more than an ignorant clown should not be able to learn fine language, dancing, or a courtly behaviour, when his rustic airs have grown up with him till past the age of forty.

'For want of this care, some persons of rank and education dwell all their days among obscure ideas; they conceive and judge always in confusion, they take weak arguments for demonstration, they are led away with the disguises and shadows of truth. Now, if such persons happen to have a bright imagination, a volubility of speech, and a copiousness of language, they not only impose many errors upon their own understandings, but they stamp the image of their own mistakes upon their neighbours also, and spread their errors abroad.' Desirable as it is to attain clear conceptions, 'yet,' continues our authority, 'it must still be confessed that there are some mysteries in religion, both natural and revealed, as well as some abstruse points of philosophy, wherein the wise as well as the unwise must be content with obscure ideas. There are several things, especially referring to the invisible world [or to go no further, the mystery of life itself], which are unsearchable in our present state, and, therefore, we must believe what revelation plainly dictates, though the ideas may be obscure. Reason demands this of us; but we should seek for the brightest evidence both of ideas and of the connection of them, wheresoever it is attainable.'

LITERARY TASTES AND ACQUIREMENTS.

TASTE for literature, even although exercised

in obscurity and under peculiar privations, will

A impart a charm to existence which no wealth alone

can purchase, no grandeur of station can excel.

Solitary, unfriended, depressed by misfortune or by personal suffering, literature provides for us a daily banquet of pleasure-harmless, cheering, assuaging, ever lifting the mind above the petty cares which beset us in our earthly career, ever banishing vicious tastes and sordid considerations.

Without abating a jot in your professional duties, or taking you improperly out of your sphere, you may with advantage cultivate a taste for literature; and aiding good natural parts with perseverance, you may at length be able to offer some small contributions to the press, if not for a pecuniary reward, at least for the pleasure which attends well-directed effort. At one time, literature formed a distinct profession. Authors wrote for the press, and in many instances they could not make their way without the assistance of patrons. In the present day, although literature is still pursued professionally, authors depend no longer on the special friendship of men of wealth and title, but act independently, and have the world at large for their patrons. Authorship, however, is, from various causes, precarious as a profession, and on this account is followed more as a casual amusement, or taken up as an aid to the ordinary means of living. 'Literature,' as Walter Scott has said, 'is a useful and pleasant cane to walk with, not a staff to lean upon;' and in his own case he exemplified the force of the

saying; for during his career as an author he continued to act as a clerk to one of the Supreme Courts in Scotland. In a similar manner, Wordsworth was a local distributer of stamps; and so on with the greater number of the distinguished English writers of the present century.

Although promoted by natural aptitude, or what is called genius, skill in authorcraft is usually attained only by considerable practice. Few authors have been able to write well at first. Men under strong convictions and impulses have, with scarcely any preparation, produced works of imperishable interest. But in general, repeated attempts are made before an author feels himself qualified to address the public. The number of unsuccessful productions in all departments of literature is much greater than is commonly believed. Popularity is the exception, not the rule. Assuming that you wish to acquire a power of writing-be it for private amusement, or be it for the press-preliminary habits of reading, a good knowledge of grammar and words, and a faculty of concentrating and arranging ideas, are indispensable.

In sitting down to write, we commence by arranging our ideas; calling up in the mind as clear a conception as possible of what we have to say, how we are to treat our subject, and at what point we are to begin. In writing, as in many other arts, study nature. Let your ideas flow in a natural and easy manner, in due consecutive order; the object being kept in view, that you wish to transfer to the mind of the reader a reflex of your own thoughts and feelings. In handling the pen, you are to suppose yourself speaking directly to a person who is listening, and make everything so clear that he cannot misapprehend your meaning.

You are aware that there are different styles of composition -grave, pathetic, lively, humorous, and so on. These several styles may be studied in the works of well-known writers; and so far it is permissible to form notions of the best methods

in which subjects may be treated. The sonorous periods of Johnson, in which words, mostly from Latin roots, flow majestically along-the elegance and precision of Robertson -the simplicity of Bunyan, whose language is pure vernacular English-the sentiment and dry humour of Sterne-the graphic descriptiveness and colloquial powers of Scott-the drollery, and occasionally the pathos, of some parts of the writings of Dickens; are all examples of different styles in prose composition. And to make these and other writers a study, you have before you the whole body of English literature. Beyond offering general examples, however, these productions are not available as a study. You may admire an author, and also carry away some useful impressions from the perusal of his works; but little good comes of close imitation. Style of expression is but an exponent of mind, and every one's mind possesses peculiarities by which peculiar effects may be produced. Keeping general rules and good models in view, your duty consists in thinking for yourself, and inscribing your thoughts in your own way. Imitators 'a servile flock,' as Horace calls them-are the scandal of literature.

In attempting to write essays, young men sometimes content themselves with dressing up a number of hackneyed ideas, picked up from books; whereas they should exercise independent thought, so as to impart an air of originality to their composition. An essay is a short disquisition on a subject of interest, written in a sketchy off-hand manner, but calculated to bring conviction to the mind of the reader. Without appearing formal, it must be executed according to a definite plan. To use an ordinary expression-it must have a beginning, a middle, and an end, all in due proportion. In other words, the writer opens, then handles his subject, and, lastly, he draws his conclusions. The essays of Addison and Steele in the Spectator, are usually considered good models, in point of plan and style of language. In the present day, however, they

appear lumbering and heavy, when compared with recent writing, which is prompt, clear, and expressive. The modern essayist avoids ambiguities and conceits. Not disdaining to be elegant and fluent, his chief aim is to be intelligible; coming to the point in the fewest number of words, he fires off his ideas one after the other like so many shot. The great thing with him is to make everything tell. Obscurities, mystifications, circumlocutionary modes of expression, and long involved sentences, are shunned as being old-fashioned; so likewise are the kind of metaphors and the pedantic classical quotations which disfigure the writings of the older essayists.

The late celebrated Dr Arnold, head-master of Rugby School, gave his pupils themes for composition, with a view to bring out their talent for original thinking. ""Ha, very good!" was his well-known exclamation of pleasure when he met with some original thought: "is that entirely your own, or do you remember anything in your reading that suggested it to you?” Style, knowledge, correctness or incorrectness of statement or expression, he always disregarded in comparison with indication or promise of real thought. "I call that the best theme," he said, "which shews that the boy has read and thought for himself; that the next best, which shews that he has read several books, and digested what he has read; and that the worst, which shews that he has followed but one book, and followed that without reflection."'*

The principal fault of young writers is diffuseness: they employ too many words and sentences to express their meaning. Skill in composition is demonstrated by brevity; and to attain the happy art of conveying sentiments to the reader in a moderate number of words, ought to be one of the first objects of the essayist. One of the consequences of diffuseness is obscurity, which produces wearisomeness and want of interest,

*Life and Correspondence of Arnold. 1844.