University of Virginia Library

THE NINTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NEW YORK MIRROR, JULY, 1831.

A DRAMATIC MEDLEY, IN ONE ACT.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
IMMORTALS.

• Apollo, Patron of all the Fine Arts.
• Clio, the Muse presiding over History.
• Euterpe, the Muse presiding over Music.
• Melpomene, the Muse presiding over Tragedy.
• Thalia, the Muse presiding over Comedy.
• Terpsichore, the Muse presiding over Dancing.
• Erato, the Muse presiding over Lyric and Tender Poetry.
• Polhyminia, the Muse presiding over Singing and Rhetoric.
• Calliope, the Muse presiding over Epic Poetry.
• Urania, the Muse presiding over Astronomy. Cupids, Apparitions, &c.

MORTALS.

• First Editor, Second Editor, Collector, Librarian, and Peter, the Printer's Devil, &c.

SCENE I.

The Battery by moonlight. Music in Castle Garden.
Enter three Muses, viz: Polhyminia, Erato, and Terpsichore.
Pol.
When shall we three meet again,
In honor of the Mirror's reign?

Era.
When the present volume's done,
When the NINTH is number one.

Terps.
That wont be till June has run.

Pol.
Where the place?

Era.
Within the Park.

Terps.
There to meet with—

Era.
Morris.

Terps.
Hark!

Pol.
I come, Euterpe.

Era.
Clio calls,
From the Castle Garden walls.

All.
Fair or foul, we pay no fare,
Hover o'er the bridge, and through the air.

[Exeunt into Castle Garden, and out of the port-holes.

SCENE II.

The Park. Evening. Moonlight. Theatre lighted up. Music in Peale's Museum.
Enter Euterpe, Thalia, and Clio.
Eut.
Where hast thou been, sister, say?

Tha.
Strolling up and down Broadway,
Stripping vice of its disguise,
Shooting folly as it flies:
Paulding now demands my aid,
That 's a call I can 't evade.
Halleck asks no favors, bless him!
All the sisters so caress him.
Cox, you know, in Albion's isle,
Waits for my inspiring smile;
Thither, in a shell I'll sail,
Bannered with a peacock's tail;
He will folly's emblem view,
And then he'll do, he'll do, he'll do!

Eut.
I'll give thee a favoring wind.

Tha.
Thank thee sister,thou art kind.

Clio.
I'll supply thee with another.

Tha.
I myself have all the other.
Where hast thou been with thy flute?

Eut.
Austen's voice has kept it mute;
For I can not wake such tones
As Cinderella breathes with Jones.
Brichta, Gillingham, and Knight,
Fill their hearers with delight;
Feron, George, and tuneful Poole,
Pupils of a Sterling school,
All have won such high repute,
I 've a mind to break my flute!
All that I can now pretend,
Is their sweetest airs to blend,
Copied weekly from the stage,
For the Mirror's music page.

Tha.
Where hast thou been, sister Clio?

Clio.
In the classic isle of Scio,
Gathering facts to form a story
Of Moslem hate and Grecian glory;
Present times and foreign ages,
Fit to grace the Mirror's pages;
Buried archives, deep and loamy—
Look what I have—

Tha.
Show me! show me!

Clio.
Here I have Minerva's thumb,
Dug from Herculaneum.

Eut.
Be dumb! be mum! our sisters come!

Enter Polhyminia, Erato, and Terpsichore. All join hands and sing in chorus.
Aonian sisters, hand in hand,
Thus shall bless Columbia's land,
When they go about, about,
Inviting native talent out.

Pol.
Volume eighth its course has run—

Era.
Volume NINE—

Terps.
Has just begun

Enter Melpomene, Calliope, and Urania.
Eut.
Thrice to thine,

Cal.
And thrice to mine,

All.
To make up NINE.

Clio.
Peace! the charm's wound up.

Enter 1st and 2d Editors, reading communications by moonlight.
1st Ed.
Here let us halt a moment on the green.
So foul and fair a scroll I have not seen.

2d Ed.
How far is 't called to Flushing? What are these,
So strange in their attire, yet formed to please;
That look not like the belles of gay Broadway,
And yet are near it? Ladies, if I may
So far presume, I beg that you'll command me
In anything. You seem to understand me!
Mortal or not, you know what I am saying,
By each at once her taper finger laying
Upon her lips. As females you appear,
And yet your silence baffles that idea.

1st Ed.
Speak if you can! What are you? Why demur?

Clio.
All hail the Mirror's senior editor!

Tha.
All hail to thee, whose fame shall long exist!

Eut.
A thousand names are added to thy list!

Mel.
All hail to thee, who shall be rich as Crœsus!

2d Ed.
Why do you start, good sir, at what should please us?
[To the Muses.]
Are ye fantastical, I fain would know?
Or that indeed which outwardly ye show?
You greet my partner, here, with present fee,
And great prediction: why not speak to me,
Who neither beg nor fear your love or hate?

All.
Hail! lesser than thy partner, yet more great!

Clio.
Thou shalt have fame that ne'er can fade nor fail,

All.
So all hail Morris, Fay, and Willis, hail!

1st Ed.
Stay, ye imperfect speakers! tell me more.
I know that I am senior editor;
But as to fame, and wealth, and all the rest,
The thousand names which you have just expressed,
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be rich as Lydia's chief.
How know you this? or why here, after dark,
Stop you our way in this triangled Park,
With such prophetic greeting in our path?

[They vanish.
2d Ed.
The earth hath bubbles, as the water hath,
And these are of them. Whither did they fly?

1st Ed.
Into the air, or theatre, just by;
Would they had staid, and told their story out.

2d Ed.
Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Or have we breathed exhilarating gas,
And merely dreamed that such things came to pass?

1st Ed.
Thy fame shall still increase.

2d Ed.
Thy wealth shall grow.

1st Ed.
And reputation: went it not so?

2d Ed.
To the self-same tune and words. Whom have we here?

Enter Collector, in haste.
Col.
The news of my success will charm thine ear;
One thousand new subscribers swell our list,
Which still increases, and they all insist
On paying in advance. There 's the amount,
Which you will find correct, sir, if you count.

2d Ed.
What! can their words be true?

[Aside.
1st Ed.
Sir, you are kind.
[Musing.
Thanks for your pains—the greatest is behind.
Wealthy as Crœsus! the hope within me stirs,
Our children's children may be editors!
Two truths are told—the one a golden fact—
As happy prologues to the swelling act.

2d Ed.
Look, how our partner's rapt!

1st Ed.
Come what, come may,
Time and the hour run through the roughest day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Battery. Evening.
Enter the nine Muses.
Clio.
Speak, sister, speak! is the deed done?

Tha.
Long ago—long ago;
'T is volume NINE, and number one.

Era.
Great acts are seldom slow,
Nor single; new ideas on former wait,
The brightest thoughts the fastest propagate.

CHORUS.
Many more volumes must this one ensue;
New pictures will abound,
And elegance surround,
As if in plates were found
Propagation too.

Clio.
He must—

Tha.
He shall—

Eut.
He will spill ink a flood,
And labor hard to make his title good.

Chorus.
He must, he shall, he will, &c.

Terps.
Now let us dance.

Tha.
Agreed,

Eut.
Agreed.

Chorus.
We should rejoice when books succeed.

Clio.
When poets woo, what should we do?
When Freedom's voice in thunder
Rends tyrants' chains asunder,
And fills the world with wonder,
What should we do?

Chorus.
Rejoice—we should rejoice.

Enter Apollo, in a rage.
Tha.
How now, Apollo! what's the matter now?
There seems to be a cloud upon thy brow.

Apol.
Have I not reason, meddlers as you are,
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic, after dark,
With Fay and Morris in the Park,
And I, the leader of your choir,
“The bright-haired master of the lyre,”
Was never called to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
But make amends now: get you gone,
And meet me there to-morrow morn;
From thence we'll go to Clinton hall,
Where I expect you, one and all;
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms, and everything beside.
I'm for the air; this night I'll spend,
To show that I'm the Mirror's friend.
Apollo hands Terpsichore into the car of a balloon just then inflated; the cord is cut, and they slowly ascend, singing:—
Now we go, and now we fly,
Sweet Terpsichore and I;
Oh, what a dainty pleasure's this!
To sail in the air,
Along with the fair;
To sing, to toy, to dance, and kiss.
Over woods, railroads, and mountains,
Over seas, canals, and fountains,
Over steeples, towers, and turrets,
We fly by night o'er poet's garrets.

Chorus.
We fly by night o'er poet's garrets.

[Apollo and Terpsichore ascend in a balloon, and pass over the city just as the clock on the City-Hall ought to strike twelve. The rest of the Muses form a dance on the Battery, and then disperse.

SCENE IV.

Clinton-Hall Library. Sunrise. In the centre the magic urn.
Enter the nine Muses. Music.
Clio.
Thrice has quarter-day been round.

Tha.
Thrice and once has S---s called.

Eut.
T---n cries, 't is time! 't is time!

Clio.
Round about the urn we'll go,
In our contributions throw;
All who wish to aid the Mirror,
Quickly bring your offerings hither.
Works by genius wrought upon,
Days and nights full many a one;
Pictures brought from gallery wall,
Arcade bath, and City-hall;
Fancy's sketch and faithful view,
History's scenes and portraits too;
All your wonted treasures bring,
On this NINTH year's opening;
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,
Bring them to the charmed urn.

CHORUS.
Taste ad genius shall combine
To embellish volume NINE.

EUT.
Novel, romance, moral tale,
Female fancy to regale;
Essay grave, and satire keen,
Strictures on the drama's scene;
Female manners, dress, and beauty,
With some hints of moral duty;
March of sciences and arts,
Letters sent from foreign parts;
Travels over land and sea,
Sketches of biography;
Weekly literary news,
Candid, liberal reviews;
Fairy tale, and mirthful sketch,
All that 's useful hither fetch.
All your wonted treasure bring,
On this NINTH year's opening;
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,
Bring them to the charmed urn.

Chorus.
Taste and genius shall combine
To embellish volume NINE.

Tha.
Native scenery, grand or fair,
By our tourists sketched with care;
Mountains, cataracts, and springs,
All that mark their journeyings;
New inventions as they rise,
Aphorisms of the wise,
Fresh discoveries of note,
Great improvements just afloat;
Reminiscences of things
Fled on Time's unwearied wings;
Curious legends, and relations
Known to former generations,
(When the Park was out of town,)
By their children handed down;
Newest fashions as they pass,
Poesy of every class;
Anecdote and humor chaste,
Polished wit for ears of taste;
Weekly list of strange events,
Current facts and incidents;
All your wonted treasures bring,
On this NINTH year's opening;
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,
Bring them to the charmed urn.

Chorus.
Taste and genius shall combine
To embellish volume NINE.

Enter Apollo.
SONG.

Pol.
Sedley, Sedley, aid the medley.

Terps.
Wit of Paulding sharp and scalding.

Era.
Verse of Palmer, that 's a charmer.

Mel.
Tale from Leggett, readers beg it.

Chor.
Around, around, around, about, about,
Put in the good, and keep the others out.

Tha.
Paulding's Dutch and Yankee chat.

Apol.
Put in that, put in that.

Ura.
Here 's Bulwer's brain.

Apol.
Put in a grain.

Tha.
Here is Cox's latest letter,
That will please the reader better.

Apol.
Put in all these, 't will raise it's worth the higher,
Hold! here's three stanzas from Ianthe's lyre.

Chor.
Around, around, around, about, about,
Put in the good, and keep the others out.

Apol.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something sentimental comes,
Open locks, whoever knocks.

Enter Librarian, with a packet.
Era.
What have you there? Show me! show me!
Say, is it prose or poetry?
[Exit Librarian.
Oh, I perceive, there 's both. Who sent
This bucket-full of sentiment?
Pious thoughts and moral feeling,
Tender wishes, hopes revealing;
Home's enjoyments, pastoral pleasure—

Apol.
Pour it in—'t is Woodworth's measure.

Chor.
Around, around, around, about, about,
Put in the good, and keep the others out.

Era.
Thus, in poesy divine,
Many a gem for us doth shine.
Sprague our pages shall inspire
With his grandeur and his fire.
Halleck's classic satires charm,
Wetmore's martial numbers warm;
Pierpoint's airs, and Schroeder's lays,
Cheer us on our rugged ways;
Here, with Brooks's taste is blent,
Bryant's heartfelt sentiment;
Sands's humor, Whittier's strength,
Bryan's charity, and length;
Pickering, Nature's simple bard,
Smooth and polished Everard;
Willis, delicate and chaste,
Percival, of classic taste;
Cooper, Irving, Hillhouse, Clark,
Nack and all, will “toe the mark.”
Here is Huntley's sweetness stealing,
Here is Embury's depth and feeling;
Thyrga, Isabel, and Cora,
Hinda, Jane, Estelle, and Norna;
Ida, Selim, Alpha, Reuben,
Damon, Rusticus, and Lubin;
Woodbridge, Iolante, Delia,
Mary, Emma, and Aurelia;
Bogart, gentle—Muzzy, tender,
and ****s of every gender;
Signs and Greek initials plenty,
A, B, C, the four-and-twenty;
Then there 's Cassio's manly mind,
And not to mention hosts behind.
Here they have been, and shall be,
The freshest flowers of poesy.

Chor.
Around, around, around, about, about,
Put in the good, and keep the others out.

Apol.
Nor doth talent less abound,
Nor is lesser richness found,
In those columns which compose
Story or romance of prose;
Mirthful sketch, or stricture grave,
Tales of wonder on the wave
Told in “Leisure Hours at Sea,”
When the wind is fair and free.

Era.
“Little Genius,” bright and gay,
From the racy pen of Fay;
Critical remarks by B---
On dramatic melody;
Inman's candid speculations
On domestic publications;
W---s “each month in York,”
All combine to aid the work.

Apol.
All your wonted treasures bring,
On this NINTH year's opening;
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,
Bring them to the charmed urn.
Enough of letters—now commence
A detail of embellishments;
Gems of art, where'er displayed,
Put in next our charm to aid.

Clio.
Here, then, as before, I place
Weir's grandeur, Ingham's grace;
Newton's truth, and Bennett's nature,
Henry Inman's skill in feature;
Hoyle's pellucid lake and sky,
Fisher's coursers, as they fly;
Architectural grace, that shines
Bright in Davis's designs,
Cummings's delicious bloom,
Speaking eye, and snowy plume;
Jervis, Leslie, Morse, and Cole,
Full of feeling, fire, and soul;
Mountain scenery, bold and grand,
From the pencil of Durand;
Trumbull's patriotic groups,
And revolutionary troops;
Agate, Reinagle, and Morse,
Who teach the canvass to discourse;
With a host of names as high,
Which oblivion shall defy;
Forming each a radiant gem,
Modern painting's diadem.

Chorus.
Taste and genius all combine
To embellish volume NINE:
Around, around, about, about,
Put in the good, the bad keep out.

Cal.
From the graver's hand, I bring
No less rich an offering;
Sculptured on these plates, there shine,
Form for form, and line for line;
Light for light, and shade for shade,
In those picture-gems displayed.
All may thus their beauties own,
Kept before by one alone;
Living on each lasting plate,
Though the models yield to fate.
Here are Smillie's force and brightness,
Hoagland's depth, and Hatch's lightness;
Sparkling touches from Durand,
Scenes from Smith's ingenious hand;
Balch and Eddy, Rawdon, Wright,
Whose performances delight;
Mason, Adams, Anderson,
With a host come crowding on,
Far too numerous to name,
All whose works are known to fame.

Apol.
Hold! enough of graphic art,
City view, and rural chart;
Leave them all to tasteful Weir,
He will see that they appear.
Though we highly prize such treasures,
They must yield to Music's measures;
For our spells are not complete
Till we add an art so sweet.

Eut.
Let the grateful task be mine—
Haydn's splendor here shall shine;
Handel's solemn grandeur roll,
Weber's horrors fright the soul;
Sweet Rossini's strains that move
E'en the sternest hearts to love,
With the grave Mozart's combined,
Here shall charm the ear and mind;
While a thousand more, in turn,
Shall contribute to the urn.

Apol.
Such shall be our spells of power,
Meet for chamber, hall, or bower;
So our labors we conclude,
Now the charm is firm and good.

All.
Hail to those, whose kind assistance
Gave our protegé existence!
Hail to those who with renown
Did its earliest labors crown!
Hail to those who now may grace
Its prouder rank, and prosperous race!
Hail to all whose generous aid
Has a sure foundation laid!
On which the Mirror long shall stand,
Reflecting light throughout the land.
While your smiles our labors cheer,
Through another rolling year,
We will go about, about,
Drawing native talent out,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up NINE.
Peace! the charm's wound up.

[Exit Apollo.
Enter First Editor.
1st Ed.
How now, you promisers of wealth and fame!
What is't you do?

All.
A deed without a name.

1st Ed.
I conjure you by that which you foresee,
Howe'er you come to know it, answer me
To what I ask you.

Clio.
Speak.

Tha.
Demand.

Terps.
We'll answer.

1st Ed.
The Mirror's fate? thou dancing necromancers.

Clio.
Woulds't know it from our mouths, or from our master's?

1st Ed.
Conjure them up—let's see these poet-tasters!

Clio.
Pour in the milk of roses, and the dew
Gathered by starlight, when the moon was new;
Nine pearly drops from Heliconia's spring,
With gold-dust, shaken from a hum-bird's wing.

All.
Come high, or low
Thyself and office deftly show.

[Music.
First Apparition, the genius of the Portfolio.
1st Ed.
Tell me, thou well-known power—

Clio.
He knows thy thought;
Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

Appar.
Beware of politics! avoid such stuff;
Beware of party strife! I 've said enough.

[Descends.
1st Ed.
Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks,
Thou 'st harped my fear aright—we'll shun their ranks.
But one word more.

Clio.
He will not be commanded:
Here comes another, less polite—but candid.

Second Apparition, the genius of the Analectic Magazine.
Appar.
Attend! attend! attend!

1st Ed.
Had I three ears I 'd hear thee to an end.

Appar.
Be liberal, mild, but manly—laugh to scorn
The shafts of envy; there 's no journal born
Can harm the Mirror with its present talent.

[Descends.
1st Ed.
Then let them live.

Third Apparition, the genius of the Literary Casket and Pocket Magazine.
1st Ed.
But who is this young gallant
Of baby stature?

All.
Listen, but speak not;
He, like the others, knows thy every thought.

Appar.
Be independent, firm, and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where detractors are:
The Mirror must be prosperous until
Inferior scribblers all its columns fill;
Till every tasteless dunce shall weekly see
His nonsense in it.

[Descends.
1st Ed.
That will never be.
Sweet bodements! good!—I thank you! yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if your art
Can tell so much, of years how many score,
How many volumes—

All.
Seek to know no more.

1st Ed.
I will be satisfied! Deny me this,
And you embitter all my promised bliss.

All.
Show his eyes, and please his heart,
Come like shadows, so depart.

[Music.
A procession of Cupids, each bearing a volume of the Mirror, elegantly bound and lettered, followed by the “Little Genius,” with his magical glass. As the NINTH volume passes, the editor speaks.
1st Ed.
Thou art too like the eighth to be mistook.
Thy gilding cheers my eyeballs; and thy look,
Thou other gold-bound back, is like the rest;
The twelfth is like the former! Be ye blest
For showing this! A fourteenth! still in bloom!
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom!
Another yet! Ha! eighteen! nineteen! twenty!
All bound and lettered too with gilding plenty!
And there 's the Little Genius with a glass,
Which shows me many others yet to pass!
Delightful prospect!

[Music—Muses vanish.
The scene suddenly changes to the editor's closet, where the First Editor appears seated in an arm-chair, rubbing his eyes. Peter, the printer's devil, stands at his elbow.
1st Ed.
Well, what is it, Peter?

Dev.
The printer says there 's neither rhyme nor metre
In that there sonnet to a lady's sandal;
And bade me tell you that the piece on scandal
Is not well pointed. We 're now standing still
For want of copy.

1st Ed.
That's impossible.

Dev.
We've not a line, sir, and are short two columns.

1st Ed.
Well, here 's enough so fill a dozen volumes,
Here, in this urn. Ha! where the dickens is it?
Saw you those girls that just made me a visit,
And left me in such haste?

Dev.
I met with none,
When I came in, sir, you were all alone,
And sound asleep, too, till you heard me call.

1st Ed.
Oh! was it but a dream, then, after all!
And waiting, too, for copy! From this hour
I'll not rely on any fabled power,
But on myself alone; that which the NINE
Promised in sleep, shall, waking, yet be mine.
I'll win the prize; no boasting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before my purpose cools.

[Writes.
Enter Collector.
Col.
Sir, since you ridiculed that dinner caper,
A, B, and C, have bid me stop their paper.

1st Ed.
Bring me no more reports! let them fly all;
Till dunces fill our columns we can't fall.
The hand I write with, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear;
I'll write till fingers, head, and sinews ache;
Give me some paper—now I'm wide awake.
Send out more agents; scour the country round;
Stop those that talk of stopping; there'll be found
Enough without them. Take this copy, Peter,
For volume NINE, Say, is it larger—neater?—
False-hearted cravens!—here's another lot;
Throw sonnets to the dogs, we want them not!

[Exit Devil.
Enter Second Editor.
1st Ed.
Of all men else I have so wished for thee;
But sit thee down; my fingers as you see,
Are stained with ink. A column's wanted still.

2d Ed.
I have no words—my voice is in my quill.

1st Ed.
Then lay on, Fay, at essay, tale, or puff,
Till Peter reappears, and cries—enough!