The New Orleans crescent., 1868-12-20
AITE8ARY, DRAMATIC AND RAN
DOM PARA0RAPHs.
LIVING SOUTHERN AUTHORS.

| Tennessee, made grand flourish of trumpets over
| projected volume of poems, embracing the lv-
| ing authors of the South. He was to do Southern
poets that Justice which Griswold either failed or
| refused to accord them in his Poets and Poetry
Of America"
Time sped on, and Moore's volume was not one
| of its offsprings The clouds had bat commenced
to gather for the coming storm of shot and shell.
| Perhaps, Mr.. Moore, with the keen eyes Of
prophet, felt that the tramp of. millions Of men,
srmed in steel and led on" by the Northern
Ulysses, was soon to shake the continent. Perhaps
he heard it thunder all around the sky" and
saw the leaden rain descend in torrents. Perhaps,
| in view of all these coming evils, his prophetic
soul discerned great fact, namely, that the iron
! heel of the Bucephaus Of war would trample into
the dust the flowers of poetry. and 30, biding his
time. waited until the unpleassntness was over.
This is sure his book did not make its appearance,
although time sufficient elapsed to have built Q
western city from the day he entered upon his
| task until the war compelled him to say good
night" to his Northern publisher, a. the darkness
closed In upon the sections. f.stlli
One day, while in Richmond, the writer of these
paragraphs dropped in upon 9 very quiet little
gentleman dressed in Confederate uniform, and
who had managed q gun on the Potomac. This
was John Esten Cooke. brother Of the lamented
Philip Pendleton Cooke. of the Vineyard, 10
the Shenandoah Valley, and as everybody knows,
author OF "The Froisart Bollads and other Poems."
Indirectly it came out that John Esten Cooke
had possession of the poetic remains Of Van Buren
Moore. The writer had q personal interest in the
remains, and, therefore, desired to know what had
become Of them. Mr.. Cooke was the lucky, or
unlucky possessor. His I" forthcoming volume Of
Southern Poets and Poetry" was among his
fondest dreams, bat the had dissipated all his
visions of glory as q compiler and editor. Every
inch of the Southern Parnassus had been sheled,
and the dealizing dwellers thereof betaken them.
selves to the ordinary paths of men for safety
some singing war odes, and some becoming edi-
tors, and some bearing muskets, perhaps for mus.
| culsr exercise. Most of the poetesses were
| engaged in knitting stockings, or weaving Con-
federate palmetto hats, or seeking clerkship In
| some government department.
| Now that we "have peace" Mr.. James Wood
| Davidson, Of Columbia, South Carolina, comes
| forward and takes up the unfinished work of
| Moore and Cooke. He proposes to publish, at
| least by next spring, volume devoted to the lv
| ing authers of the South, which we are given to
| understand will embrace every author of note.
| from the Potomac to the Rio Grande.
| Mr.. Davidson is well known as tterGte,u, es.
/ pecialy in South Carolina. His contributions to
| the magazine literature of his native State, and
outside of IL, evnce scholarly taste and judgment
/ There Is before us ct this moment an exquisite
little poem called Love Subjective" from his
| pen. which one who knew him WELL declares to be
a philosophical thesis, tending to illustrate the
\ true nature Of love In its antithesis to q mere
passion, or to passion alone" alt is,r continues
the writer, Sin harmony with the observation of
Sir Richard Steele, In the Tsttler. when speaking
| of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, he said: Though her
| mein carries much more invitation than command
| to behold her Is an immediate check to loose be-
havior. To lore her is q liberal education ~
| We have only to wish Mr.. Davidson good luck
in his literary enterprise, and predict for it. II his
| biographical sketches be spicily written, aud
his selections tasteful, q right hearty welcome
from Lands End to Lands End. at
| DRAMATIC CRITICISM.
| There are two reasons why there is a plentiful
lack" of discriminating, independent dramatic
| criticism:
First. In Great Britain. all that concerns the
drama IL confded to men who thoroughly under
stand its literature, and familiar with the de-
tails of the stage. In this country, that which,
L Dy strange mtuomef, II Cbneu urdmdUc cr1tl-
cism. is too often left to inexperienced persons,
who deal with the theater as they would with mer-
chandise, putting at . tremendous rate. or de.
nouncing, according to the condition of their d.
gestve organs, all that does not happen to please
their peculiar fancy. Whether talking of patent
stove or q wedding trousseau-s tragedian of
positive genius or melo- dramatic spouter of fus
tian-the puffs are about the same in volume and
| consistency.
Second. Social intercourse and pesunisry inte.
rest in the management and success Of theater,
form another fruitful source of evil. In either
case 1t is next to impossible to maintain even an
approximation to that line of easy and yet uu-
scrupulous independence which, while 1t benefits
the actor, edifies the auditor.
| Experience affords convincing evidence that no
one thing contributes more to the decentralization
Of the stage than the popular system of pufiug,
apparent in almost every daily journal one reads.
An actor is thus made to sink to the level of
pretender. He feels no ambition to excel because
bis pen-snd-ink reward amounts to-just nothing
at all. In vain be studes the great models in
vain he pores over the text and strives to ascer.
tain the true meaning Of his author in vain he
puts forth every effort to emulate the dead and
living lions of the stage In chsste, NATURAL superb
personaions of character. The result is that such
man takes to the spurious or spectacular drama,
and becomes eager alone to put money in his
| pocket. When Mr.. Kean landed 10 this country,
his appearance In Boston was heralded by that
pomp and parade sure to precede an actor Of his
| genius and his fame. The critics, as well as the
| public, were full Of great expectations. They
were not deceived. He who had, for 80 many
years, eagle like, sailed around London, pounced
ct last upon the strutting showmen Of the Drury
Lane boards, and taking them In his fiery talons,
shook every particle of the chat out of their the
| atrical reputation.
| But had Kean lived to-day, and were he in
America, perhaps nothing short of the melo drs-
matte spectacular would win him heavy hands OF
applause and overlooking houses. Those writers
who bssk in the sunshine Of the little French mill
ners of the stage, eat the oyster suppers Of in.
trepid mediocrity, and dash of q cocktail with
superpumeraries. would so disgust Kean as to
give him weekly attacks Of mania pota.
| THE ST. CHARLES.
L Al