The literary notices in this number are highly piquant and amusing. We do not agree with the reviewer in condemning every thing under the name of a "Review," to which that name, in its strictest sense, does not properly apply. He who under this name gives an essay on the subject of the article professed to be reviewed, does not break faith with the public, because, for more than thirty years, the word has been understood to include such essays. Now he who gives a good essay, gives a good thing; and when he does this, still keeping within the spirit and meaning of his engagement, we have no right, nor mind to complain. There is an occasional severity in some of these strictures which we highly approve. Not that we presume to decide on the justice of the judgments pronounced. We have not read the works; but judgment must be followed by execution; and the critic in his own executioner. The self sufficiency of authors cares nothing for praise. They rarely receive so much as comes up to their own estimate of their merits. To make them value it, they should be put in fear of censure. The number of works reviewed in this _monthly_ periodical, shows how much the _cacoethes scribendi_ needs to be restrained. We dare not flatter ourselves that even half the praise bestowed is due, except according to a very low standard of excellence. When a very high place in the scale is awarded to a "_bad imitation_" of Walter Scott's "_worst manner_," the scale cannot be graduated very far above "temperate." There can be no such thing as blood heat, or fever heat, upon it. The longest of the metrical pieces, indeed, deserves less lenient treatment, and we shall do Mr. White a service, by defending him from the future contributions of one whom he may not choose to offend. We mean the author of "_The Dream_." In this, there is no one poetical thought, at first, or second hand. The verse is smooth, for the writer has a good ear; but the ideas are dull prose. To make the matter worse, it is a palpable imitation; not _larcenous_, indeed; for there is no attempt at concealment; so that it is more of the nature of a mere trespass. But it is an undisguised imitation of _Byron_! and what is worse, of Byron's most wonderful poem "_The Dream_!!!" It is such an imitation as a boy would make who should paint a rose with pokeberry-juice. We were disappointed in a "Dramatic Extract" from the pen of Mr. Edgar A. Poe. He had taught us to expect much, for his prose is very often high wrought poetry; but his poetry is prose, not in thought, but in measure. This is a defect of ear alone, which can only be corrected by more study than the thing is worth. As he has a large interest in _all_ the praise that we have bestowed on the Messenger, we hope he will take this slight hint as kindly as it is meant. _From the Richmond Religious Herald_.