by two ideas, which are radically false. We always glance over the books they publish, and have read through a new one this week, which we do not intend to advertise in this article, and they are all alike. They all think that "copperplate writing," the special hand of writing-masters and bank-clerks, is good writing, which it is not, being devoid of character, far too regular in form, and from the multiplicity of fine up-strokes not easy to read; and they all believe that certain mechanical motions, if carefully taught, will produce clear writing. They will not, and they do not. There never were two people yet in this world of ours who wrote exactly alike, or who have the same control of their fingers, or who ought, in order to produce good writing, to have held their pens alike, and the effort to make them do it only spoils their natural capabilities. No doubt, those capabilities are often naturally very small. The number of persons who are by nature not deft with their fingers is very large, and so is the number of those who can not fix their attention; while the number of those who can do nothing well which they must do rapidly probably exceeds both. The difficulty of teaching a grown man to write decently is almost inconceivable—he seems never to see what is wanted—and something of that difficulty attaches to a vast proportion of children. Still, all persons not deformed or crippled in the hand, or deficient in eyesight, can be taught to write, and the reason why they are not taught properly must be some inherent defect in the system. We believe it to be the one we have mentioned, the effort to enforce a certain method, instead of trying to secure a certain result. The unhappy child, who is almost always, we admit necessarily, taught too early, is instructed to hold himself or herself in a particular attitude, which is sure to be the wrong one for five sights in ten, the proper attitude depending on the length of the child's vision; to hold the pen at a particular angle, which is also wrong, the fitting angle depending on the character of the pen and holder; and to grasp the pen at a certain distance from the nib, which is arbitrarily fixed, whereas the distance must be governed by the formation and strength of the child's fingers, and would be infinitely better left to his or her own instinct. Above all, there is a perpetual worry about the "resting" of the hand, though the easiest position varies with every child, and though no two men with much writing to do rest the fingers quite alike. The pupil is then taught to make lines in a certain direction, and to copy characters so large that they have no resemblance to writing at all; and to care particularly about up-strokes and down-strokes, and all manner of minutia?, which, if they are of any value at all, will soon come of themselves. So strong, in spite of centuries of experience, is the belief in this method, that machines for controlling the fingers while writing have repeatedly been invented; and the author of a book before us, a professional, is inclined to tie them up in some fashion with ribbon.
We believe that the whole of this method is a mistake, that there
