Messenger. To you, most generous and steady Patrons, we owe unbounded thanks, and shall strive, unremittingly, to requite you for your favors, by sending you a work worthy of yourselves. Calchas "disclosed the fates" and demanded the costly To effect this, let none be Patrons in name only-sacrifice of Iphigenia, Agamemnon's cherished daughter, but all in deed and in truth. Let every friend en- to appease "the Queen dispensing light." The father's list his friends; every gifted pen pour fourth its love hardly yields to the Greek's devotion; but the wiley treasures and all unite to rear a monument of talent Ulysses is sent to lure the dedicated victim and her mother to the camp, under the pretence of marrying Iphigenia to worthy of the Fathers we have buried, of the land the Great Achilles. The hour arrives, the Altar is prewhich they left us, of the privileges we possess pared and the victim, now willing, is ready to die; but and the destiny that awaits us. Diana ransoms the maiden, and enshrouding her in a cloud, bears her away to Tauris, in the present Crimea, and makes her priestess of her Temple there. What happened there the play will best unfold.

Oh!

but we must confine ourselves to saying, that it has been highly approved by a German scholar and by an excellent judge of its English Dress.-Ed. Mess.

At this season of Christmas Gifts and New Year Presents, it may be expected that we should offer you something more substantial than sentiment, or Euripides, in his works, has celebrated Iphigenia both exhortation. Alas! alas!! we have neither" Mys-at Aulis and at Tauris. The German poet has represented teries of Paris," Newspaper " Annuals," nor any some incidents differently from him. The name of the other unrivalled "Premiums," to offer you. A author of the following translation would give it weight; cordial greeting and our Messenger's stores--our "heart and lute"-are all we can give you. ye grown up children, will not these suffice? If not, then sincerely do we hope, that St. Nicholas has well filled your hanging socks with sugar plums and fire-crackers. But ye, whose devotion did not propitiate the bountiful Nicholas, be not disconso-THOAS, King of Tauris. late; for your fond mothers have, or will, no doubt, ARCAS, his Minister. award you the portion of that "big boy,"

"Little Jack Horner,

Who sat in a corner,
Eating his Christmas pie."

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

IPHIGENIA, Priestess of the Temple of Diana at Tauris and
Daughter of Agamemnon.

ORESTES, Brother of Iphigenia.
PYLADES, his friend.
SCENE.-The

grove

before Diana's Temple.

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ACT I.-SCENE 1.

Iphigenia alone.

Through your deep shades, ye high and waving summits, Of this old consecrated leafy grove,

I

As in Diana's silent sanctuary,

But indeed we are disposed to be liberal-yes we
will astonish you by our generosity. Then," dear
friends, sweet friends," if you will only turn over
a new leaf with us, what will we not do for you?
Yes, yes, we must be liberal. We will give you move, e'en now, with shuddering emotion,
free permission to read the Messenger through-As if I ne'er before had trod your mazes;
and-and-to pay for it. Nor shall your precious Nor does my soul yet find itself at home.
privileges end here; for, in the best faith, we pro- So many years have I been here concealed
mise to renew this "charter of your Liberties" By that high will, to which I meekly bow;
when, with the blessing of Heaven, we come to For ah! From all I love the sea divides me,
And yet, as at the first, I am a stranger.
celebrate the birth-day of another year. Till then, And, standing on the shore the live long day,
Joy, Peace and Truth attend your steps.
My yearning spirit, o'er the watery waste,
Stretches herself to seek the shores of Greece;
While to my sighs the roaring waves give back
Their sullen, hoarse, unsympathizing voice.

To think rightly is of Knowledge; to speak fluently is of Wo to the wretch, who, far from home and kindred,
Nature;

Must mourn in solitude life's dearest joys

To read with profit is of care; but to write aptly is of Dashed from his lip. His thronging thoughts still roam practice.

Back to his Father's halls, back to the scenes,

To be accurate, write; to remember, write; to know thine Where first the fair Sun to his eye disclosed own mind, write.

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The silken bands that heart to heart unite.
I do not quarrel with the Gods. But ah!
The lot of Woman is indeed most sad.
In Peace man governs, and in War commands;
In stranger lands, his hand still guards his head.
Possession gladdens him, and Victory crowns;
And glorious Death ends all. But fate binds Woman
To make obedience to a Tyrant Husband

Her duty and her only consolation.

And oh! How wretched should a hostile fate

To strangers in strange lands consign her. Here,
Thus noble Thoas keeps me. Solemn-holy
The bond that binds me; yet am I a slave,
And blush to own with what reluctant service
I wait on thee, oh Goddess! thee to whom
I owe my life; to whom that life should be,
With free unforced devotion dedicated.
Yet have I trusted, and I still do trust
In thee, Diana, who, in thy soft arms,
And to thy holy bosom didst embrace
The disowned daughter of the King of men.
Daughter of Jove, if thou the illustrious man
By thee afflicted for his victim child,
If thou the God-like Agamemnon, who

The darling of his heart brought to thine altar,
Hast led in glory from Troy's prostrate walls
Back to his fatherland; his treasures there,
Wife-son-and daughter, all preserved by thee,
Oh! give me too at last to those I love;
Me, whom from Death already thou hast saved,
Save from the living Death I suffer here.

SCENE 2.

Iphigenia. Arcas.

Arcas. Greeting and hail to great Diana's Priestess
The King by me hath sent. Tauris to-day
For new and wondrous victories gives thanks
To her protecting Goddess; and the King,
Followed by his triumphant host, approaches.

Iphigenia. We are prepared to give them fit reception;
And great Diana now the welcome offering
From Thoas' hand, with gracious smile, expects.

Aye, but not the thanks

Arcas. Still so unhappy! Pardon my presumption!
Is it not rather that thou art ungrateful?
Iphigenia. Thanks you have always.
Arcas.
That recompense the benefit; the look
That speaks a heart content in grateful love.
When, many years ago, mysterious fate
Placed thee a Priestess in this holy fane,
Thoas received thee, as a gift from Heaven,
With reverence and love. To thee this shore
Gave kindly welcome, tho' to all beside
So full of horror. For what stranger else
Had entered our realm, who did not bleed
At Dian's altar, a devoted victim

According to time-consecrated custom.

Iphigenia. Breath is not life; and what a life is this, Chained to this holy spot, as if a ghost

Were doomed around its grave ever to wander.

Is this a life conscious of life and joy,
Whose every hour dreamed fruitlessly away,
Can but prepare the soul for that grey twilight,
Which, on the shores of Lethe, the sad host
Of parted spirits celebrate in draughts
Of deep oblivion,-even of themselves?
A useless life is but an early death:

And such is Woman's fate-such most is mine.
Arcas. The noble pride that sees not its own merit
I pardon but lament it; for it robs thee

Of what thou prizest most, and well hast purchased.
Thou hast done nothing here, since thine arrival!!!
Who then has cheered the troubled soul of Thoas?
Whose gentle influence has, from year to year,
The old and barbarous custom held in check,
Which cruelly fore-doomed the hapless stranger
To bleed a victim on Diana's altar,

And often has sent back from certain death
The ransomed captives to their native land?
Whose winning prayer has soothed the injured Goddess,
That she, without displeasure, sees her Temple
Robbed of its victims, and still leads us on
Has softened the stern spirit of the King,
To victory and triumph? Who but thou
Who, wise and brave, our councils and our arms
Directs, that lightly sits the yoke of duty,

Arcas. And thine, much-honored Priestess! Were thy While he, rejoicing in thy presence, takes

smile,

On holy virgin, also clear and bright,
How happy were the omen. Secret grief
Still preys upon thy heart; and still in vain
For years we've listened for one trustful word.
That self-same look, I still, with shuddering awe,
Have seen, since first I saw thee in this place,
And still, as if forged down with iron bands,
Deep in thy inmost breast, thy soul remains.

Iphigenia. As best becomes the Exile and the Orphan.
Arcas. Art thou an Exile and an Orphan here?
Iphigenia. Can a strange shore become our Fatherland?
Arcas. But now to thee thy Fatherland is foreign.
Iphigenia. Ah true! Most true! And hence my heart

still bleeds.

In Life's first dawn, while yet the unpractised heart
Is tardly conscious of the tie that binds

To Father, Mother, Kindred; while the scions,
That cluster round the root of the old stem,
First Heaven-ward begin to strive ;. Oh! then
A curse seized on me, and, with iron grasp,
Sundering that tie, bore me from all I loved.

Then perished Youth's best joys; then withering shrunk
The bad of promise. Rescued from the grave,

What am I, but a shadow to myself,

Wherein no flush of joy again can bloom.

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Of what thou dost, and what is best for thee.
Since his Son's death, the King no longer trusts
His followers as before. None--absolutely
Few he trusts at all. On every youth
Of noble birth he looks with jealousy,
As the successor to his vacant throne;
While, for himself, lonely and helpless age,
Or rude rebellion and untimely death
Seem to await him. In the arts of speech,
The Scythian takes no pride. He least of all.
Accustomed to command, and prompt to act,
The art, by devious and well-chosen phrase
To steal upon his object, is to him
Unknown. Make not his task more difficult
By coy refusal, or by wilful dulness.
Meet him complacently. Meet his wish half way.
Iphigenia. Must I accelerate what threatens me?
Arcas. Callest thou then his suit a threat?
Iphigenia.
Most dreadful.
Arcas. Then for his love at least give confidence.
Iphigenia. Let him first free my soul from fear.
Arcas.
But why

Dost thou from him thy origin conceal?
Iphigenia. It is, that secresy becomes a Priestess.
Arcas. Nothing should be a secret from the King;
And tho' he questions not, he deeply feels,
In his great soul, the studied cold reserve,
In which thou shroudest thyself.
Iphigenia.

Anger against me.?

Arcas.

Does he then cherish

So it almost seems.

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The heart of youthful blood drives not the King
To the audacious violence of Youth.
But-thinking as he does, I much do fear
A sterner purpose, which his thwarted will
Most surely will accomplish. Firm he is,
And fixed in his designs. I pray thee then
Be thankful-trustful, if you be no more.
Iphigenia. Tell me what else thou knowest.
Arcas.
Learn it from him.
1 see him coming. Thou dost honor him.
Obey thy heart, and meet him as a friend.
Give him thy confidence. The noblest men
Most readily submit them to be guided
By a kind word from woman.

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My People's praises. All that I have gained
Is more enjoyed by others than by me;
For he is happiest, whether King or Peasant,
Whose home is happy. Thou didst share my sorrow,
When from my side my Son, my last, my best,
The hostile sword lopped off. Then, while Revenge
Possessed my spirit, I felt not the void

Of my lone dwelling. Now-my rage appeased-
The hostile realm laid waste-my Son avenged,
I look at home for bliss, and look in vain.
The glad obedience which I once beheld
Sparkling in every eye, is now exchanged
For dark-browed care, and dumb anxiety.
While each one, musing on the doubtful future,
Obeys his childless King because he must.
Now, to this temple, which so oft I've entered
To pray for Victory, or to render thanks
For Victories won, again I come to-day,
And in my bosom a long cherished wish,
To you not new, I bear; the wish-the hope
To bear thee to my dwelling as my bride,
A blessing to my People and myself.

Iphigenia. Too much thou offerest to one unknown,

Oh King! The exile stands abashed before thee,

Who, on this shore, sought nothing but repose,

And the protection thou hast kindly granted.

Thoas. And is it right, from me as from a Peasant, The secret of thy origin to hide?

In any country this would be ungrateful:

But here, where strangers tremble to encounter
What Law and stern Necessity denounce,
From thee, enjoying every pious right,

A guest received with favor, one who lives
According to her every wish and fancy,
From thee I hoped at least the confidence
Due to a faithful host.

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Oh, King! the name of Parents and of race, 'Twas in perplexity and not distrust.

Did'st thou but know who stands before thee here,

Whose the accursed head thy pity shelters,

Horror, perchance, would seize thy noble heart,

And shuddering, thou wouldest drive me from thy realm,

Instead of asking me to share thy throne;

Thrusting me forth, ere yet occasion offers

To end my wanderings in a blest return

To all I love ;-forth to the misery

Which, hovering round the exile, clings to him
Frighting his soul with its strange icy grasp.

Thoas. Whate'er the counsels of the Gods decree
Against thee or thy house, here every blessing
Their bounty can bestow has still attended
Thy cherished presence. I can never think
That I protect in thee a guilty head.

Iphigenia. Thy bounty wins the blessing, not thy guest.
Thoas. Bounty to crime is never thus requited.

Then lay aside thy coy reserve,

and give

Thy confidence to one too just to wrong it, Holy to me thou art, as unto her

The Goddess, who to me delivered thee,
And to her nod I still submit my will.
Let but occasion offer to return

To home and friends, that moment thou art free.
But if the homeward path be barred forever,
Thy friends expelled, or crushed by huge misfortune,
Then, by more laws than one, I claim thee mine.
Speak then. Thou knowest me faithful to my word.
Iphigenia. Unwillingly my tongue resumes its freedom
From long accustomed bondage, to reveal

The deep hid secret, which, when once disclosed,
To the heart's sanctuary never more
Returns for refuge; but becomes henceforth
The potent minister of good or ill,

E'en as the Gods decree. Know then my lineage.
'Tis from the race of Tantalus I spring.

Thos. A word of Power! And yet thou speakest it
calmly.

Was he thy ancestor, whom all the world
Krew as the man much favored by the Gods?

That Tantalus, whom, of old, to his high councils
And to his table, Jove himself invited:

He, in whose time-earned wisdom and experience,
Uttered in words oracular, the Gods
Tock pleasure.

Iphigenia.

In joint authority the subject State.
But short their concord. For Thyestes soon
His brother's bed dishonors, and is driven
An exile from his throne. But long before,
Full of malignant purpose, he had stolen
A Son from Atreus, and the petted boy
Had brought up as his own. He fills his mind
With evil passions, frenzy and revenge,
And sends him to the royal court to murder,
In him he deems his uncle, his own father.
His purpose is discovered; and the youth
Dies by his father's sentence, as the son
And murderous agent of a hated brother.
Too late the truth is known, that his own Son,
Before his drunken eyes, had died in torture.
Deep in his breast he locks the purposed vengeance
And calmly meditates an unheard deed.

He seems composed-indifferent-reconciled,
And lures his brother back into his kingdom
With his two sons. The boys he seizes-murders,
And to the father's table serves them up,
Disgustful, horrid food! Thyestes, gorged
With his own flesh, is seized with boding gloom;
Asks for his children, listens for their step,
And thinks he hears their prattling at the door,
When to his shrinking eye Atreus displays

'Tis the same. But Gods should not The visage grim in death, and severed limbs

Converse with men, as with their equals hold.
The mortal race, too weak to bear such honor,
Grows dizzy with the unaccustomed height.
He was not base; and he was not a Traitor.
Too great to be a servant, yet being Man,
He was no fit companion for the thunderer.
His crime was human, but severe his doom,
For Poets sing that indiscreet presumption
Down from Jove's table to the deep disgrace
Of Tartarus hurled him; and alas! his race
Sull bears the hatred of the Gods.
Thoas.

But bears it
Only ancestral guilt? None of its own.

Iphigenia. Ah, True! The mighty mind and Titan strength
Too sure descended both to Sons and Grandsons;
And their stern brows, girt with an iron band,
(Such was Jove's Will) repelled advice and prudence-
Wisdom and patience from their fierce dark glance
By his decree concealed. In them each wish
Became a passion, boundless in its rage.
Pelops, the strong of will, the much-loved Son
Of Tantalus, the beauteous Hippodamia
Daughter of Enomaus to his bed

By treacherous murder won. She to his love
Two children, Atreus and Thyestes, bore.
These saw with envy that their father's heart
Cung to an elder son, the first born fruit
Of his first love. Hatred to him unites them.
A brother's blood, in secret shed, first stains
Their hands. Suspicion on their mother falls.
Pelops of her demands his son, and she
Flies from his rage to self-inflicted death.

Of either victim. Shuddering, thy face,

Oh King! thou turnest away. And so the Sun
His countenance averted, and his chariot
Turned from the eternal deep-worn track aside.
Such are the Fathers of thy Priestess-such
Their doom. What else their wicked hearts have prompted
Night's heavy pinions hide, and but reveal
The dreadful twilight.

Thoas.

Let them rest in silence.

Enough of horrors. Say now, by what wonder
Thou from this savage race hast sprung.

Iphigenia.

My Father

Was Agamemnon, oldest son of Atreus.
In him, through life, I may presume to say it,
I've seen the model of a perfect man.
The first born of his love for Clytemnestra
Am I. Electra next. In peace he reigned,
And rest, so long denied the house of Tantalus,
At length enjoyed. But to a father's wish

A son was wanting. Soon that wish was granted,
And now between two sisters young Orestes
Grew up the joy of all; when new misfortune,
Prepared already, burst upon our house.
Fame to your ears has brought the sound of War,
Which, to avenge the wrong of one fair woman,
With all the powers of the Kings of Greece
The walls of Troy beleaguered. Whether they
The conquest have achieved, and their revenge
Appeased I know not. All the host of Greece
My Father led. Baffled by adverse winds
In Aulis long they waited; For Diana,

Thoas. Silent! Speak on. Thou hast no cause to rue By their great chief offended, thus detained

Thy confidence. Proceed.

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The eager host, and by the mouth of Kalchas
The first born daughter of the King demanded.
They lured me with my mother to the camp,
And at the altar this devoted head
Was offered to the Goddess. She, appeased,
Sought not my blood, but veiled me in a cloud
And bore me hither. In this temple first
From Death-trance I awoke to consciousness.
"Tis I. "Tis Iphigenia-the grand child
Of Atreus; it is Agamemnon's daughter,
Diana's property, who speak to thee.

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