The edition before us is handsomely printed, on excellent paper. The
designs by Cattermole and Browne are many of them excellent- some of
them outrageously bad. Of course, it is difficult for us to say how
far the American engraver is in fault. In conclusion, we must enter
our solemn protest against the final page full of little angels in
smock frocks, or dimity chemises.
THE QUACKS OF HELICON
A Satire. By L. A. Wilmer
A SATIRE, professedly such, at the present day, and especially by an
American writer, is a welcome novelty indeed. We have really done very
little in the line upon this side of the Atlantic- nothing certainly
of importance- Trumbull's clumsy poem and Halleck's "Croakers" to
the contrary notwithstanding. Some things we have produced, to be
sure, which were excellent in the way of burlesque, without
intending a syllable that was not utterly solemn and serious. Odes,
ballads, songs, sonnets, epics, and epigrams, possessed of this
unintentional excellence, we could have no difficulty in designating
by the dozen; but in the matter of directly meant and genuine
satire, it cannot be denied that we are sadly deficient. Although,
as a literary people, however, we are not exactly Archilochuses-
although we have no pretensions to the echeenpes iamboi- although in
short, we are no satirists ourselves, there can be no question that we
answer sufficiently well as subjects for satire.
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