The Logic of the Schools, however indispensable in its place, fails to meet half the common want in daily life. The Logic of the Schools begins with the management of the premises of an argument; there is, however, a more practical lesson to be learned in beginning with the premises themselves. A thousand errors arise through the assumption of premises for one arising in the misplacement of terms. The Logic of the Schools is an elaborate attack upon the lesser evil. Sir James Mackintosh has remarked that 'Popular reason can alone correct popular sophistry'—and it is in vain that we expect amendment in the reasoning of the multitude, unless we make reasoning intelligible to the multitude. As to my object, could I, like Gridiron-Cobbett, adopt a symbol of it, I would have engraved ?sop's 'Old Man and his Ass,' who, in a vain attempt to please everybody, failed (like his disciples—for even he has disciples) to please anybody. The folly of that superfluously philanthropic old gentleman should teach us proportion of purpose. To be of real service; to some is in the compass of individual capacity, and consequently, the true way of serving, if not of pleasing all. The republic of literature, like society, has its aristocratic, its middle, and its lower classes. No one has combined, in one performance, the refinement applauded in the universities, with the practical purpose, popular among those who toil to live, and live to toil. The populace are my choice—of them I am one, and, like a recent premier, Earl Grey, am disposed 'to stand by my order.' I write for this class both from affection and taste. If I can benefit any, I can them. I know their difficulties, for I have encountered them—their wants, for they have been mine. This will account for the liberties taken with the subjects upon which I treat. There is more than one kind of hunger that will break through barriers, and I have taken with an unlicensed hand, wherever it was to be found, what I wanted for myself, and what I know to be wanted by those who stand at the anvil and the loom, and who never had the benefits of scholastic education, and who never will.
Many of the arts and sciences, which formerly resided exclusively in the colleges, and ministered only to the sons of opulence and leisure, have escaped from their retreat, and have become the hand-maids of the populace. But as respects logic, there still remains between the learned and the illiterate an impassable gulf. The uninformed look on the recondite structure of logic, and they are repelled by the difficulty of comprehending it, and wrap themselves up in absolute and obstinate ignorance, which they believe to be their destiny. The populace, in our manufactories, have to choose between subsistence and intelligence. For study, after protracted toil, they have not the strength—and to abridge their labour is to abridge their subsistence, and this they cannot afford. But because they are precluded by the destiny of civilisation from knowing much, they need not remain utterly unskilled in reasoning. Their natural good sense may be systematized, their natural logic may be reduced to some rule and order—though it may not be refined it may be practical, it may give power, and develop capacity now dormant.
The hints, general rules, and elementary remarks dispersed throughout this work, will probably be of service to the uninitiated, perhaps put them on the road to higher acquirements, give them a confidence in their own powers, perhaps inspire them with a love of these essential studies, and impart a taste for the refinements which lie beyond. My hope is that many will be induced to consult scholastic treatises, and acquire that accurate knowledge which makes the society of educated people so interesting. Impulse has been given to knowledge, and the populace have begun to think, and both to speak and write their thinkings—and why should they not be enabled to do it free from obvious mistakes, and with a broad propriety commensurate with the native capacity they possess? Why should they, like a certain learned politician on a public occasion, propose, as a sentiment, 'The three R's, Reading, 'Riting, and 'Rithmetic?'* Why, in writing, should they not express themselves with strong grammatical coherence, and a certain bold perspicuity, if not able to reach refinement and elegance? Why, in pronunciation, should they not speak with a certain manly openness of vowel sound and a distinct articulation, if not with all elocutionary modulation? Why should not their discourse be expressed in brief, clear sentences? If their punctuation went no farther than placing capital letters at the commencement of sentences and of proper names, and periods at the conclusion of sentences, it would render their writings more intelligible than are half the communications they now send to the press. If they mastered only brevity and abrupt directness, and learned to omit tedious prolixity, they would command a hearing in many cases where now they are denied one. If in logic they made a shrewd mastery of plain facts—being as sure as they could, when once set on surety, eschewing conjecture and pernicious supposition—if they followed the methods of nature and good sense, where the elaborate methods of art are hidden from them, who will not admit that they would be more intelligible than now, exercise a power they never yet possessed, and extort the attention and esteem of the public where now they excite only its pity, or contempt, or outrage what just taste it has? The people would be enabled to do these things, but that so many who prepare treatises for their guidance alarm them by the display of abstruse dissertation above their powers, their means, their time, and their wants. That a little learning is a dangerous thing is not a maxim alone believed in by the race of country squires steeped in port and prejudice, but by schoolmen who cannot bring themselves to give a little proportion of sound knowledge, but must give all, the reconite as well. The statesman decries the ignorance and want of wisdom displayed by embryo politicians who will accept no instalment of liberty, but insist on the concession of all their claims—but the scholar does the same thing when he will impart none but the completest information to the people.
     * This case is cited by S. G. Goodrich, the original Peter
     Parley, in his preface to 'Fireside Education.' Sir William
     Curtis, to whom, probably, Mr. Goodrich refers, gave also
     'the three K's—King, Church, and Constitution.'
In quoting, I have been a borrower, but not a plagiarist. In no case am I conscious of having taken from others without at the same time making the fairest acknowledgment in my power.
If the references to the highest authorities are sometimes through others, it is because the highest authorities have not always been accessible. Those who have had ordinary experience estimate highly the value of minute integrity in this respect. Fruitless hours are spent in tracing false and careless references, and to one whose time is his means, no little injury is done when it is thus wasted.
Unbounded gratitude is due to those authors, old and new, who, with learning and grace, with care and patience, have put the world in possession of thoughts which are real additions to its knowledge—and corresponding should be the contempt of those whose high-sounding and pretending books seduce readers to wade through them only to find in them the millioneth echo of some commonplace idea.
The 'Spectator' was pleased to say that I wrote 'Practical Grammar' in the spirit of an 'ultra-radical, setting the world to rights.' Yet I have always declared, with Butler—
     Reforming schemes are none of mine,
     To mend the world's a vast design;
     Like those who toil in little boat
     To drag to them the ship afloat.
Utopianism is not my idiosyncracy. But I have confidence in endeavour. Continuity of ameliorative effort is the sole enthusiasm that can serve the cause of improvement. It is useful to do what seems to be useful, whether little or much—a moderate rule, but one that will take those who carry it out, a long way.
My illustrations, I need scarcely say, are neutral in politics and theology. In the grammar of J. A. D. D'Orsey, published in 'Chambers' Educational Course,' there are disputations, Biblicisms, and bits of intense theology. Professor John Radford Young, in his treatise on Algebra, has introduced a reply to Hume's controverted theory of miracles—and Dr. Whately makes his 'Logic' an avowedly theological auxiliary, showing that much passes for good taste in this country which is only an irrelevant propitiation of powerful opinion. I have not, however, been seduced by this species of example. There are distinct provinces in intellect as well as in industry—and what political economy justifies in one case, good sense dictates in the other. No man has a right to intrude theology into every question, and agitate points of faith when he pretends to instruct the understanding.
There is less occasion to speak of the utility of logic, than to show it to be easy of acquisition. Mr. Stuart Mill, in confirmation of this view, observes: We need not seek far for a solution of the question so often agitated, respecting the utility of Logic. If a science of logic exists, or is capable of existing, it must be useful. If there be rules to which every mind conforms, in every instance in which it judges rightly, there seems little necessity for discussing whether a person is more likely to observe those rules when he knows the rules, than when he is unacquainted with them.* Certainly people are not so much prejudiced against logic on account of its supposed uselessness as on account of its supposed difficulties. Deserved or not, logic has always had a good reputation. Well or ill founded, the popular impression has uniformly been in its favour. It has been valued like the diamond—but considered, like that precious stone, of very uncertain access.
     *'System of Logic,' p. 12.   Second Edition.
The high popularity of common sense—'the exercise of the judgment unaided by rule'—has been interpreted into a virtual rejection of logic by the multitude. But it ought not to be overlooked, that the credit in which mere common sense is held, is a matter of necessity as well as choice. It being the best sense the untutored have, they wisely use it, and no wonder that they are inclined to laud what they are constrained to employ. Doubtless they always perceived that common sense would be the better for being made orderly, as a spirited horse is the fitter for use after being 'broken.' Logical sense, among the masses, is secretly supposed to be disciplined sense, and to have all the advantage of the trained soldier over the raw recruit.
It is quite true, as Abram Tucker puts it, that 'The science of abstruse learning, when completely attained, is like Achilles' spear, that healed the wounds it had made before; so this knowledge serves to repair the damage itself had occasioned, it casts no additional light upon the paths of life.' But few persons sensible of the value of exact knowledge will complain of the necessary elaboration to which it sometimes leads. Nor will those who have felt the thrill of pleasure which complete analysis imparts, regret the patience which put them in possession of a secret of science, or made them master of a new field of knowledge.
Common sense is the substratum of all logic. Common sense is the natural sense of mankind. It is founded on common observation and experience. It is modest and plain and unsophisticated. It sees with everybody's eyes and hears with everybody's ears. It has no capricious distinctions, no partialities, and no mysteries. It never equivocates and never trifles. Its language is always the same, and is always intelligible. It is known by its perspicuity of speech and singleness of purpose. The most prudent of all the children of fact, it never forsakes nature or reason. Some outline laws for its employment, if they can be indicated, must be better than its popular aimless and desultory use.