THE BOOK 81 



straight. I shall do better when I know my gram- 

 mar well." 



"I am sorry, my dear child, but I must undeceive 

 you. Grammar cannot teach one to write. It 

 teaches us to make a verb agree with its subject, an 

 adjective with a substantive, and other things of 

 that kind. It is very useful, I admit, for nothing is 

 more displeasing than to violate the rules of lan- 

 guage ; but that does not impart the gift of writing. 

 There are people whose memories are crammed with 

 rules cf grammar, who, like you, stop short at the 

 first word. 



"Language is in some sort the clothing of thought. 

 We cannot clothe what does not exist; we cannot 

 speak or write what we do not find in our minds. 

 Thought dictates and the pen writes. When the 

 head is furnished with ideas, and usage, still more 

 than grammar, has taught us the rules of language, 

 we have all that is necessary to write excellent things 

 correctly. But, again, if ideas are wanting, if there 

 is nothing in the head, what can you write? How 

 are these ideas to be acquired? By study, reading, 

 and conversation with people better instructed than 

 we." 



"Then, in listening to all these fine things you tell 

 us, I am no doubt learning to write," said Jules. 



"Why, certainly, my little friend. Is it not true, 

 for example, that if it had been proposed to you, a 

 few days ago, to write only two lines about the origin 

 of p.-ijMT, you would not have been able to do it! 

 What was wanting? Ideas and not grammar, al- 

 though you know vi-ry little of that y-t." 



