We have grown
careless about form, we have little sense for balance and proportion, and
we have sacrificed the good manners of literature to an ill-bred liking
for haste and noise: it has been decided, that the old way of writing is
cumbersome and slow; as well might some guerilla chieftain have announced
to his fellow-barbarians, that Caesar's legions were not swift and
beautiful in their manoeuvres, nor irresistible in their advance. I have
spoken of our long sentences, with nothing but full stops: they are
variegated, here and there, with shorter sentences, sometimes of two
words; this way of writing is common in Macaulay or in the histories of
Mr. Green, and I have seen it recommended in Primers of Literature and
Manuals of Composition. With the jolting and unconnected fragments of
these authorities, I would contrast the musical and flowing periods of Dr.
Johnson's "Lives of the Poets": to study these works in solitude, will
probably be sufficient to justify my preference; but to hear them read
aloud, should convert the most unwilling listener into an advocate of my
opinion.
Dr. Birkbeck Hill, in the delightful Preface to his Boswell, explains how
he was turned by a happy chance to the study of the literature of the
eighteenth century; and how he read on and on in the enchanting pages of
"The Spectator.
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