in the most general meaning of the word, signifies any sound uttered by an animal, by which it expresses any of its passions, sensations, or affections; but it is more particularly understood to denote those various modifications of the human voice, by which the several sensations and ideas of one man are communicated to another.

Nature has endowed every animal with powers sufficient to communicate to others of the same species some of its sensations and desires. The organs of most animals are so formed, as readily to perceive and understand (as far as is necessary for their particular species of existence) the voice of those of their own kind; by means of which they assemble together, for the defence or preservation of the species. But as they rise higher in the order of intellectual powers, the powers of expression likewise increase. However, the voice alone, even when endowed with a great extent of modulation, is incapable of conveying all that variety of emotions and sensations, which on many occasions are necessary to be communicated. In all these cases, motion and gesture are called in to supply the defects of the voice. The amorous pigeon does not trust solely to his plaintive cooing in order to soften the rigour of his reluctant mate, but adds to it the most submissive and expressive gestures; and the faithful dog, finding his voice alone insufficient to express his joy at meeting with his master, is obliged to have recourse to a variety of endearing actions. But man—the most distinguished of all the animal creation,—although endowed with a power of voice and expression of countenance and gesture eminently superior to all the creatures of God, finds that all these united are not sufficient to express the infinite variety of ideas with which his mind is stored: for although these may powerfully express the passions and stronger feelings of the mind; yet as they are incapable of expressing the several progressive steps of perception by which his reason ascends from one degree of knowledge to another, he has been obliged to discover, by means of his reasoning faculty, a method of expressing with certainty, and communicating with the utmost facility, every perception of his mind.—With this view, having observed, that besides the power of uttering simple sounds, and the several variations of these into acute or grave, open or shrill, &c., by which his stronger feelings were naturally expressed, he was likewise endowed with a power of stopping or interrupting these sounds, by certain closings of the lips with one another, and of the tongue with the palate, &c., he has taken advantage of these circumstances, and formed unto himself a language capable of expressing every perception of the mind; for by affixing at all times the same idea to any one found or combination of sounds thus modified and joined together, he is enabled at any time to excite in the mind of any other person an idea similar to that in his own mind, provided the other person has been previously so far instructed as to know the particular modification of sound which has been agreed upon as the symbol of that idea.—Thus man is endowed with two different species of language: one consisting of tones and gestures; which as it is natural to man considered as a distinct species of animals, and necessary for the preservation and well-being of the whole, is universally understood by all mankind: thus laughter and mirth universally express cheerfulness of mind; while tears, in every part of the globe, discover a heart overflowing with tender sensations; and the humble tone of supplication, or the acute accent of pain, are equally understood by the Hurons of America, and by the more refined inhabitants of Europe. The other species of language, as it is entirely artificial, and derives its power from particular compact, (for before any thing can be recognized as the symbol of an idea, several persons must first agree that such an idea must always be denoted by this symbol,) must be different in different parts of the globe; and every distinct form which it may assume, from the different genius of every society who originally formed a particular language for themselves, will be altogether unintelligible to every other body of men, but those belonging to the same society where that language was originally invented, or those who have been at pains to acquire a knowledge of it by means of study.

It is unnecessary for us here to draw any parallel between the nature of these two different species of language; it being sufficiently evident, that the artificial language does not debar the use of the tones and gestures of the natural, but tends to ascertain the meaning of these with greater precision, and consequently to give them greater power. Man must therefore reap many advantages from the use of artificial language, which he could not have enjoyed without it. It is equally plain, that the one, being natural and inspired, must remain nearly the same, without making any progress to perfection; whereas the other, being entirely the invention of man, must have been exceedingly rude and imperfect at first, and must have arrived by slow degrees at greater and greater perfection, as the reasoning faculties acquired vigour and acuteness. It must likewise be subject to perpetual changes, from that variety of incidents which affect all sublunary things: and these changes must always correspond with the change of circumstances in the people who make use of that particular language: for when any particular set of ideas become prevalent among any society of men, words must be adopted to express them; and from these the language must assume its character. Hence the reason why the language of all barbarous and uncivilized people is rude and uncultivated; while those nations which have improved their reasoning faculties, and made some progress in the polite arts, have been no less distinguished by the superiority of their language than by their pre-eminence in other respects.—The language of a brave and martial people is bold and nervous, although perhaps rude and uncultivated; while the language of those nations in which luxury and effeminacy prevail, is flowing and harmonious, but devoid of force and energy of expression.

It may be considered as a general rule, that the language of any nation is an exact index of the state of their minds. But as man is naturally an imitative animal, and in matters of this kind never has recourse to invention but through necessity; if by some accident any part of a nation should be separated from that community to which they belonged, after a language had been invented, they would retain the same general sounds and idiom of language with those from whom they were separated; although in process of time these two people, by living in countries of a dissimilar nature, or being engaged in different occupations, and leading a different manner of life, might in time lose all knowledge of one another, assume a different national character and opposite dispositions of mind, and form each of them a distinct language to themselves, totally different in genius and style, though agreeing with one another in the fundamental sounds and general idiom: so that if this particular idiom, formed before their separation, should happen to be more peculiarly adapted to the genius of one of these people than the other, that particular people whose natural genius and style of language was not in concord with the idiom which they had adopted, would labour under an inconvenience on this account which they never would be able entirely to overcome; and this inconvenience would prevent their language from attaining such a degree of perfection, as the genius of the people would otherwise naturally have led them to. Thus languages have been originally formed; and thus that happy concord of circumstances which have concurred to raise some languages to that height of perfection which they have attained may be easily accounted for, while many ineffectual efforts have been made to raise other languages to the same degree of excellence.

We shall not here enter upon any fruitless inquiries, with a view to discover if only one language was originally formed, or if any language that we are acquainted with has a greater claim to that much envied pre-eminence than others. We have seen, that the discovery of language is entirely within our reach, and evidently the invention of man; and therefore that the invention of different languages by different societies, is extremely probable. But these different societies, in process of time, behoved to intermix by war or commerce, and their different languages would likewise become mixed. Hence during the succession of many ages, while the principles of language were not understood, many different languages must have been formed, while others may have sunk into oblivion, especially in those early ages before the invention of letters, which alone could preserve their memory. In vain, therefore, would we endeavour to discover the state of those nations or languages of which we have but obscure traces in history. Indeed we have no reason to lament our loss in this particular; for supposing such a discovery could be made, we could derive little advantage from it. The antiquity of a language does not imply any degree of excellence: some nations have made more progress in improving their mental faculties, and refining their language, in a few years, than others have done in many ages. We shall therefore leave this subject, and proceed to make some remarks on the advantages or defects of some of those idioms of language with which we are most intimately acquainted, as this may perhaps lead us to some discoveries of real utility to ourselves.

As the words idiom and genius of a language are often confounded, it will be necessary to inform the reader, that by idiom we would here be understood to mean that general mode of arranging words into sentences which prevails in any particular language; and by the genius of a language we mean to express the particular set of ideas which the words of any language, either from their formation or multiplicity, are most naturally apt to excite in the mind of any one who hears it properly uttered. Thus although the English, French, Italian, and Spanish languages, nearly agree in the same general idiom; yet the particular genius of each is remarkably different: The English is naturally bold nervous, and strongly articulated; the French is weaker, and more flowing; the Italian more soothing and harmonious; and the Spanish more grave, sonorous, and stately. Now, when we examine the several languages which have been most esteemed in Europe, we find that there are only two distinct idioms among them which are essentially distinguished from one another; and all these languages are divided between these two idioms, following sometimes the one, and sometimes the other, either wholly or in part. The languages which may be said to adhere to the first idiom, are those which in their construction follow the order of nature; that is, express their ideas in the natural order in which they occur to the mind; the subject which occasions the action appearing first; then the action, accompanied with its several modifications; and, last of all, the object to which it has reference.—These may be properly called analogous languages; and of this kind are the English, French, and most of the modern languages in Europe.—The languages which may be referred to the other idiom, are those which follow no other order in their construction than what the taste or fancy of the composer may suggest; sometimes making the object, sometimes the action, and sometimes the modification of the action, to precede or follow the other parts. The confusion which this might occasion is avoided by the particular manner of inflecting their words, by which they are made to refer to the others with which they ought to be connected, in whatever... ever part of the sentence they occur, the mind being left at liberty to connect the several parts with one another after the whole sentence is concluded. And as the words may be here transposed at pleasure, those languages may be called transpositive languages. To this class we must, in an especial manner, refer the Latin and Greek languages.—As each of these idioms has several advantages and defects peculiar to itself, we shall endeavour to point out the most considerable of them, in order to ascertain with greater precision the particular character and excellence of some of those languages, now principally spoken or studied in Europe.

The partiality which our forefathers, at the revival of letters in Europe, naturally entertained for the Greek and Roman languages, made them look upon every distinguishing peculiarity belonging to them, as one of the many causes of the amazing superiority which these languages evidently enjoyed above every other at that time spoken in Europe.—This blind deference still continues to be paid to them, as our minds are early prepossessed with these ideas, and as we are taught in our earliest infancy to believe, that to entertain the least idea of our own language being equal to the Greek or Latin in any particular whatever, would be a certain mark of ignorance or want of taste.—Their rights, therefore, like those of the church in former ages, remain still to be examined; and we, without exerting our reason to discover truth from falsehood, tamely sit down satisfied with the idea of their undoubted pre-eminence in every respect.—But if we look around us for a moment, and observe the many excellent productions which are to be met with in almost every language of Europe, we must be satisfied, that even those are now possessed of some powers which might afford at least a presumption, that, if they were cultivated with a proper degree of attention, they might, in some respects, be made to rival, if not to excel, those beautiful and justly admired remains of antiquity.—Without endeavouring to derogate from their merit, let us, with the cool eye of philosophic reasoning, endeavour to bring before the sacred tribunal of Truth some of those opinions which have been most generally received upon this subject, and rest the determination of the cause on her impartial decision.

The learned reader well knows, that the several changes which take place in the arrangement of the words in every transpositive language could not be admitted without occasioning great confusion, unless certain classes of words were endowed with particular variations, by means of which they might be made to refer to the other words with which they ought naturally to be connected.—From this cause proceeds the necessity of several variations of verbs, nouns, and adjectives; which are not in the least essential or necessary in the analogous languages, as we have pretty fully explained under the article Grammar, to which we refer for satisfaction on this head. We shall in this place consider, whether these variations are an advantage or a disadvantage to language.

As it is generally supposed, that every language whose verbs admit of inflection, is on that account much more perfect than one where they are varied by auxiliaries; we shall, in the first place, examine this with some degree of attention; and that what is said on this head may be the more intelligible, we shall give examples from the Latin and English languages. We make choice of these languages, because the Latin is more purely transpositive than the Greek, and the English admits of less inflection than any other language that we are acquainted with.

If any preference be due to a language from the one or the other method of conjugating verbs, it must in a great measure be owing to one or more of these three causes:—Either it must admit of a greater variety of sounds, and consequently more room for harmonious diversity of tones in the language;—or a greater freedom of expression is allowed in uttering any simple idea, by the one admitting of a greater variety in the arrangement of the words which are necessary to express that idea than the other does;—or, lastly, a greater precision and accuracy in fixing the meaning of the person who uses the language, arise from the use of one of these forms above the other!—for, as every other circumstance which may serve to give a diversity to language, such as the general and most prevalent sounds, the frequent repetition of any one particular letter, and a variety of other circumstances of that nature, which may serve to debase a particular language, are not influenced in the least by the different methods of varying the verbs, they cannot be here considered. We shall therefore proceed to make a comparison of the advantages or disadvantages which may accrue to a language by inflecting their verbs, with regard to each of these particulars.

The first particular that we have to examine, is Whether the one method of expressing the variations of a verb admits of a greater variety of sounds.—In this respect the Latin seems, at first view, to have a great advantage over the English: for the word amo, amabam, amavram, amavero, amem, &c. seem to be more different from one another than the English translations of these, I love, I did love, I had loved, I shall have loved, I may love, &c., for, although the syllable AM is repeated in every one of the first, yet as the last syllable usually strikes the ear with greater force, and leaves a greater impression than the first, it is very probable that many will think the frequent repetition of the word love will, in the last instance, appear more striking to the ear than the other; we will therefore allow this its full weight, and grant that there is as great, or even a greater difference between the sounds of the different tenses of a Latin verb, than there is between the words that are equivalent to them in English.—But as we here consider the variety of sounds of the language in general, before any just conclusion can be drawn, we must not only compare the different parts of the same verb, but also compare the different verbs with one another in each of these languages.—And here, at first view, we perceive a most striking distinction in favours of the analogous language over the inflected: for as it would be impossible to form a particular set of inflections different from one another for each particular verb, all those languages which have adopted this method have been obliged to reduce their verbs into a small number of classes; all the words of each of which classes, commonly called conjugations, have the several variations of the modes, tenses, and persons, expressed expressed exactly in the same manner, which must of necessity introduce a familiarity of sounds into the language in general, much greater than where every particular verb always retains its own distinguishing sound.—To be convinced of this, we need only repeat any number of verbs in Latin and English, and observe one which side the preference with respect to variety of sounds must fall.

| Pono, | I put. | Moveo, | I move. | |-------|-------|--------|--------| | Dono, | I give. | Dolce, | I ail. | | Cano, | I sing. | Lugco, | I mourn. | | Sono, | I sound. | Obeo, | I die. | | Orno, | I adorn. | Gaudeo, | I rejoice. | | Pugno, | I fight. | Incipio, | I begin. | | Lego, | I read. | Facio, | I make. | | Scribo, | I write. | Fodio, | I dig. | | Puto, | I think. | Odio, | I hate. | | Vivo, | I live. | Rideo, | I laugh. | | Ambulo, | I walk. | Implo, | I fill. | | Loqueo, | I speak. | Abstineo, | I forbear. |

The similarity of sounds is here so obvious in the Latin as to be perceived at the first glance: nor can we be surprised to find it so, when we consider, that all their regular verbs, amounting to four thousand or upwards, must all be reduced to four conjugations, and even these differing but little from one another, which must of necessity produce the sameness of sounds which we here perceive; whereas every language that follows the natural order, like the English, instead of these small number of uniform terminations, have almost as many distinct sounds as original verbs in their language.

But if, instead of the present of the indicative mood, we should take almost any other tense of the Latin verb, the similarity of sounds would be still more perceptible, as many of these tenses have the same termination in all the four conjugations, particularly in the imperfect of the indicative, as below.

| Pona-bam; | I did put, | I put. | |-----------|------------|-------| | Dona-bam; | I did give, | I gave. | | Cane-bam; | I did sing, | I sung. | | Sona-bam; | I did sound, | I sounded. | | Orna-bam; | I did adorn, | I adorned. | | Pugna-bam; | I did fight, | I fought. | | Legge-bam; | I did read, | I read. | | Scribe-bam; | I did write, | I wrote. | | Puta-bam; | I did think, | I thought. | | Vive-bam; | I did live, | I lived. | | Ambula-bam; | I did walk, | I walked. | | Loque-bam; | I did speak, | I spoke. | | Move-bam; | I did move, | I moved. | | Dole-bam; | I did ail, | I ailed. | | Luge-bam; | I did mourn, | I mourned. |

It is unnecessary to make any remarks on the Latin words in this example: but in the English translation we have carefully marked, in the first column, the words without any inflection; and, in the second, have put down the same meaning by an inflection of our verb; which we have been enabled to do, from a peculiar excellency in our own language unknown to any other, either ancient or modern.—Were it necessary to pursue this subject farther, we might observe, that the perfect tense in all the conjugations ends universally in _I_, the pluperfect in _ERAM_, the future in _AM_ or _BO_; in the subjunctive mood, the imperfect universally in _REM_, the perfect in _ERIM_, and the pluperfect in _ISSEM_ and _ERO_: and as a still greater sameness is observable in the different variations for the persons in these tenses, seeing the first person plural in all tenses ends in _MUS_, and the second person in _TIS_, with little variation in the other persons; it is evident, that, in respect of diversity of sounds, this method of conjugating verbs by inflection, is greatly inferior to the more natural method of expressing the various connections and relations of the verbal attributive by different words, usually called auxiliaries.

The second particular by which the different methods of marking the relation of the verbal attributive can affect language, arises from the variety of expressions, which either of these may admit of in uttering the same sentiment.—In this respect likewise the method of conjugating by inflection seems to be deficient. Thus the present of the indicative mood in Latin can at most be expressed only in two ways, viz. _SCIBO_, and _EGO SCIBO_; which ought perhaps in strictness to be admitted only as one: whereas, in English, we can vary it in four different ways, viz. _I_, _I WRITE_; _2dly_, _I DO WRITE_; _3dly_, _WRITE I DO_; _4thly_, _WRITE DO I*. And if we consider the further variation which these receive in power as well as in sound, by having the accent placed on the different words; instead of four, we will find eleven different variations: thus, _I_, _I WRITE_, with the emphasis upon the _I_; _2dly_, _I WRITE_, with the emphasis upon the word _WRITE_. Let any one pronounce these with the different accent necessary, and he will be immediately satisfied that they are not only distinct from each other with respect to meaning, but also with regard

* We are sufficiently aware, that the last variation cannot in strictness be considered as good language; although many examples of this manner of using it in serious compositions, both in poetry and prose, might be easily produced from the best authors in the English language.—But however unjustifiable it may be to use it in serious composition; yet, when judiciously employed in works of humour, this and other forced expressions of the like nature produce a fine effect, by giving a burlesque air to the language, and beautifully contrasting it to the purer diction of solid reasoning. The sagacious Shakespeare has, on many occasions, shewed how successfully these may be employed in composition, particularly in drawing the character of ancient Piñtol, in Henry V. Without this liberty, Butler would have found greater difficulty in drawing the inimitable character of Hudibras.—Let this apology suffice for our having inserted this and other variations of the same kind; which, although they may be often improper for serious composition, have still their use in language. regard to sound; and the same must be understood of all the other parts of this example.

3. I do write, 4. I do write, 5. I do write, 6. Write I do, 7. Write I do.

8. Write I do, 9. Write do I, 10. Write do I, 11. Write do I.

None of the Latin tenses admit of more variations than the two above mentioned: nor do almost any of the English admit of fewer than in the above example; and several of these phrases, which must be considered as exact translations of some of the tenses of the Latin verb, admit of many more. Thus the imperfect of the subjunctive mood, which in Latin admits of the above two variations, admits in English of the following:

1. I might have wrote. 2. Wrote I might have. 3. Have wrote I might. 4. Wrote might have I. 5. I wrote might have. 6. Have wrote might I.

And if we likewise consider the variations which may be produced by a variation of the emphasis, they will be as under.

1. I might have wrote. 2. I might have wrote. 3. I might have wrote. 4. I might have wrote. 5. Wrote I might have. 6. Wrote I might have. 7. Wrote I might have. 8. Wrote I might have. 9. Have wrote I might. 10. Have wrote I might. 11. Have wrote I might. 12. Have wrote I might.

In all twenty four variations, instead of two.—If we likewise consider, that the Latins were obliged to employ the same word, not only to express "I might have wrote," but also "I could, I would, or I should have wrote," each of which would admit of the same variations as the word might, we have in all ninety six different expressions in English for the same phrase which in Latin admits only of two, unless they have recourse to other forced turns of expression, which the defects of their verbs in this particular has compelled them to invent.

But, if it should be objected, that the last circumstance we have taken notice of as a defect, can only be considered as a defect of the Latin language, and is not to be attributed to the inflection of their verbs, seeing they might have had a particular tense for each of these different words might, could, would, and should; we answer, that, even admitting this excuse as valid, the superiority of the analogous language, as such, still remains in this respect as twelve to one.—Yet even this concession is greater than ought to have been made: For as the difficulty of forming a sufficient variety of words for all the different modifications which a verb may be made to undergo is too great for any rude people to be able to overcome; we find, that every nation which has adopted this mode of inflection, nor excepting the Greeks themselves, has been obliged to remain satisfied with fewer words than would have been necessary even to effect this purpose, and make the same word serve a double, treble, or even quadruple office, as in the Latin tense which gave rise to these observations: So that however in physical necessity this may not be chargeable upon this particular mode of construction, yet in moral certainty this must always be the case; and therefore we may safely conclude, that the mode of varying verbs by inflection affords less variety in the arrangement of the words of the particular phrase, than the method of varying them by the help of auxiliaries.

But if there should still remain any shadow of doubt in the mind of the reader, whether the method of varying the verbs by inflection, is inferior to that by auxiliaries, with regard to diversity of sounds, or variety of expression; there cannot be the least doubt, but that, with respect to precision, distinctness, and accuracy in expressing any idea, the latter enjoys a superiority beyond all comparison.—Thus the Latin verb Amo, may be Englished either by the words I love, or I do love, and the emphasis placed upon any of the words that the circumstances may require; by means of which, the meaning is pointed out with a force and energy which it is altogether impossible to produce by the use of any single word. The following line from Shakespear's Othello may serve as an example;

—Excellent wretch!

Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee:

In which the strong emphasis upon the word do, gives it a force and energy which conveys, in an irresistible manner, a most perfect knowledge of the situation of the mind of the speaker at the time.—That the whole energy of the expression depends upon this seemingly insignificant word, we may be at once satisfied of, by keeping it away in this manner;

—Excellent wretch!

Perdition catch my soul, but I love thee.

How poor—how tame—how insignificant is this, when compared with the other! Here nothing remains but a tame assertion, ushered in with a pompous exclamation which could not here be introduced with any degree of propriety. Whereas, in the way that Shakespear has left it to us, it has a forcible power which nothing can surpass; for, overpowered with the irresistible force of Desdemona's charms, this strong exclamation is forced from the soul of Othello in spite of himself. Surprised at this tender emotion which brings to his mind all those amiable qualities for which he had so much esteemed her, and at the same time fully impressed with the firm persuasion of her guilt, he bursts out into that seemingly inconsistent exclamation—Excellent wretch! And then he adds in the warmth of his surprise,—thinking it a thing most astonishing that any warmth of affection should still remain in his breast, he even confirms it with an oath,—“Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee.”—“In spite of all the falsehoods with which I know thou hast deceived me—in spite of all the crimes of which I know thee guilty—in spite of all these reasons for which I ought to hate thee—in spite of myself,—still I find that I love,—yes, I do love thee.”—We look upon it as a thing altogether impossible to trans- false the energy of this expression into any language whose verbs are regularly inflected.

In the same manner we might go through all the other tenses, and show that the same superiority is to be found in each.—Thus in the perfect tense of the Latins, instead of the simple *amavi*, we say, *I have loved*; and by the liberty we have of putting the emphasis upon any of the words which compose this phrase, we can in the most accurate manner fix the precise idea which we mean to excite: for if we say *I have loved*, with the emphasis upon the word *I*, it at once points out the person as the principal object in that phrase, and makes us naturally look for a contrast in some other person, and the other parts of the phrase become subordinate to it;—“He has loved thee much, but I have loved thee infinitely more.”—The Latins too, as they were not prohibited from joining the pronoun with their verb, were also acquainted with this excellence, which Virgil has beautifully used in this verse:

---

**Tu, Tytere, lentis in umbra, &c.**

But we are not only enabled thus to distinguish the person in as powerful a manner as the Latins, but can also with the same facility point out any of the other circumstances as principals; for if we say, with the emphasis upon the word *Have*, “I have loved,” it as naturally points out the time as the principal object, and makes us look for a contrast in that peculiarity, *I have*: “I have loved indeed;—my imagination has been led astray—my reason has been perverted:—but, now that time has opened my eyes, I can smile at those imaginary distresses which once perplexed me.”—In the same manner we can put the emphasis upon the other word of the phrase *loved*,—“I have loved.”—Here the passion is exhibited as the principal circumstance; and as this can never be excited without some object, we naturally wish to know the object of that passion—“Who! what have you loved?” are the natural questions we would put in his case. “I have loved Eliza.”—In this manner we are, on all occasions, enabled to express, with the utmost precision, that particular idea which we would wish to excite, so as to give an energy and perspicuity to the language, which can never be attained by those languages whose verbs are conjugated by inflection: and if to this we add the inconvenience which all inflected languages are subjected to, by having too small a number of tenses, so as to be compelled to make one word on many occasions supply the place of two, three, or even four, the balance is turned still more in our favour.—Thus, in Latin, the same word *amav* stands for *fall* or *will love*, so that the reader is left to guess from the context which of the two meanings it was most likely the writer had in view.—In the same manner, *may* or *can love* are expressed by the same word *amem*; as is also *might*, *could*, *would*, or *should love*, by the single word *amarem*, as we have already observed; so that the reader is left to guess which of these four meanings the writer intended to express; which occasions a perplexity very different from that clear precision which our language allows of, by not only pointing out the different words, but also by allowing us to put the emphasis upon any of them we please, which superadds energy and force to the precision it would have had without that of assistance.

Upon the whole, therefore, after the most candid examination, we must conclude, that the method of conjugating verbs by inflection is inferior to that which is performed by the help of auxiliaries;—because it does not afford such a diversity of sounds,—nor allow such variety in the arrangement of expression for the same thought,—nor give so much distinction and precision in the meaning.—It is, however, attended with one considerable advantage above the other method: for as the words of which it is formed are necessarily of greater length, and more sonorous, than in the analogous languages, it admits of a more flowing harmony of expression; for the number of monosyllables in this last greatly checks that pompous dignity which naturally results from longer words. Whether this single advantage is sufficient to counterbalance all the other defects with which it is attended, is left to the judgment of the reader to determine:—but we may remark, before we quit the subject, that even this excellence is attended with some peculiar inconveniences, which shall be more particularly pointed out in the sequel.

But perhaps it might still be objected, that the comparison we have made above, although it may be fair, and the conclusion just with regard to the Latin and English languages; yet it does not appear clear, that on that account the method of conjugating verbs by inflection is inferior to that by auxiliaries: for although it be allowed, that the Latin language is defective in point of tenses; yet if a language were formed which had a sufficient number of inflected tenses to answer every purpose; if it had, for instance, a word properly formed for every variation of each tense; one for *I love*, another for *I do love*; one for *I shall*, another for *I will love*; one for *I might*, another for *I could*, and *would*, and *should love*; and so on through all the other tenses; that this language would not be liable to the objections we have brought against the inflection of verbs; and that of course, the objections we have brought are only valid against those languages which have followed that mode and executed it imperfectly.—We answer, that although this would in some measure remedy the evil, yet it would not remove it entirely. For in the first place, unless every verb, or a very small number of verbs, was conjugated in one way, having the sound of the words in each tense, and divisions of tenses, as we may say, different from all the other conjugations,—it would always occasion a sameness of sounds which would in some measure prevent that variety of sounds so proper for a language. And even if this could be effected, it would not give such a latitude to the expression as auxiliaries allow: for although there should be two words, one for *I might*, and another for *I could love*; yet as these are single words, they cannot be varied; whereas, by auxiliaries, either of these can be varied twenty-four different ways, as has been shewn above.—In the last place, no single word can ever express all that variety of meaning which we can do by the help of our auxiliaries and the emphasis. *I have loved*, if expressed by any one word, could only denote at all times one distinct meaning; so that, to give it the power of ours, there behoved to be three distinct words at least. However, if all this was done;—that is, if there was a distinct conjugation formed for every forty or fifty verbs;—if each of the tenses was properly formed, and all of them different from every other tense as well as every other verb; and these all carried through each of the different persons, so as to be all different from one another;—and if likewise there was a distinct word to mark each of the separate meanings which the same tense could be made to assume by means of the emphasis;—and if all this infinite variety of words could be formed in a distinct manner, different from each other and harmonious;—this language would have powers greater than any that could be formed by auxiliaries, if it were possible for the human powers to acquire such a degree of knowledge as to be able to employ it with facility. But how could this be attained, since upwards of ten thousand words would be necessary to form the variations of any one verb, and a hundred times that number would not include the knowledge of the verbs alone of such a language?—How much, therefore, ought we to admire the simple perspicuity of our language, which enables us, by the proper application of ten or twelve seemingly trifling words, the meaning and use of which can be attained with the utmost ease, to express all that could be expressed by this unwieldy apparatus? What can equal the simplicity or the power of the one method, but the well-known powers of the twenty-four letters, the knowledge of which can be obtained with so much ease—and their power knows no limits—or what can be compared to the fancied perfection of the other, but the transcript of it which the Chinese seem to have formed in their unintelligible language?

Having thus considered pretty fully the advantages and defects of each of these two methods of varying verbs, we cannot help feeling a secret with arise in our mind, that there had been a people sagacious enough to have united the powers of the one method with those of the other;—nor can we help being surprised, that, among the changes which took place in the several languages of Europe after the downfall of the Roman monarchy, some of them did not accidentally stumble on the method of doing it.—From many concurring circumstances, it seems probable, that the greatest part, if not all the Gothic nations that overran Italy at that time, had their verbs varied by the help of auxiliaries; and many of the modern European languages which have sprung from them, have so far borrowed from the Latin, as to have some of the tenses of their verbs inflected: yet the English alone have in any instance combined the joint powers of the two: which could only be done by forming inflections for the different tenses in the same manner as the Latins, and at the same time retaining the original method of varying them by auxiliaries; by which means either the one or the other method could have been employed as occasion required.

We have luckily two tenses formed in that way; the present of the indicative, and the past. In almost all our verbs these can be declined either with or without auxiliaries. Thus the present, without an auxiliary, is, I love, I write, I speak; with an auxiliary, I do love, I do write, I do speak. In the same manner, the past tense, by inflection, is, I loved, I wrote, I spoke; by auxiliaries, I did love, I did write, I did speak. Every author, who knows anything of the power of the English language, knows the use which may be made of this distinction. What a pity is it that we should have stopped short so soon? how blind was it in so many other nations to imitate the defects, without making a proper use of that beautiful language which is now numbered among the dead?

After the verbs, the next most considerable variation we find between the Analogous and transpositive languages, is in the nouns; the latter varying the different cases of these by inflection; whereas the former expresses all the different variations of them by the help of other words prefixed, called prepositions. Now, if we consider the advantages or disadvantages of either of these methods under the same heads as we have done the verbs, we will find, that with regard to the first particular, viz. variety of sounds, almost the same remarks may be made as upon the verbs;—for if we compare any particular noun by itself, the variety of sound appears much greater between the different cases in the Transpositive, than between the translation of these in the Analogous language. Thus, rex, regis, regi, regem, &c., are more distinct from one another in point of sound, than the translation of these, a king, of a king, to a king, a king, &c. But if we proceed one step further, and consider the variety which is produced in the language in general, by the one or the other of these methods, the case is entirely reversed. For as it would have been impossible to form distinct variations, different from one another, for each case of every noun, they have been obliged to reduce all their nouns into a few general classes, called declensions, and endowed all of those included under each class with the same termination in every case; which produces a like similarity of sound with what we already observed was occasioned to the verbs from the same cause; whereas in the analogous languages, as there is no necessity for any constraint, there is almost as great a variety of sounds as there are of nouns. The Latins have only five different declensions, so that all the great number of words of this general order must be reduced to the very small diversity of sounds which these few classes admit of; and even the sounds of these few classes are not so much diversified as they ought to have been, as many of the different cases in the different declensions have exactly the same sounds, as we shall have occasion to remark more fully hereafter.—We might here produce examples to shew the great similarity of sounds between different nouns in the Latin language, and variety in the English, in the same way as we did of the verbs: but as every reader, in the least acquainted

* This assertion may perhaps appear to many very much exaggerated: but if any should think so, we only beg the favour that he will let himself to mark all the variation of tenses, mode, person, and number, which an English verb can be made to assume, varying each of these in every way that it will admit, both as to the diversity of expressions, and the emphasis; he will soon be convinced that we have here said nothing more than enough. acquainted with these two languages, can satisfy himself in this particular, without any further trouble than by marking down any number of Latin nouns with their translations in English; we thought it unnecessary to dwell longer on this particular.

But if the inflection of nouns is a disadvantage to a language in point of diversity of sounds, it is very much the reverse with regard to the variety it allows in the arranging the words of the phrase. Here, indeed, the Transpositive language shines forth in all its glory, and the Analogous must yield the palm without the smallest dispute. For as the nominative case (or that noun which is the cause of that energy expressed by the verb) is different from the accusative (or that noun upon which the energy expressed by the verb is exerted) these may be placed in any situation that the writer shall think proper, without occasioning the smallest confusion: whereas in the analogous languages, as these two different states of the noun are expressed by the same word, they cannot be distinguished but by their position alone; so that the noun which is the efficient cause must always precede the verb, and that which is the active subject must follow; which greatly cramps the harmonious flow of composition.

—Thus the Latins, without the smallest perplexity in the meaning, could say either Brutum amavit Cassius, or Cassius amavit Brutum, or Brutum Cassius amavit, or Cassius Brutum amavit. As the termination of the word Cassius always points out that it is in the nominative case, and therefore that he is the person from whom the energy proceeds; and in the same manner, as the termination of the word Brutus points out that it is in the accusative case, and consequently that he is the object upon which the energy is exerted; the meaning continues still distinct and clear, notwithstanding all these several variations: whereas in the English language, we could only say Cassius loved Brutus, or, by a more forced phraseology, Cassius Brutus loved: Were we to reverse the case, as in the Latin, the meaning also would be reversed; for if we say Brutus loved Cassius, it is evident, that, instead of being the person beloved, as before, Brutus now becomes the person from whom the energy proceeds, and Cassius becomes the object beloved.—In this respect, therefore, the analogous languages are greatly inferior to the transpositive; and indeed it is from this single circumstance alone that they derive their chief excellence.

But although it thus appears evident, that any language, which has a particular variation of its nouns to distinguish the accusative from the nominative case, has an advantage over those languages which have none; yet it does not appear that any other of their cases adds to the variety, but rather the reverse: for, in Latin, we can only say Amor Dei; in English the same phrase may be rendered, either,—the love of God,—of God the love,—or, by a more forced arrangement, God the love of. And as these oblique cases, as the Latins called them, except the accusative, are clearly distinguished from one another, and from the nominative, by the preposition which accompanies them, we are not confined to any particular arrangement with regard to these as with the accusative, but may place them in what order we please, as in Milton's elegant invocation at the beginning of Paradise Lost:

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly muse.

In this sentence the transposition is almost as great as the Latin language would admit of, and the meaning as distinct as if Milton had begun with the plain language of prose, thus,—“Heavenly muse, sing of man's first disobedience,” &c.

Before we leave this head, we may remark, that the little attention which seems to have been paid to this peculiar advantage derived from the use of an accuative case different from the nominative, is somewhat surprising.—The Latins, who had more occasion to attend to this with care than any other nation, have in many cases overlooked it, as is evident from the many instances we meet with in their language where this is not distinguished. For the nominative and accusative are the same in the singular number of all those of the first declension ending in e; as is likewise the case with those in um of the second, in e of the third, and in u of the fourth. In the plural number, there is no distinction between these two cases in those of the second declension ending in um, nor in all those of the third, fourth, and fifth, of every termination, the number of which is very considerable. So that their language reaps no advantage in this respect from almost one half of their nouns. Nor have any of the modern languages in Europe, however much they may have borrowed from the ancient languages in other respects, attempted to copy from them in this particular; from which perhaps more advantage would have been gained, than from copying all the other supposed excellencies of their language.—But to return to our subject.

It remains that we consider, whether the inflection of nouns gives any advantage over the method of defining them by prepositions, in point of distinctness and precision of meaning.—But in this respect too the analogous language must come off victorious.—Indeed this is the particular in which their greatest excellence consists; nor was it, we believe, ever disputed, but that, in point of accuracy and precision, this method must excel all others, however it may be defective in other respects.—We observed under this head, when speaking of verbs, that it might perhaps be possible to form a language by inflection which should be capable of as great accuracy as in the more simple order of auxiliaries; but this would have been such an infinite labour, that it was not to be expected that ever human powers would have been able to accomplish it. More easy would it have been to have formed the several inflections of the nouns so different from one another, as to have rendered it impossible ever to mistake the meaning. Yet even this has not been attempted. And as we find that those languages which have adopted the method of inflecting their verbs are more imperfect in point of precision than the other, so the same may be said of inflecting the nouns: for, not to mention the energy which the analogous languages acquire by putting the accent upon the noun, or its preposition (when in an oblique case), according as the subject may require, to express which variation of meaning no particular variety of words have been invented in any inflected language, they are not even complete in other respects.—The Latin, in particular, is in many cases defective, the same termination being employed in many instances for different cases of the same noun.—Thus the genitive and dative singular, and nominative and vocative plural, of the first declension, are all exactly alike, and can only be distinguished from one another by the formation of the sentences;—as are also the nominative, vocative and ablative singular, and the dative and ablative plural. In the second, the genitive singular, and nominative and vocative plural, are the same; as are also the dative and ablative singular, and dative and ablative plural; except those in um, whose nominative, accusative, and vocative singular, and nominative, accusative and vocative plural, are alike. The other three declensions agree in as many of their cases as these do; which evidently tends to perplex the meaning, unless the hearer is particularly attentive to, and well acquainted with, the particular construction of the other parts of the sentence; all of which is totally removed, and the clearest certainty exhibited, at once, by the help of prepositions in the analogous languages.

It will hardly be necessary to enter into such a minute examination of the advantages or disadvantages attending the variation of adjectives; as it will appear evident, from what has been already said, that the endowing them with terminations similar to, and corresponding with the nouns, must tend still more and more to increase the similarity of sounds in any language, than any of those particulars we have already taken notice of; and were it not for the liberty which they have, in transpositive languages, of separating the adjective from the noun, this must have occasioned such a jingle of similar sounds as behoved to have been most disgusting to the ear: but as it would have been impossible in many cases, in those languages where the verbs and nouns are inflected, to have pronounced the words which ought to have followed each other, unless their adjectives could have been separated from the nouns; therefore, to remedy this inconvenience, they were forced to devise this unnatural method of inflecting them also; by which means it is easy to recognize to what noun any adjective has a reference, in whatever part of the sentence it may be placed.—In these languages, therefore, this inflection, both as to gender, number, and case, becomes absolutely necessary; and, by the diversity which it admitted in the arranging the words of the several phrases, might counterbalance the jingle of similar sounds which it introduced into the language.—But what shall we say of those European nations, who, although possessed of a language in every respect different from the transpositive idiom, have nevertheless adopted the variations of their adjectives in the fullest sense? for here they have nothing to counterbalance this disagreeable jingle of similar sounds, so destructive of all real harmony.—In the days of monkish ignorance, when this custom was probably introduced, the clashing of words with one another might be esteemed an ornament; but now that mankind have attained a higher sense of harmony and propriety, we in Britain may facilitate ourselves to find, that our language has escaped this mark of barbarity, which so many others are now subjected to.

Having thus examined the most striking particulars in which the transpositive and analogous languages differ, and endeavoured to show the general tendency of every one of the particulars separately, it would not be fair to dismiss the subject without considering each of these as a whole, and pointing out their general tendency in that light: for we all know, that it often happens in human inventions, that every part which composes a whole, taken separately, may appear extremely fine; and yet, when all these parts are put together, they may not agree, but produce a jarring and confusion very different from what we might have expected. We therefore imagine a few remarks upon the genius of each of these two distinct idioms of language considered as a whole will not be deemed useless.

Although all languages agree in this respect, that they are the means of conveying the ideas of one man to another; yet as there are an infinite variety of ways in which we might wish to convey these ideas, sometimes by the easy and familiar mode of conversation, and at other times by more solemn addresses to the understanding, by pompous declamation, &c., it may so happen, that the genius of one language may be more properly adapted to the one of these than the other, while another language may excel in the opposite particular. This is exactly the case in the two general idioms of which we now treat.—Every particular in a transpositive language, is peculiarly calculated for that solemn dignity which is necessary for pompous orations. Long sounding words, formed by the inflection of the different parts of speech,—flowing periods, in which the attention is kept awake by the harmony of the sounds, and an expectation of that word which is to unravel the whole,—if composed by a skilful artist, are admirably suited to that solemn dignity and awful grace which constitute the essence of a public harangue. On the contrary, in private conversation, where the mind wishes to unbend itself with ease, these become so many clogs which encumber and perplex. At these moments we wish to transmute our thoughts with ease and facility—we are tired with every unnecessary syllable—and wish to be freed of the trouble of attention as much as may be. Like our state robes, we would wish to lay aside our pompous language, and enjoy ourselves at home with freedom and ease. Here the solemnity and windings of the transpositive language are burdensome; while the facility with which a sentiment can be expressed in the analogous language is the thing that we wish to acquire.—In this humble, though most engaging sphere, the analogous language moves unrivalled;—in this it wishes to indulge, and never tires. But it in vain attempts to rival the transpositive in dignity and pomp: The number of monosyllables interrupt the flow of harmony; and although they may give a greater variety of sounds, yet they do not naturally possess that dignified gravity which suits the other language. This, then, must be considered as the striking particular in the genius of these two different idioms, which marks their characters. If we consider the effects which these two different characters of language must naturally produce upon the people who employ them, we will soon perceive, that the genius of the analogous language is much more favourable for the most engaging purposes of life, the civilizing the human mind by mutual intercourse of thought, than the transpositive. For as it is chiefly by the use of speech that man is raised above the brute creation;—as it is by this means he improves every faculty of his mind, and, to the observations which he may himself have made, has the additional advantage of the experience of those with whom he may converse, as well as the knowledge which the human race have acquired by accumulated experience of all preceding ages;—as it is by the enlivening glow of conversation that kindred souls catch fire from one another, that thought produces thought, and each improves upon the other, till they soar beyond the bounds which human reason, if left alone, could ever have aspired to;—we must surely consider that language as the most beneficial to society, which most effectually removes these bars that obstruct its progress. Now, the genius of the analogous languages is so easy, so simple and plain, as to be within the reach of every one who is born in the kingdom where it is used, to speak it with facility; even the rudest among the vulgar can hardly fall into any grammatical errors: whereas, in the transpositive languages, so many rules are necessary to be attended to, and so much variation is produced in the meaning by the slightest variations in the sound, that it requires a study far above the reach of the illiterate mechanic ever to attain. So that, how perfectsoever the language may be when spoken with purity, the bulk of the nation must ever labour under the inconvenience of rudeness and inaccuracy of speech, and all the evils which this naturally produces.—Accordingly we find, that in Rome, a man, even in the highest rank, received as much honour, and was as much distinguished among his equals, for being able to converse with ease, as a modern author would be for writing in an easy and elegant style; and Cæsar among his contemporaries was as much esteemed for his superiority in speaking the language in ordinary conversation with ease and elegance, as for his powers of oratory, his skill in arms, or his excellence in literary composition. It is needless to point out the many inconveniences that this behoved to produce in a state. It is sufficient to observe, that it naturally tends to introduce a vast distinction between the different orders of men; to set an impenetrable barrier between those born in a high and those born in a low station; to keep the latter in ignorance and barbarity, while it elevates the former to such a height as must subject the other to be easily led by every popular demagogue.—How far the history of the nations who have followed this idiom of language confirms this observation, every one is left to judge for himself.

Having thus considered LANGUAGE in general, and pointed out the genius and tendency of the two most distinguished idioms which have prevailed; we shall close these remarks with a few observations upon the particular nature and genius of those language which are now chiefly studied or spoken in Europe.

Of all the nations whose memory history has transmitted to us, none have been so eminently distinguished for their literary accomplishments, as well as acquaintance with the polite arts, as the Greeks; nor are we as yet acquainted with a language possessed of so many advantages, with so few defects, as that which they used, and which continues still to be known by their name.—The necessary connection between the progress of knowledge and the improvement of language has been already explained; so that it will not be surprising to find their progress in the one keep pace with that of the other: but it will be of utility to point out some advantages which that distinguished people possessed, which other nations, perhaps not less distinguished for talents or taste, have not enjoyed, which has contributed to render their language the most universally admired in ancient as well as in modern times.

As it is probable, that many different societies of men, in the early ages of antiquity, may have found themselves in such circumstances as to be obliged to invent a language to themselves; each would naturally adopt those sounds into their language which chance might suggest, or were most agreeable to their perception of harmony, or most consonant to the disposition of mind of the original inventors; in the same manner as we see that each composer of music has a particular species of sounds of which he is fondler than any other, which will predominate through all his compositions, and give them a certain characteristic tone by which they may be distinguished from that of other composers:—So the language of each particular set of people would have originally a certain characteristic tone of harmony, which would distinguish it from all others; and behoved to be more or less perfect, according to the greater or lesser degree of that delicate sense of harmony, distinguished by the name of taste, which the original inventors were possessed of. These sounds, then, being once established by custom, would become familiar to the ear of the descendents of these particular tribes: new words would be invented as knowledge increased; but these behoved to be modulated so as to be agreeable to the general tenor of their language, from the necessity of making it consonant as well to the organs of hearing as the organs of speech.—Hence it happens, that the characteristic tones of a language are preserved much longer without variation than any other particular relating to it; and if it change at all, the change must be slow and imperceptible. Knowledge after this may increase;—taste may be improved;—it may be perceived that the language is not copious enough to express the ideas, or harmonious enough to please the ear of the composer;—he may readily invent words to supply the deficiency in that respect; but the sounds in a great measure remain without the reach of his power, and he must rest satisfied with these, such as they are, without attempting innovations.—Happy therefore, in this respect, must we deem those nations, whose earliest ancestors have been so fortunate as to adopt no unharmonious sounds into their language, whereby they are freed from one bar to the cultivating those refined pleasures which proceed from the use of a delicate taste, which others may perhaps never be able to surmount:—and in this respect no nation was ever so eminently distinguished as the Demosthenes seems not more natural to the genius of the language; than the more flowery charms of Plato's calm and harmonious cadences, or the unadorned simplicity of Xenophon; nor does the majestic pomp of Homer seem to be more naturally adapted to the genius of the language, than the more humble strains of Theocritus, or the laughing festivity of Anacreon: Equally adapted to all purposes, when we peruse any of these authors, we would imagine the language was most happily adapted for his particular style alone. The same powers it likewise in a great measure possessed for conversation; and the dialogue seems not more natural for the dignity of Sophocles or Euripides, than for the more easy tenderness of Menander, or buffoonery of Aristophanes.—With all these advantages, however, it must be acknowledged, that it did not possess that unexceptionable clearness of meaning, which some analogous languages enjoy, or that characteristic force which the accent has power to give it, were not these defects counterbalanced by other causes which we shall afterwards point out.

The Romans, a people of fierce and warlike dispositions, for many ages during the infancy of their republic, more intent on pursuing conquests and military glory, than in making improvements in literature or the fine arts, bestowed little attention to their language. Of a disposition less social and more phlegmatic than the Greeks, they gave themselves no trouble about rendering their language fit for conversation; and it remained strong and nervous, but, like their ideas, was limited and confined. More disposed to command respect by the power of their arms than by the force of persuasion, they despised the more effeminate powers of speech: so that, before the Punic wars, their language was perhaps more reserved and uncourtly than any other at that time known.—But after their rival Carthage was destroyed, and they had no longer that powerful curb upon their ambition; when riches flowed in upon them by the multiplicity of that conquests;—luxury began to prevail, the stern austerity of their manners to relax, and selfish ambition to take place of that disinterested love for their country so eminently conspicuous among all orders of men before that period.—Popularity began then to be courted: ambitious men, finding themselves not possessed of that merit which insured them success with the virtuous senate, amused the mob with artful and seductive harangues; and by making them believe that they were possessed of all power, and had their sacred rights encroached upon by the senate, led them about at their pleasure, and got themselves exalted to honours and riches by these infamous arts. It was then the Romans first began to perceive the use to which a command of language could be put.—Ambitious men then studied it with care, to be able to accomplish their ends; while the more virtuous were obliged to acquire a skill in this, that they might be able to repel the attacks of their adversaries.—Thus it happened, that in a short time that people, from having entirely neglected, began to study their language with the greatest assiduity; and as Greece happened to be subjected to the Roman yoke about that time, and a friendly intercourse was established between these two countries, this greatly conspired to nourish in the minds minds of the Romans a taste for that art of which they had lately become so much enamoured. Greece had, long before this period, been corrupted by luxury; their taste for the fine arts had degenerated into unnecessary refinement; and all their patriotism consisted in popular harangues and unmeaning declamation. Oratory was then studied as a refined art; and all the subtleties of it were taught by rule, with as great care as the gladiators were afterwards trained up in Rome. But while they were thus idly trying who should be the lord of their own people, the nerves of government were relaxed, and they became an easy prey to every invading power. In this situation they became the subjects, under the title of the allies, of Rome, and introduced among them the same taste for haranging which prevailed among themselves. Well acquainted as they were with the powers of their own language, they set themselves with unwearied assiduity to polish and improve that of their new masters: but with all their assiduity and pains they never were able to make it arrive at that perfection which their own language had acquired; and in the Augustan age, when it had arrived at the summit of its glory, Cicero bitterly complains of its want of copiousness in many particulars.

But as it was the desire of all who studied this language with care, to make it capable of that stately dignity and pomp necessary for public harangues; they followed the genius of the language in this particular, and in a great measure neglected those lesser delicacies which form the pleasure of domestic enjoyment; so that, while it acquired more copiousness, more harmony, and precision, it remained stiff and inflexible for conversation; nor could the minute distinction of nice grammatical rules be ever brought down to the apprehension of the vulgar; so that the language spoken among the lower classes of people remained rude and unpolished even till the end of the monarchy. The Huns who overran Italy, incapable of acquiring any knowledge of such a difficult and abstruse language, never adopted it; and the native inhabitants being made acquainted with a language more natural and easily acquired, quickly adopted that idiom of speech introduced by their conquerors, although they still retained many of those words which the confined nature of the barbarian language made necessary to allow them, to express their ideas.—And thus it was that the language of Rome, that proud mistress of the world, from an original defect in its formation, although it had been carried to a perfection in other respects far superior to any northern language at that time, easily gave way to them, and in a few ages the knowledge of it was lost among mankind: while, on the contrary, the more easy nature of the Greek language has still been able to keep some slight footing in the world, although the nations in which it has been spoken have been subjected to the yoke of foreign dominion for upwards of two thousand years, and their country has been twice ravaged by barbarous nations, and more cruelly depressed than ever the Romans were.

From the view which we have already given of the Latin language, it appears evident, that its idiom was more strictly transpositive than any other language yet known, and was attended with all the defects to which that idiom is naturally subjected: nor could it boast of such favourable alleviating circumstances as the Greek, the prevailing sounds of the Latin being far less harmonious to the ear; and although the formation of the words are such as to admit of full and distinct sounds, and so modulated as to lay no restraint upon the voice of the speaker; yet, to a person unacquainted with the language, they do not convey that enchanting harmony so remarkable in the Greek language. The Latin is stately and solemn, it does not excite disgust; but at the same time it does not charm the ear, so as to make it listen with pleased attention. To one acquainted with the language indeed, the nervous boldness of the thoughts, the harmonious rounding of the periods, the full solemn swelling of the sounds, so distinguishable in the most eminent writers in that language which have been preserved to us, all conspire to make it pleasing and agreeable.—In these admired works we meet with all its beauties, without perceiving any of its defects; and we naturally admire, as perfect, a language which is capable of producing such excellent works. Yet with all these seeming excellencies, this language is less copious, and more limited in its style of composition, than many modern languages far less capable of precision and accuracy than almost any of these, and infinitely behind them all in point of easiness in conversation. But these points have been so fully proved already, as to require no further illustration.—Of the compositions in that language which have been preserved to us, the orations of Cicero are best adapted to the genius of the language, and we there see it in its utmost perfection. In the philosophical works of that great author we perceive some of its defects; and it requires all the powers of that great man, to render his epistles agreeable, as these have the genius of the language to struggle with.—Next to oratory, history agrees with the genius of this language; and Caesar, in his Commentaries, has exhibited the language in its purest elegance, without the aid of pomp or foreign ornament. —Among the Poets, Virgil has best adapted his works to his language. The flowing harmony and pomp of it is well adapted for the epic strain, and the correct delicacy of his taste rendered him perfectly equal to the task. But Horace is the only poet whose force of genius was able to overcome the bars which the language threw in his way, and succeed in lyric poetry. Were it not for the brilliancy of the thoughts, and acuteness of remarks, which so eminently distinguish this author's compositions, his odes would long ere now have sunk into utter oblivion.—But so conscious have all the Roman poets been of the unfitness of their language for easy dialogue; that almost none of them, after Plautus and Terence, have attempted any dramatic compositions in that language.—Nor have we any reason to regret that they neglected this branch of poetry, as it is probable, if they had ever become fond of these, they would have been obliged to have adopted so many unnatural contrivances to render them agreeable, as would have prevented us (who of course would have considered ourselves as bound to follow them) from making that progress in the drama which so particularly distinguishes the productions of modern times.

The modern Italian language, from an inattention quite common in literary subjects, has been usually called a child. child of the Latin language, and is commonly believed to be the ancient Latin a little debased by the mixture of the barbarous language of those people who conquered Italy. The truth is, it is directly the reverse: for this language, in its general idiom, and fundamental principles, is evidently of the analogous kind, first introduced by these fierce invaders, although it has borrowed many of its words, and some of its modes of phraseology, from the Latin, with which they were so intimately blended that this could scarcely be avoided; and it has been from remarking this slight connection so obvious at first sight, that superficial observers have been led to draw this general conclusion, so contrary to fact.

When Italy was over-run with the Lombards, and the empire destroyed by these northern invaders, they, as conquerors, continued to speak their own native language. Fierce and illiterate, they would not stoop to the servility of studying a language so clogged with rules, and difficult of attainment, as the Latin behoved to be to a people altogether unacquainted with nice grammatical distinctions; while the Romans of necessity were obliged to study the language of their conquerors, as well to obtain some relief of their grievances by prayers and supplications, as to destroy that odious distinction which subsisted between the conquerors and conquered while they continued as distinct people. As the language of their new masters, although rude and confined, was natural in its order, and easy to be acquired, the Latins would soon attain a competent skill in it; and as they bore such a proportion to the whole number of people, the whole language behoved to partake somewhat of the general sound of the former; for, in spite of all their efforts to the contrary, the organs of speech could not at once be made to acquire a perfect power of uttering any unaccustomed sounds; and as the language of the barbarians behoved to be much less copious than the Latin, whenever they found themselves at a loss for a word, they would naturally adopt those which most readily presented themselves from their new subjects. Thus a language in time was formed, somewhat resembling the Latin, both in the general tenor of the sounds, and in the meaning of many words; and as the barbarians gave themselves little trouble about language, and in some cases perhaps hardly knew the general analogy of their own language, it is not surprising if their new subjects should find themselves sometimes at a loss on that account, or if, in these situations, they followed, on some occasions, the analogy suggested to them by their own: which accounts for the strange degree of mixture of heterogeneous grammatical analogy we meet with in the Italian as well as Spanish and French languages.—The Idiom of all the Gothic languages is purely analogous; and in all probability, before their mixture with the Latins and other people in their provinces, the several grammatical parts of speech followed the plain simple idea which that supposes; the verbs and nouns were all probably varied by auxiliaries, and their adjectives retained their simple unalterable state;—but by their mixture with the Latins, this simple form has been in many cases altered; their verbs became in some cases inflected; but their nouns in all these languages still retained their original form; although they have varied their adjectives, and foolishly clogged their nouns with gender, according to the Latin idioms. From this heterogeneous, and fortuitous (as we may say, because injudicious) mixture of parts, results a language possessing almost all the defects of each of the languages of which it is composed; with few of the excellencies of either; for it has neither the ease and precision of the analogous, nor the pomp and boldness of the transpositive languages; at the same time that it is clogged with almost as many rules, and liable to as great abuses.

These observations are equally applicable to the French and Spanish, as to the Italian language.—With regard to this last in particular, we may observe, that as the natural inhabitants of Italy, before the last invasion of the barbarians, were sunk and enervated by luxury and that depression of mind and genius which anarchy always produces; they had become fond of feasting and entertainments, and the enjoyment of sensual pleasures constituted their highest delight; and their language partook of the same debility as their body.—The barbarians too—unaccustomed to the seductions of pleasure—soon fell from their original boldness and intrepidity,—and, like Hannibal's troops of old, were enervated by the sensual gratifications into which a nation of conquerors unaccustomed to the restraint of government freely indulged.—The softness of the air—the fertility of the climate—the unaccustomed flow of riches which they at once acquired,—together with the voluptuous manner of their conquered subjects,—all conspired to enervate their minds, and render them soft and effeminate.—No wonder then, if a language new-moulded should at this juncture partake of the genius of the people who formed it; and instead of participating of the martial boldness and ferocity of either of their ancestors, should be softened and enfeebled by every device which an effeminate people could invent.—The strong consonants which terminated the words, and gave them life and boldness, being thought too harsh for the delicate ears of these sons of sloth, were banished their language;—while sonorous vowels, which could be protracted to any length in music, were substituted in their stead.—Thus the Italian language is formed flowing and harmonious, but destitute of those nerves which constitute the strength and vigour of a language: at the same time, the sounds are neither enough diversified, nor in themselves of such an agreeable tone, as to afford great pleasure without the aid of musical notes;—and the small pleasure which this affords is still lessened by the little variety of measure which the great similarity of the termination of words occasions.—Hence it happens, that this language is fitted for excelling in fewer branches of literature than almost any other:—and although we have excellent historians, and more than ordinary poets, in this language; yet they labour under great inconveniences from the language in which they write,—as it wants nerves and flateliness for the former,—and sufficient variety of modulation for the latter.—It is, more particularly on this account, altogether unfit for an epic poem:—and although attempts have been made in this way by two men, whose genius, if not fettered by the language, might have been crowned with success; yet these, notwithstanding the same that with some they may have acquired, must, in point of poetic harmony, be deemed defective by every impartial person. Nor is it possible that a language which hardly admits of poetry without rhyme, can ever be capable of producing a perfect poem of great length; and the stanza to which their poets have ever confined themselves, must always produce the most disagreeable effect in a poem where unrestrained pomp or pathos are necessary qualifications. The only species of poetry in which the Italian language can claim a superior excellence, is the tender tone of elegy: and here it remains unrivalled and alone—the plaintive melody of the sounds, and smooth flow of the language, seem perfectly adapted to express that soothing melancholy which this species of poetry requires.—On this account, the plaintive stanzas of the Pastor Fido of Guarini have justly gained to that poem an universal applause; although, unless on this account alone, it is perhaps inferior to almost every other poem of the kind which ever appeared.—We must observe with surprise, that the Italians, who have fettered every other species of poetry with the severest shackles of rhyme, have in this species shewed an example of the most unrestrained freedom; the happy effects of which ought to have taught all Europe the powerful charms attending it: yet with amazement we perceive, that scarce an attempt to imitate them has been made by any poet in Europe except by Milton in his Lycidas; no dramatic poet, even in Britain, having ever adopted the unrestrained harmony of numbers to be met with in this and many other of their best dramatic compositions.

Of all the languages which sprung up from the mixture of the Latins with the northern people on the destruction of the Roman empire, none of them approach so near to the genius of the Latin as the Spanish does. For as the Spaniards have been always remarkable for their military prowess and dignity of mind, their language is naturally adapted to express ideas of that kind. Sonorous and solemn, it admits nearly of as much dignity as the Latin. For conversation, it is the most elegant and courteous language in Europe.—The humane and generous order of chivalry was first invented and kept its footing longest in this nation; and although it ran at last into such a ridiculous excess as deservedly made it fall into universal disrepute, yet it left such a strong tincture of romantic heroism upon the minds of all ranks of people, as made them jealous of their glory, and strongly emulous of cultivating that heroic politeness, which they considered as the highest perfection they could attain. Every man disdained to flatter, or to yield up any point of honour which he possessed; at the same time, he rigorously exacted from others all that was his due. These circumstances have given rise to a great many terms of respect, and courteous condescension, without meanness or flattery, which give their dialogue a respectful politeness and elegance unknown to any other European language. This is the reason why the characters so finely drawn by Cervantes in Don Quixote are still unknown to all but those who understand the language in which he wrote.—Nothing can be more unlike the gentle meekness and humane heroism of the knight, or the native simplicity, warmth of affection, and respectful loquacity of the squire,—than the inconsistent follies of the one, or the impertinent forwardness and disrespectful petulance of the other, as they are exhibited in every English translation.—Nor is it possible to represent to much familiarity, united with such becoming condescension in the one, and unfeigned deference in the other, in any other European language, as is necessary to paint these two admirable characters.

Although this language, from the solemn dignity and majestic elegance of its structure, is perhaps better qualified than any other modern one for the sublime strains of epic poetry; yet as the poets of this nation have all along imitated the Italians by a most servile subjection to rhyme, they never have produced one poem of this sort, which in point of poetry of style deserves to be transmitted to posterity. And in any other species of poetry but this, or the higher tragedy, is it not naturally fitted to excel. But although the drama and other polite branches of literature were early cultivated in this country, and made considerable progress in it, before the thirst of gain debased their souls, or the desire of universal dominion made them forfeit that liberty which they once so much prized; since they became enervated by an overbearing pride, and their minds enslaved by superstition; all the polite arts have been neglected: so that, while other European nations have been advancing in knowledge, and improving their language, they have remained in a state of torpid inactivity; and their language has not arrived at that perfection which its nature would admit, or the acute genius of the people would have made us naturally expect.

It will perhaps, by some, be thought an unpardonable insult, if we do not allow the French the preference of all modern languages in many respects. But so far must we pay a deference to truth, as to be obliged to rank it among the poorest languages in Europe.—Every other language has some sounds which can be uttered clearly by the voice: even the Italian, although it wants energy, still possesses distinctness of articulation. But the French is almost incapable of either of these beauties; for in that language the vowels are so much curtailed in the pronunciation, and the words run into one another in such a manner, as of necessity to produce an indistinctness which renders it incapable of measure or harmony. From this cause, it is in a great measure incapable of poetic modulation, and rhyme has been obliged to be substituted in its stead; so that this poorest of all contrivances which has ever yet been invented to distinguish poetry from prose, admitted into all the modern languages when ignorance prevailed over Europe, has still kept some footing in the greatest part of these, rather through a deference for established customs, than from any necessity.—Yet as the French language admits of so little poetic modulation, rhyme is in some measure necessary to it; and therefore they have adopted, and dignified this poor deviation from prose with the name of Poetry; and, by their blind attachment to this art, have neglected to improve so much as they might have done the small powers for harmony that their language is possessed of; and, by being long accustomed to this false taste, have become fond of it to such a ridiculous excess, as to have all their tragedies,—nay even their comedies, in rhyme. While the poet is obliged to enervate his language, and check the flow of composition, for the like of linking his lines together, the judicious actor finds more difficulty in destroying the appearance of that measure, and preventing the clinking of the rhimes, than in all the rest of his task.—After this we will not be surprised to find Voltaire attempt an epic poem in this species of poetry; although the more judicious Fenelon in his Telemaque had shewn to his countrymen the only species of poetry which their language could admit of for any poem which aspired to the dignity of the epic strain—Madam Defouilliers, in her Paylie, has shewn the utmost extent of harmony to which their language can attain in smaller poems:—indeed in the tenderest of an elegy, or the gaiety of a song, it may succeed; but it is so destitute of force and energy, that it can never be able to reach the Pindaric, or even perhaps the Lyric strain,—as the inefficacious efforts even of the harmonious Rousseau, in his translation of the Psalms of David of this stamp, may fully convince us.

With regard to its power in other species of composition, the sententious rapidity of Voltaire, and the more nervous dignity of Rousseau, afford us no small presumption, that, in a skilful hand, it might acquire so much force, as to transmit to futurity historical facts in a style not altogether unworthy of the subject.—In attempts at pathetic declamation, the superior abilities of the composer may perhaps on some occasions excite a great idea, but this is ever cramped by the genius of the language: and although no nation in Europe can boast of so many orations where this grandeur is attempted; yet perhaps there are few who cannot produce more perfect, although not more laboured, compositions of this kind.

But notwithstanding the French language labours under all these inconveniences;—although it can neither equal the dignity or genuine politeness of the Spanish, the nervous boldness of the English, nor the melting softness of the Italian;—although it is destitute of poetic harmony, and so much cramped in sound as to be absolutely unfit for almost every species of musical composition*;—yet the sprightly genius of that volatile people has been able to surmount all these difficulties, and render it the language most generally esteemed, and most universally spoken, of any in Europe: for this people, naturally gay and loquacious, and fond to excess of those superficial accomplishments which engage the attention of the fair sex, have invented such an infinity of words capable of expressing vague and unmeaning compliment, now dignified by the name of politeness, that, in this strain, one who uses the French can never be at a loss; and as it is easy to converse more, and really say less, in this than any other language, a man of very moderate talents may distinguish himself much more by using this than any other that has ever yet been invented.—On this account, it is peculiarly well adapted for that species of conversation which must ever take place in those general and promiscuous companies, where many persons of both sexes are met together for the purposes of relaxation or amusement; and must of course be naturally admitted into the courts of princes, and assemblies of great personages; who, having fewer equals with whom they can associate, are more under a necessity of conversing with strangers, in whose company the tender stimulus of friendship does not so naturally expand the heart to mutual trust or unrestrained confidence. In these circumstances, as the heart remaineth disengaged, conversation must necessarily flag; and mankind in this situation will gladly adopt that language in which they can converse most easily without being deeply interested.—One therefore accounts the French now is, and probably will continue to be reckoned the most polite language in Europe, and therefore the most generally studied and known: nor should we envy them this distinction, if our countrymen would not weaken and enervate their own manly language, by adopting too many of their unmeaning phrases.

The English is perhaps possessed of a greater degree of excellence, blended with a greater number of defects, than any of the languages that we have hitherto mentioned.—As the people of great Britain are a bold, daring, and impetuous race of men; subject to strong passions, and, from the absolute freedom and independence which reigns among all ranks of people throughout this happy isle, little solicitous about controlling these passions.—our language takes its strongest characteristic distinction from the genius of the people; and, being bold, daring, and abrupt, is admirably well adapted to express those great emotions which spring up in an intrepid mind at the prospect of interesting events. Peculiarly happy too in the full and open sound of the vowels, which forms the characteristic tone of the language, and in the strong use of the aspirate H in almost all those words which are used as exclamations, or marks of strong emotions upon interesting occasions, that particular class of words called interjections have, in our language, more of that fulness and unrestrained freedom of tones, in which their chief power consists, and are pushed forth from the inmost recesses of the soul in a more forcible and unrestrained manner, than any other language whatever. Hence it is

---

* An author of great discernment, and well acquainted with the French language, has lately made the same remark; and as the loftiness of his genius often prevents him from bringing down his illustrations to the level of ordinary comprehension, he has on this, and many other occasions, been unjustly accused of being fond of paradoxes.—But as music never produces its full effect but when the tones it adumbrates are in union with the idea that the words naturally excite, it of necessity follows, that if the words of any language do not admit of that fulness of sound, or of that species of tones, which the passion or affection that may be described by the words would naturally require to excite the same idea in the mind of one who was unacquainted with the language, it will be impossible for the music to produce its full effect, as it will be cramped and confined by the sound of the words;—and as the French language does not admit of those full and open sounds which are necessary for pathetic expression in music, it must of course be unfit for musical composition.—It is true indeed, that in modern times, in which so little attention is bestowed on the simple and sublime charms of pathetic expression, and a fantastical tingling of unmeaning sounds is called music—where the sense of the words are lost in fugues, quavers, and unnecessary repetition of particular syllables,—all languages are nearly equally fitted for it; and among these the French: nor is it to be doubted, that, in the easy gaiety of a song, this language can properly enough admit of all the musical expression which that species of composition may require. more peculiarly adapted for the great and interesting scenes of the Drama than any language that has yet appeared in the globe.—Nor has any other nation ever arrived at that perfection which the English may justly claim in that respect; for however faulty our dramatic compositions may be in some of the critical niceties which relate to this art,—in nervous force of diction, and in the natural expression of those great emotions which constitute its soul and energy, we claim, without dispute, an univalved superiority.—Our language too, from the great intercourse that we have had with almost all the nations of the globe by means of our extensive commerce, and from the eminent degree of perfection which we have attained in all the arts and sciences, has acquired a copiousness beyond what any other modern nation can lay claim to; and even the most partial favourers of the Greek language are forced to acknowledge, that in this respect it must give place to the English. Nor is it less happy in that facility of construction which renders it more peculiarly adapted to the genius of a free people, than any other form of language.—Of an idiom purely analogous, is has deviated least from the genius of that idiom, and possesses more of the characteristic advantages attending it, than any other language that now exists: for, while others, perhaps by their more intimate connection with the Romans, have adopted some of their transpositions, and clogged their language with unnecessary fetters, we have preserved ourselves free from the contagion, and (till retain the primitive simplicity of our language... Our verbs are all varied by auxiliaries (except in the instance we have already given, which is so much in our favour); our nouns remain free from the perplexing embarrassment of genders, and our pronouns mark this distinction where necessary with the most perfect accuracy; our articles also are of course freed from this unnatural encumbrance, and our adjectives preserve their natural freedom and independence. From these causes, our language follows an order of construction so natural and easy, and the rules of syntax are so few and obvious, as to be within the reach of the most ordinary capacity. So that from this, and the great clearness and distinctness of meaning which this mode of construction necessarily is accompanied with, it is much better adapted for the familiar intercourse of private society, and liable to fewer errors in using it, than any other language yet known; and on this account we may boast, that in no nation of Europe do the lower class of people speak their language with so much accuracy, or have their minds so much enlightened by knowledge, as those of great Britain.—What then shall we say of the discernment of those grammarians, who are every day echoing back to one another complaints of the poverty of our language on account of the few and simple rules which it requires in syntax? As justly might we complain of an invention in mechanics, which, by means of one or two simple movements, obvious to an ordinary capacity, little liable to accidents, and easily put in order by the rudest hand, should possess the whole powers of a complex machine, which had required an infinite apparatus of wheels and contrary movements, the knowledge of which could only be acquired, or the various accidents to which it was exposed by using it be repaired, by the powers of an ingenious artist, as complaint of this characteristic excellence of our language as a defect.

But if we thus enjoy in an eminent degree the advantages attending an analogous language; we likewise feel in a considerable measure the defects to which it is exposed; as the number of monosyllables with which it always must be embarrassed, notwithstanding the great improvements which have been made in our language since the revival of letters in Europe, prevents in some degree that swelling fulness of sound which so powerfully contributes to harmonious dignity and graceful cadences in literary compositions.—And as the genius of the people of Britain has always been more disposed to the rougher arts of command, than the softer insinuations of persuasion, no pains have been taken to correct these natural defects of our language; but on the contrary, by an inattention of which we have hardly a parallel in the history of any civilized nation, we meet with many instances, even within this last century, of the harmony of sound being sacrificed to that brevity so desirable in conversation, as many elegant words have been curtailed, and harmonious syllables suppressed, to substitute in their stead others, shorter indeed, but more barbarous and uncouth.—Nay, so little attention have our forefathers bestowed upon the harmony of sounds in our language, that one would be tempted to think, on looking back to its primitive state, that they had on some occasions studiously debased it.—Our language, at its first formation, seems to have laboured under a capital defect in point of sound, as such a number of S's enter into the formation of our words, and such a number of letters and combinations of other letters assume a similar sound, as to give a general hiss through the whole tenor of our language, which must be exceedingly disagreeable to every unprejudiced ear. We would therefore have naturally expected, that at the revival of letters, when our forefathers became acquainted with the harmonious languages of Greece and Rome, they would have acquired a more correct taste, and endeavoured, if possible, to have diminished the prevalence of this disgusting sound. But so far have they been from thinking of this, that they have multiplied this letter exceedingly. The plurals of almost all our nouns were originally formed by adding the harmonious syllable en to the singular, which has given place to the letter s; and instead of houset formerly, we now say house. In like manner, many of the variations of our verbs were formed by the syllable eth, which we have likewise changed into the same disagreeable letter; so that, instead of loveth, moveth, writeth, walketh, &c., we have changed them into the more modish form of lover, mover, writer, walker, &c.—Our very auxiliary verbs have suffered the same change; and instead of hath and doth, we now make use of has and does. From these causes, notwithstanding the great improvements which have been made in language, within these few centuries, in other respects; yet, with regard to the pleasingness of sound alone, it was perhaps much more perfect in the days of Chaucer than at present; and although custom may have rendered these sounds so familiar to our ear, as not to affect us much; yet to an unprejudiced person, unacquainted with our language, we have have not the smallest doubt, but the language of Bacon or Sydney would appear more harmonious than that of Robertson or Hume. This is indeed the fundamental defect of our language, and loudly calls for reformation.

But notwithstanding this great and radical defect in our language with regard to pleasingness of sounds, which must be so strongly perceived by every one who is unacquainted with the meaning of our words; yet to those who understand the language, the exceeding copiousness which it allows in the choice of words proper for the occasion, and the nervous force which it derives from the accent, with the perspicuity and graceful elegance the emphasis bestows upon it, makes this defect be totally overlooked; and we could produce such numerous works of prose which excel in almost every different style of composition as would be tiresome to enumerate; and every reader of taste and discernment will be able to recollect a sufficient number of writings which excel in point of style, between the graceful and becoming gravity so conspicuous in all the works of the author of the Whole Duty of Man, and the animated and nervous diction of Robertson in his history of Charles the fifth,—the more flowery style of Shaftesbury, or the Attic simplicity and elegance of Addison.

But although we can equal, if not surpass, every modern language in works of prose, it is in its poetical powers that our language shines forth with the greatest lustre.—The brevity to which we must here necessarily confine ourselves, prevents us from entering into a minute examination of the poetical powers of our own, compared with other languages; otherwise it would be easy to show, that every other modern language labours under great restraints in this respect which ours is freed from;—that our language admits of a greater variety of poetic movements, and diversity of cadence, than any of the admired languages of antiquity;—that it distinguishes with the greatest accuracy between accent and quantity, and is possessed of every other poetical excellence which their languages were capable of: so that we are possessed of all the sources of harmony which they could boast; and, besides all these, have one superadded, which is the cause of greater variety and more forcible expression in numbers than all the rest; that is, the unlimited power given to the emphasis over quantity and cadence; by means whereof, a necessary union between sound and sense, numbers and meaning, in verification, unknown to the ancients, has been brought about, which gives our language in this respect a superiority over all those justly admired languages.—But as we cannot here further pursue this subject, we shall only observe, that these great and distinguishing excellencies far more than counterbalance the inconveniences that we have already mentioned; and although, in mere pleasantries of sounds, or harmonious flow of syllables, our language may be inferior to the Greek, the Latin, Italian, and Spanish; yet in point of manly dignity, graceful variety, intuitive distinctness, nervous energy of expression, unconstrained freedom and harmony of poetical numbers, it will yield the palm to none.—Our immortal Milton, slowly rising, in graceful majesty stands up as equal, if not superior in these respects to any poet, in any other language, that ever yet existed;—while Thomson, with more humble aim, in melody more smooth and flowing, softens the soul to harmony and peace:—the plaintive moan of Hammond calls forth the tender tear and sympathetic sigh; while Gray's more soothing melancholy fixes the sober mind to silent contemplation:—more tender still than these, the amiable Shenston comes; and from his Doric reed, still free from courtly affectation, flows a strain so pure, so simple, and of such tender harmony, as even Arcadian shepherds would be proud to own. But far before the rest, the daring Shakespear steps forth conspicuous, clothed in native dignity; and, pressing forward with unremitting ardour, boldly lays claim to both dramatic crowns, held out to him by Thalia and Melpomene:—his rivals, far behind, look up, and envy him for these unfading glories; and the astonished nations round, with distant awe, behold and tremble at his daring flight.—Thus the language, equally obedient to all, bends with ease under their hands, whatever form they would have it assume; and, like the yielding wax, readily receives, and faithfully transmits to posterity, those impressions which they have stamped upon it.

Such are the principal outlines of the language of Great Britain, such are its beauties, and such its most capital defects; a language more peculiarly circumstanced than any that has ever yet appeared.—It is the language of a great and powerful nation, whose fleets surround the globe, and whose merchants are in every port; a people admired, or revered by all the world;—and yet it is less known in every foreign country, than any other language in Europe.—In it are written more perfect treatises on every art and science, than are to be found in any other language;—yet it is less sought after or esteemed by the literati in any part of the globe, than almost any of these. Its superior powers for every purpose of language are sufficiently obvious from the models of perfection, in almost every particular, which can be produced in it;—yet it is neglected, despised, and vilified by the people who use it; and many of those authors who owe almost the whole of their fame to the excellence of the language in which they wrote, look upon that very language with the highest contempt.—Neglected and despised, it has been trodden under foot as a thing altogether unworthy of cultivation or attention. Yet in spite of all these inconveniences, in spite of the many wounds it has thus received, it still holds up its head, and preserves evident marks of that comeliness and vigour which are its characteristic distinction. Like a healthy oak planted in a rich and fertile soil, it has sprung up with vigour: and although neglected, and suffered to be overrun with weeds; although exposed to every blast, and unprotected from every violence; it still bears up under all these inconveniences, and shoots up with a robust healthiness and wild luxuriance of growth. Should this plant, so sound and vigorous, be now cleared from those weeds with which it has been so much encumbered;—should every obstacle which now buries it under thick shades, and hides it from the view of every passer-by, be cleared away;—should the soil be cultivated with care, and a strong fence be placed around it, to prevent the idle or the wicked from breaking or distorting its branches;—who can tell what additional vigour it would flourish, or what amazing magnitude and perfection The art of cutting precious stones is of great antiquity. The French, though they fell into it but lately, have notwithstanding carried this art to a very great perfection, but not in any degree superior to the English.

There are various machines employed in the cutting of precious stones, according to their quality: the diamond, which is extremely hard, is cut on a wheel of soft steel, turned by a mill, with diamond-dust, tempered with olive-oil, which also serves to polish it.

The description of the diamond-cutter's wheel or mill, as represented in Plate CIII. fig. 7, is as follows:

- \(a\) is the pincers; \(b\), the screw of the pincers; \(c\), the shell that carries the mastic and the diamond; \(d\), the mastic that softens the diamond at the end of the shell; \(e\), the diamond presented to the wheel, to be cut facewise; \(f\), the iron-wheel turning on its pivot; \(g\), iron-pegs, to fix and keep the pincers steady; \(h\), small pigs of lead of different weights, wherewith the pincers are loaded at pleasure to keep them steady; \(i\), a wooden wheel; \(k\), the axis of the wheel. It is bended and makes an elbow under the wheel, to receive the impulsion of a bar that does the office of a turning handle; \(l\), the sole, or square piece of steel, wherein the pivot of the tree or axis moves; \(m\), the turning handle, that sets the wheel a-going by means of the elbow of its axis; the elbow of the piercer wherewith a hog's head is broached, will give an idea of this kind of motion; \(n\), the cat-gut string, that goes round both the iron and the wooden wheels. If the wooden wheel is twenty times larger than the iron-one, the latter shall make twenty turns upon the diamond, whilst the large wheel makes but one round its axis; and whilst the boy gives, without any resistance, a hundred impulsions to the turning handle, the diamond experiences a thousand times the friction of the whole grinding wheel.

The diamond-cutter follows the work with his eyes, without taking any other share in it than that of changing the place of the diamond to bite on a new surface; and of timely thrown upon it, with a few drops of oil, the minute particles of the diamonds first ground one against the other, to begin the cutting of them.

The oriental ruby, sapphire, and topaz, are cut on a copper wheel with diamond dust, tempered with olive-oil, and are polished on another copper-wheel with tripoli and water. The hyacinth, emerald, amethyst, garnets, agats, and other stones, not of an equal degree of hardness with the other, are cut on a leaden wheel with flint and water, and polished on a tin-wheel with tripoli. The turquois of the old and new rock, girafol and opal, are cut and polished on a wooden wheel with tripoli also.

The lapidaries of Paris have been a corporation since the year 1290. It is governed by four jurats, who superintend their rights and privileges, visit the master-workmen take care of the masterpiece of workmanship, bind apprentices, and administer the freedom.