the proper sense of the word, signifies the expression of our ideas and their various relations by certain articulate sounds, which are used as the signs of those ideas and relations. By articulate sounds are meant those modulations of simple voice, or of sound emitted from the thorax, which are formed by means of the mouth and its several organs,—the teeth, the tongue, the lips, and the palate. In a more general sense of the word, language is sometimes used to denote all sounds by which animals of any kind express their particular feelings and impulses in a manner that is intelligible to their own species.

Nature has endowed every animal with powers sufficient to make known all those of its sensations and desires, with which it is necessary, for the preservation of the individual or the continuance of the kind, that others of the same species should be acquainted. For this purpose, the organs of all vocal animals are so formed, as, upon any particular impulse, to utter sounds, of which those of the same species instinctively know the meaning. The summons of the hen is instantly obeyed by the whole brood of chickens; and in many others of the irrational tribes a similar mode of communication may be observed between the parents and the offspring, and between one animal and its customary associate. But it is not among animals of the same species only that these instinctive sounds are mutually understood. It is as necessary for animals to know the voices of their enemies as the voice of their friends; and the roaring of the lion is a sound, of which, previously to all experience, every beast of the forest is naturally afraid. Between these animal voices and the language of men there is however very little analogy. Human language is capable of expressing ideas and notions, which there is every reason to believe that the brutal mind cannot conceive. "Speech (says Aristotle) is made to indicate what is expedient and what inexpedient, and in consequence of this what is just and unjust. It is therefore given to men; because it is peculiar to them, that of good and evil, just and unjust, they only (with respect to other animals) possess a sense or feeling." The voices of brutes seem intended by nature to express, not distinct ideas or moral modes, but only such feelings as it is for the good of the species that they should have the power of making known; and in this, as in all other respects, these voices are analogous; not to our speaking, but to our weeping, laughing, singing, groaning, screaming, and other natural and audible expressions of appetite and passion.—Another difference between the language of men and the voices of brute animals consists in articulation, by which the former may be resolved into distinct elementary sounds or syllables; whereas the latter, being for the most part unarticulated, are not capable of such a resolution. Hence Homer and Hesiod characterize man by the epithet Language: thet μισος, or "voice dividing," as denoting a power peculiar to the human species; for though there are a few birds* which utter sounds that may be divided into syllables, yet each of these birds utters but one such sound, which seems to be employed rather as notes of natural music than for the purpose of giving information to others; for when the bird is agitated, it utters cries which are very different, and have no articulation.

A third difference between the language of men and the significant cries of brute animals, is, that the former is from art and the latter from nature. Every human language is learned by imitation, and is intelligible only to those who either inhabit the country where it is vernacular, or have been taught it by a master or by books: but the voices in question are not learned by imitation; and being wholly instinctive, they are intelligible to all the animals of that species by which they are uttered, though brought together from the most distant countries on earth. That a dog, which had never heard another bark, would notwithstanding bark himself, and that the barking or yelps of a Lapland dog would be instinctively understood by the dogs of Spain, Calabria, or any other country, are facts which admit not of doubt: but there is no reason to imagine that a man who had never heard any language spoken would himself speak; and it is well known that the language spoken in one country, is unintelligible to the natives of another country where a different language is spoken. Herodotus indeed records a fact which, could it be depended upon, would tend to overturn this reasoning, as it infers a natural relation between ideas and certain articulate sounds. He tells us, that Pflammetichus king of Egypt, in order to discover which was the oldest language, caused two children, newly born of poor parents, to be brought up by a shepherd among his cattle, with a strict injunction that they should never hear a human voice; and that at the end of two years the children pronounced at the same time the word βασιλευς, which in the Phrygian language signified bread. Either this is one of the many fables which that credulous historian collected among the Egyptians, or the conduct and reasoning of Pflammetichus were very absurd; for it is added, that from this circumstance he inferred that the Phrygians were the most ancient people, and that they spoke the primitive language. The only rational purpose for which such an experiment could be instituted, would be to discover, not which is the oldest or the latest language, but whether there be such a thing as a language of nature or instinct; but in such a language it is obvious that there could be no word to denote bread, because in what is called the state of nature bread is unknown. The experiment of Pflammetichus was probably never made; but in the woods of different countries solitary savages have at different times been caught, who, though they apparently possessed all the sagacity which is natural to man, and though their organs both of hearing and of speech were perfect, never used articulate sounds as signs of sensations or ideas. They uttered indeed the inarticulate cries which are instinctively expressive of pleasure and pain, of joy and sorrow, more distinctly and forcibly than men civilized; but with respect to the very rudiments of language, they were what Horace represents all mankind to have been originally,—mutum et turpe pecus. Indeed it seems to be obvious, that were there any instinctive language, the first words uttered by all children would be the same; and that every child, whether born in the desert or in society, would understand the language of every other child, however educated or however neglected. Nay more, we may venture to affirm, that such a language, though its general use might, in society, be superseded by the prevailing dialect of art, could never be wholly lost; and that no man of one country would find it difficult, far less impossible, to communicate the knowledge of his natural and most primitive wants to the men of any other country, whether barbarous or civilized. The exercise of cultivated reason, and the arts of civil life, have indeed eradicated many of our original instincts, but they have not eradicated them all: (see Instinct). There are external indications of the internal feelings and desires, which appear in the most polished society, and which are confessedly instinctive. The passions, emotions, sensations, and appetites, are naturally expressed in the countenance by characters which the savage and the courtier can read with equal readiness. The look serene, the smoothed brow, the dimpled smile, and the glinting eye, denote equanimity and good will in terms which no man mistakes. The contracted brow, the glaring eye, the frown, gloom, and the threatening air, denote rage, indignation, and defiance, as plainly and forcibly as revilings or imprecations. To teach men to disguise these instinctive indications of their temper, and

"To carry smiles and sunshine in their face, "When discontent sits heavy at their heart,"

constitutes a great part of modern and refined education. Yet in spite of every effort of the utmost skill, and of every motive resulting from interest, the most consummate hypocrite, or the most hackneyed politician, is not always able to prevent his real disposition from becoming apparent in his countenance. He may indeed, by long practice, have acquired a very great command both over his temper and over the instinctive signs of it; but at times nature will predominate over art, and a sudden and violent passion will flash in his face, so as to be visible to the eye of every beholder. If these observations be just, and we flatter ourselves with the belief that no man will call them in question, it seems to follow, that, if mankind were prompted by instinct to use articulate sounds as indications of their passions, affections, sensations, and ideas, the language of nature could never be wholly forgotten, and that it would sometimes predominate over the language of art. Groans, sighs, and some inarticulate lively sounds, are naturally expressive of pain and pleasure, and equally intelligible to all mankind. The occasional use of these no art can wholly banish; and if there were articulate sounds naturally expressive of the same feelings, it is not conceivable that art or education could banish the use of them, merely because by the organs of the mouth they are broken into parts and resolvable into syllables.

It being thus evident that there is no instinctive articulated language, it has become an inquiry of some importance, how mankind were first induced to fabricate articulate sounds, and to employ them for the purpose of communicating their thoughts. Children learn to speak by insensible imitation; and when advanced... Language advanced some years in life, they study foreign languages under proper instructors; but the first men had no speakers to imitate, and no formed language to study; by what means then did they learn to speak? On this question only two opinions can possibly be formed. Either language must have been originally revealed from heaven, or it must be the fruit of human industry.

The greater part of Jews and Christians, and even some of the wisest Pagans, have embraced the former opinion; which seems to be supported by the authority of Moses, who represents the Supreme Being as teaching our first parents the names of animals. The latter opinion is held by Diodorus Siculus, Lucretius, Horace, and many other Greek and Roman writers, who consider language as one of the arts invented by man. The first men, say they, lived for some time in woods and caves after the manner of beasts, uttering only confused and indistinct noises; till associating for mutual assistance, they came by degrees to use articulate sounds mutually agreed upon for the arbitrary signs or marks of those ideas in the mind of the speaker which he wanted to communicate to the hearer. This opinion sprung from the atomic cosmogony which was framed by Moebius the Phoenician, and afterwards improved by Democritus and Epicurus; and though it is part of a system in which the first men are represented as having grown out of the earth like trees and other vegetables, it has been adopted by several modern writers (A) of high rank in the republic of letters, and is certainly in itself worthy of examination.

The most learned, and on every account the most respectable author who now supports this opinion, candidly acknowledges, that if language was invented, it was of very difficult invention, and far beyond the reach of the grossest savages. Accordingly he holds, that though men were originally solitary animals, and had no natural propensity to the social life; yet before language could be invented they must have been associated for ages, and have carried on of concert some common work. Nay, he is decidedly of opinion, that before the invention of an art so difficult as language, men must not only have herded together, but have also formed some kind of civil polity, have existed in that political state a very long time, and have acquired such powers of abstraction as to be able to form general ideas. (See Logic and Metaphysics.) But it is obvious, that men could not have instituted civil polity, or have carried on of concert any common work, without communicating their designs to each other: and there are four ways by which the author thinks that this could have been done before the invention of speech; viz. 1st, Inarticulate cries, expressive of sentiments and passions; 2d, Gestures and the expression of countenance; 3d, Imitative sounds expressive of audible things; and 4th, Painting, by which visible objects may be represented. Of these four ways of communication it is plain that only two have any connection with language, viz. inarticulate cries and imitative sounds; and of these the author abandons the latter as having contributed nothing to the invention of articulation, though he thinks it may have helped to advance its progress. "I am disposed (says he) to believe, that the framing of words with an analogy to the sound of the things expressed by them belongs rather to languages of art than to the first languages spoken by rude and barbarous nations." It is therefore inarticulate cries only that must have given rise to the formation of language. Such cries are used by all animals who have any use of voice to express their wants; and the fact is, that all barbarous nations have cries expressing different things, such as joy, grief, terror, surprize, and the like. These, together with gestures and expression of the countenance, were undoubtedly the methods of communication first used by men: and we have but to suppose (says our author) a great number of our species carrying on some common business, and conversing together by signs and cries; and we have men just in a state proper for the invention of language. For if we suppose their numbers to increase, their wants would increase also; and then these two methods of communication would become too confined for that larger sphere of life which their wants would make necessary. The only thing then that remained to be done was to give a greater variety to the instinctive cries; and as the natural progress is, from what is easy to what is more difficult, the first variation would be merely by tones from low to high, and from grave to acute. But this variety could not answer all the purposes of speech in society; and being advanced so far, it was natural that an animal so sagacious as man should go on farther, and come at last to the only other variation remaining, namely, articulation. The first articulation would be very simple, the voice being broken and distinguished only by a few vowels and consonants. And as all natural cries are from the throat and larynx, with little or no operation of the organs of the mouth, it is natural to suppose, that the first languages were from the greater part spoken from the throat; that what consonants were used to vary the cries, were mostly guttural; and that the organs of the mouth would at first be very little employed. From this account of the origin of language it appears, that the first sounds articulated were the natural cries by which men signified their wants and desires to one another, such as calling one another for certain purposes, and other such things as were most necessary for carrying on any joint work: then in process of time other cries would be articulated, to signify, that such and such actions had been performed or were performing, or that such and such events had happened relative to the common business. The names would be invented of such objects as they were conversant with; but as we cannot suppose savages to be deep in abstraction or skilful in the art of arranging things according to their genera and species, all things however similar, except perhaps the individuals of the lowest species, would be expressed by different words not related to each other either by derivation or composition. Thus would language grow by degrees; and as it grew, it would be more and more broken and articulated, by consonants; but still the words would retain a great deal of their original nature.

(A) Father Simon, Voltaire, L'Abbé Condillac, Dr Smith, and the author of the Origin and Progress of Language. Language. ture of animal cries. And thus things would go on, words unrelated still multiplying, till at last the language would become too cumbersome for use; and then art would be obliged to interpose, and form a language upon a few radical words, according to the rules and method of etymology.

Arguments for its divine origin revealed from heaven, consider this account of its human invention as a series of mere suppositions hanging loosely together, and the whole suspended from no fixed principle. The opinions of Diodorus, Vitruvius, Horace, Lucretius, and Cicero, which are frequently quoted in its support, are in their estimation of no greater authority than the opinions of other men; for as language was formed and brought to a great degree of perfection long before the era of any historian with whom we are acquainted, the antiquity of the Greek and Roman writers, who are comparatively of yesterday, gives them no advantage in this inquiry over the philosophers of France and England. Aristotle has defined man to be ζων μυστικός: and the definition is certainly so far just, that man is much more remarkable for imitation than invention; and therefore, say the reasoners on this side of the question, had the human race been originally mutum et turpe pecus, they would have continued so to the end of time, unless they had been taught to speak by some superior intelligence. That the first men sprung from the earth like vegetables, no modern philosopher has ventured to assert; nor does there anywhere appear sufficient evidence that men were originally in the state of savages. The oldest book extant contains the only rational cosmogony known to the ancient nations; and that book represents the first human inhabitants of this earth, not only as reasoning and speaking animals, but also as in a state of high perfection and happiness, of which they were deprived for disobedience to their Creator. Moses, setting aside his claim to inspiration, deserves, from the confluence of his narrative, at least as much credit as Molochus, or Democritus, or Epicurus; and from his prior antiquity, if antiquity could on this subject have any weight, he would deserve more, as having lived nearer to the period of which they all write. But the question respecting the origin of language may be decided without relying in authority of any kind, merely by considering the nature of speech and the mental and corporeal powers of man. Those who maintain it to be of human invention, suppose men at first to have been solitary animals, afterwards to have herded together without government or subordination, then to have formed political societies, and by their own exertions to have advanced from the grossest ignorance to the refinements of science. But, say the reasoners whose cause we are now pleading, this is a supposition contrary to all history and all experience. There is not upon record a single instance well authenticated of a people emerging by their own efforts from barbarism to civilization. There have indeed been many nations raised from the state of savages; but it is known that they were polished, not by their own repeated exertions, but by the influence of individuals or colonies from nations more enlightened than themselves. The original savages of Greece were tamed by the Pelasgi, a foreign tribe; and were afterwards further polished by Orpheus, Cecrops, Cadmus, &c., who derived their knowledge from Egypt and the East. The ancient Romans, a ferocious and motley crew, received the blessings of law and religion from a succession of foreign kings; and the conquests of Rome at a latter period contributed to civilize the rest of Europe. In America, the only two nations which at the invasion of the Spaniards could be said to have advanced a single step from barbarism, were indebted for their superiority over the other tribes, not to the gradual and unassisted progress of the human mind, but to the wise institutions of foreign legislators.

This is not the proper place for tracing the progress of man from the savage state to that of political society (see Savage State); but experience teaches us that in every art it is much easier to improve than to invent. The human mind, when put into the proper track, is indeed capable of making great advances in arts and sciences; but if any credit be due to the records of history, it has not, in a people sunk in ignorance and barbarity, sufficient vigour to discover that track, or to conceive a state different from the present. If the rudest inhabitants of America and other countries have continued, as there is every reason to believe they have continued, for ages in the same unvaried state of barbarism; how is it imaginable that people so much ruder than they, as to be ignorant of all language, should think of inventing an art so difficult as that of speech, or even to frame a conception of the thing? In building, fishing, hunting, navigating, &c., they might imitate the instinctive arts of other animals, but there is no other animal that expresses its sensations and affections by arbitrary articulate sounds.—It is said that before language could be invented, mankind must have existed for ages in large political societies, and have carried on in concert some common work; but if articulate cries, and the natural visible signs of the passions and affections, were modes of communication sufficiently accurate to keep a large society together for ages, and to direct its members in the execution of some common work, what could be their inducement to the invention of an art so useless and difficult as that of language? Let us however suppose, say the advocates for the cause which we are now supporting, that different nations of savages set about inventing an art of communicating their thoughts, which experience had taught them was not absolutely necessary; how came they all, without exception, to think of the one art of articulating the voice for this purpose? Inarticulate cries, out of which language is fabricated, have indeed an intimate connexion with our passions and affections; but there are gestures and expressions of countenance with which our passions and affections are in the same manner connected. If the natural cries of passion could be so modified and enlarged as to be capable of communicating to the hearer every idea in the mind of the speaker, it is certain that the natural gestures could be so modified as to answer the very

(B) Warburton, Delaney, Johnson, Beattie, Blair, and Dr Stanhope Smith of New Jersey, &c. Language very famous purpose (see Pantomime); and it is strange that among the several nations who invented languages, not one should have stumbled upon fabricating visible signs of their ideas, but that all should have agreed to denote them by articulated sounds. Every nation whose language is narrow and rude supplies its defects by a violent gesticulation; and therefore, as much less genius is exerted in the improvement of any art than was requisite for its first invention, it is natural to suppose, that, had men been left to devise for themselves a method of communicating their thoughts, they would not have attempted any other than that by which they now improve the language transmitted by their fathers. It is vain to urge that articulate sounds are fitter for the purpose of communicating thought than visible gesticulation; for though this may be true, it is a truth which could hardly occur to savages, who had never experienced the fitness of either; and if, to counterbalance the superior fitness of articulation, its extreme difficulty be taken into view, it must appear little less than miraculous that every savage tribe should think of it rather than the easier method of artificial gesticulation. Savages, it is well known, are remarkable for their indolence, and for always preferring ease to utility; but their modes of life give such pliancy to their bodies, that they could with very little trouble bend their limbs and members into any positions agreed upon as the signs of ideas. This is so far from being the case with respect to the organs of articulation, that it is with extreme difficulty, if at all, that a man advanced in life can be taught to articulate any sound which he has not been accustomed to hear. No foreigner who comes to England after the age of thirty ever pronounces the language tolerably well; an Englishman of that age can hardly be taught to utter the guttural sound which a Scotchman gives to the Greek χ, or even the French sound of the vowel u; and of the solitary savages who have been caught in different forests, we know not that there has been one who, after the age of manhood, learned to articulate any language so as to make himself readily understood. The present age has indeed furnished many instances of deaf persons being taught to speak intelligibly by skilful masters moulding the organs of the mouth into the positions proper for articulating the voice; but who was to perform this task among the inventors of language, when all mankind were equally ignorant of the means by which articulation is effected? In a word, daily experience informs us, that men who have not learned to articulate in their childhood, never afterwards acquire the faculty of speech but by such helps as savages cannot obtain; and therefore, if speech was invented at all, it must have been either by children who were incapable of invention, or by men who were incapable of speech. A thousand, nay a million, of children could not think of inventing a language. While the organs are pliable, there is not understanding enough to frame the conception of a language; and by the time that there is understanding, the organs are become too stiff for the task, and therefore, say the advocates for the divine origin of language, reason as well as history intimates, that mankind in all ages must have been speaking animals; the young having constantly acquired this art by imitating those who were elder; and we may warrantably conclude, that our first Language parents received it by immediate inspiration.

To this account of the origin of language an objection readily offers itself. If the first language was communicated by inspiration, it must have been perfect, and held in reverence by those who spoke it, i.e., by all mankind. But a vast variety of languages have prevailed in the world; and some of these which remain are known to be very imperfect, whilst there is reason to believe that many others are lost. If different languages were originally invented by different nations, all this would naturally follow from the mixture of these nations; but what could induce men possessed of one perfect language of divine original, to forsake it for barbarous jargons of their own invention, and in every respect inferior to that with which their forefathers or themselves had been inspired?

In answer to this objection, it is said, that nothing was given by inspiration but the faculty of speech and circumstances the elements of language; for when once men had the most perfect and copious language, it is easy to conceive how they might have modified it by their natural powers, as thousands can improve what they could not invent. The first language, if given by inspiration, must in its principles have had all the perfection of which language is susceptible; but from the nature of things it could not possibly be very copious. The words of language are either proper names or the signs of ideas and relations; but it cannot be supposed that the All-wise Instructor would load the memories of men with words to denote things then unknown, or with the signs of ideas which they had not then acquired. It was sufficient that a foundation was laid of such a nature as would support the largest superstructure which they might ever after have occasion to raise upon it, and that they were taught the method of building by composition and derivation. This would long preserve the language radically the same, though it could not prevent the introduction of different dialects in the different countries over which men spread themselves. In whatever region we suppose the human race to have been originally placed, the increase of their numbers would in process of time either disperse them into different nations, or extend the one nation to a vast distance on all sides from what we may call the seat of government. In either case they would everywhere meet with new objects, which would occasion the invention of new names; and as the difference of climate and other natural causes would compel those who removed eastward or northward to adopt modes of life in many respects different from the modes of those who travelled towards the west or the south, a vast number of words would in one country be fabricated to denote complex conceptions, which must necessarily be unintelligible to the body of the people inhabiting countries where those conceptions had never been formed. Thus would various dialects be unavoidably introduced into the original language, even whilst all mankind remained in one society and under one government. But after separate and independent societies were formed, these variations would become more numerous, and the several dialects would deviate farther and farther from each other, as well as from the idiom and genius of the parent tongue, in proportion to the distance of the Language, the tribes by whom they were spoken. If we suppose a few people either to have been banished together from the society of their brethren, or to have wandered off their own accord to a distance, from which through trackless forests they could not return (and such emigrations have often taken place), it is easy to see how the most copious language must in their mouths have soon become narrow, and how the offspring of inspiration must have in time become so deformed as hardly to retain a feature of the ancestor whence it originally sprung. Men do not long retain a practical skill in those arts which they never exercise; and there are abundance of facts to prove, that a single man cast up a desert island, and having to provide the necessaries of life by his own ingenuity, would soon lose the art of speaking with fluency his mother tongue. A small number of men cast away together, would indeed retain that art somewhat longer; but in a space of time not very long, it would in a great measure be lost by them or their posterity. In this state of banishment, as their time would be almost wholly occupied in hunting, fishing, and other means within their reach to support a wretched existence, they would have very little leisure, and perhaps less desire, to preserve by conversation the remembrance of that ease and those comforts of which they now found themselves for ever deprived; and they would of course soon forget all the words which in their native language had been used to denote the accommodations and elegancies of polished life. This at least seems to be certain, that they would not attempt to teach their children a part of language which in their circumstances could be of no use to them, and of which it would be impossible to make them comprehend the meaning; for where there are no ideas, the signs of ideas cannot be made intelligible. From such colonies as this dispersed over the earth, it is probable that all those nations of savages have arisen, which have induced so many philosophers to imagine that the state of the savage was the original state of man; and if so, we see that from the language of inspiration must have unavoidably sprung a number of different dialects all extremely rude and narrow, and retaining nothing of the parent tongue, except perhaps the names of the most conspicuous objects of nature, and of those wants and enjoyments which are inseparable from humanity. The savage state has no artificial wants, and furnishes few ideas that require terms to express them. The habits of solitude and silence incline a savage rarely to speak; and when he speaks, he uses the same terms to denote different ideas. Speech therefore, in this rude condition of men, must be extremely narrow and extremely various. Every new region, and every new climate, suggests different ideas and creates different wants, which must be expressed either by terms entirely new, or by old terms used with a new signification. Hence must originate great diversity, even in the first elements of speech, among variety of all savage nations, the words retained of the original tongues language being used in various senses, and pronounced which have as we may believe, with various accents. When any of those savage tribes emerged from their barbarism, whether by their own efforts or by the aid of people more enlightened than themselves, it is obvious that the improvement and copiousness of their language would keep pace with their own progress in knowledge and in the arts of civil life; but in the infinite multitude of words which civilization and refinement add to language, it would be little less than miraculous were any two nations to agree upon the same sounds to represent the same ideas. Superior refinement, indeed, may induce imitation, conquests may impose a language, and extension of empires may melt down different nations and different dialects into one mass; but independent tribes naturally give rise to diversity of tongues, nor does it seem possible that they should retain more of the original language than the words expressive of those objects with which all men are at all times equally concerned.

The variety of tongues, therefore, the copiousness of some, and the narrowness of others, furnish no good objection to the divine origin of language in general; for whether language was at first revealed from heaven, or in a course of ages invented by men, a multitude of dialects would inevitably arise as soon as the human race was separated into a number of distinct and independent nations.—We pretend not to decide for our readers in a question of this nature: we have given the best arguments on both sides which we could either devise or find in the writings of others: and if it be seen, as we doubt not it will, that our own judgment leans to the side of revelation, let it not be hastily condemned by those whose knowledge of languages extends no farther than to Greece and Rome, and France and England; for if they will carry their philological inquiries to the east, they may perhaps be able to trace the remains of one original language through a great part of the globe at this day (c).

(c) Numberless instances of this might be given, but our limits will permit us to produce only a very few.—In the Sanscrit, or ancient language of the Gentoos, our signifies a day; (See Hallé's preface to the code of Gentoo laws). In other eastern languages, the same word was used to denote both light and fire. Thus in the Chaldee, ur is fire; in the Egyptian, or is the sun or light, (Plut. de Ojf. et Idf.) : In the Hebrew, aur is light: in the Greek, aig is the air, often light: in Latin, aura is the air, from the Æolic Greek; and in Irish it is æar. From the very same original we have the Greek word πυρ, and the English fire.—In Hebrew, or signifies to raise, lift up one's self, or be raised: hence plainly are derived the Greek σταυρος, to raise, excite, and the Latin orior to arise; whence oriens the east, and Eng. orient, oriental; also Lat. origo, and Eng. origin, originate, &c.—The word Khunt in the Shanfrit dialect, signifies a small territory, which is retained in Kowdés, Kent, Canton, Cantabria. The word Khan, kin, cean, gan, gen, cin, is of the same kind, and pervades Asia and Europe from the Ganges to the Garonne. The word light English, lught Flemish, lux Roman, and λύχνος Greek, has been traced to Egypt. Arez, arek, erch, hertha, earth, and erde, are all one word from Palestine and Chaldea to Britain and Germany.—The Chaldeans turned the Hebrew Language, whatever was its origin, must be subject to perpetual changes from its very nature, as well as from that variety of incidents which affect all sublunary things; and those changes must always correspond with the change of circumstances in the people by whom the language is spoken. When any particular set of ideas becomes prevalent among any society of men, words must be adopted to express them; and from these the language must assume its character.

Hence the language of a brave and martial people is bold and nervous, although perhaps rude and uncultivated; while the languages of those nations in which luxury and effeminacy prevail, are flowing and harmonious, but devoid of force and energy of expression.

But although it may be considered as a general rule, that the language of any people is a very exact index of the state of their minds, yet it admits of some particular exceptions. For as man is naturally an imitative animal, and in matters of this kind never has recourse to invention but through necessity, colonies planted by any nation, at whatever distance from the mother country, always retain the same general sounds and idiom of language with those from whom they are separated. In process of time, however, the colonists and the people of the mother country, by living under different climates, by being engaged in different occupations, and by adopting, of course, different modes of life, may lose all knowledge of one another, assume different national characters, and form each a distinct language to themselves, totally different in genius and style, though agreeing with one another in the fundamental sounds and general idiom. If, therefore, this particular idiom, formed before their separation, happen to be more peculiarly adapted to the genius of the mother country than of the colonies, these will labour under an inconvenience on this account, which they may never be wholly able to overcome; and this inconvenience must prevent their language from ever attaining to that degree of perfection to which, by the genius of the people, it might otherwise have been carried. Thus various languages may have been formed out of one parent tongue; and thus that happy concurrence of circumstances which has raised some languages to a high degree of perfection, may be easily accounted for, while many ineffectual efforts have been made to raise other languages to the same degree of excellence.

Vol. XI. Part II.

Hebrew word shur or shor, which signifies an ox, into thor, as likewise did the Phoenicians (See Plut. Vit. Sul.) hence the Greek tauroe, the Latin taurus, the French taureau, and the Italian and Spanish toro. The Hebrew word bit or beith, which signifies cavity, capacity, the concave or inside of any place, has spread itself far and wide, still retaining nearly the original signification; in the Persian language it is bad, bed, bhad, and signifies a house or abode. In all the dialects of the Gothic tongue, bode signifies the same thing; hence the English abide, abode, booth, boat, and the French bateau. In all these instances there is a striking resemblance in sound as well as in sense between the derived and the primitive words; but this is not always the case, even when of the legitimacy of the derivation no doubt can be entertained. It has been shown (see Boileau's Life of Johnson), that the French jour, a day, is derived from the Latin dies; but it may be certainly traced from a higher source. In many of the oriental dialects, di, bright, is a name of the sun; hence the Greek Διός, Jupiter, and the Latin Dies, a day. From Dies comes Diurnus; in the pronunciation of which, either by the inaccuracy of the speaker or of the hearer, diu is readily confounded with gin; then of the ablative of this adjective, corruptly pronounced giorno, the Italians make a substantive Giorno, which by the French is readily contracted into Giour or Jour. From the same root Di, comes Διός, ος, ον, the Eolic Διός, the Latin Divus, and the Celtic Dhuia, God. Language they are made to refer to the others with which they ought to be connected, in whatever 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 those 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 fit 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 these 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 Language, 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 diversity of one or the other method of conjugating verbs, it must found, vary in a great measure owing to one or more of the variety of 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 meaning, 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, than from the use of 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 its verbs with regard to each of these particulars,—variety of sound, variety of arrangement, and accuracy of meaning.

The first particular that we have to examine is, Diversity of 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 words amo, amabam, amaveram, amavero, amen, &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 in the last instance, more striking to the ear than the repetition of am in the former. 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 favour 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 com- Language, monly called conjugations, have the several variations of the modes, tenses, and persons, 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 on which side the preference with respect to variety of sounds must fall.

| Pono, | I put. | |-------|--------| | Dono, | I give. | | Cano, | I sing. | | Sono, | I sound. | | Orno, | I adorn. | | Pugno, | I fight. | | Lego, | I read. | | Scribo, | I write. | | Puto, | I think. | | Vivo, | I live. | | Ambulo, | I walk. |

| Moveo, | I move. | | Doleo, | I ail. | | Lugeo, | I mourn. | | Obeo, | I die. | | Gaudeo, | I rejoice. | | Incipio, | I begin. | | Facio, | I make. | | Podio, | I dig. | | Rideo, | I laugh. | | Impleo, | I fill. | | Abitineo, | I forbear. |

| Abula-bam; | I did walk, | | Move-bam; | I did move, | | Dole-bam; | I did ail, | | Luge-bam; | I did mourn, | | Obi-bam; | I did die, | | Gaude-bam; | I did rejoice, | | Incipie-bam; | I did begin, | | Facie-bam; | I did make, | | Fodie-bam; | I did dig, | | Ride-bam; | I did laugh, | | Imple-bam; | I did fill, | | Abitine-bam; | I did forbear, |

| I walked. | | I moved. | | I ailed. | | I mourned. | | I died. | | I rejoiced. | | I began. | | I made. | | I dug. | | I laughed. | | I filled. | | I forbore. |

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, and the future, in am or bo; in the subjunctive mood, the imperfect universally in rem, the perfect in erim, the pluperfect in issem, and the future in 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 to diversity of sounds, this method of conjugating verbs by inflexion, is greatly inferior to the more natural method of expressing the various connexions 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 expressions 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 conjugation by inflexion seems to be deficient. Thus the perfect of the indicative mood in Latin can at most be expressed only in two ways, viz. scribo and ego scribo; which ought perhaps in strictness to be admitted only as one; whereas, in English, we can vary it in four different ways, viz. 1st, I write; 2ndly, I do write; 3rdly, Write I do; 4thly, Write do I (d). And if we consider the further variation which these receive in power as well as in sound, by having

(d) 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 composition, 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 fagacious Shakespeare, has, on many occasions, showed how successfully these may be employed in composition, particularly in drawing the character of ancient Pistol in Henry V. Without this liberty, Butler would have found greater difficulty in drawing the inimitable character of Hudibras.—Let this apology suffice for 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. the emphasis placed on the different words; instead of four, we will find eleven different variations: thus, I write, with the emphasis upon the I;—addy, I write, with the emphasis upon the word write.

Let any one pronounce these with the different emphasis necessary, and he will be immediately satisfied that they are not only distinct from each other with respect to meaning, but also with 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.

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 written. 2. Written I might have. 3. Have written I might. 4. Written might have I. 5. I written might have. 6. Have written 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 written. 2. I might have written. 3. I might have written. 4. Might have written. 5. Written I might have. 6. Written I might have. 7. Written I might have. 8. Written I might have. 9. Have written I might. 10. Have written I might. 11. Have written I might. 12. Have written I might. 13. Written might have I. 14. Written might have I. 15. Written might have I. 16. Written might have I. 17. I written might have. 18. I written might have. 19. I written might have. 20. I written might have. 21. Have written might I. 22. Have written might I. 23. Have written might I. 24. Have written might I.

In all 24 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 written," but also, "I could, I would, or I should have written;" 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 12 to 1.—Yet even this Language-conception 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 overcome; we find, that every nation which has adopted this mode of inflection, not 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 the particular mode of construction, yet in moral certainty it 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 which the 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 Shakespeare'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 affectation, ushered in with a pompous exclamation which could not here be introduced with any degree of propriety. Whereas, in the way that Shakespeare has left it to us, it has an energy which nothing can surpass; for, overpowered with the irresistible force of Desdemona's charms, this strong exclamation is extorted 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. Language: 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 those 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 transmute 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:

Nos patriam fugimus; Tu, Tityre, lentus 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 to 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 difficulties 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 this 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 subject 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 amabo stands for shall 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 are also might, could, would, or should, Languages, 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 affluence.

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 by inflection does not afford such a diversity of sounds,—nor allow such variety in the arrangement of expression which is for the same thought,—nor give so great distinction and precision in the meaning.—It is, however, at best attended with one considerable advantage above the other method: for as the words of which it is formed are necessarily of great 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 although the comparisons we have made above 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 every small number of verbs, were conjugated in one way, having the sound of the words in each tense, and division of tenses, as we may say, different from all the other conjugations,—it would always occasion a fatigues of sound, 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 24 different ways, as has been shown 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, three distinct words at least would be necessary. However, if all this were done; that is, if there were a distinct conjugation formed for every 40 or 50 verbs;—if each of the tenses were 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 were 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? (E)—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 24 letters, the knowledge of which can be obtained with so much ease—and their powers know 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 wish 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 Language 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 aorist of 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 speak, I did write. 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 it is that we should have lost it so soon! how blind was it in 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 and transitive 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 case of these methods under the same heads as we have done nouns, the verbs, we shall 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 to give to all those included under each class the same termination in every case; which produces a like similar superiority of sound with what we already observed was occurring in the analogous languages, as 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.

(E) 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 variations 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 expression and the emphasis; he will soon be convinced that we have here said nothing more than enough. Language admits of; and even the sounds of these few classes are not so much diversified as they might 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 show 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 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 into English, we think 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 transitive 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 the 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 passive 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 Cælius, or Cælius amat Brutum, or Brutum Cælius amat, or Cælius amat Brutum. As the termination of the word Cælius 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 Brutum points out that it is in the accusative case, and consequently that he is the object upon whom 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, Cælius loved Brutus, or, by a more forced phraseology, Cælius Brutus loved: Were we to reverse the case, as in the Latin, the meaning also would be reversed; for if we say Brutus loved Cælius, it is evident, that instead of being the person beloved, as before, Brutus now becomes the person from whom the energy proceeds, and Cælius becomes the object beloved.—In this respect, therefore, the analogous languages are greatly inferior to the transitive; 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 Language, 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 accusative case different from the nominative, is somewhat surprising. The Latins, who had more occasion to attend to this with care than any other nation, and even the Greeks themselves, have in many cases overlooked it, as is evident from the various instances we meet with in their languages where this is not distinguished. For all nouns of the neuter gender both in Greek and Latin have in every declension their nominative and accusative singular alike. Nor in the plural of such nouns is there any distinction between these two cases; and in Latin all nouns whatever of the third, fourth, and fifth declensions, of which the number is very considerable, have their nominative and accusative plural alike. 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 object.

It remains that we consider, whether the inflection greatly furnishes 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 languages 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 even 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 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 sentence,—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, substantives, must tend still more to increase the familiarity 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 substantive, this must have occasioned such a jingle of similar sounds as could not fail 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 substantives; 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 substantive any adjective has a reference, in whatever part of the sentence it may be used. 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.

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, Language, 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 is 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 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. Longounding words, formed by the imitation of the different parts of speech,—flowing periods, in which the attention is kept awake by the harmony of the sounds, and in 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 our thoughts with ease and facility—we are tired with every unnecessary syllable—and with to be freed from 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. Accordingly, in Terence and Plautus, where the beauties of dialogue are most charmingly displayed, transposition is sparingly used. In this humble, though most engaging sphere, the analogous language moves unrivalled; in this it wishes to indulge, and never tires. But in vain attempts to rival the transpositive in dignity and pomp: The number of monosyllables interrupts 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 Language, 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 the 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 those 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 considerable 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 perfect soever 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 Caesar 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 which this must unavoidably 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 languages which are now chiefly spoken or studied 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 connexion 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 have contributed to render their language the most universally admired in ancient as well as in modern times.

It has been already observed, that the original inhabitants of Greece who were grots savages, and whose language of course would be very rude and narrow, were of Greek language, originally tamed by the Pelasgi, an eastern or Egyptian tribe. From the east it is well known that arts and sciences were spread over the rest of the world, and that Egypt was one of the countries first civilized. The language, therefore, imported into Greece by the Pelasgi would be pure from the fountain head, and much more perfect in its structure than if it had been transmitted through many nations. But this was not the only circumstance highly fortunate for the Greek language. Before it had time to be fully established among the people, its affinities, which it had in common with the other dialects of the east, were polished away by such a succession of poets, musicians, philosophers and legislators, from different countries, as never appeared in any other nation at a period so early as to give their genius and taste its full influence. In this respect, no people were ever so eminently distinguished as the ancient Greeks, who had their Orpheus, their Linus, their Cecrops, and their Cadmus, who introduced their different improvements at a time when the nation had no standard of taste formed by itself. Hence the original sounds of the Greek language are the most harmonious, and the most agreeable to the ear, of any that have hitherto been invented. They are indeed agreeable to every person who hears them, even when the meaning of the word is not understood; whereas almost all other languages, till they are understood, appear, to an ear which has not been accustomed to them, jarring and discordant. This is the fundamental excellence of that justly admired language: nor have the people failed to improve this to the utmost of their power, by many aids of their own invention. The Greek language is of the transpositive kind: but a people so lively, so acute, and so loquacious, could ill bear the ceremonious restraint to which that mode of language naturally subjected them: and have therefore, by various methods, freed it in a great measure from the stiffness which that produced. In inflecting their nouns and verbs, they sometimes prefix a syllable, and sometimes add one; which, besides the variety that it gives to the sounds of the language, adds greatly to the distinctions, and admits of a more natural arrangement of the words than in the Latin, and of consequence renders it much fitter for the easiness of private conversation: and indeed the genius of the people so far prevailed over the idiom of the language, as to render it, in the age of its greatest perfection, capable of almost as much ease, and requiring almost as little transposition of words, as those languages which have been called analogous. But as those nations who spoke this language were all governed by popular assemblies, and as no authority could be obtained among them but by a skill in rhetoric and the powers of persuasion; it became became necessary for every one, who wished to acquire power or consideration in the state, to improve himself in the knowledge of that language; in the use of which alone he could expect honours or reputation. Hence it happened, that while the vivacity of the people rendered it easy, the great men studiously improved every excellence that it could reap from its powers as a transpositive language; so that, when brought to its utmost perfection by the amazing genius of the great Demosthenes, it attained a power altogether unknown to any other language.—Thus happily circumstanced, the Greek language arrived at that envied pre-eminence which it still justly retains. From the progress of arts and sciences; from the gaiety and inventive genius of the people; from the number of free states into which Greece was divided, each of which invented words of its own, all of which contributed to the general stock; and from the natural communication which took place between these states, which excited in the strongest degree the talents of the people; it acquired a copiousness unknown to any ancient language, and excelled by few of the moderns.—In point of harmony of numbers, it is altogether unrivalled; and on account of the ease as well as dignity which, from the causes above mentioned, it acquired, it admits of perfection in a greater number of particular kinds of composition than any other language known.

—The irresistible force and overwhelming impetuosity of Demosthenes seem 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 agreeable to the genius of the language in which he wrote, than the more humble strains of Theocritus, or the laughing fertility 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 emphasis properly varied has power to give, 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 on literature or the fine arts, bestowed little attention to their language. Of a disposition less social or 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 uncourteous 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 their 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 ensured them success with the virtuous senate, amused the mob with artful and seditious 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 insidious 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 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 haranguing 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 flatly not be carried dignity and pomp necessary for public harangues, they tried to follow 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: whence the language spoken among the lower classes of people remained rude and unpolished even to the end of the monarchy. The Huns 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 depopulated 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 that of 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 is such as to admit of full and distinct sounds, and the words are 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 delightful 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 pleasant 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 the 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 adopt 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 too common in literary subjects, has been usually called a child of the Latin language, and is commonly believed to be the ancient Latin, a little debauched by the mixture of the barbarous language of those people who conquered Italy. The truth is, the case is directly the reverse: for this language, in its general idiom and fundamental principles, is evidently of the analogous kind, first introduced by those 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 they could scarcely be avoided; and it has been from remarking this slight connexion, so obvious at first sight, that superficial observers have been led to draw this general conclusion, contrary to fact.

When Italy was overrun by 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 fertility of studying a language so clogged with rules, and difficult of attainment, as the Latin would naturally 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 would 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 it behoved the language of the barbarians to be much less copious than the Latin, whenever Language, 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 become 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 by 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 in 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 at this juncture should 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 languages, sons of sloth, were banished their language; while sonorous vowels, which could be prolonged to any length in music, were substituted in their stead.—Thus the Italian language is formed flowing and harmonious though but destitute of those nerves which constitute the flowing and strength and vigour of a language: at the same time, harmonious, 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 species of small pleasure which this affords is still lessened by the composition of the words occasions. Hence it happens that the 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 Italian, yet they labour under great inconveniences from the language wanting nerves and stateliness for the former, and sufficient variety of modulation for the latter. It is, more particularly, in this account, altogether unfit for an epic poem: and though 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 fame 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 and 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, being perfectly adapted to express that soothing melancholy which this species of poetry requires. On this account the plaintive scenes 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 showed 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 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 Language: 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 envious 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 gave 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 known 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, as we imagine, possible to represent so 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 or style deserves to be transmitted to posterity. And in any other species of poetry but this, or the higher tragedy, it is 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 might 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 necessarily 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 this poor deviation from prose has been adopted by it, and dignified with the name of Poetry. But by their blind attachment to this artifice, the French have neglected to improve, so much as they might have done, the small powers for harmony of which their language is possessed; and by being long accustomed to this false taste, they 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 sake of linking his lines together, the judicious actor finds more difficulty in destroying the appearance of that measure, and preventing the clinking of the rhymes, 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 shown to his countrymen the only species of poetry that their language could admit of for any poem which aspired to the dignity of the epic strain.—Madam Delhoulier, in her Idylle, has shown the utmost extent of harmony to which their language can attain in smaller poems: indeed in the tenderness of an elegy, or the gaiety of a song, it may succeed; but it is so defective of force and energy, that it can never be able to reach the pindaric, or even perhaps the lyric strain,—as the ineffectual 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 powers 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 of 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 poetic harmony, and so much cramped in sound as to be absolutely unfit for almost every species of musical composition (f); 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 excel in those superficial accomplishments which engage the attention of the fair sex, has 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 in 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 to 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 the 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 remains 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. On these 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 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 amongst 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 sounds 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 in any other language whatever. Hence it is more peculiarly adapted for the great and interesting scenes of the drama than any language that has yet appeared on 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 unrivalled 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 language 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, it has deviated less 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 connexion 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 still retain the primitive simplicity of our language.

(f) 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 assumes are in unison 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 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 is lost in fugues, quavers, and unnecessary repetition of particular syllables,—all languages are nearly fitted for it; and among these the French; nor is it less 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. Language. 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 with which this mode of construction is necessarily accompanied, 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 in 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 the 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 to the softer intimations 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 found, 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 diminish the prevalence of this disagreeable 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 house formerly, we now say houses. 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 forms of loves, moves, writes, walks, &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 not the smallest doubt but the language of Bacon or Sidney 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 with regard to pleasingness of sound, 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 with the perspicuity and graceful elegance the emphasis bestows upon it, make 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: 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 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 Language—every other modern language labours under great re- straints 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 quan- tity, and is possessed of every other poetic 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 super- added, which is the cause of great variety and more forcible expression in numbers than all the rest; that is, the unlimited power given by the emphasis over quantity and cadence; by means whereof, a necessary union between sound and sense, numbers and meaning, in versification, unknown to the ancients, has been brought about, which gives our language in this re- spect a superiority over all those justly admired lan- guages. But as we cannot here further pursue this subject, we shall only observe, that these great and distinguishing excellencies far more than counterbal- ance the inconveniences that we have already men- tioned: and although, in mere pleasantness 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, intui- tive distinctness, nervous energy of expression, uncon- strained 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 foot- ing melancholy fixes the sober mind to silent contem- plation;—more tender still than these, the amiable Shenstone 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 Shakespeare 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 Mel- pomene;—his rivals, far behind, look up, and envy him for these unfading glories; and the astonished na- tions round, with distant awe, behold and tremble at his daring flight.—Thus the language, equally obe- dient to all, bends with ease under their hands, what- ever form they would have it assume; and, like the yielding wax, readily receives, and faithfully transmits to posterity, those impressions which they have stamp- ed 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 circum- stanced than any that has ever yet appeared.—It is the language of a great and powerful nation, whose seats 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 many of the other languages in Europe. In it are written more perfect treaties on every art and science than are to be found in any other language;—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 suf- ficiently obvious from the models of perfection in al- most 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 al- most 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 al- together 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 ex- posed to every blast, and unprotected from every vio- lence; it still beareth up under all these inconveniences, and shoots up with a robust healthiness and wild luxu- riance 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 ob- stacle which now buries it under thick shades, and hides it from the view of every passenger, 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 with what additional vigour it would flourish, or what amazing magnitude and perfection it might at last attain!—How would the astonished world behold, with reverential awe, the majestic grace- fulness of that object which they so lately despised!

Beauty of Language considered in regard to Composi- tion. The beauties of language may be divided into three classes: 1. Those which arise from sound; 2. Those which respect significance; 3. Those derived from a resemblance between sound and signification.

I. With respect to sound. In a cursory view, you Elements of would imagine, that the agreeableness or disagreeable-Criticism. ness of a word with respect to sound, should depend upon the agreeableness or disagreeableness of its com- ponent syllables: which is true in part, but not enti- rely: for we must also take under consideration the effect of syllables in succession. In the first place, Syllables in immediate succession, pronounced each of them with the same, or nearly the same, aperture of the mouth, produce a succession of weak and feeble sounds; witness the French words dit il, pathétique: on the other hand, a syllable of the greatest aperture suc- ceeding one of the smallest, or the contrary, makes a succession which, because of its remarkable disa- greeableness, is distinguished by a proper name, viz. hiatus. The most agreeable succession is, where the cavity is increased and diminished alternately, within moderate limits: examples, Alternative, longevity, pu- llanious. Secondly, words consisting wholly of sylla- bles pronounced slow, or of syllables pronounced quick, commonly called long and short syllables, have little melody in them; witness the words petitioner, fruiterer, dissimilis; on the other hand, the intermix- ture of long and short syllables is remarkably agree- Language. able; for example, degree, repent, wonderful, altitude, rapidity, independent, impetuosity; the cause of which is explained in POETRY, Part II.

To proceed to the music of periods. As the arrangement of words in succession, so as to afford the greatest pleasure to the ear, depends on principles remote from common view, it will be necessary to premise some general observations upon the appearance that objects make when placed in an increasing or decreasing series; which appearance will vary according to the prevalence of resemblance or of contrast. Where the objects vary by small differences so as to have a mutual resemblance, we in ascending conceive the second object of no greater size than the first, the third of no greater size than the second, and so of the rest, which diminisheth in appearance the size of every object except the first: but when beginning at the greatest object, we proceed gradually to the least, resemblance makes us imagine the second as great as the first, and the third as great as the second; which in appearance magnifies every object except the first. On the other hand, in a series varying by large differences, where contrast prevails, the effects are directly opposite: a great object succeeding a final one of the same kind, appears greater than usual; and a little object succeeding one that is great, appears less than usual*. Hence a remarkable pleasure in viewing a series ascending by large differences; directly opposite to what we feel when the differences are small. The least object of a series ascending by large differences has the same effect upon the mind as if it stood single without making a part of the series: but the second object, by means of contrast, appears greater than when viewed singly and apart; and the effect is perceived in ascending progressively, till we arrive at the last object. The opposite effect is produced in descending; for in this direction, every object, except the first, appears less than when viewed separately and independent of the series. We may then assume as a maxim, which will hold in the composition of language as well as of other subjects, That a strong impulse succeeding a weak, makes a double impression on the mind; and that a weak impulse succeeding a strong, makes scarce any impression.

After establishing this maxim, we can be at no loss about its application to the subject in hand. The following rule is laid down by Diomedes f. "In verbis obfervandum est, ne a majoribus ad minora descendat oratio; melius enim dicitur, Vir eft optimus, quam, Vir optimus eft." This rule is also applicable to entire members of a period, which, according to our author's expression, ought not, more than single words, to proceed from the greater to the least, but from the least to the greater. In arranging the members of a period, no writer equals Cicero: The following examples are too beautiful to be flurred over by a reference.

Quicum quæstor fueram, Quicum me fors consuetudoque majorum, Quicum deorum hominumque judicium conjuxerat.

Again:

Habet honorem quem petimus, Habet spem quam praepositam nobis habemus,

Vol. XI. Part II.

Habet exsiftimationem, multo sudore, labore, vigili Language. Ilifque, colletam.

Again:

Eripite nos ex miseria, Eripite nos ex faucibus eorum, Quorum crudelitas nostrum sanguine non pateat expleri.

De Oratore, lib. i. § 52.

This order of words or members gradually increasing in length, may, so far as concerns the pleasure of sound, be denominated a climax in sound.

With respect to the music of periods as united in a discourse, this depends chiefly on variety. Hence a rule for arranging the members of different periods with relation to each other; That to avoid a tedious uniformity of sound and cadence, the arrangement, the cadence, and the length of the members, ought to be diversified as much as possible: and if the members of different periods be sufficiently diversified, the periods themselves will be equally so.

II. With respect to signification. The beauties of language with respect to signification, may not improperly be distinguished into two kinds: first, the beauties that arise from a right choice of words or materials for constructing the period; and next, the beauties that arise from a due arrangement of these words or materials.

1. Communication of thought being the chief end of language, it is a rule, That perspicuity ought not to be sacrificed to any other beauty whatever. Nothing, therefore, in language ought more to be studied, than to prevent all obscurity in the expression; for to have no meaning, is but one degree worse than to have a meaning that is not understood. We shall here give a few examples where the obscurity arises from a wrong choice of words.

Livy, speaking of a rout after a battle, "Multique in ruina majore quam fuga oppressi obtruncati." This author is frequently obscure by expressing but part of his thought, leaving it to be completed by his reader. His description of the sea fight, lib. 28, cap. 30, is extremely perplexed.

Unde tibi reditum certo subtemine Parcae Rupere.

Horat.

Qui perspe cava testudine flevit amorem, Non elaboratum ad pedem.

Id.

Me fabulosæ Vulture in Appulo, Altrici extra limen Apuliae, Ludo, fatigatusque somno, Fronde nova puerum palumbes Texere.

Id.

Puræ rivus aquæ, ilvaque jugerum Paucorum, et legatis certa fluebile, Fulgen em imperio fertilis Africae Fulli forte teator.

Id.

Cum fas atque nefas exiguo fine libidinum Dilcernunt avidi

Id.

Ac spem fronte ferent.

Virg.

The rule next in order is, That the language ought Language, to correspond to the subject: heroic actions or sentiments require elevated language; tender sentiments ought to be expressed in words soft and flowing; and plain language, void of ornament, is adapted to subjects grave and didactic. Language may be considered as the dyes of thought; and where the one is not suited to the other, we are sensible of incongruity, in the same manner as where a judge is dressed like a fop, or a peasant like a man of quality. Where the impression made by the words resembles the impression made by the thought, the similar emotions mix sweetly in the mind, and double the pleasure; but where the impressions made by the thought and the words are dissimilar, the unnatural union they are forced into is disagreeable.

This concordance between the thought and the word has been observed by every critic, and is so well understood as not to require any illustration. But there is a concordance of a peculiar kind that has scarcely been touched in works of criticism, though it contributes to neatness of composition. It is what follows.

In a thought of any extent we commonly find some parts intimately united, some slightly, some disjointed, and some directly opposite to each other. To find these conjunctions and disjunctions imitated in the expression, is a beauty; because such imitation makes the words concordant with the sense. This doctrine may be illustrated by a familiar example: When we have occasion to mention the intimate connexion that the soul hath with the body, the expression ought to be, the soul and body; because the article the, relative to both, makes a connexion in the expression, resembling in some degree the connexion in the thought; but when the soul is distinguished from the body, it is better to say the soul and the body; because the disjunction in the words resembles the disjunction in the thought. We proceed to other examples, beginning with conjunctions.

"Constituit agmen; et expedita tela animoque, equitibus justis," &c. Livy, lib. 38. § 25. Here the words that express the connected ideas are artificially connected by subjecting them both to the regimen of one verb. And the two following are of the same kind.

"Quum ex paucis quotidianis aliqui eorum cadent aut vulnerarentur, et qui superarent, fessi et corporibus et animis effient," &c. Ibid. § 29.

Post acer Mæstheus adducto constitit arcu, Alta petens, pariterque oculos telumque tendet.

Æneid, v. 507.

But to justify this artificial connexion among the words, the ideas they express ought to be intimately connected; for otherwise that concordance which is required between the sense and the expression will be impaired. In that view, the following passage from Tacitus is exceptionable; where words that signify ideas very little connected, are however forced into an artificial union. "Germania omnis a Gallis, Rhaetique, et Pannonis, Rheno et Danubio fluminibus; a Sarmatis Dacique, mutuo metu aut montibus separatur."

Upon the same account, the following passage seems equally exceptionable.

The fiend look'd up, and knew His mounted scale aloft; nor more, but fled Murm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.

Paradise Lost, book iv. at the end.

There is no natural connection between a person's flying or retiring, and the succession of daylight to darkness; and therefore to connect artificially the terms that signify these things cannot have a sweet effect.

Two members of a thought connected by their relation to the same action, will naturally be expressed by two members of the period governed by the same verb; in which case these members, in order to improve their connection, ought to be constructed in the same manner. This beauty is so common among good writers as to have been little attended to; but the neglect of it is remarkably disagreeable: for example, "He did not mention Leonora, nor that her father was dead." Better thus: "He did not mention Leonora, nor her father's death."

Where two ideas are so connected as to require but a copulative, it is pleasant to find a connexion in the words that express these ideas, were it even so slight as where both begin with the same letter. Thus,

"The peacock, in all his pride, does not display half the colour that appears in the garments of a British lady, when she is either dressed for a ball or a birthday." Spec.

"Had not my dog of a steward run away as he did, without making up his accounts, I had still been immersed in fin and tea-coal." Ib.

My life's companion, and my bosom friend, One faith, one fame, one fate shall both attend.

Dryden, Translation of Æneid.

Next, as to examples of disjunction and opposition in the parts of the thought, imitated in the expression; an imitation that is distinguished by the name of antithesis.

Speaking of Coriolanus soliciting the people to be made confid:

With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.

Coriolanus.

"Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all free men?"

Julius Cæsar.

He hath cool'd my friends and heated mine enemies.

Shakespeare.

An artificial connection among the words, is undoubtedly a beauty when it represents any peculiar connection among the constituent parts of the thought; but where there is no such connection, it is a positive deformity, because it makes a discordance between the thought and expression. For the same reason, we ought also to avoid every artificial opposition of words where there is none in the thought. This last, termed verbal antithesis, is studied by low writers, because of a certain degree of liveliness in it. They do not consider how incongruous it is, in a grave composition, to cheat the reader, and to make him expect a contrast in the thought, which upon examination is not found there. A fault directly opposite to the last mentioned, is to conjoin artificially words that express ideas opposed to each other. This is a fault too gross to be in common practice; and yet writers are guilty of it in some degree, when they conjoin by a copulative things transferred at different periods of time. Hence a want of neatness in the following expression: "The nobility too, whom the king had no means of retaining by suitable offices and preferments, had been seized with the general discontent, and unwarily threw themselves into the scale which began already too much to preponderate." Hume. In periods of this kind, it appears more neat to express the past time by the participle passive, thus: "The nobility having been seized with the general discontent, unwarily threw themselves," &c., or, "The nobility, who had been seized, &c. unwarily threw themselves," &c.

It is unpleasant to find even a negative and affirmative proposition connected by a copulative:

If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you.

SHAKESPEARE,

In mirth and drollery it may have a good effect to connect verbally things that are opposite to each other in the thought. Example: Henry IV. of France introducing the maréchal Biron to some of his friends, "Here, gentlemen (says he) is the maréchal Biron, whom I freely present both to my friends and enemies."

This rule of studying uniformity between the thought and expression may be extended to the construction of sentences or periods. A sentence or period ought to express one entire thought or mental proposition; and different thoughts ought to be separated in the expression by placing them in different sentences or periods. It is therefore offending against neatness, to crowd into one period entire thoughts requiring more than one; which is joining in language things that are separated in reality. Of errors against this rule take the following examples:

"Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea pleasant: also our bed is green."

Burnet, in the history of his own times, giving Lord Sunderland's character, says: "His own notions were always good; but he was a man of great experience."

"I have seen a woman's face break out in heats, as she has been talking against a great lord, whom she had never seen in her life; and indeed never knew a party-woman that kept her beauty for a twelvemonth."

Lord Bolingbroke, speaking of Strada: "I single him out among the moderns, because he had the foolish presumption to censure Tacitus, and to write history himself; and your lordship will forgive this short excursion in honour of a favourite writer."

To crowd into a single member of a period different subjects, is still worse than to crowd them into one period.

Trojam genitore Adamasto Paupere (manifeste utinam fortuna!) proiectus. Ened iii. 614.

From conjunctions and disjunctions in general, we proceed to comparisons, which make one species of Language, them, beginning with similes. And here also, the intimate connection that words have with their meaning requires, that in describing two resembling objects, a resemblance in the two members of the period ought to be studied. To begin with examples of resemblances expressed in words that have no resemblance.

"I have observed of late, the style of some great ministers very much to exceed that of any other productions," Swift. This, instead of studying the resemblance of words in a period that expresses a comparison, is going out of one's road to avoid it. Instead of productions, which resemble not ministers great nor small, the proper word is writers or authors.

"I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so currently with other judgments must at some time or other have stuck a little with your lordship." Shaftesbury. Better thus: "I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so currently with others, must at some time or other have stuck a little with your lordship."

"A glutton or mere sensualist is as ridiculous as the other two characters." Id.

"They wisely prefer the generous efforts of good will and affection, to the reluctant compliances of such as obey by force." Bolingbroke.

It is a still greater deviation from congruity, to affect not only variety in the words, but also in the construction.

Hume speaking of Shakespeare: "There may remain a suspicion that we overrate the greatness of his genius, in the same manner as bodies appear more gigantic on account of their being disproportioned and misshapen." This is studying variety in a period where the beauty lies in uniformity. Better thus: "There may remain a suspicion that we overrate the greatness of his genius, in the same manner as we overrate the greatness of bodies that are disproportioned and misshapen."

Next of comparison where things are opposed to each other. And here it must be obvious, that if resemblance ought to be studied in the words which express two resembling objects, there is equal reason for studying opposition in the words which express contrasted objects. This rule will be best illustrated by examples of deviations from it.

"A friend exaggerates a man's virtues; an enemy inflames his crimes." Speck. Here the opposition in the thought is neglected in the words; which at first view seem to import, that the friend and enemy are employed in different matters, without any relation to each other, whether of resemblance or of opposition. And therefore the contrast or opposition will be better marked by expressing the thought as follows: "A friend exaggerates a man's virtues, an enemy his crimes."

"The wife man is happy when he gains his own approbation; the fool when he recommends himself to the applause of those about him." Ib. Better: "The wife man is happy when he gains his own approbation, the fool when he gains that of others."

We proceed to a rule of a different kind. During the course of a period, the scene ought to be continued without variation: the changing from person to person, Language, from subject to subject, or from person to subject, within the bounds of a single period, distracts the mind, and affords no time for a solid impression.

Hook, in his Roman history, speaking of Eumenes, who had been beat to the ground with a stone, says,

"After a short time he came to himself; and the next day they put him on board his ship, which conveyed him first to Corinth, and thence to the island of Ægina."

The following period is unpleasant, even by a very slight deviation from the rule: "That fort of instruction which is acquired by inculcating an important moral truth," &c. This expression includes two persons, one acquiring, and one inculcating; and the scene is changed without necessity. To avoid this blemish, the thought may be expressed thus: "That fort of instruction which is afforded by inculcating," &c.

The bad effect of such a change of person is remarkable in the following passage: "The Britons, daily harassed by cruel incursions from the Picts, were forced to call in the Saxons for their defence, who consequently reduced the greatest part of the island to their own power, drove the Britons into the most remote and mountainous parts, and the rest of the country, in customs, religion, and language, became wholly Saxon." Swift.

The following passage has a change from subject to person: "This profusion of praise is not only a deceit upon the grols of mankind, who take their notion of characters from the learned; but also the better fort must by this means lose some part at least of that desire of fame which is the incentive to generous actions, when they find it promiscuously bestowed on the meritorious and undeferring." Guardian, No. 4.

The present head, which relates to the choice of materials, shall be closed with a rule concerning the use of copulatives. Longinus observes, that it animates a period to drop the copulatives; and he gives the following example from Xenophon: "Clothing their shields together, they were pushed, they fought, they flew, they were slain." The reason may be what follows.

A continued sound, if not loud, tends to lay us asleep; an interrupted sound rouzes and animates by its repeated impulses: thus feet composed of syllables, being pronounced with a sensible interval between each, make more lively impressions than can be made by a continued sound. A period of which the members are connected by copulatives, produces an effect upon the mind approaching to that of a continued sound; and therefore the suppressing copulatives must animate a description. It produces a different effect akin to that mentioned: the members of a period connected by proper copulatives, glide smoothly and gently along; and are a proof of sedateness and leisure in the speaker: on the other hand, one in the hurry of passion, neglecting copulatives and other particles, expresses the principal image only; and for that reason, hurry or quick action is best expressed without copulatives:

Veni, vidi, vici.

Ita: Ferte citi flammae, date vela, impellite remos.

Æneid, iv. 593.

Quis globus, O cives, caligine volvitur atra? Ferte citi ferrum, date tela, scandite muros. Hoffis adeit, eja.

Æneid, ix. 37.

In this view Longinus justly compares copulatives in a period to strait tying, which in a race obstructs the freedom of motion.

It follows, that a plurality of copulatives in the same period ought to be avoided; for if the laying aside copulatives give force and liveliness, a redundancy of them must render the period languid. The following instance may be appealed to, though there are but two copulatives: "Upon looking over the letters of my female correspondents, I find several from women complaining of jealous husbands; and at the same time protesting their own innocence, and defying my advice upon this occasion." Spect.

Where the words are intended to express the coldness of the speaker, there indeed the redundancy of copulatives is a beauty:

"Dining one day at an alderman's in the city, Peter observed him expatiating after the manner of his breed, therein in the praises of his turloin of beef. 'Beef' (laid the lage magistrate) is the king of meat: beef comprehends in it the quintessence of partridge, and quail, and venison, and pheasant, and plum pudding, and custard." Tale of a Tub, § 4. And the author shows great delicacy of taste by varying the expression in the mouth of Peter, who is represented more animated: "Bread (says he), dear brothers, is the staff of life; in which bread is contained, inclusive, the quintessence of beef, mutton, veal, venison, partridge, plum pudding, and custard."

Another case must also be excepted. Copulatives have a good effect where the intention is to give an impression of a great multitude consisting of many divisions, for example: "The army was composed of Grecians, and Carians, and Lycians, and Pamphylians, and Phrygians." The reason is, that a leisurely survey, which is expressed by the copulatives, makes the parts appear more numerous than they would do by a hasty survey: in the latter case, the army appears in one group; in the former, we take it as were an accurate survey of each nation, and of each division.

2. To pave the way for the rules of arrangement, it will here be necessary to explain the difference between a natural style and that where transposition or inversion prevails. In a natural style, relative words are by juxtaposition connected with those to which they relate, going before or after, according to the peculiar genius of the language. Again, a circumstance connected by a preposition, follows naturally the word with which it is connected. But this arrangement may be varied, when a different order is more beautiful: a circumstance may be placed before the word with which it is connected by a preposition; and may be interjected even between a relative word and that to which it relates. When such liberties are frequently taken, the style becomes inverted or transposed.

But as the liberty of inversion is a capital point in the present subject, it will be necessary to examine it more narrowly, and in particular to trace the several degrees in which an inverted style recedes more and more from that which is natural. And first, as to the placing Language, placing a circumstance before the word with which it is connected, this is the easiest of all inversion, even so easy as to be consistent with a style that is properly termed natural; witness the following examples.

"In the sincerity of my heart, I profess," &c.

"By our own ill management, we are brought to follow an ebb of wealth and credit, that," &c.

"On Thursday morning there was little or nothing transacted in Change-alley."

"At St Bride's church in Fleetstreet, Mr Woolston (who wrote against the miracles of our Saviour), in the utmost terrors of conscience, made a public recantation."

The interjecting a circumstance between a relative word and that to which it relates, is more properly termed inversion; because, by a disjunction of words intimately connected, it recedes farther from a natural style. But this license has degrees; for the disjunction is more violent in some cases than in others.

In nature, though a subject cannot exist without its qualities, nor a quality without a subject; yet in our conception of these, a material difference may be remarked. We cannot conceive a quality but as belonging to some subject; it makes indeed a part of the idea which is formed of the subject. But the opposite holds not; for though we cannot form a conception of a subject void of all qualities, a partial conception may be formed of it, abstracting from any particular quality: we can, for example, form the idea of a fine Arabian horse without regard to his colour, or of a white horse without regard to his size. Such partial conception of a subject is still more easy with respect to action or motion, which is an occasional attribute only, and has not the same permanency with colour or figure: we cannot form an idea of motion independent of a body; but there is nothing more easy than to form an idea of a body at rest. Hence it appears, that the degree of inversion depends greatly on the order in which the related words are placed: when a substantive occupies the first place, the idea it suggests must subside in the mind at least for a moment, independent of the relative words afterward introduced; and that moment may without difficulty be prolonged by interjecting a circumstance between the substantive and its connections. This liberty therefore, however frequent, will scarce alone be sufficient to denominate a style inverted. The case is very different, where the word that occupies the first place denotes a quality or an action; for as these cannot be conceived without a subject, they cannot without greater violence be separated from the subject that follows; and for that reason, every such separation by means of an interjected circumstance belongs to an inverted style.

To illustrate this doctrine, examples are necessary. In the following, the word first introduced does not imply a relation:

Nor Eve to iterate Her former trepans fear'd.

Hunger and thirst at once, Powerful persuaders, quicken'd at the scent Of that alluring fruit, urg'd me so keen.

Moon that now meet'st the orient sun, now flit With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies, And ye five other wand'ring fires that move

In mystic dance, not without song, refound His praise.

Where the word first introduced imports a relation, the disjunction will be found more violent:

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

Upon the firm opacous globe Of this round world, whose first convex divides The luminous inferior orbs enclos'd From chaos and th' uproad of darkness old, Satan alighted walks.

On a sudden open fly, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th' infernal doors.

Wherein remain'd, For what could else? to our almighty foe Clear victory, to our part los's and rout.

Language would have no great power, were it confined to the natural order of ideas: By inversion a thousand beauties may be compassed, which must be relinquished in a natural arrangement.

Rules. 1. In the arrangement of a period, as well as in a right choice of words, the first and great object being perspicuity, the rule above laid down, that perspicuity ought not to be sacrificed to any other beauty, holds equally in both. Ambiguities occasioned by a wrong arrangement are of two sorts; the one where the arrangement leads to a wrong sense, and the other where the sense is left doubtful. The first, being the more culpable, shall take the lead, beginning with examples of words put in a wrong place.

"How much the imagination of such a presence must exalt a genius, we may observe merely from the influence which an ordinary presence has over men." Shafieb. The arrangement leads to a wrong sense: the adverb merely seems by its position to affect the preceding word; whereas it is intended to affect the following words, an ordinary presence; and therefore the arrangement ought to be thus: "How much the imagination of such a presence must exalt a genius, we may observe from the influence which an ordinary presence merely has over men." [Or better], "which even an ordinary presence has over men."

"Sixtus the Fourth was, if I mistake not, a great collector of books at least." Boling. The expression here leads evidently to a wrong sense; the adverb at least, ought not to be connected with the substantive book, but with collector, thus: "Sixtus the Fourth was a great collector at least, of books."

Speaking of Louis XIV. "If he was not the greatest king, he was the best actor of majesty at least that ever filled a throne." Id. Better thus: "If he was not the greatest king, he was at least the best actor of majesty," &c. This arrangement removes the wrong sense occasioned by the juxtaposition of majesty and at least. The following examples are of a wrong arrangement of members.

"I have confined myself to those methods for the advancement of piety, which are in the power of a prince limited like ours by a strict execution of the laws." Swift. The structure of this period leads to a meaning which is not the author's, viz. power limited by a strict execution of the laws. That wrong sense is removed by the following arrangement: "I have confined myself to those methods for the advancement of piety, which, by a strict execution of the laws, are in the power of a prince limited like ours."

"This morning, when one of Lady Lizard's daughters was looking over some hoods and ribbons brought by her tirewoman, with great care and diligence, I employed no less in examining the box which contained them." Guardian. The wrong sense occasioned by this arrangement, may be easily prevented by varying it thus: "This morning, when, with great care and diligence, one of Lady Lizard's daughters was looking over some hoods and ribbons," &c.

"A great stone that I happened to find after a long search by the sea shore, served me for an anchor." Swift. One would think that the search was confined to the sea shore; but as the meaning is, that the great stone was found by the sea shore, the period ought to be arranged thus: "A great stone that, after a long search, I happened to find by the sea shore, served me for an anchor."

Next of a wrong arrangement where the sense is left doubtful; beginning, as in the former fort, with examples of a wrong arrangement of words in a member.

"These forms of conversation by degrees multiplied and grew troublesome." Spec. Here it is left doubtful whether the modification by degrees relates to the preceding member or to what follows: it should be, "These forms of conversation multiplied by degrees."

"Nor does this false modesty expose us only to such actions as are indifferent, but very often to such as are highly criminal." Spec. The ambiguity is removed by the following arrangement: "Nor does this false modesty expose us to such actions only as are indifferent," &c.

"The empire of Blefuscu is an island situated to the north-east side of Lilliput, from whence it is parted only by a channel of 800 yards wide." Swift. The ambiguity may be removed thus:

"from whence it is parted by a channel of 800 yards wide only."

In the following examples the sense is left doubtful by wrong arrangement of members.

The minister who grows less by his elevation, like a little statue placed on a mighty pedestal, will always have his jealousy strong about him." Bolingb. Here, so far as can be gathered from the arrangement, it is doubtful, whether the object introduced by way of simile relates to what goes before or to what follows. The ambiguity is removed by the following arrangement:

"The minister who, like a little statue placed on a mighty pedestal, grows less by his elevation, will always," &c.

Speaking of the superstitious practice of locking up the room where a person of distinction dies: "The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, upon the death of his mother, ordered all the apartments to be flung open, and exorcised by his chaplain." Spec. Better thus: "The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, ordered, upon the death of his mother, all the apartments to be flung open.

Speaking of some indecencies in conversation: "As it is impossible for such an irrational way of conversation to last long among a people that make any profession of religion, or show of modesty, if the country gentlemen get into it, they will certainly be left in the lurch." Ib. The ambiguity vanishes in the following arrangement:

"the country gentlemen, if they get into it, will certainly be left in the lurch."

"And since it is necessary that there should be a perpetual intercourse of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, where fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no law to punish it, the honest dealer is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage." Swift. Better thus: "And since it is necessary that there should be a perpetual intercourse of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, the honest dealer, where fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no law to punish it, is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage."

From these examples, the following observation will occur: That a circumstance ought never to be placed between two capital members of a period; for by such situation it must always be doubtful, so far as we gather from the arrangement, to which of the two members it belongs: where it is interjected, as it ought to be, between parts of the member to which it belongs, the ambiguity is removed, and the capital members are kept distinct, which is a great beauty in composition. In general, to preserve members distinct that signify things distinguished in the thought, the best method is, to place first in the consequent member, some word that cannot connect with what precedes it.

If it shall be thought, that the objections here are too scrupulous, and that the defect of perspicuity is easily supplied by accurate punctuation; the answer is, That punctuation may remove an ambiguity, but will never produce that peculiar beauty which is perceived when the sense comes out clearly and distinctly by means of a happy arrangement. Such influence has this beauty, that, by a natural transition of perception, it is communicated to the very sound of the words, so as in appearance to improve the music of the period. But as this curious subject comes in more properly elsewhere, it is sufficient at present to appeal to experience, that a period, so arranged as to bring out the sense clear, seems always more musical than where the sense is left in any degree doubtful.

The next rule is, That words expressing things connected in the thought, ought to be placed as near together as possible. This rule is derived immediately from human nature, prone in every instance to place together things in any manner connected: where things are arranged according to their connexions, we have a sense of order; otherwise we have a sense Language of disorder, as of things placed by chance; and we naturally place words in the same order in which we would place the things they signify. The bad effect of a violent separation of words or members thus intimately connected, will appear from the following examples.

"For the English are naturally fanciful, and very often disposed, by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, to many wild notions and visions, to which others are not so liable." Spec. Here the verb or affeetion is, by a pretty long circumstance, violently separated from the subject to which it refers: this makes a harsh arrangement; the less executable that the fault is easily prevented by placing the circumstance before the verb, after the following manner: "For the English are naturally fanciful, and by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, are often disposed to many wild notions," &c.

"From whence we may date likewise the rivalryship of the house of France, for we may reckon that of Valois and that of Bourbon as one upon this occasion, and the house of Austria, that continues at this day, and has oft cost so much blood and so much treasure in the course of it." Bolingbr.

"It cannot be impertinent or ridiculous therefore in such a country, whatever it might be in the abbot of St Real's, which was Savoy, I think; or, in Peru, under the incas, where Garcilasso de la Vega says it was lawful for none but the nobility to study—for men of all degrees to instruct themselves in those affairs wherein they may be actors, or judges of those that act, or controllers of those that judge." Ibid.

"If Scipio, who was naturally given to women, for which anecdote we have, if I mistake not, the authority of Polybius, as well as some verses of Nevius preserved by Aulus Gellius, had been educated by Olympias at the court of Philip, it is improbable that he would have restored the beautiful Spaniard." Ibid.

If any one have a curiosity for more specimens of this kind, they will be found without number in the works of the same author.

A pronoun, which saves the naming a person or thing a second time, ought to be placed as near as possible to the name of that person or thing. This is a branch of the foregoing rule; and with the reason there given, another occurs, viz. That if other ideas intervene, it is difficult to recall the person or thing by reference.

"If I had leave to print the Latin letters transmitted to me from foreign parts, they would fill a volume, and be a full defence against all that Mr Partridge, or his accomplices of the Portugal inquisition, will be ever able to object; who, by the way, are the only enemies my predictions have ever met with at home or abroad." Better thus:—and be a full defence against all that can be objected by Mr Partridge, or his accomplices of the Portugal inquisition; who, by the way, are," &c.

"There being a round million of creatures in human figure, throughout this kingdom, whose whole subsistence," &c. Swift. Better: "There being, throughout this kingdom, a round million of creatures in human figure, whose whole subsistence," &c.

The following rule depends on the communication of emotions to related objects; a principle in human language, nature that hath an extensive operation; and we find this operation, even where the objects are not otherwise related than by juxtaposition of the words that express them. Hence, to elevate or depress an object, one method is, to join it in the expression with another that is naturally high or low: witness the following speech of Eumenes to the Roman senate,

"Caufam veniendi libi Romanum tuifle, praeter cupiditatem visendi deos hominique, quorum beneficio in ea fortuna effet, supra quam ne optare quidem auderet, etiam ut coram moneret senatum ut Persei conatus obviam iret." Livy. To join the Romans with the gods in the same enunciation, is an artful stroke of flattery, because it tacitly puts them on a level.

On the other hand, the degrading or vilifying an object, is done successfully by ranking it with one that is really low: "I hope to have this entertainment in readiness for the next winter; and doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet show." Spec.

"Manifold have been the judgments which Heaven from time to time, for the chastisement of a sinful people, has inflicted upon whole nations. For when the degeneracy becomes common, it is but just the punishment should be general. Of this kind, in our own unfortunate country, was that destructive pestilence, whose mortality was so fatal as to sweep away, if Sir William Petty may be believed, five millions of Christian souls, besides women and Jews." Arbuthnot.

"Such also was that dreadful conflagration ensuing in this famous metropolis of London, which consumed, according to the computation of Sir Samuel Moreland, 100,000 houses, not to mention churches and stables." Ibid.

"But on condition it might pass into a law, I would gladly exempt both lawyers of all ages, fubaltern and field officers, young heirs, dancing masters, pickpockets, and players." Swift.

Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lap dogs, parrots, perish all.

Rope of the Lock.

Circumstances in a period resemble small stones in a building, employed to fill up vacuities among those of a larger size. In the arrangement of a period, such under parts crowded together make a poor figure; and never are graceful but when interspersed among the capital parts.

"It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom, above 10,000 parsons, whose revenues, added to those of my lords the bishops, would suffice to maintain, &c. Swift. Here two circumstances, viz. by computation, and in this kingdom, are crowded together unnecessarily. They make a better appearance separated in the following manner: "It is likewise urged, that in this kingdom there are by computation, above 10,000 parsons," &c.

If there be room for a choice, the sooner a circumstance is introduced, the better; because circumstances are proper for that coolness of mind, with which we begin a period as well as a volume: in the progress the mind warms, and has a greater relish for matters of importance. When a circumstance is placed at the beginning of the period, or near the beginning, the transition from it to the principal subject is agreeable: Language. it is like ascending, or going upward. On the other hand, to place it late in the period has a bad effect; for after being engaged in the principal subject, one is with reluctance brought down to give attention to a circumstance. Hence evidently the preference of the following arrangement, "Whether in any country a choice altogether unexceptionable has been made, seems doubtful;" before this other, "Whether a choice altogether unexceptionable has in any country been made," &c.

For this reason the following period is exceptionable in point of arrangement. "I have considered formerly, with a good deal of attention, the subject upon which you command me to communicate my thoughts to you." Boiling. Which, with a slight alteration, may be improved thus: "I have formerly, with a good deal of attention, considered the subject," &c.

Swift, speaking of a virtuous and learned education: "And although they may be, and too often are, drawn by the temptations of youth, and the opportunities of a large fortune, into some irregularities, when they come forward into the great world; it is ever with reluctance and compunction of mind, because their bias to virtue still continues." Better: "And although, when they come forward into the great world, they may be, and too often," &c.

In arranging a period, it is of importance to determine in what part of it a word makes the greatest figure, whether at the beginning, during the course, or at the close. The breaking silence rouses the attention, and prepares for a deep impression at the beginning: the beginning, however, must yield to the close; which being succeeded by a pause, affords time for a word to make its deepest impression. Hence the following rule, That to give the utmost force to a period, it ought, if possible, to be closed with that word which makes the greatest figure. The opportunity of a pause should not be thrown away upon accessories, but reserved for the principal object, in order that it may make a full impression: which is an additional reason against closing a period without a circumstance. There are, however, periods that admit not such a structure; and in that case the capital word ought, if possible, to be placed in the front, which next to the close is the most advantageous for making an impression. Hence, in directing our discourse to a man of figure, we ought to begin with his name; and one will be sensible of a degradation when this rule is neglected, as it frequently is for the sake of verse. We give the following examples.

Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, Non eget Mauris jaculis, neque arcu, Nec venenatis gravida fugit, Fulce, pha etra. Horat. Carm. lib. i. ode 22.

Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n'ai point d'autre crainte.

In these examples, the name of the person addressed to makes a mean figure, being like a circumstance flung into a corner. That this criticism is well founded, we need no other proof than Addison's translation of the last example.

O Abner! I fear my God, and I fear none but him.

Guardian, No 117.

O father, what intends thy hand, she cry'd, Against thy only son? What fury, O son, Puff'fes thee to bend that mortal dart Against thy father's head?

Paradise Lost, book ii. l. 727.

Every one must be sensible of a dignity in the invocation at the beginning, which is not attained by that in the middle. It is not meant, however, to confute this package: on the contrary, it appears beautiful, by distinguishing the respect that is due to a father from that which is due to a son.

The substance of what is said in this and the foregoing section, upon the method of arranging words in a period, so as to make the deepest impression with respect to sound as well as signification, is comprehended in the following observation: That order of words in a period will always be the most agreeable, where, without obscuring the sense, the most important images, the most sonorous words, and the longest members, bring up the rear.

Hitherto of arranging single words, single members, and single circumstances. But the enumeration of many particulars in the same period is often necessary: and the question is, In what order they should be placed? And, first, with respect to the enumerating particulars of equal rank: As there is no cause for preferring any one before the rest, it is indifferent to the mind in what order they be viewed; therefore it is indifferent in what order they be named. 2dly, If a number of objects of the same kind, differing only in size, are to be ranged along a straight line, the most agreeable order to the eye is of an increasing series: in surveying a number of subjects, beginning at the least, and proceeding to greater and greater, the mind swells gradually with the successive objects, and in its progress has a very sensible pleasure. Precisely for the same reason, words expressive of such objects ought to be placed in the same order. The beauty of this figure, which may be termed a climax in sense, has escaped Lord Bolingbroke in the first member of the following period: "Let but one, great, brave, disinterested, active man arise, and he will be received, followed, and almost adored." The following arrangement has sensibly a better effect: "Let but one brave, great, active, disinterested man arise," &c. Whether the same rule ought to be followed in enumerating men of different ranks, seems doubtful: on the one hand, a number of persons presented to the eye in form of an increasing series, is undoubtedly the most agreeable order; on the other hand, in every list of names, we set the person of the greatest dignity at the top, and descend gradually through his inferiors. Where the purpose is to honour the persons named according to their rank, the latter ought to be followed; but every one who regards himself only, or his reader, will choose the former order. 3dly, As the sense of order directs the eye to descend from the principal to its greatest accessory, and from the whole to its greatest part, and in the same order through all the parts and accessories, till we arrive at the minutest; the same order ought to be followed in the enumeration of such particulars.

When force and liveliness of expression are demanded, the rule is, to suspend the thought as long as possible, Language, Bible, and to bring it out full and entire at the close, which cannot be done but by inverting the natural arrangement. By introducing a word or member before its time, curiosity is raised about what is to follow; and it is agreeable to have our curiosity gratified at the close of the period: the pleasure we feel resembles that of seeing a stroke exerted upon a body by the whole collected force of the agent. On the other hand, where a period is so constructed as to admit more than one complete close in the sense, the curiosity of the reader is exhausted at the first close, and what follows appears languid or superfluous: his disappointment contributes also to that appearance when he finds, contrary to expectation, that the period is not yet finished. Cicero, and after him Quintilian, recommend the verb to the last place. This method evidently tends to suspend the sense till the close of the period; for without the verb the sense cannot be complete; and when the verb happens to be the capital word, which it frequently is, it ought at any rate to be the last, according to another rule above laid down.

The following period is placed in its natural order: "Were instruction an essential circumstance in epic poetry, I doubt whether a single instance could be given of this species of composition in any language." The period thus arranged admits a full close upon the word composition; after which it goes on languidly, and closes without force. This blemish will be avoided by the following arrangement: "Were instruction an essential circumstance in epic poetry, I doubt whether, in any language, a single instance could be given of this species of composition."

"Some of our most eminent divines have made use of this Platonic notion, as far as it regards the subsistence of our passions after death, with great beauty and strength of reason." Spec. Better thus: "Some of our most eminent divines have, with great beauty and strength of reason, made use of this Platonic notion," &c.

"Men of the best sense have been touched, more or less, with these groundless horrors and preludes of futurity, upon surveying the most indifferent works of nature." Ib. Better, "Upon surveying the most indifferent works of nature, men of the best sense," &c.

"She soon informed him of the place he was in; which, notwithstanding all its horrors, appeared to him more sweet than the bower of Mahomet, in the company of his Balsora." Guardian. Better, "She soon, &c. which appeared to him, in the company of his Balsora, more (sweet than the bower of Mahomet."

None of the rules for the composition of periods are more liable to be abused than those last mentioned; witness many Latin writers, among the moderns especially, whose style, by inversions too violent, is rendered harsh and obscure. Suspension of the thought till the close of the period, ought never to be preferred before perspicuity. Neither ought such suspension to be attempted in a long period; because in that case the mind is bewildered amidst a profusion of words: a traveller, while he is puzzled about the road, relieves not the finest prospect: "All the rich presents which Astyages had given him at parting, keeping only some Median horses, in order to propagate the breed of them in Persia, he distributed among his friends whom he left at the court of Ecbatana," Trav. of Cyrus.

III. Beauties from a Resemblance between Sound and Language.

Signification. There being frequently a strong resemblance of one found to another, it will not be surprising to find an articulate sound resembling one that is not articulate; thus the sound of a bow string is imitated by the words that express it:

"The string let fly, Twang'd short and sharp, like the shrill swallow's cry." Odyssey, xxii. 449.

The sound of felling trees in a wood: Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes, On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down. Iliad, xxiii. 144.

But when loud surges lash the founding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. Pope's Essay on Criticism, 369.

Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms, And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms: When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves, The rough rock roars; tumultuous boil the waves. Pope.

No person can be at a loss about the cause of this beauty; it is obviously that of imitation.

That there is any other natural resemblance of sound to signification, must not be taken for granted. There is no resemblance of sound to motion, nor of sound to sentiment. We are, however, apt to be deceived by artful pronunciation: the same passage may be pronounced in many different tones, elevated or humble, sweet or harsh, brisk or melancholy, so as to accord with the thought or sentiment; such concord must be distinguished from that concord between sound and sense which is perceived in some expressions independent of artful pronunciation; the latter is the poet's work, the former must be attributed to the reader. Another thing contributes still more to the deceit: in language, sound and sense being intimately connected, the properties of the one are readily communicated to the other; for example, the quality of grandeur, of sweetness, or of melancholy, though belonging to the thought solely, is transferred to the words, which by that means resemble in appearance the thought that is expressed by them. That there may be a resemblance of articulate sounds to some that are not articulate, is self-evident; and that in fact there exist such resemblances successfully employed by writers of genius, is clear from the foregoing examples, and from many others that might be given. But we may safely pronounce, that this natural resemblance can be carried no farther; the objects of the different senses differ so widely from each other, as to exclude any resemblance: found in particular, whether articulate or inarticulate, resembles not in any degree taste, smell, nor motion; and as little can it resemble any internal sentiment, feeling, or emotion. But must we then admit, that nothing but sound can be imitated by sound? Taking imitation in its proper sense, as importing a resemblance between two objects, the proposition must be admitted: and yet in many pas- Language. Sages that are not descriptive of sound, every one must be sensible of a peculiar concord between the sound of the words and their meaning. As there can be no doubt of the fact, what remains is to inquire into its cause.

Resembling causes may produce effects that have no resemblance; and causes that have no resemblance may produce resembling effects. A magnificent building, for example, resembles not in any degree a heroic action; and yet the emotions they produce are concordant, and bear a resemblance to each other. We are still more sensible of this resemblance in a song, when the music is properly adapted to the sentiment; there is no resemblance between the thought and sound; but there is the strongest resemblance between the emotion raised by music tender and pathetic, and that raised by the complaint of an unsuccessful lover. Applying this observation to the present subject, it appears, that, in some instances, the sound even of a single word makes an impression resembling that which is made by the thing it signifies: witness the word running composed of two short syllables; and more remarkably the words rapidity, impetuosity, precipitation. Brutal manners produce in the spectator an emotion not unlike what is produced by a harsh and rough sound; and hence the beauty of the figurative expression, rugged manners. Again, the word little, being pronounced with a very small aperture of the mouth, has a weak and faint sound, which makes an impression resembling that made by a diminutive object. This resemblance of effects is still more remarkable where a number of words are connected in a period: words pronounced in succession make often a strong impression; and when this impression happens to accord with that made by the sense, we are sensible of a complex emotion, peculiarly pleasant; one proceeding from the sentiment, and one from the melody or sound of the words. But the chief pleasure proceeds from having these two concordant emotions combined in perfect harmony, and carried on in the mind to a full close. Except in the single case where sound is described, all the examples given by critics, of sense being imitated in sound, resolve into a resemblance of effects: emotions raised by sound and signification may have a resemblance; but sound itself cannot have a resemblance to anything but sound.

Proceeding now to particulars, and beginning with those cases where the emotions have the strongest resemblance, we observe, first, That by a number of syllables in succession, an emotion is sometimes raised, extremely similar to that raised by successive motion; which may be evident even to those who are defective in taste, from the following fact, that the term movement in all languages is equally applied to both. In this manner, successive motion, such as walking, running, galloping, can be imitated by a succession of long or short syllables, or by a due mixture of both: for example, slow motion may be justly imitated in a verse where long syllables prevail; especially when aided by a slow pronunciation:

Illi inter se magna vi brachia tollunt.

Georg. iv. 174.

On the other hand, swift motion is imitated by a succession of short syllables:

Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatt ungula cam-

Again:

Radit iter liquidum, celeres neque commovet alas:

Thirdly, A line composed of monosyllables makes an impression by the frequency of its pauses, similar to what is made by laborious interrupted motion:

With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone.

Odyssy, xi. 736.

First march the heavy mules securely slow; O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go.

Iliad, xxiii. 138.

Fourthly, The impression made by rough sounds in succession, resembles that made by rough or tumultuous motion: on the other hand, the impression of smooth sounds resembles that of gentle motion. The following is an example of both.

Two craggy rocks projecting to the main, The roaring winds tempestuous rage restrain; Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, And ships secure without their haulsers ride.

Odyssy, iii. 118.

Another example of the latter:

Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows.

Essay on Criticism, 366.

Fifthly, Prolonged motion is expressed in an Alexandrine line. The first example shall be of a slow motion prolonged:

A needleless Alexandrine ends the song; That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.

Ib. 356.

The next example is of forcible motion prolonged:

The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore.

Iliad, xiii. 1004.

The last shall be of rapid motion prolonged:

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main.

Essay on Criticism, 373.

Again, speaking of a rock torn from the brow of a mountain:

Still gathering force, it smokes, and urg'd amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down impetuous to the plain.

Iliad, xiii. 197.

Sixthly, A period consisting mostly of long syllables, that is, of syllables pronounced slow, produceth an emotion resembling faintly that which is produced by gravity and solemnity. Hence the beauty of the following verse:

Olli sedato respondet corde Latinus.

It resembles equally an object that is insipid and uninteresting.

Tædet quotidianarum harum formarum. Terence.

Seventhly, Seventhly, A slow succession of ideas is a circumstance that belongs equally to settled melancholy, and to a period composed of polyyllables pronounced slow; and hence, by similarity of emotion, the latter is imitative of the former:

In those deep solitudes, and awful cells, Where heav'nly pensive Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns.

Pope, Eloisa to Abelard.

Eighthly, A long syllable made short, or a short syllable made long, arises, by the difficulty of pronouncing contrary to custom, a feeling similar to that of hard labour:

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow.

Essay on Criticism, 370.

Ninthly, Harsh or rough words pronounced with difficulty, excite a feeling similar to that which proceeds from the labour of thought to a dull writer.

Just writes to make his barrennesses appear, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a year.

Pope's Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, l. 181.

We shall close with one example more, which of all makes the finest figure. In the first section mention is made of a climax in sound; and in the second of a climax in sense. It belongs to the present subject to observe, that when these coincide in the same passage, the concordance of sound and sense is delightful: the reader is conscious of pleasure not only from the two climaxes separately, but of an additional pleasure from their concordance, and from finding the sense to justify imitated by the sound. In this respect, no periods are more perfect than those borrowed from Cicero in the first section.

The concord between sense and sound is not less agreeable in what may be termed an anticlimax, where the progress is from great to little; for this has the effect to make diminutive objects appear still more diminutive. Horace affords a striking example:

Parturium montes, nascitur ridiculus mus.

The arrangement here is singularly artful: the first place is occupied by the verb, which is the capital word by its sense as well as sound: the close is reserved for the word that is the meanest in sense as well as in sound: and it must not be overlooked, that the resembling sounds of the two last syllables give a ludicrous air to the whole.

In this article we have mentioned none of the beauties of language but what arise from words, taken in their proper sense. Beauties that depend upon the metaphorical and figurative power of words, are treated under the separate articles of Figures, Personification, Apostrophe, Hyperbole, Metaphor, &c. See also Oratory.

Purity of Language. Both the Greeks and Romans were particularly careful of preserving the purity of their language. It seems amongst the Romans to have been a point which they thought worthy the attention of the state itself; for we find the Cumeans not daring to make use of the Latin language in their public acts without having first obtained leave in form. Tiberius himself would not hazard the word monopolium in the senate without making an excuse for employing a foreign term. Seneca gives it as a certain maxim, that wherever a general false taste in style and expression prevails, it is an infallible sign of corruption of manners in that people: A liberty of introducing obsolete words, or forming new ones, is a mark, he thinks, of an equal licentiousness of the moral kind. Accordingly it is observed, there are scarce more than eight or ten instances of new words to be produced from the most approved Roman writers, in the course of two or three centuries. If this mode of reasoning concerning the morals of the state was introduced and applied in our own country, no nation on the face of the earth could appear more abandoned; for no nation is more fond of adopting new words; though our language is sufficiently copious. This delicacy of Seneca appears to be carried a little too far, and his manner of estimating the morals of the people must be a little fallacious. The Greeks were very remarkable for their discernment of provincialisms, especially the Athenians, whose dialect was inconceivably sweet and elegant.