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March ? , 18 ^ 3 ! ff f LEADUR , 231 - ' .- ' ¦ — ' ¦ ¦ ¦ - - ¦ ¦ - — ..- -- ^ ¦—¦—i ¦ ^^ . ¦ ¦ 1 .. ¦ ; ' .
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Critics arS not thelegislators , buttke jodges and police of literature . They do not make laws—they interpret and try to enforce them . —Edinburgh Review * . . ' ? ¦ ' . ¦ " ' ¦ ¦ . ¦ ¦ The question , of Style in Literature is both , interesting and important '; but , like' many other questions wMcli present obvious superficial characteristics easily seized , its real nature is seldom recognised . Only the other day we had to notice a paper in the North British Review on this subject ; and this month jtraser opens with the first part of an Essay of some pretension , in which the Writer errs , we conceive , at the very outset- He compares the relation of style to matter , with the relation of cookery to food : —
Or , to var } ' the metaphor , we may compare literary to architectural style , and as the same stones in the hands of the builder will form the most beautiful or the most unsightly edifice—the Parthenon of the A _ cropolis or the National Gallery of Trafalgarsquare— -so from the same subject-matter the pen may produce the dullest or the most interesting book . This we believe to be a profound misconception of the nature of Style ., and consequently it vitiates all the conclusions which the writer draws . To show that we are not holding him responsible for the meaning of a mere metaphor , but that this metaphor does- express- his conception of style , we quote this
There are some books—few indeed in number , vre admit—which have been kept afloat on the stream of time , almost solely by the buoyancy of their style . A . nd by this-we do not mean merely the . grammatical and proper arrangement of words in each sentence , but the due relation of sentences to * ach other . A rhythmical structure ought to exist , not only in the separate but in the collective periods ; and the warp and -woof of the entire texture should be so woven as to preserve continuity of pattern , and produce the effect of an harmonious whole . Against the common error of supposing style to be the " dress of thought , " we maintain that it is iu all cases the incarnation of thought . However needful certain canons of syntactical or rhythmical arrangement may be , no Style can . be made of them . It is necessary for a writer to learn certain elements of verbal composition , just as it is necessary for a dancer to- ' learn' his steps ; but the Style of the one , like the Grace of the other , is only made effective by such acquisitions , it docs not spring from them . 3 STo initiation into the mystery of construction will malic a good Style . It is in vain that men ape Macatqlay ' s short sentences and epigrammatic antitheses , his geographical and historical illustrations , and his eighteenth century diction ; they cannot seize the secret of his charm , because that charm lies in the felicity of his talent , not in the structure of his sentences . We are perfectly aware that writers may by study
improve their Style , as by cultivation they may enrich their minds . We admit that certain defects of expression may be cured , and certain effects attained by attention to the structure of . sentences , ' precision of expression . But no study , no attention , no rules will . give the easy turn , the graceful idiom , the fine felicity , the movement and the power which constitute the separate varieties of style . A piclurcs < jue talent will express itself in concrete images ; a genial talent will express itself in pleasant turns ; a rapid , unhesitating mind will express itself in quick incisive phrases ; a full , discursive mind will overflow in ample paragraphs of suggestive eloquence . But the charm of a Cabltle , a-Charles'Lamb , a Macatjiay , or a De Quince y , is not to be attained by imitating their manner , unless the imitator be himself of kindred nature . When books succeed by style , in spite of the mediocrity of their matter , the success is not due to any felicitous arrangement of sentences , except in as far as this arrangement is itself the expression of a felicitous talent . We may be indifferent to the matter directly treated by the writer , as in Paul Louis Cotjuier ' s immortal pamphlets and Bujoce ' s Letter to a Noble Lord , but we are delighted with the mind of the writer , charmed with the matter indirectly treated by him . This is the secret of st vie , and this is agift .
"No J dear heart ! why , how do the goslings live , then ?" The nutriment of goslings rather transcending Tommy ' s observations in natural listory , he feigned to understand this question zV dn exclamatory rather than an . interrogatory sense , and became absorbed in win ding up his top . "Ah , I see you don ' t know how the goslings live ! But did you notice how it rained sugar-pluma yesterday ? " ( Here Tommy became attentive . ) "Why , they fell into my pocket as I rode along . You look in my pocket , and see if they didn't . " Tommy , without waiting to discuss the alleged antecedent , lost no time in ascertaining the presence of the agreeable consequent , for he had a -well-founded "belief iu the advantages of diving into the Vicar ' s pocket . Mr . Gilfil called it his wonderful pocket , because , as he delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "two-shoes" so lie called all little boys and girls—whenever he put pennies into it , they turned into sugar-plums or gingerbread , or some other nice thing . Indeed , little Bessie Parrot , a flaxen-headed " two-shoes , " very -white and fat as to her neck , always had the admirable directness and sincerity to salute him irvith , the question— " What zoo dot ia zoopottet ?"
Paved with Gold is a new serial , commenced by the Brothers Mayiiiew , with the intention , apparently , of conveying in the form of fiction many of the terrible realities of the London Streets , with which the authors are so familiar . There is too niuch set description in this number , tk ^ description having the appearance of being introduced for its own sake , instead of being the scenery of the drama ; but when such scenes as that of the Asylum for the Houseless Poor are described , our interest in them inakes us forget the sacrifice of art . Did the reader ever chance to hear of this Asylum . ?—An a 9 yhun which is opened only , be it said , when the thermomet&r reaches freezing-point , and which offers nothing but dry bread and warm shelter to such as avail themselves of its charity .
To this place swarm , as the citter winter ' s night comes on , some half-thousand penniless and homeless wanderers . The poverty-stricken from every quarter of tuo globe are found -within its wards ; from the haggard American seaman to . the lank Polish refugee , the pale German " out-wanderer , " the tearful black sea-cook , the shivering Lascar crossing-sweeper * the helpless Chinese beggar , and the half-torpid Italian organ-boy . . It is a ragged congress of nations , a convocation of squalor and misery , of destitution , degradation , and suffering , from all the corners of the earth . Almost every trade and calling are there too : agricultural , railway , and doc"k laboxirers , thrown out of work "by the frost ; -unemployed artisans , chiefly belonging to the out-door trades , such as carpenters and painters ; sailors without their registry tickets , "who have either been castaway , or cheated of their all by the " crimps ¦ : "
brokendown tradesmen , clerks , shopmen , and errand-boys , who , either through illness or guilt , have been deprived of their situations ; and , above all , Irish immigrants , who have been starved out of their own land . Moreover , there are poor needlewomen , driven for back rent" from their lodgings ; servants out of place ; charwomen ; real "frozenout" garden-women ; street-sellers , who have eaten up their stock money ; tramps ; beggar-women ; and old habitual vagrants . Nearly every shade and grade of misery , misfortune , vice , and even guilt , are to be found in tho place ; for characters are not demanded previous to admission , and want alono is the sole qualification required of the applicants . The asylum for the houseless is at once the beggar ' s hotel , the tramp's town-house , the outcast ' s haven of refuge—the last dwelling , indeed , on the high road to ruin .
Let us take a-glimpse at the men ' s dormitory : ¦— . The sight was utterly unlike all preconceived notions of a dormitory . Thero was not a bedstead to be seen , nor even so much as a sheet or blanket visible . The word itself -was a long , bare , whitewashed apartment , with square post-like pillars supporting the flat-beamed roof , and reminding the visitor of a large unoccupied store-room——such as are occasionally seen in the neighbourhood of Thames-street and the Docks . Along the floor were ranged what appeared at Grat sight to be endless rows of empty orange-chests , packed closely side by side , so that the boards were diviled off into some two hundred shallow tanpit-likc compartments ; and these , the visitors soon learnt , were the berths , or , to speak technically , the " bunks" of the institution . In each of them lay a black mattress , -made of some shiny waterproof material , like tarpauling stuffed with straw . At the head of every bunk , hanging against the wall , was a leather , a big " basil" covering , that looked more like a wine-cooper ' s apron than a counterpane . These are used as coverlids , because they are not only strong and durable , but they do not retain vermin .
In the centre of this ward was a large double-faced grate , with a bright piled-up coke fire , that glowed like a furnace both behind and before . The space abound was railed off , the railings serving in rainy -weather as a clothes-horse upon winch to dry the wet rags of garments of the inmates whilst sleeping . Around tho fierce stove was gathered a group of the houseless wanderers , the red rays tinting the crowd of haggard faces with a bright lurid light that coloured the skin a 3 red as wine ; and one and all stretched forth their hands ,. as if to let the delicious lieat soak into their half-numbed limba . They seemed positively greedy of tho warmth , drawing up their sleeves and trousers eo that their naked legs and arms might present a larger surface to the fire than even the wide and frequent holes in their rnga permitted . They appenred all aa if longing to stretch themselves like cats at full length before the stove . Nofc a laugh nor sound was heard , but tho men stood still , munching their bread , their teeth champing like horses in a manger . One poor wretch had been allowed to sit on a form inside the railingfl , for he hnd the ague , and thero ho crouched , with his legs near as a roasting joiut to tho burning coals , as if he were trying to thaw his very marrow . 1
Then how foarful it was to hear tho coughing , as it seemed to pass round tho room from one to another , now sharp and bourne as a bark , then deep and hollo > w aa a lowing , or—with the old—feeble and trembling as a bleat . There were boys often , like dwarfs of twenty ; nnd old men , with tho bent kangnroo-liku bunds and drivelling mouth , so indicative of idiocy . Everyone seemjed to have boon made apathetic by long misery ; even strong , stalwart fellows Hat in lumpish tiileuue , muring vacantly at the floor ( for your truo vagrant ' s mind is a « lull blank ) ; whilst others , who were footsore and worn out with their day ' s tramp , vvero busy unlacing their still ' , casl-iron-liku hoots .
In Bluchcood there is a paper which will illustrate our remarks . The writer of " JEsthctics among the Alps" lias really very little to say of a direct kind ; the propositions or " views" of his essay would make hut a meagre appearance if separately stated ; yet we read Iho essay with pleasure , and receive a certain mountainous impression of the grandeur and suggestiveness of the Alps . Another specimen of slyle , in its best sense , is " Mr . Gil ( Li ' Love Story , " which commences No . II . of the " Scenes from Clerical Life . " Story , at present , there is little , only preparations for story to come ; and yet these preparations are so vividly and Iruihfully painted , that , as we accompany the writer , \ vu seem to bo recalling iU i experience of our own lives . There can be no doubt as to this writer ' s fondness for children . Iu the former story there were sonic delightful touches , and the scene we arc about 1 o extract , between the old vicar and Master Tommy , appeals directly io the parental bosom . We arc introduced to
% Little Tommy Bond , who had recently quitted frocks and trou sers for the severe simplicity of a tight . suit of corduroys , relieved by numerous brass buttons Tommy waB a saucy boy , impervious to Jill impressions of reverence , and excessively addicted to humming-tops mid marbles , with which recreative resources he was in tuc habit of immoderately distending the pockets of his cordnrojH . One day hi . iiining his top on the garden-walk , mid seeing the Vicar advance directly towards it at that exciting moment when it was beginning to " . sleep " magnificently , hoahouted out with all tho force of his lungs- " Stop ! don ' t , knock my top down , now ! " l- ' rom tliat day " little corduroys " had boon an especial favourite with Mr . ( iildi , who delighted to provoke his reiuly scorn and wonder by putting questions which gave ioroiny the meanest opinion of his intellect . " Wl ' . U , little Corduroys , have tho . v milked tho geese to-day V " Milked the geese ! why , they doVt milk the geese ; ycr billy !"
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SIR ROBERT PEEL'S MEMOIRS . Memoirs hy ( 7 m Right Hon . Sir ltobv . rt Peel , Hart ., M . P . Published by tho Trustees of his Papers , Lord Mahon ( now Earl Stanhope ) , and the Itight Hon . E . ( Jairdwull , M . I * . II . —The New Government , 18 M-5 . 111 . —H <> neul of tfm Corn Low , , 1 B . I 5-0 . ' Murray Tiuh second volume of Mcmoh's by Sir Robert Peel displays even more conspicuously thnn the first 1 » ih immonso intellectual nnd moral superiority over tho party so long distinguished and strengthened by his leadership . VNith him Toryimn had become Conservative , not reactionary ; when he abdicated , it vviis a « ain degraded into the pulseless , fonnlesjs , policy of prejudice and obstruction . lie proves by conclusive evidence-that it was
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), March 7, 1857, page 231, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2183/page/15/
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