THE LITERARY POSITION OF THE JOURNALIST.

Press, Volume L, Issue 8477, 8 May 1893, Page 3

THE LITERARY POSITION OF THE JOURNALIST.

Tht Argus, April Bth,

Iα a recent article upon the literary position of the journalist we were so candid as to etare that very much of the Spectator,, the Tatter, and the Guardian suffers from "absence of matter and dearth of interest," Iα expressing that opinion we find ourselves in agreement with no less a critic than Matthew Arnold. It is true that, with the frank directness of journalism, we called a spade simply a spade, whereas the apostle of culture and sweetness might be expected to call it an instrument for delving. Curiously enough, even Matthew Arnold's delicate suavity refills to be merciful to so obvious a fact. '• Where, then." he asks, " is the note of provinciality in Addieon ? I answer, in the commonplace of his ideas." And, yet again, the language of that enemy of all Philistines must surely have been infected with journalese when he could say, in terms ks unshrinking as our own, that " the idea expressed "—by Addison to wit —" is perfectly trite and barren." But though we enjoy the privilege of Matthew Arnold's support, we lack that of Canon Putter. "We are the more sorry for this, as the reverend gentleman is a student of unusually wide reading and great discernment. Canon Potter is a believer in the polite old nobility of letters. He is of those who swear by " Don Quixote." probably by "Gil Bias," and necessarily by "Pamela." He therefore naturally disapproves of our measuring Addison, bteele. IMckell, Swift, and their coterie against the journalist of to-day. Que diable font-ils dans cette gaUrei When he claims that it is unfair to compute the best of modern journalism with the worst of Queen Anne essay-writinec, he is just. We were ourselves contending that it is.no less unfair to contrast the worst of modern journalism with the best of literature and then to call journalism illiterate. In the course of that contention we confessed to a eomewhnt poor opinion of the Augustan gods of Will's, White's and St. Jameß's coffee-houses. We are prepared to maintain the criticism. We open the Spectator entirely at random, light on paper number seventy-nine and we lead, " All that I contend for is that those excellencies which are to be regarded but iv the second place should not precede more weighty considerations." This magniloquent truism neither impresses us by its profundity nor stimulates us by its crispness. We make a similar experiment on the Guardian, find ourselves at the one hundred and eleventh issue, and our eyes fall on the words, " I am very much concerned when I see young gentlemen of fortune and quality so wholly set upon pleasures and diversions, that they neglect all those improvements in wisdom and knowledge which may make them easy to themselves and useful to the world." We venture to asserc that if another Daniel come to judgment were to supply this kind of matter aad manner for Caunon Potter's morning entertainment even that loyal adherent of the constituted literary authorities would complain of " dearth of interest." Nor do we think that any competent journalist of to-day would either be likely to write or permitted to publish literary criticism of so poverty-stricken and mechanical a sort* as Addison's papers on Milton. It; is scarcely couceivable that Mr Henry, Mr Lang, or Mr Morley should examine " by the rules ot epic poetry " —whatever those may be—whether "Paradise Lost" falls snort of the "Iliad " or " in " the beauties which are essential to that kiud of writing." We have no desire to run a-muck at tho old literary aristocracy. The style 'of Addison aud Steele is excellent. "Sir Roger de Coverley " will be as immortal as the English language. Swift is a master of lucidity and point. His ''Gulliver's Travels" will probably delight men and children for ever. But why on these accounts disguise the fact that most of the sham letters to "Mr Spectator" make U3 yawn, and that "The Drapier's Letters" are both abusive English and bad logic? Our comparison lay between journalism and journalism, that in the reign of Victoria, and<that in the reign of Anne. And, we maintain, the best of this date is better than the best of that, while the average quality is immeasurably hisrher. Yet both the best and the average journalism of that date are bound up in volumes called " literature," and presented to modern students as models of style and stimulants to thought, while it is a current foolishness to treafrat least the average contemporary journalism ns tending only to impede thought and debase the language. The fine old fashion of beginning with a Latin text, keeping up the flagging interest by means of the frequent quotation, and adorning the page with abundant capitals is dead and gone. But it has yet to be proved that writing is in any wise inferior because it hangs on its own merits and not on a classical peg, and because the writer draws on his own intellectual fund instead of on a concordance or a dictionary of elegant extracts. The merits and faults of writing, whether journalistic or "literary," must lie in the htyle and the matter. A good style, it has been said, means the use of the proper words in the proper places. Needless to say that grammatical propriety is supposed to be a first essential. Pope is allowed to write: —

" Man never is, bat always to be, bleaeed," and, as for synLax, it is "what you please." Every poet from Shakespeare down to Browning may break Priscian'a bead in his own way. But they are literature. The newspaper, which is not" literature," may take no such liberties. As a matter of fact, it seldom does take them, except in the columns where correspondence disports icnelf. And, in pohit of that terseness which is so potent an element in style, a Johnston may say—

" Let observation, with exteneire vievr, Satvey mankind from Zambia to Peru," which, as interpreted by Coleridge, means, " Let observation, with extensive observation, observe mankind extensively." But writers less "literary" than Dr. Johnston must prune down such pleonasms or else cease to be regarded by Rods, columns, or editors. A leisured and fastidious Gray may write—

" And reddening Phoebue lifts his golden flrae,"

bufc the literary student, who tolerates this and admires it, cries out lustily upon the hard-pressed reporter who happens to drop for a moment into the language of the stage, the platform, the pulpit, or the novel, and to speak of, say, " the progress of ' the devouring element." " We have previously maintained that a living language must perpetually modify its vocabulary, despite all the legislation of pedants or academies. Wo now go co far as to assort that the English writing of the year 1893 is on the whole greatly superior in perspicuity, terseness, vigour, and vivacity to the English writing of the year 1711. It would be a pity if it were not so. Generations of writers have not striven for nothing. When the long, periodic monsters, veritable saurians of sentences, of Jeremy Taylor and Milton had given place to the more wleldy and graceful structures of Swift, Addiaon. or Steele, it was natural for contemporaries to fancy that perfection of style was reached. Yet, when Macaulay appeared upon the horizon, the literary world became conscious of the dawning of a new method which bad much to recommend it. We may not now wholly admire Macaulayese any more than we admiee Johnsonese, yet these two dialects have modified the Addisonian language for all of us who come after, and not undesirably. It is late iv the day to measure our English speech by the tape of Addison. If writing expresses what has to be expressed, and expresses it clearly, wholly, it were more reasonable to be satisfied therewith than to complain chat the words and rhythm are unliKe Addison'e. The natural answer is that, on the other band, Addison's is unlike these. But that might Bound irreverent." And so farewell to Addison and his.