Monotony would
settle on it like a paralysing frost. A series of sentences in which
every phrase was a distinct thought, would no more serve as pabulum for
the mind, than portable soup freed from all the fibrous tissues of meat
and vegetable would serve as food for the body. Animals perish from
hunger in the presence of pure albumen; and minds would lapse into
idiocy in the presence of unadulterated thought. But without invoking
extreme cases, let us simply remember the psychological fact that it is
as easy for sentences to be too compact as for food to be too
concentrated; and that many a happy negligence, which to microscopic
criticism may appear defective, will be the means of giving clearness
and grace to a style. Of course the indolent indulgence in this laxity
robs style of all grace and power. But monotony in the structure of
sentences, monotony of cadence, monotony of climax, monotony anywhere,
necessarily defeats the very aim and end of style; it calls attention
to the manner; it blunts the sensibilities; it renders excellences
odious.
"Beauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts ceases to be enjoyed
as beauty, just as light deprived of all shadow ceases to be enjoyed as
light.
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