The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1883-02-15
Jlle aNarietta SonrnaI.
Marietta, Ga, Thursday, Feb. IS. 1883
The DecaJ OF Literature.

About thirty ye4rs ago there were
novelists of the first rank; writers such
that the announcement of a new publ
cation by them sent thrill through
every corner not inaccessible to circu-
lating libraries. In the period from
twenty to forty years removed from us,
we had been startled by the new power
revealed, though not for the first time,
in "Vanity Fair" and had eagerly &C
cepted "Pendennis' and the "New-
comes'' and "Esmond." A foolish con-
troversy, still sometimes continued, was
raging as TO tho rival merits of their
author and the contemporary author of
"Pickwick" and "David Copperfeld."
Wiser persons enjoyed both, and there
were few months in which one did not
greet with delight the appearance of a
number of one serial in the familiar yell
low, and another in the equally familiar
green. Then the whole literary world
had Just been thrown into an excite
ment, never since paralelcd, by the
sudden apparition of "Jane Eyre" A
greater writer was making q more grad
ual approach TO fame by the publication
of the .'Scenes of Clerical Life" And
besides Thackeray, Dickens, Miss Bronte,
and George Eliot, a number of writer's,
some happily still living, provided
agreeable entertainment in the IN, ervals,
and might be regarded rs at least wor-
thy subordinates. Lord Lytton-co
mention only the dead--was publishing
'My Novel" and "The Cations, " which
are at least excellent specimens of good
literary craftsmanship; Mrs. GaSkell
produced "Ruth" and "Mary Barton"
and Kingsley wrote "Alton Locke" and
"Hypatia'' and "Westward Ho!" books
which, if they will not bear the closest
inspection in all respects. show at least
q vigor and originality TOR which it
would be hard to produce later par
allel. 1t is rather dangerous, perhaps,
to ask whether we have such noVelists
now.
But, allowing every reader to select
his favorite or pair of favorites to be
worthy champions of the moderns, he
will find it hard to fill up list capable
of doing battle against their predeces-
sors. Have we any counterbalancing
considerations to suggest? Is there
any department of literature in which
we can claim preponderance as dis
tinct as our predecessors in this direc-
tionp In poetry, philosophy, fiction,
we seem to have the worst of it. There
is vet one direction in which we might
make a stand. History should be a
strong point, for in history we are APP
preaching the scientific field; and in
history nobody can doubt that we have
made in some respects enormous adj
vances. The Anglo-Saxon and Charlie
magne have been nearly abolished, and
that is understood to mean that we have
made a great advance in accuracy of
research. But, from the literary point
of view, it may be doubted whether we
could meet without misgiving such
champion as Macaulay. The difference
is significant. 1t is easy to point out
Macaulay's glaring defects; the limita-
ton of his political views; the offensive
glitter of his style; and, in that respect,
at least one living historian seems to be
justly his superior. Yet, when we read
the Essays" and the tirstSpart of the
"History," we are less confident. The
extraordinary fullness of knowledge,
the command of material, the power of
grouping events and forming them into
q clear and flowing narrative are so
undeniable that we are inclined to adj
NIT, in spite of his faults, that he is
unapproached by his SUCCESSORS in the
powO which goes to a monumental
work Modern writer's seem to be
sometimes the victims of an indigestion
caught at the State Paper Office; some
times they are tempted to tack together
a series of brilliant pamphlets and trust
to fortune to make it history. AT pres
ent they seem scarcely capable of turn
ing out work so massive, so finely
executed, and marked by such unity OF
design as their forefathers. And yet
we may admit that, in history at least,
we have the advantage of serious and
energetic body of students really achiev-
ing good work, and at least accumula-
ting the material of literary ttiumphs.
Casting a rapid glance over these facts
the conclusion seems to be inevitable.
The literary, like the natural, harvest
has been of late blighted and scanty.
We have passed from land flowing
with milk and honey into comparative
desert. AS johnson said when he went
from England to Scotland, we see the
flower dying away TO the stalk. In q
utlitarian and scientific sense we may
be making progress; in the regions of
imagination and artistic achievement
so far, at least, as literature is con-
cerned-we have been progressing
backward. Great names are scarce;
there is hardly leader left who can
stir the enthusiasm of the young and
make us feel that the torch of intel
ectual light is being delivered into
worthy hands. If we would not fatter
the time, must we not confess that we
are at least crossing barren zone, and
at present without any distinct glimpse