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would be given to the vital principle of language through the etymology of its component parts. Meantime there is a danger from our ingenious and enterprising cousins across the Atlantic. Perhaps our readers have noticed an advertisement of a "coker-nut." Some uncertainty there must be about spelling; one fashion succeeds another, but about the principles, which underlie these accidental variations, there can be no question among those who know whence the words come, and how they have acquired their meaning. In the same way there is a good deal of caprice as to capital letters. A book printed a century ago is as thickly studded with capitals as a book in German type. Perhaps it is a safe rule, to use a capital only when the thing or person is regarded individually, and needs to be kept distinct from homonyms, as "the Reformation," "the Restoration," " 'the Visitor of a college," "the Scriptures," etc. Even an adjective may represent, as it were, a semi-proper name, as "the College for the Blind."

Who will be bold enough to lay down rules for punctuation, or sanguine enough to expect printers to observe them? One thing, at least, may be affirmed without incurring the charge of purism, that a comma is wanted, whenever a new principal verb occurs. For instance, "No time could be worse than a time, in which," etc. But a sentence like this is often dislocated by a comma after "worse "instead of after time." Sometimes, indeed, the comma is impossible, even when the sense requires it, as in "They are trained for what will be their future career," "what" being equivalent to "that, which." Sometimes, on the other hand, a comma, though | unnecessary, makes the sense clearer to the eye, as in "Pitt, having gained a majority, became prime minister." It might be amusing, did space permit, to contrast the enormous sentences, in which some writers delight, with the "staccato" style of Macaulay; but space fails. If to any one some of the points touched upon seem very minute, let the words, spoken long ago, be remembered

In mala.

Hæ nugæ seria ducunt

It is not intended that all the phrases cited are solecisms, nor that none of them can shelter itself under precedent, but that they are awkward and inexact. An expression may be ungraceful or inappropriate without being ungrammatical.

I. G. S.

From All The Year Round. LINDLEY MURRAY.

"PAUCIS notus, paucioribus ignotus," is the inscription which marks the grave of Burton, who wrote the "Anatomy of Melancholy," and with equal truth and fitness may the words stand at the commencement of this article.

The name of Lindley Murray is, indeed. familiar to us as a household word, and his works, if not exactly popular, which schoolbooks never are, have attained to a world-wide celebrity, and almost to a universal circulation; but of the man himself, his personality, his character, his history, we know nothing, or next to nothing. Nor does the study of his chief work help to increase our knowledge in this respect. He gives us his opinion as to the wisdom of Socrates and Plato; he seems to suggest some impossible kind of relation between eagles' wings and the Drapers' Company; and he mentions not only that he loved Penelope, but that Penelope was loved by him. This is all, however; and the avowal, though interesting in itself, is isolated, fragmentary, and tantalizing. There is a reproach underlying the old truism, that the world knows nothing of its greatest men; and, though Lindley Murray can hardly claim a place in such a category, still it may not be undesirable for us to learn somewhat of the life-career of one who fills an honorable, indeed an almost unique, position in our educational literature.

He was born in 1745, at Swetara, Pennsylvania, the eldest of the twelve children of a prosperous Quaker, who was at once a miller, a shipowner, and a merchant. Early in life young Lindley developed a wild and unmanageable temperament, and when little more than an infant clambered out on the roof and refused to return until guaranteed against punishment. At school he was smart and intelligent, rather than diligent or industrious. He had no disinclination to study in itself, but the acquisition of knowledge interfered with amusement, and he often played truant. Boy-like he had a fondness for teasing animals, though without any cruel intention, and this propensity remained with him until, in matured years, he was cured of it by the following occurrence. Being in London in 1771, he went to see some elephants kept in the royal stables at Buckingham Palace, and while there managed to abstract some of the food placed before one of them; some weeks after he paid a second visit, having forgotten all about the matter; but the elephant's mem

ory was more retentive, and he aimed with | had hitherto shown no aptitude. Either his trunk a furious blow at the future his ability was good, or his good fortune grammarian, which the latter with great very great, or more probably both were difficulty avoided. favored by the circumstances of the time; but, whatever was the cause, his commercial enterprise was rapidly successful; and shortly after the Declaration of Independence he retired on a competence which lasted him for the remainder of his life.

An incident in 1759, when he was only fourteen years of age, illustrates in a remarkable manner his strength of character and firmness of purpose. Having received a severe beating from his father for spending an evening at his uncle's house on an occasion when it was impossible for him to obtain the permission, which his parents would not have refused if at home, the sense of injustice rankled so much in his breast that he determined to run away. His father, a short time before, had presented him with some imported watches, in order to develop the trading instinct, in which he was somewhat lacking, so that the lad was not destitute of funds. His plan of emancipating himself was an extraordinary one for a boy of fourteen to adopt. He obtained a suit of clothes different from those he usually wore, which were probably of the Quaker cut, and actually placed himself at a boardingschool at Burlington, New Jersey, intending to acquire a knowledge of French before beginning the world on his own account. For some time he remained here happily enough until meeting one day, in Philadelphia, a gentleman who knew him, he was entrusted with an important letter, and asked to deliver it personally in New York; this he conscientiously did; but, being detained in the city, he was discovered by his uncle and with difficulty induced to return home. Here all was made easy; a tutor was procured for him; he joined eagerly in the proceedings of a debating club; and, manifesting a taste for law, his determination overcame his father's opposition to this choice of a profession; and he was bound, or articled, to the family lawyer, having for his fellowpupil John Jay, afterwards celebrated as an American statesman.

Having been called to the bar, he married in 1767, and for a few years lived in England.

Finding on his return to America, in 1771, that legal business was almost in abeyance owing to the political troubles of the Revolution, he purchased a seaside residence at Islip, Long Island, and spent his time fishing and boating, at the same time restoring his health, which was not very robust.

After four years he came back to New York, and, seeing no better prospect than before of professional occupation, he boldly entered into trade, for which he

He acquired a beautiful house on the Hudson, a few miles from the city, and was looking forward to a future of happy ease, close to his friends, freed from business anxieties, and furnished with occupation and amusement by his gun, his garden, and his boat. Such dreams, however, he was never permitted to realize. His health began to decline and his limbs to lose their power. The air at his riverside "paradise" did not agree with him; medicinal springs and country resorts proved equally inefficacious; and, finally, his doctors declared that his best prospect of health lay in a residence in England, recommending the air of Yorkshire as the most suitable to his constitution.

Accordingly, in 1784, he left America, and, after some time spent in looking out for a suitable house, he finally fixed himself at Holdgate, within a mile of York, from which he never afterwards removed. His bodily health was fairly good, but his power of motion grew weaker and weaker, and before long entirely failed. Confined thus to the house, principally to a single room, he naturally turned to study, and at length to authorship, as a resource, and in 1787 he produced his first book. This was a series of sketches intended to show the power of religion over the mind, especially in time of misfortune or at the approach of death, and was illustrated by examples ranging from Socrates, Confucius, and Saint Paul, to Richelieu, Cæsar Borgia, and Dr. Doddridge. This he published anonymously, and distributed it gratuitously amongst his neighbors; but the book thus modestly introduced became very popular, and eventually ran through eighteen editions.

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Some of his friends having established a school at York for "the guarded edu cation of young women,' Mr. Murray delivered some informal lectures to the teachers on the methods of imparting a knowledge of the English language. These little lectures or addresses he, at their request, expanded into book-form, and so, in 1795, his "English Grammar" was offered to the public. Its success was immediate and unmistakable; and, thus encouraged, he wrote a book of


grammatical exercises, followed by a key; and in 1797 made an abridgement of the grammar, which, even in his own lifetime, reached its eighty-sixth edition. Next appeared an English Reader," and in 1800 a sequel, or more advanced volume, which was very highly and deservedly praised. It was an enormous improvement on the books of a similar kind then existing. Its selections, which aimed at being interesting as well as instructive, were marked by judgment and taste, and comprised such poems as "The Traveller," "The Deserted Village," Gray's Elegy," and "Grongar Hill," with shorter extracts from Thomson, Milton, Cowper, Crabbe, and Prior.


In 1802 he wrote "Le Lecteur François;” a few years later, an introduction to the same; and in 1804 an English spelling-book, and also a small primer for very young children.

The spelling-book was as well and carefully executed as his other books, and met with similar acceptance. Nearly fifty editions have been called for, and it has been published, not only in England and America, but at Calcutta and even at Cadiz.

His other writings were few and unimportant. A small tract against theatrical and frivolous amusements appeared at Philadelphia in 1799, and a "Doctrinal Compendium for Young Members of the Society of Friends," a little book inculcating the duty of daily perusing the Bible, and a pamphlet biography of a religious friend of his, Mr. Tuke, from time to time issued from his pen. This, with a volume of extracts from Horne's "Commentary on the Psalms," was all he ever wrote; but these productions did not terminate his literary activity. He considered it his duty to make such additions and improve ments as were found necessary in those works which had received so large an amount of public favor.

Urged by his London publishers he issued, in 1808, a library edition in two volumes of his grammar, with its exercises and key, and personally superintended the alterations and revisions which were called for by an interminable series of new editions. This he did from a sense of moral obligation, and not influenced either by desire or prospect of profit, for he had disposed of his copyrights on terms and for objects equally

creditable to himself.

At the present day, when the rival claims of publishers and authors are so hotly canvassed, it is interesting to read

his account of the commercial side of his literary experience. He says of his publishers: " They gave a liberal price for the books; and, I must say, that in all our transactions together which have not been very limited-they have demonstrated great honor and uprightness, and entirely justified my confidence and expectation. I have great pleasure in knowing that the purchase of the copyrights has proved highly advantageous to them; and though it has turned out much more lucrative than was at first contemplated, they are fully entitled to the benefit."

For his grammar, abridgement, exercises, and key, he obtained eight hundred pounds; for the reader, introduction and sequel, seven hundred and fifty; for his French books, seven hundred pounds; and for his spelling-book and primer, five hundred pounds. He at one time contemplated a kind of expurgated edition of the poets; but, happily perhaps for his reputation, never attempted to carry it into effect. His means being sufficient for his simple mode of life, and having no family, he devoted all his literary income to charitable and benevolent objects. He furnished a brief autobiographical sketch in a series of letters, which comprise the history of his life down to 1809; and this forms the basis of the volume of memoirs published after his death. From this date the record of his history is almost devoid of incident. In 1810 he was admitted an honorary member of the Historical Society of New York, and in 1816 of the Literary and Philosophical Society of the same city. These were the only literary or academic distinctions he ever received. Indeed, so retired was the life he led, from temperament as well as necessity, that many of those acquainted with his writings were either altogether ignorant of, or very imperfectly informed as to, the facts of his existence; and Dr. Blair, who corresponded with him, shared the most generally received opinion that he was a schoolmaster. The Edgeworths, and a few other visitors of social or literary distinction, called on him in his retreat; and were much impressed by his kindly manner and dignified appearance, and by his powers of conversation, so far as his weakness of voice permitted him to exercise them.

Of his works it is not necessary to say much. Their merit is proved by the permanence as well as the width of their popularity; and their general utility has never been called in question. Their plan and method have been gradually super


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seded by the more logical and scientific | attached to England; and of that British system of our own time; and even tech- Constitution under which he lived, he exnical inaccuracies have been pointed out pressed the opinion, "It has stood the by Mr. Moon and other critics. The test of ages and attracted the admiration dreadful "and which" whose discovery in of the world." He was neither a genius in "The Heart of Midlothian " has so nor a hero, not even, in the strict sense, a shocked Mr. Andrew Lang, is also to be scholar; but there is an actual and an found in the grammar of Lindley Murray. abiding character of usefulness in his We smile, too, while we differ from his effort to lighten "the long and tedious dictum, that as a matter of gender "we track of slavish grammar.' He was a perceive an impropriety" in calling a good man; patient, benevolent, tolerant, woman a philosopher or an astronomer, with a quick intelligence, vivid and active though we can say she is an architect, sympathies, and an energetic tenacity of a botanist, a student," so that a correct will- a graft of American hickory upon designation might be given to Bess o' English oak. Hardwick, while it was denied to Mrs. Somerville. But even if his errors and inelegancies were ten times more numerous, they could not seriously detract from the solid value of his achievement. His closing years were passed in great pain; but his intellect was always clear, and he never ceased altogether from work. True, he labored in English, and not in Greek; and his work was synthetic and constructive, rather than analytic and critical. Otherwise, he is like enough to Mr. Browning's hero:

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Ground he at grammar;

Still, thro' the rattle parts of speech were rife,

While he could stammer.

He settled Hoti's business- let it be!
Properly based Oun;

Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De,
Dead from the waist down.

His maimed and suffering existence was prolonged until the sixteenth of February, 1826, when he expired somewhat suddenly, in the eighty-first year of his age. Through all the long illness which made up his life, he had been nursed with the most careful attention by his wife, to whom, on the anniversary of their wedding, which was also her birthday, he never failed to present a little literary offering of tenderness and affection, — With sweetest memories mingled, and with hope.

From Macmillan's Magazine. AN EPISODE OF THE LONG VACATION.

CHANCE had thrown them together in a little inn on the Moselle, the briefless Barrister, wandering melancholy and alone, and these charming English girls with their brothers, the Artist and the young Oxonian. And now on a glorious August day they were dining like old friends tothe river, amid a litter of home newsgether in the leafy verandah overlooking papers ten days old, paint-boxes, campstools, half-finished sketches, and cigars. "Are we going, or are we not, to the Fest at Pünderich to-morrow?" said the Wanderer to his fair neighbor, the talented Titania. "Of course we are," replied Titania. "Who ever dreamt of anything else?" chimed in Speranza, darting a fiery glance at their guardians, the head and under keepers, the Student and the Artist, the brothers. The Artist shook his head and looked solemnly at the canvas by his side; but the Student said nothing, for he quailed under Speranza's glance.

So it was arranged, and the two horses of the village with its ancient wagonette bespoken. Next day at two they start, leaving the Artist to his labors, but taking with them for sponsors the daughters of their host, the stalwart Henriette and Augusta, and their cousin Mathilde with the blue revolving eyes. On rumbles the She survived him for some years, and ancient wagonette through the fruit-tree on her death, his property was, according avenues which line the river, flowing to his will, devoted to the manumission swift between climbing, rock-crowned vineand education of negro slaves, and to yards, past old-world villages and tall missionary efforts amongst the American white gabled houses adorned with wonIndians. He never took any part in pol-derful carvings, past countless wayside itics, and would, perhaps, have experi- shrines decked with fresh flowers. enced some difficulty in choosing a side; Pünderich is reached by four. The for though he loved America, and regret- little village is gay with flags and garlands ted his enforced exile, he was also warmly | of leaves and flowers stretched across the

streets; every little inn, and there are many of them, hums and throbs with music and dancing. The GastwirthschaftSchneiders, where the "better people congregate, is already crammed. The long benches indoors and out of doors are packed with bronzed festive faces; on every woman's lips is a smile; in each male mouth a heavy porcelain pipe; the tables are brilliant with tall glasses of bright yellow wine. From the Tanzsaal overhead come the inspiriting strains of waltz and polka, and the measured thump of heavy feet. A space is cleared for the new-comers at the end of the garden, chairs and table set down, the wine ordered, the choicest at one shilling the bottle! and preparations made instantly for the fray. The etiquette is simple but severe -the young man selects his partner, approaches her without introduction, makes a ceremonious bow, offers his arm, and away! Only, when once his arm has been taken by the young lady, she must not let it go until he brings her back flushed and breathless to her friends, acknowledging his happiness with a second ceremonious bow.

Henriette, Augusta, and Mathilde are soon snapped up by old friends. Nothing daunted, the Wanderer, having with due ceremony invited Titania, threads a way through the crowded garden alleys, up the twisting, ramshackle staircase, and emerging finally through a cloud of tobacco smoke, which rises from the tables encroaching upon the Tanzsaal, bursts upon the admiring gaze of the dancers. The youth of Pünderich is troubled by Titania's entry. It is something strange to them, this creature so sylph-like and delicate, this beauty weighing wonderfully less than eleven stone. In Rome you must do as Rome does. Here, therefore, you must not hold your partner with outstretched arm in teapot fashion; nay, she must hold you as if she would lift a heavy sack, and your left arm instead of being outstretched must be tucked behind your back. The step is fast and furious- the hop-waltz, in fact, affected by illustrious personages at home. No guidance is at tempted, nor indeed is possible; the method of holding partners being designed to make each couple as like a ball as possible, so as to profit by the frequent can


But if the dance is fast and furious it stops suddenly; the "half-dance," as they call it, is over. From his narrow gallery in the corner, the chef d'orchestre steps down and walks slowly round the room


collecting from each gentleman one penny for himself and his partner, the price of the dance.

During the interval the young men's eyes are fixed upon Titania, reverentially, but not without a glad expectancy. However, the money has been collected. The music strikes up again, and the dance proceeds merrily to its close. Then the couples come pouring into the garden, and ere Titania is seated, a dozen claimants for her hand present themselves. Speranza has already been borne off by some impetuous youth. The Wanderer meantime is not idle, and his roving eye soon encounters the belle of Pünderich. She is embarrassed among numerous suitors; the Wanderer steps up to make another, and with a smile she cuts the Gordian knot by walking off with the Englishman. How pretty she is in her dress of simple grey, her soft brown hair lying in glossy coils upon her head, her brown eyes brimming with truth, the touch of the sun on her firm cheeks, straight little nose, and the backs of her dimpled hands-for no gloves are worn! And how sweetly serious her smile! No wonder that the Wanderer feels proud, and bears himself with haughty assurance as he fights his way up-stairs.

There, in the Tanzsaal, Titania and Speranza are working havoc among honest German hearts, and the Student, standing grim in a corner, murmurs,

Are things what they seem,

Or are visions about?

as he watches the pride of London drawing-rooms tearing round in the clutches of these horny-handed sons of toil, these sunburnt vine-growers in their heavy boots. Mark Hermann's face as he bobs round with Titania clasped to his heart, what a smile illuminates its capacious contours! But, alas, in the interval for the collection of the orchestral pence, his expression suddenly clouds over, and a cold perspiration bathes his forehead. And why? Titania's arm is pricked by the great pin which fastens the rose in his coat. German is too rough a tongue for her lips — at least she does not speak it-and he takes her gesture to mean that she would like the rose. Poor fellow! Dorothea is watching him with jealous eyes - Dorothea, who pinned in the rose that afternoon! Was there ever a more poignant situation? He has torn the rose desperately from his buttonhole, and handed it over with trembling hand and averted eyes. But instantly he feels Titania's deft

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