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70 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL.
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ing of high commendation. It is not only the most delightful
and scientific, but the most moral of amusements. Unlike
other games, in which lucre is the end and aim of the, contes-
tants, it recommends itself to the wise, by the fact that its
mimic battles are fought for no prize but honor. It is emi-
nently and emphatically the philosopher's game. Let the chess
board supersede the card table, and a great improvement will
be visible in the morals of the community. (Great applause.)
But, ladies and gentlemen, I need not expatiate on the field
so ably traversed by the eloquent gentleman who has just ad-
dressed you. I thank you from my heart for the very flatter-
ing manner in which you have been pleased to receive his too
complimentary remarks, and for the numerous attentions re-
ceived at your hands."
But the matter of undue puffing did not end at New York.
The Frogpondians had to express themselves on the question;
so they gave a "Banquet," whereat all the brains of Brains-
borough, all the glory of the "hub" of creation assisted, and
the Autocrat revelled in his Fourth o' July style to the great edi-
fication of all.
The Boston Symposium has been so well described by a cor-
respondent of the Evening Post, that we feel it to be our duty
to present the report given in that journal, in order that our
readers may be perfectly acquainted with the facts of the case,
which are necessary, to understand the question.
"Holmes presided, as he always does, with vivacity and grace.
His opening speech was very novel in its subject--the immense
superiority of America to all the world and the rest of man-
kind; in everything, and the shameful injustice with which
America is treated by the envious humans; but, in spite of its
novelty, he contrived to get off one or two good things. He
said--there, now--I have forgotten, what they were; but know
they were good, the company laughed so. He was also elo-
quent, in proof of which take his peroration:
'As I stretch my hand above this youthful brow, it seems
to me that I bear in it the welcome, not of a town or a province,
but of a whole people. One smile, one glow of pride and pleas-
ure runs over all the land, from the shore which the sun first
greets, to that which looks upon the ocean where he lets fall
the blazing clasp of his dissolving girdle--from the realm of
our northern sister, who looks down from her throne upon the
unmelted snows of Katahdin, to hers of the broad river and the
still bayou, who sits fanning herself among the full blown roses,
and listening to the praises of her child as they come wafted to
her on every perfumed breeze.'
Isn't that "some"?
Morphy replied in a brief and neat way, saying what ought to
have shamed those demi-semi-hero-worshipers out of their swelling
phrases. He remarked, after modestly returning thanks:
'You have spoken, sir, of the game of Chess. I took occa-
sion, in New York, to express my views on that subject, and
will not weary and detain you by repeating them here. I may
only say once more that Chess can never form the object of
life; it is, at best, but a relaxation to more serious pursuits.
As such, and as a discipline for the mind, I believe it to be well
worthy of high commendation; and I think you will agree
with me, when I say that the substitution of the Chess-board
for the card-table would go far towards improving the morals
of our people."
This quiet rebuke, however, nobody took, and the speaking
went on in the same fulsome, high-faulting fashion. Chief Jus-
tice Shaw did the heavy for the judiciary, trying to show that
the successful lawyer and the successful Chess-player use the
same high faculties; but he omitted to state the most remarka-
ble analogy--namely, that when the game is played for money
the longest-headed rascal bags the cash. President Walker
then did the heavy for the University, as Jared Sparks, who
had a marvelous alacrity in that line, did for literature, and
has long been doing. But Sparks emitted one bold flash: he
confessed that he knew nothing of Chess, and not much more
of literature--at which all the people laughed. As if this were
not enough, Professor Parker made a law argument, Professer
Pierce lectured on the connection of Chess with the astrono-
mical sciences.
Having finished with the long carronades and the sixty-two
pounders, the small arms were let off. Professor Lowell, of
course, read a poem; he is said to keep a barrel full on hand
for the unexpected calls of such occasions.
I ought to have said above, that in the long line of Professors
called to their feet, Agassiz was not forgotten, as this toast,
read in the most unblushing manner to the man's face, will
show you:
'The great student of Nature, who reads the secrets of crea-
tion through its closely folded strata, and re-constructs its or-
ganisms from their slightest vestiges; he who carries the che-
quered face of nature in his brain, and reads the combination
of her mighty game, knows how to honor the triumphs of intel-
lect in the realm of pure abstractions, as well as in the splendid
generalizations of Linnæus, and Cuvier, and Humboldt.'
The President, moreover, in his introduction of Professor
Agassiz, remarked, that knowledge is many-formed--to use the
Greek word, it is polymorphous--he had almost said Paul-y
Morphous. This pun being received with boisterous merriment,
Dr. Holmes explained that he was not its father, only its grand-
father. [More laugh.]
Agassiz succeeded in being witty through the earnestness
with which he protested that he was not witty, and also by
comparing the diagonal movements of the bishop, in chess, to
those of a crab, and the darting zig-zag movements of the
knights to those of the insect called the devil's darning-needle.
James T. Fields then read a funny parody upon Tennyson's
Charge of the Light Brigade, illustrating Morphy's charges in
Europe; and Charles Hale spoke for the press very neatly;
and the Rev. Starr King--it was already after midnight--said
that he had seen a picture of a man playing a game of chess
with the devil, for his soul, and a clergyman had preached a
sermon on it. Had Paul Morphy been the man represented in
that picture, probably that sermon would never have been
preached, for, in fact, Paul Morphy beat the devil at chess.
But, altogether, the finest and wittiest thing said in the course
of the evening was said by Senator Wilson. He had been lis-
tening all night to the grand toasts and phrases with which
these modest Athenians had beslavered each other, and then,
being called upon himself, gave in the slyest manner this toast;
'The modest bearing of your guest--Worthy the imitation
of American scholars, artists, jurists and statesmen, who uphold
the intellectual character of America among the nations.'
Not a soul laughed at Wilson's wit; in fact, the most of the
eminent scholars, artists and jurists took his allusions as per-
sonal, and more than one whispered that the Natick Cobbler
was evidently not used to the manners of--the Mutual Admira-
tion Society.
I would write you more about this Grand Occasion, but in
some unaccountable manner I have got a severe headache, for
which my physician, Dr. Holmes, prescribes soda-water. He
says that he has found it a sovereign remedy in such cases.
DIOGENES.
These things explain themselves; is it not out of all reason
to talk of a "Chess-Champion" as though he were "the fore-
most man of all this world"? Morphy must be heartily tired
of these admirers, who are putting him in such a false light.
He knows that Chess is a noble game, but he has sense enough
to know that it is not a "business," a vocation, or even in the
best presentation, a ground for felicitation upon "intellectual
triumphs;" and doubtless, he had rather have written one
great Poem, or have painted one great picture, or have made
one such legal argument as Boston has heard, or have lived one
hour of life of a great statesman, a philanthropist or pat-
riot, than have all these "triumphs," with the praises of the
modern Athens, and the homage of the commercial metrop-
olis.
The book of his "Exploits," is interesting, we admit; and it
contains no fulsome, no undue praise of the great Chess-player.
The estimate is in proportion to the really subordinate position
of Chess in the affairs of life. The volume does not rank Mor-
phy among the world's greatest geniuses, and therefore, de-
serves commendation for the moderate, yet perfectly appreci-
ative estimate of Morphy's extraordinary powers. The book
will be found interesting in many respects; the sketches of the
Chess-Congress, of Judge Meek, Paulsen, Raphael and Fiske;
of the trip to Europe, the state of the English Chess-Clubs and
the study of the game; of Lowenthal, Harwitz and the Cafè de
la Regence; Herr Anderssen and the poltroon Staunton; the
blindfold feats--which are truly wonderful--his adventures in
society, his numerous games with all sorts of players, combine
to render the volume highly interesting. In view of all which,
we cordially endorse the "valedictory" of Mr. Morphy's sec-
retary: "Chess may be but a game, a pastime, a relaxation,
but Chess as at times absorbed the faculties of the intellectual
of every clime; it numbers amongst its amateurs the greatest
names of battle-fields and thrones; it tells of warriors, poets,
painters, sculptors, statesmen and divines; it possesses a lit-
erature and language of its own; it makes enemies friends, and
finds a temple on the ocean, in the fortress, and by the fire-
side, As long as Chess shall last, Paul Morphy's name will be
a 'Household Word,' and his deeds be held in lasting mem-
ory." So be it; Chess is the noblest of games, but, remember
the words of Morphy; "Chess can never form the object of
life: it is, at best, but a relxation to more serious pursuits."
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THE HARPERS.
In a notice of new publications in the Charleston Mercury,
we find the following in reference to the catalogue of the HAR-
PER BROTHERS, of New York:
"Ye have also sinned greivously against the King's English,
inasmuch as ye have taken into your favor and employment a
notorious offender of tongue, named Noah Webster, who hath,
through equal ignorance and conceit, entirely overthrown the
better English orthography, and who hath corrupted half of
this goodly nation in the art of spelling; and ye keep, besides,
in favor, one or more of a tribe, whose name would seem to be
legion, but whom ye call 'Abbott,' who have been, in like man-
ner, perverting and corruption all manner of history and biog-
raphy, so that the men and things whom, anciently, our fathers
called 'wicked,' ye now call 'good;' and so that our young
people are like to lose all the guides, rules and standards by
which they should know good from evil; so that, for example
y ehave painted the wickedly great warrior (and possibly
God's scourge upon the nations, as was Attila), Naopleon Bona-
parte, in the guise and habit, now of a Puritan preacher, of
the days of Parson Hold-fast-the-Faith, and Smite-with-the-
Sword-of-the-Lord-and-of-Gideon, and now of an humble fol-
lower of George of Whitfield; with cravat of white, voice of
Boanerges, and a dexterity which makes him leap from the
pulpit among the people, in the fervor of his zeal and the ex-
cellence of his muscle. Verily, Brothers Harper, the sooner
ye rid yourselves of these dangerous allies the better for your
own peace, and for the purification of your typographicals!"
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The New York correspondent of the Mercury, says:
"Saturday's steamer took out some $5000 for the Italian
patriots. It goes to the care of the Revolutionary Committee
of Turin, of which Gen. Garibaldi is the Vice President and ac-
tive spirit, and will be distributed through that channel to the
widows and orphans who derive their heritage of woe from the
present war for Italian independence. Great preparations are
on foot for a musical fete at the Academy, next Thursday night,
in aid of the same noble charity. Cortesi, Gazzaniga, Parodi,
Aldini, Brigoli, Stefani, Amodio, Gasparoni, Junca and Signor
Gnone (a baritone--first appearance in the United States) have
volunteered. They are all (with the exception of Junca) chil-
dren of the land of sunshine and song, and will do their di-
vinest in honor of their dear old father-land. The bill of fare
--which covers one musical meal in the afternoon and another
in the morning--includes Trovatore, Polinto (better known as
the Martyrs) the miraculous liberty duet, Suona la Tromba,
from Puritani, and the Marsellies Hymn. The liberty duet, you
may remember, is, or has been interdicted on the Italian stage,
just as La Marsellaise is on the French boards. I heard it sung
with true Italian frenzy last year by Amodio and Gassier, and,
as they rushed down the stage with the red flag in one hand,
and a sword in the other, and hurled the glorious air over the
foot-lights, sending visible quivers of emotion all through the
house, I perfectly well understood why the Austrians had
wiped it from the operatic score.
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Lady Mary Wortly Montague used to say that the only thing
which reconciled her to being a woman, was that she would
never be obliged to marry one.
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PRESIDENTIAL POETRY--AND EX-PRESIDENT TYLER.
John Tyler has been one of the most fortunate of men. His
political advancement, in Virginia, is said to have been due to
good luck. A flood of tears, at the defeat of Mr. Clay, for the
Presidential nomination, in the Harrisburg Convention, secured
him the Whig nomination of that body for the Vice-Presidency,
along with General Harrison for the Presidency, yet he played
false to the Whig party, and turned democrat to procure his
own re-election, but, only enlisting a corporal's guard to that
end, he went for Polk against Clay, in the canvass of 1844.--
The weakest President, perhaps, that the country has ever
known, he had the most distinguished cabinet officers of all
our Presidents, and conducted one of the most successful ad-
ministrations, in the history of our country, with an immense
majority against him in both branches of Congress, presenting
the phenomenon of a President, and a successful one, without
a party. He has become famous even by the illustrious dead,
who, while living, were at different times members of his cabi-
net. Where can such an obituary cabinet roll be found, with
their chief yet living, as that which bears the honored names
of Upshur, Gilmer, Spencer, Legare, Webster, Calhoun? It is
indeed a roll of statesmanship, intellect and glory. Although
advanced in years, and rather distinguished for nasal promi-
nence and awkward, although lofty stature, than manly beauty
or elegance, his accidency found, in the Presidency, a hymeneal
introduction, or stepping stone to womanly loveliness and large
wealth, united in a youthful and accomplished bride, who fled
from the cold North, to the warm embrace of the sunny South,
exchanging the Empire State for the Old Dominion? To cap
the climax of his good fortune, we perceive, by the following
beautiful lines, (probably those of his courtship) that he is as
successful a wooer of the Muses, as he was of lovely woman.
The Bacchanalian song says--"I would not be the Pope"--but
we say--"Who would not be John Tyler?"--Courier.
POETRY OF AN EX-PRESIDENT.
In the two volumes of Webster's Letters, recently published,
says the N. Y. Evening Post, appear some samples of his poeti-
cal talent, which are nearly as good as the verses handed down
to us as Cicero's. Edmund Burke, when a youth, wrote lines
quite equal to those produced by Thomson or Goldsmith at the
same age. John Quincy Adams wrote poetry occasionally to a
very late period in life. He is not the only one of our Presi-
dents who have entertained their leisure with sorting syllables
and matching rhymes. John Tyler is said to be as much at
home in poetry as in politics; and a correspondent has sent us
the following example of the things, which he throws off, "when
the fit is on him." The lines were addressed to a Long Island
lady, at a season, when only the very earliest and hardiest
flowers make their appearance in our latitudes, while, in Vir-
ginia--at least in the lower and more southern parts of it--the
rose-trees are in bloom.

Come, fly to the South from your island of snow,
The North is too cold for a soul such as thine;
No roses bloom there to adorn thy fair brow,
Though born in those deep auburn tresses to shine.
Then fly to the South, were Japonicas bloom,
And enamel the grove with their beautiful flowers;
Oh, come and inhale their delicious perfume,
Arising from Nature's own mystical bowers.

Oh, come to the South, where the mock-bird all night
Pours forth from the tree-top its rapturous strain,
Which rises and falls in the moon's mellow light,
Like the song of the mermaid far over the main.
Why stay in the North, where the winters cold frown
Still lingers in ice on the lap of sweet May?
Oh, haste to the South, where sweet flowers have blown,
And the rill long unfetter'd glides laughing away.
JOHN TYLER.
Sherwood Forest, May 1, 1847.
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A PUBLISHER DINING WITH MOLIERE.--"The conversation
turned upon the frivolous verses of the Abbe Boisrobert.--
'Wonderful talent,' said the bookseller, 'two thousand the
first week. Copy in satin sent to the king. Shop full of mar-
quises, all over ribbons, coming for copies.' 'How do Dejazet's
works sell?' said M. Moliere. 'Bad, very bad,' said the book-
seller. 'Well, but Dejazet is as much superior to that Boisro-
bert as my friend M. Boileau here is to the author of La Pu-
celle, or that ass Quinault.' 'Clever, no doubt,' said the book-
seller, 'but won't go down. Never gets a word in the Reviews.
Boisrobert's wonderful book touches the feelings; that's what
people want now. Feelings must be touched--sense is all very
well.' 'And what you call a good book,' said M. Boileau, bit-
terly, 'means a book that sells. Sir, you do what all your or-
der do. If you find a man whose works the public buy, you
pamper him, feed him, idolize him, urge him to exhaust his
mental soil with quick weak crops, in fact, to change the meta-
phor, drive him to death, and then let him go to the knackers.
You never discover talent. Have no faith, indeed, in anything
but success, because success pays; yet you, and such as you,
I mean no offence, guide public taste, and receive all the
wealth that books bring. You gull the author, pique him with
clap-traps about honor, fame, extending reputation; and when
his back is turned, lo! he is bound up in parchment fetters.--
You pull out your banker's book, and laugh to think what fools
the world's thinkers are.'
"'True,' said M. Moliere, 'and what do you think of these
reviews--are they honest?' 'Very, and severe, too, when
they first begin, till some publishers use them as advertisers;
afterwards, too, provided the writer of the book they review
can be of no use to them, provided the book is by a man who
shows no power of rising above them, provided it comes from a
publisher they do not dislike, and by a man who has never
stung their vanity with a bon mot. But, dear me, what with
interest, clique, dining out, quarrels, ignorance, haste, and
prejudice, no review is worth much. For my own part, I only
believe two things--an enemy's praise and a dear friend's
blame.'"
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The New York correspondent of the London Publishers' Cir-
cular, writes: "Amongst new things there is nothing better,
and that is very good, than 'Trumps,' a new tale commenced
by Harpers in their Weekly Journal. It is from the pen of G.
W. Curtis--our Thackeray(!); and I question much, from what
I have read of it, whether even your public will not estimate it
far above 'The Virginians.' Nous verrons."
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