gcls_courant_027 5

THE COURANT ; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 213

The Courant.
COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, NOV. 3, 1859.
THE COURANT.

Subscriptions for the Courant will be received at the Bookstore of Mr. P. B. GLASS, in this City, where single copies can
be obtained every week.

The office of the Courant has been removed to No. 144 Richardson Street, over Flanigan's Shoe-Store.
WM. W. WALKER, JR., & Co.
Judge O'Neall's "Bench and Bar."

We have received from the publishers, the Messrs. COURTENAY, some additional sheets of Judge O'NEALL's forthcoming
volume. The paper is beautifully white, the type clear, the
ink good; altogether, quite a typographical triumph for the
city of Charleston. The volume will be issued very soon, we
suppose, as the sheets are taken from the appendix

"Beulah."

The publishers of Miss EVANS' admirable novel announce
the eighth edition as "now ready."

From the many things said by the world of newspapers, we
clip the two following as samples:
"Miss Evans may well be called the Charlotte Bronte of
America."―Troy Whig.
" We place it beside John Halifax. "―Baltimore Advocate.

One Answer to Several Letters---To Young Writers.

We have been receiving during the last two months, one or
two letters per week, asking for advice and information in regard to the matter of publishing volumes of poems. To all of
these inquiries we shall reply at once; each may find his or
her own special question answered somewhere in what we shall
say.

I. Publishing at the South is as yet a poor business : your
books will not be circulated, unless you attend to it personally.
Our Southern publishers can do as good work as any body at
the North; witness several of the works issued by the COURTENAY's or Mr. RUSSELL in Charleston, or Mr. LIEBER's
Geological Survey, and several other publications of Dr. GIBBES of
this city. If you want your poems printed well and bound
well, for private circulation, it can be done as well here as anywhere.

II. " What house is the best for the publication of poetry? "
TICKNOR & FlELDS, of Boston, unquestionably. They will be
able to present your volume to the poetry-reading public. The
HARPERS and APPLETON do not like to publish poetry; nor,
in fact, do any of the chief publishing establishments at the
North.

III. "On what terms? " This is the sorest part of your
trials. No body wants poetry lo publish―the publishers will
tell you how hard it is to sell―what a dead load on their
shelves such or such a book has been for years. They will not
give one cent for any MS. unless the author has already made
a great reputation. Publishers care not one straw for the merit
of a book―the only question is, will it sell? You need, not
expect any thing from the critical abilities of these men: had
MILTON offered his poem to the HARPERS he would not only not
have received £10 for it, but he would have been bowed out of
the apartment with Pharasaic politeness, to give place for a
"serious gentleman" interested in the Sewing-Machine Business.*

IV. "I have written to several publishers," says one of our
correspondents, "offering the MS. of my poems, and begging
them to read the volume itself, and the certificates of several
eminent men in our neighbourhood. All the publishers refuse
to issue on their own account, but two of them gave me estimates what it would cost me to publish the book and take the
edition. What ought a 12mo. to cost?" A duodecimo will
cost you from one hundred and fifty dollars up to any price,
according to the style of the book. That was a terribly false
notion to send '' certificates of eminent men in your, neighbourhood." A man may be a hero "on Pea-Ridge," but find himself
infinitessimally diminished in New York. As I said before,
publishers care not one straw for the merit of the book―so all
appeals to them, "please read before you decide," will fail.

V. "If I assume the whole cost, and get the edition wellprinted, bound, etc., how can I circulate it?" Very poorly,
indeed. It will, in three years, perhaps, pay you the first cost.
Generally, it is an up-hill business, and I would advise you to
let it alone entirely. It pays but little at best. Experto crede.

MORAL.―Console yourself with the thought that geniuses
are scarcely ever appreciated by their contemporaries; that
Milton, who, in his life-time, was "the blind adder who spat on
the King's person," was, after a few years' sleep in the grave,
"the mighty orb of song." Read D'ISRAELI on the calamities
of men of genius, take heart, write for the Courant, and let
the Yankee publishers rob their brother Yankees.

• Our Southern Methodists have another reason to rejoice that
they are separated from those peddling Yankees. The "Northern
Methodist Book Concern" has entered the field of speculation in
the way of SEWING-MACHINES !

The Charleston Courier.

This old favorite ventilated an original idea last week, in the
following style―certainly no compliment to our contemporaries,
none whom are paid for any notices, nay! they are not even asked
to "notice: "

"The Courant for this week, to be found at ' Courtenay's '
contains a notice of ' Sylvia's World,' a letter from 'Barry
Gray,' concerning 'Literary Women of the South,' and other
literary contributions or interest.

"W. W. Walker, Jr., Esq., the active proprietor and associate
editor, is re-visiting our city on business connected with
that legacy, of which report has been made. One advantage
has already been 'realized' from the legacy, in advance of any
payment―it has secured some notices for the Courant, which,
however deserved, would not, perhaps, have been given under
other circumstances."

John R. Thompson.

In the course of lectures announced by the Mercantile Library Association of New York, we find that our able contemporary
of the Southern Literary Messenger is to deliver one on
the fine topic, "Fools and their Uses." We predict that it will
be worth listening to, but we have our doubts as to its being
perfectly appreciated in Gotham. Boast as they may of their
Metropolitan wisd,om, we have seen the finest sort of wit
ignored by the audience there. Local hits " bring down the
house," but of a genuine classic pun they have no sort of comprehension―those audiences.

Au Contraire.

The Mobile Mercury says :
"' The Literary Association of Princeton, N. J., has offered
James Gordon Bennett $100 for a lecture. He refuses, saying
that the time is worth $5,000 to him, and that lecturing is the
business of none but literary loafers.'

"This shows more sense in James G. than it does in the
young men of Princeton. He is about right in what he says
of literary loafers, and quite right in declining to lecture. He
has survived his lines to Mary Ann, but a lecture would kill
him decidedly dead.

Quite wrong, dear Mercury. A man who can survive such
deed as "Mary Ann," can do or suffer any thing!

A Desirable Book.

One of our exchanges says: "CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY,
well known among litterateurs as an able art and dramatic
critic, has just completed a translation of ' The Mysteries of
the Desert,' from the French of Colonel DU COURET, a noted
Arabian adventurer. It will be published, we understand, in
good season for Christmas holidays' reading."

To all who like to read of wild and romantic adventure, as
well as to all who desire to know something of the country
described, this volume will be vastly agreeable for the holidays.

Mrs. Whitman on Poe's Critics.

The Home Journal says:
"Rudd & Carleton have a work in press which will be likely
to create some interest, among the literati at least. The book
in question is entitled "Edgar A. Poe and his Critics." The
author is Mrs. Whitman, of Providence, one of the ladies to
whom Poe was engaged to be married after the death of his
first wife."

We should like to know how our contemporary happens to be
so marvellously well acquainted with Mrs. WHITMAN'S private
affairs. "One of the ladies !" Can't they give the world the
benefit of the entire list? Really, our neighbours of the North
are getting entirely too "personal," (bloody word, which heads
the column!) We expect such things from the New York
Herald, but it does not strike us as at all a desirable feature to
be " developed " in the Home Journal.

Here is another item of the same style, shewing to what extent this business of retailing private matters to the public eye
has gone. Gossip is rising in New York, and it is the duty of
such papers as our contemporary just named to aid in putting
it down:

"Miss Martha Haines Butt, of Norfolk, Virginia, the well-known authoress, is not, as rumor has circulated, the young
Virginian lady whose intention to go upon the stage we announced some weeks since. Miss Butt, we learn, has no
thoughts, at present, of leaving the literary field―in which
she has begn an earnest labourer―but is busily engaged in supervising for the press her new work, "A Wreath of Buds,"
which will be publiehed in a few weeks. The report that Miss
Butt is engaged to a Cuban gentleman, is also, we understand,
wholly without foundation."

The Origin of "Mouton."

From COZZENS' Wine Press we take the following:
"MOUTON.―The fine Bordeaux wine, known as 'Mouton,'
derives its name from a witty expedient of Henry IV. to quiet
a prosy minister. At a court dinner given to certain ambassadors, one of the guests laid siege to the king's royal ear. The
jolly monarch, in order to evade the discussion of a tiresome subject, and yet not depart from the duties enjoined by the
rites of hospitality, pleasantly interrupted his guest at the
close of every long-winded sentence by saying, 'Mais monseigneur, revenons à nos moutons,' and so emptied his glass in place
of giving an answer. Whereupon the king's wine from a certain district was coupled with the jest, and was known ever
after as ' Mouton.' "

IRVING'S "Life of Washington" is having a larger sale than
any of his previous works.

LITERARY NOTICE.

"THE LIFE, TRAVELS AND BOOKS OF ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT. WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY BAYARD TAYLOR. New
York: Rudd & Carleton. M D CCC LIX.''

We are told that Queen Elizabeth was so incensed at Dr.
Hayward's history of the deposition of Richard the Second,
that she sent the author to the tower. Some time afterwards
she asked Lord Bacon whether there was any treason in the
book. "Not any treason, your majesty, but very much felony." Upon her inquiring in what respect, he replied "because
he hath stolen so many of his sentences and conceits
from Cornelius Tacitus.''

This "popular" life of HUMBOLDT is precisely of this stamp.
It is an omnium gatherum of matters concerning the great philosopher, collected from all sorts of books, by all sorts of
authors, from HUMBOLDT down to BAYARD TAYLOR. Professor
HERMAN KLENCKE's Life of HUMBOLDT (Leipsic, 1859) is very
much abused in the preface, and yet very much used for making
up the volume. Then comes a bodily appropriation of HUMBOLD's "Voyage aux Regions Equinoctiales ;" when, presto !
change! THOMASINA ROSS' translation is succeeded by Mrs.
SABINE, HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS and JOHN BLACK, in the same
line. Then Mr. BAYARD TAYLOR, the ever-tiresome, never-tired, is called in to contribute something from his "Cyclopoodia of Modern Travel." "These," says this modest compiler―so modest that he is anonymous―"these, as far as the
author (?) remembers, are the principal sources to which he is
indebted. He should mention, perhaps, (!) the various French and
English encyclopredias, from which he has filled up his sketches of
some of HUMBOLDT's contemporaries ; BUT ENCYOLOPÆDIAS HAVE
NO AUTHORS, as every body knows; besides, they are made for
the very purpose to which he has put them. The same may be
said of the journals of the day." That is about as cool as any
thing we ever read. "Encyclopædias have no authors"―that
is to say, that this compiler imagines that people make encyclopædias by stealing from something previously written, as
he has done in the "popular" biography of HUMBOLDT. Newspapers and magazines have no authors, and, therefore, he
reasons, he has a right to cabbage every thing in his reach,
without any sort of acknowledgement beyond "I should mention, perhaps," etc. Mr. Compiler finds a splendid article in a
review, magazine or newspaper―they being precisely like the
encyclopædias authorless, and made for the purpose of being
stolen―our worthy gentleman at once possesses himself of the
valuable public property, and uses it for his next book. Be it
also recollected, he is not in the miserable condition of Prof.
KLENCKE, who, says our compiler, obtained much of his material from HUMBOLDT himself, but failed to make a good book, in
spite of his "excellent opportunity.'' "He seemed," says our
compiler, "to have no idea of writing, beyond its being a
means of conveying facts. His facts are reliable, but bunglingly arranged, without order or method.'' We would observe,
parenthetically, that ''facts" are generally "reliable.'' Our
excellent writer goes on to say, "he entirely lacks the chief
requisite of a biographer―the art of making his subject attractive. Still, he is reliable," etc. Our readers will perceive
that the compiler sadly needs an accurate knowledge of the
English language. The sentences just quoted are villainous;
no one writes a book; it is always "made;" i. e., compiled. Facts are spoken of as if the word were synonymous with
statements, and that wretchedly mis-used word "reliable" stuck
in on every occasion. Our compiler ought to know all about
the faults of other authors (?) in the matter of "not making
their subject attractive," for, to our certain knowledge, he is
himself an adept in the art. Seldom have we opened a volume
with such eager expectations as we cherished when first we
saw this life of HUMBOLDT; never have we closed a book with
such a disappointment as this hotch-pot caused us. It is, in
short, a mere string of dates; a bare statement of facts; the
skeleton of a biography. There is no soul in the thing; the
compiler has no idea of HUMBOLDT at all, and has signally and
most ridiculously failed to give any thing like an accurate pourtraiture of this truly great man.

The compiler tells us that "the first five chapters of Book
2d, are taken from HUMBOLDT' s 'Voyage aux regions equinoctiales.'
As these chapters cover an important epoch in HUMBOLDT'S
life, it was thought advisable to let him tell hie own story,"
etc. Now, as a mere matter of literary curiosity, we beg such
of our readers as have it in their power, to get HUMBOLDT'S
"Voyage," and after having read the original, take up this
medly of RUDD & CARLETON, and read from page thirty-five. All the interest, all the fire, all the soul of HUMBOLDT'S narrative has been utterly lost: and the facts are recited in the most
prosaic style imaginable―doubtless so made by our compiler,
with the view to suit his double design of producing a work at
once "popular," and making his subject attractive.

The literary people of New York held a meeting some months
ago to pay the proper respect to the memory of HUMBOLDT.
At that meeting, of course, men of various mental gifts and
diverse culture expressed themselves―among the rest, Dr.
FRANCIS LIEBER made some remarks. Short as they were,
they contained more of the proper appreciation of HUMBOLDT,
than does this stout volume ; and we would throw out the sug-