Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1884-05-23

They are all passing away-the fiction writ
ers who from childhood to middle age made
our leisure hours enjoyable-and as yet we
see none to replace them Dickens and Thack-
cray, George Eliot and Trollope the Kings
leys and Charles Reade are gone and If we
omit, as We suppose we ought TO do, Ameri-
cans from our list, there is only Mrs. Oliphant
left who can make us completely forget the
pressure of the real yet leave with US no
lurking sense of time wasted or misspent.
Why is this ? Is the change in ourselves, and
only the natural consequence of belonging to
generation which has grown middle-aged
and can no longer enjoy? That will be said,
and of course there is truth in it. but not
much for, after ALL the men of our genera
tion are as sensitive to poetry as ever, read
grave literature, il it is only original with
appette-Witness the demand at Nudes for
Mr.. Maurice's Life-Rnd crave for original
fiction with even an undue desire. The lull
in the production Of drst-class fiction, and,
indeed, of good literature generally, is very
striking. There are books coming out with
out end, some of them good books, and scores
of them reaching fair average Ct originality
and adding their quota of knowledge or of
enjoyment to the general store but nobody
gives us enchanting books-above all, enchain.
ing fiction. There never were very many,
but the supply never ran out 80 completely as
it has done recently, when We have been driv-
en- to think nRturslist's slightly tedious ac-
count of the Indian of Guiana-most insight
fcant folk, hardly 20, 600 in Rll-the most nu-
tritive book of a year. 1t is partly accident,
we dare say, the reading world standing BY
10 watch one of those intervals which divide
| literary periods and give second-rate men
| their long-hoped-for chance and We know
that year, or even q decade, is as short q
time in the history Of literature as in the his
tory of people or Of timber tree. But
suppose it should prove otherwise There
have been long lulls in English literary his
tory-and the Americans are English, and q
century and half produced in literature next
to nothing. The English world Is growing
American, reading newspapers insatiably,
learning to watch foreign politics as Ameri.
cans do-as IL they were operas performed
for their amusement, or, worse still, fights in
| the arena and listening to the whole world
with a thirsty curiosity which is not enno-
| bling or at all events, is not conducive to any
such concentration of thought as new pro-
duction requires. The news, too, is chiefly
distraoting. There is no great cause about
which men grow passionate, no immense
event that has happened, even II II be true
that immense events necessarily produce fine
literature-which, after the experience Of
America since the civil war, and of Germany
since she attained unity. we should seriously
doubt. The religious movement, though most
marked and interesting, tends TO dissolve old
faiths, not produce new ones, and has not
shown the vivifying power witnessed 300
years ago, when the old paganism struck its
last blow, Rnd-mraele of miracles-to q
world that seemed dying of sterility the re-
naissance arrived. The signs Of another re-
naissance are not visible yet either in litera-
ture or art, and it may be that none will come
in time for the middle-sged, who henceforth
must put up till death with work poor in it,
self and which seems to minds once fed upon
the strongest meat, and naturally little un-
susceptible TO the new, poorer than 1t ls.
Suppose that for 80 years publishers must be
content with studies Of the old, with reprints
such as now deluge the world-to the rage OF
the lovers of thought, who hate these costly
heavy octavos and editions de luxe-and with
such looks of observation as travel aud phys
ical inquiry, and political watchfulness, may
yield! 1t is a dreary thought but pos
sibly a true one and should it prove "a
be true, there will be to the lovers of lit
erature sad compensation for all our triumphs
In science, and in mastering such secrets OF
nature as yield money. What consolation Ia
Bessemer, or even Josiah Mason--who did al
least make pens, and so was of some use ia
the thoughtful-h the men now so are never
again, till they are so or dead, to be taken out
of themselves by book ?-L0ndOH Spectator