There is an objection to this treatment of the subject which may be noticed; it has been a question of profit and loss; we have been swayed by the most mercenary motives, instead of poetic enthusiasm, and we may be reminded of Archimedes' reply to the mercenary student of mathematics.

Willst du nur Früchte von ihr, die kann auch die Sterbliche zeugen Wer um die Göttin freit, suche in ihr nicht das Weib.-Sch.

I admit it cordially, I wish the objector a clear conscience, and wish Archimedes' advice may be widely taken. But the reason for this treatment is scarcely less obvious: this was precisely the point to be established. Let us have no freemasonry among the students of Shakspeare.

This discussion has occupied so large a space, that a few reflections on the second head must suffice. It is true that not many will be vigorous students of anything, who are not vigorous in the regular course of College and University reading: it is also not to be denied that this study will occupy time which might otherwise be employed, and will furnish subjects of reflection for the hours of recreation, when the mind might be lying fallow, to gain strength for the next crop. On the other hand must be placed what is gained in intellectual freshness, and growth, and vigour, by the change of study, and the study itself; a study which forms the complement and, the antidote to scientific studies, and by the ever-recurring arguments and discussions, compensates for the loss of the disputations in the schools; and in the consciousness of an expanding mind, which will amply compensate for the little loss of time; a loss so little, that if a degree is injured by it, it surely deserves to be so injured. But in point of fact this is not the question: it really is, how shall we dispose of our Saturday Evenings in the most pleasant manner. Saturday Evenings have from time immemorial been rescued from Moloch, and consecrated to humanity in the form of tea fights, whist parties, chess, suppers, readings or such diversions: and without undervaluing any of the others, we have been expressing our preference, and the grounds of our preference for the last.

One word more on the constitution of such societies. Let half-a-dozen men, of about the same standing, who thoroughly respect one another, meet and read Shakspeare together next Saturday Evening; let one be great in classics and æsthetics; another in mathematics and common sense;

one in editions and various readings; another in literature and German; and two in nothing to serve as ballast; and I will guarantee them a pleasant and profitable evening: let them know something of the play beforehand, and not go too slowly, or too fast, over the scenes; and they will learn sometimes how men with precisely the same facts before them will hold opposite conclusions, from which no arguments will dislodge them at the time, though each has argued so well, that at the end of a month it shall appear that each has convinced the other, (and the same is a valuable lesson); sometimes how they erred toto cœlo in their judgment of an expression, a scene or the whole play; and sometimes how a word of their own, flying straight to the mark, will disperse a mob of half starved arguments: let their criticism of the poet be reverential, of his critics severe, of his commentators (if possible) grave, of one another polite; let them spend two or three hours in such diversion, (they will seem no longer than one hour in lecture), and then let them shut up the tomes, and let chat, jokes, and the pewter be passed round. And after a year let one of them write for The Eagle a number of "Noctes Shaksperiana" to thank us for our recipe.

I

ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION, AND OTHER MATTERS.

SIT down scarcely knowing how to grasp my own meaning, and give it a tangible shape in words; and yet it is concerning this very expression of our thoughts in words that I wish to speak. As I muse things fall more into their proper places, and, little fit for the task as my confession pronounces me to be, I will try to make clear that which is in my mind.

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I think then that the style of our authors of a couple of hundred years ago was more terse and masculine than that of those of the present day, possessing both more of the graphic element, and more vigour, straightforwardness, and conciseness. Most readers will have anticipated me in admitting that a man should be clear of his meaning before he endeavours to give to it any kind of utterance, and that having made up his mind what to say, the less thought he takes how to say it, more than briefly, pointedly, and plainly, the better: for instance, Bacon tells us Men "fear death as children fear to go in the dark;" he does not say, what I can imagine a last century writer to have said, "A feeling somewhat analogous to the dread with "which children are affected upon entering a dark room, "is that which most men entertain at the contemplation of "death." Jeremy Taylor says, "Tell them it is as much "intemperance to weep too much as to laugh too much;" he does not say, "All men will acknowledge that laughing "admits of intemperance, but some men may at first sight "hesitate to allow that a similar imputation may be at times "attached to weeping."

I incline to believe that as irons support the ricketty child, whilst they impede the healthy one, so rules, for the most part, are but useful to the weaker among us. Our greatest masters in language, whether prose or verse, in painting, music, architecture, or the like, have been

those who preceded the rule, and whose excellence gave rise thereto; men who preceded, I should rather say, not the rule, but the discovery of the rule, men whose intuitive perception led them to the right practice. We cannot imagine Homer to have studied rules, and the infant genius of those giants of their art, Handel, Mozart and Beethoven, who composed at the ages of seven, five, and ten, must certainly have been unfettered by them: to the less brilliantly endowed however, they have a use as being compendious safeguards against error. Let me then lay down as the best of all rules for writing, "forgetfulness "of self, and carefulness of the matter in hand." No simile is out of place that illustrates the subject; in fact a simile as shewing the symmetry of this world's arrangement, is always, if a fair one, interesting; every simile is amiss that leads the mind from the contemplation of its object to the contemplation of its author. This will apply equally to the heaping up of unnecessary illustrations: it is as great a fault to supply the reader with too many as with too few; having given him at most two, it is better to let him read slowly and think out the rest for himself, than to surfeit him with an abundance of explanation. Hood says well,

And thus upon the public mind intrude it;
As if I thought, like Otaheitan cooks,

No food was fit to eat till I had chewed it.

A book that is worth reading will be worth reading thoughtfully, and there are but few good books, save certain novels, that it is well to read in an arm-chair. Most will bear standing to. At the present time we seem to lack the impassiveness and impartiality which was so marked among the writings of our forefathers, we are seldom content with the simple narration of fact, but must rush off into an almost declamatory description of them; my meaning will be plain to all who have studied Thucydides. The dignity of his simplicity is, I think, marred by those who put in the accessories which seem thought necessary in all present histories. How few writers of the present day would not, instead of νύξ γὰρ ἐπεγένετο τῷ ἔργῳ, rather write "Night fell upon this horrid scene of bloodshed."*

This was called to my attention by a distinguished Greek Scholar of this University.

This is somewhat a matter of taste, but I think I shall find some to agree with me in preferring for plain narration (of course I exclude oratory) the unadorned gravity of Thucydides. There are indeed some writers of the present day who seem returning to the statement of facts rather than their adornment, but these are not the most generally admired. This simplicity however to be truly effective must be unstudied; it will not do to write with affected terseness, a charge which I think may be fairly preferred against Tacitus; such a style if ever effective must be so from excess of artifice and not from that artlessness of simplicity which I should wish to see prevalent among us.

Neither again is it well to write and go over the ground again with the pruning knife, though this fault is better than the other; to take care of the matter, and let the words take care of themselves, is the best safeguard.

To this I shall be answered "Yes, but is not a diamond "cut and polished a more beautiful object than when "rough?" I grant it, and more valuable, inasmuch as it has run chance of spoliation in the cutting, but I maintain that the thinking man, the man whose thoughts are great and worth the consideration of others, will "deal in pro"prieties," and will from the mine of his thoughts produce ready cut diamonds, or rather will cut them there spontaneously, ere ever they see the light of day.

There are a few points still which it were well we should consider. We are all too apt when we sit down to study a subject to have already formed our opinion, and to weave all matter to the warp of our preconceived judgment, to fall in with the received idea, and, with biassed minds, unconsciously to follow in the wake of public opinion, while professing to lead it. To the best of my belief half the dogmatism of those we daily meet is in consequence of the unwitting practices of this self-deception. Simply let us not talk about what we do not understand, save as learners, and we shall not by writing mislead others.

There is no shame in being obliged to others for opinions, the shame is not being honest enough to acknowledge it: I would have no one omit to put down a useful thought because it was not his own, provided it tended to the better expression of his matter, and he did not conceal its source; let him however set out the borrowed capital to interest. One word more and I have done. With regard to our subject, the best rule is not to write concerning that about which we cannot at our present age know anything