might gather would be likely to cramp his expression as much as it enlarged his knowledge, leaving him, so far as the use of his own tongue is concerned, where he started, if not considerably behind that point. On the other hand, the study of his own tongue in its masterpieces would enrich his vocabulary, without corrupting his syntax, and perfect his expression, as well as enlarge his knowledge. In short, the study of it would make him a master of it. Respecting the descent of the tongue, as respecting the "embryology of modern civilization," he has no call to trouble himself till he has achieved this mastery, if ever. The one belongs to the philosophy of language, as the other to the philosophy of history. Neither has anything special to do with the use of English, which either would help him to master not less possibly and surely not much more than ontology or ontogeny or any other recondite study, that he may find it profitable or agreeable to pursue after (but not before) he has equipped himself for anything and everything by mastering his faculties, through the mastery of his native tongue. If for this, however, the study of the tongue in its sources were essential, he would have to go back not to Latin and Greek, which have only multiplied its words and modified some of its forms, but to Anglo-Saxon and the cognate languages, whence come the bulk of its working vocabulary and all its grammatical principles; but this study, as I have intimated, is not essential to culture. A scientific knowledge of our mother-tongue is no more essential to the accurate and refined use of it than a knowledge of anatomy is essential to the graceful and effective use of our limbs; for what Bacon says of commonwealths and virtue is far more true of linguistics and culture—they nourish culture grown, but do not much mend the seeds. If I had my way in the halls of education, I would not only dismiss Latin and Greek, but send off packing along with them the historical and comparative study of English itself, and, bringing to the front, say, mathematics, chemistry, physiology, and philosophy, natural, moral, and mental, put the whole training squad under the immediate command of Captain English—not the fossil infant of the Cædmon age, but the living man of the nineteenth century, with whom we all have a speaking acquaintance at least. Glossology is important in its place, but it has no proper place in a scheme of education. Putting English glossology into such a scheme, after putting out the dead languages, has the appearance of giving a sop to the classical Cerberus—a weak concession to the enemy. Erudition, it should never be forgotten, is not education, nor the means to it; on the contrary, education is the means to erudition, as to every other spoil of intellect. And education, it can not be too often repeated, is essentially and preeminently the mastery of one's own language; for which the masterpieces of the language are not merely indispensable but enough. Sufficient for the mastery of English is the study thereof. The aphorism of Goethe is as false in spirit as it is absurd in letter.
