it is found expedient to draw, between the consideration of the English Language, and the consideration of the English Literature, a broad line of demarcation. The knowledge of books is one thing; the knowledge of the rules of good composition is another thing. It is one thing to know what other men have written; it is another thing to know how you should yourself write. The one is a point of Literary History, or of Literary Biography; the other is a point of Rhetoric, or a point of Grammar. I do not say that the two studies do not mutually assist each other. All studies do so: these in a great degree. Familiarity with the works of a Shakspeare or a Milton, is an accomplishment—an accomplishment that depends upon our taste, and one which depends also upon our leisure—an accomplishment which cannot be too highly valued, but still an accomplishment. Familiarity, however, with the rules of good writing is not a mere accomplishment. It is a necessary qualification which comes home to us all. Now if I am convinced of one thing more than of another, I am convinced of the truth of this assertion; viz.: that a good style comes not of itself; it comes not uncalled for; and it comes neither by instinct nor by accident. It is the result of art, and the result of practise. The Rules of good Composition are the rules of Rhetoric; and it is very necessary that they be neither neglected nor undervalued. Two classes of men, and two classes only, can pretend to dispense with them—those that can write well, and those that cannot write at all.

The English Language is pre-eminently a mixed Language. Its basis indeed is Saxon, but upon this basis lies a very varied superstructure, of Danish and of Norman-French, of Modern French and of Greek, of Classical Latin and of the Latin of the Middle Ages imported at different periods and upon different occasions. Words from these languages are comprehended by the writer just in the proportion that he comprehends their origin and their derivation. Hence it is that the knowledge of isolated words is subordinate to the formation of a style; and hence it is that the rules for their investigation are (their aim and object being alone considered) akin to the rules of Rhetoric.

This however is but a small part of what may be our studies. It is well to know how Time affects Languages, and in what way it modifies them. It is well to know how one dialect grows out of another, and how its older stages differ from its newer ones. It is well if we can perceive that these variations are in no wise arbitrary; but it is better still if we can discover the laws that regulate them. Yet all this is but a knowledge of the changes that words undergo, a knowledge of the changes in their form, and a knowledge of the changes in their meaning. Now these points are points of Etymology, the word being used in its very laxest and its largest sense; and points of Etymology must, in no wise, be neglected or undervalued.

Lectures upon these questions will form the Etymological part of a course; and Lectures upon Prose Composition the Rhetorical part of one; whilst the two, taken together, will give a course upon the English Language, in contradistinction to one upon the English Literature.

In respect to the latter, I shall, at regular intervals, fix upon some new period, or some new subject, and, to the best of my power, illustrate it.

Thus much for the divisions and subdivisions of the subject-matter.

The considerations that come next in order are the considerations of the manner of exhibiting it, the considerations of the knowledge that can be detailed, and the considerations of the trains of thought that can be inculcated.

There are those who believe that a good style is not to be taught. Many think that the habit of writing good Prose, is like the power of creating good Poetry; a privilege that we are born to, and not a possession that we can earn; and a wit once said that, in order to write clearly, it was only necessary to understand what you would write about. If this be true, then is composition an easy matter indeed; or, to say the very least, a perspicuous style is as common as a clear understanding. The experience of the world has, however, set aside the decision of the wit, and the practice of inexperienced writers has belied his dogma. To write well you must understand not only the matter but the medium. Thus then it is, that, with respect to the use of books, and with respect to the use of rules, in our attempts at the formation of a good style, some persons neglect them as unavailing, and some despise them as superfluous.

Towards accurate writing Habit of some sort is indispensably essential. Yet this indispensable habit is not necessarily a habit of writing. A person who writes no more frequently than the common occasions of life demand, shall eventually, provided that he will habitually write his best, write accurately. Now the habit of criticism, and the habit of attention essential to habits of writing our best, a second person is, I think, able to inculcate. Such a second person should be familiar with bad as well as with good writing; even, as the physician shall grow conversant, not with health only, but with disease also. He should know what are the more egregious errors in composition; he should know also what are the more usual ones. He should be learned in the inaccuracies of good authors, and deeply erudite in the absurdities of bad ones; recognizing false taste under all its disguises, and holding up, as a beacon to avoid, the pitiful ambition of mannerism and of writing finely. The principles by which he tries these things, he can lay before his hearers; and he can illustrate them with a prodigality of commentary. And those who hearken shall thus grow critical. And, mark—the reader that continually and habitually criticizes others, soon comes to, continually and habitually, criticize himself. He grows fastidious, as it were, perforce.

In this way two things may be done: our criticism may be sharpened, and its edge may be turned upon ourselves. At this I aim, and not at teaching Rhetoric systematically.

The father of Horace, as we learn from the testimony of his son, was peculiar in his notions of education. In his eyes it was easier to eschew Vice than to imitate Virtue. Too wise a man not to know that an unapproachable model was no model at all, he let (for instance) the modesty of Virgil (as modest virtues generally contrive to do) speak for itself. But he counselled his son against the prodigality of Barrus, and held up, with parental prudence, the detected peccadilloes of Trebonius.

Now the system, that produces a negative excellence in morals, may produce also a negative excellence in literature. More than this (for the truth must be told) Art can not do. For Wit, and Vigour, and Imagination we must be indebted to Nature.

I know that the system of picking out, and holding up, either a neighbour's foibles, or an author's inelegancies, is not a gracious occupation; the question, however, is, not whether it be gracious or ungracious but whether it be efficient or inefficient.

Whosoever is conversant with the writings of etymologists must be well aware, that there are few subjects wherein men run wild to the degree that they run wild in Etymology. A little learning, dangerous everywhere, is preeminently dangerous in Etymology. There has been in the world an excess of bad etymology for two reasons.

The discovery of remote analogies is not only mental exercise, but, worse luck, it is a mental amusement as well. The imagination is gratified, and Criticism thinks it harsh to interpose.

Again, there is no language that a man so willingly illustrates as he illustrates his own. He knows it best, and he studies it with the greatest ease. He