within every one's apprehension, and proceeding from that which is well known or obvious, to that which is more obscure. Illustrations will be sought, mainly rom among the phenomena of our own familiar speech, since every living and growing language has that within itself which exemplifies the facts and principles of universal application in all language. We shall also avoid, as much as possible, the use of figurative, philosophical, and technical phraseology, and talk the language of plain fact.

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Our preliminary inquiry may properly be, Why do we, ourselves, speak English? Though a simple question, its correct answer will clear our way of many difficulties. The general reply is obvious: We learned English from those among whom our earliest years were passed. We did not produce the words we use by an internal impulse, by the reflection of phenomena in our consciousness, and the like. As soon as we were able to associate an idea and its uttered sign, we were taught to stammer the names of the most familiar objects, and our instruction advanced with our capacities; our notions and conceptions were brought into shapes agreeing with those they took in the minds about us, and were called by the names to which these were accustomed. Certain liquids which we saw, colorless and white, had not to be studied and compared by us in order to the invention of a title for them. We were informed that they were "water" and "milk." The one of them, in certain modes of occurrence, we were made to know as "puddle" and river." The words cry, strike, bite, eat, drink, love, hate, and so on, were taught us by being applied to acts and states of which we made experience. Long before any mental analysis of our own would have given us the distinct ideas of true and false, they were impressed upon our minds by admonition, or something stronger. The appellations of hosts of objects, places, beings, which we had not seen, and perhaps have not yet seen, were fixed in our minds, with the means of attaching some distinctive idea to them. The amount and kind of this training varied greatly in different cases, but we all had it, and by it alone could learn to talk as we do. Language was the first step in our education. It came by education, and not by inheritance. English blood would never have given us English speech. We could just as easily have learned to say wasser or cau as "water," milch or lait as "milk," lieben or aimer as "love," &c. An American child is brought up by a French nurse in order that it may speak French first, and it does so. The infant cast on shore alive from a wreck learns the tongue of its foster-parents, and no outbreak of natural speech ever betrays whence it derived its birth. The imported African forgets, in a generation, his Congo or Mendi, and is able to use only a dialect of his master's speech.

It is already clear, then, that English people do not, as some have paradoxically maintained, speak English by inherent natural gift, because they are English, just as all swallows twitter, all bears growl, all lions roar, and so on. The special forms of spoken language are matters of imitation. They are kept up by usage, and transmitted by oral tradition.

We thus learn, not English simply, but the particular kind of English which is spoken by our instructors. A few, perhaps, get nothing from the outset but the purest style of the language; but hardly any can escape some tinge of local dialect, of the slang of caste or calling, even of individual peculiarities of our teachers, inelegancies of pronunciation, pet phrases, colloquialisms and vulgarisms, and the like. Often errors and infelicities thus acquired in early life are ineradicable by all the care of after years.

Again, this process does not give us universal command of the resources of the language. A child's vocabulary is very scanty, and goes on increasing to the end of life. The encyclopedic English tongue, as we may call it, contains over one hundred thousand words. Of these, the most uninstructed classes acquire only three to five thousand, a frugal stock of the most indispensable words and phrases. To such a nucleus every artisan, in every walk of labor, must

add his own technical language, containing much which most English speakers know nothing of. No small portion of the one hundred thousand words is made up of such special vocabularies. The generally educated man learns much of many of them, but no one learns them all. Every one may find, on every page of our great dictionaries, words which he knows not how to deal with. There are various styles of expression for the same thing which are not at every one's command. Even the meanings attributed to the same words by different speakers are different. The voluptuary, the passionate, the philosophic, and the sentimental, for example, mean very different things by "love" and “ hate." It is no paradox to maintain that, while we all speak English, no two among us speak precisely the same language, the same in extent, form, or meaning.

What, then, is the English language? It is the aggregate of the articulated signs for thought current among the English people; or, it is their average, that part which is supported by the usage of the majority-a majority counting not by numbers only, but by culture. It includes varieties of every kind; but it has unity, from the fact that all who speak it may, to a considerable extent, and on matters of the most general interest, talk so as to understand one another. It is kept in existence by uninterrupted tradition, in which each individual takes a part, handing down his portion of it, with his limitations and peculiaritiesbooks, a kind of undying individual, greatly assisting in the process. But all traditional transmission is inherently and necessarily defective, and that of language forms no exception. If English were a certain fixed body of words, learned complete by every one, and kept intact, it might more easily be preserved from alteration. As the case stands, it does not remain the same from generation to generation.

Its most noticeable mode of alteration is that which is ever going on in its vocabulary, especially its technical vocabularies. New processes and products, new views and opinions, new knowledge of every kind, must find their fit expression. No well-informed man can write a chapter now upon what every one is thinking and talking of which would be intelligible to the well-informed man of a century ago. There are also changes affecting rather the form than the content of language, of slow progress, and in their inception, in great part, inaccuracies of speech, opposed by the conservative forces, yet as inevitable in the end as the others. They show the influence of the great numerical majority who do not speak with correctness, but whose errors finally become the norm of the language. Thus, we had formerly a special preterit form spake, and good speakers would as soon have said "he come and done it" as "he spoke to me." Now only spoke is in common use. Three centuries ago we had only his as possessive of both he and it, but popular usage struck out a new possessive, its, for the latter. You we employ not only as object, according to its ancient usage, but as subject, instead of ye, &c., &c. The influences which brought about such changes are still to be seen in full operation about us, especially among children and uninstructed persons, to whom the communication of the language is imperfectly or incorrectly made. A child substitutes an easy for a hard sound in pronouncing, drops out a syllable or two from a half-understood word, says "I bringed" or "I brang" for I brought, says "mans" and "mouses," says "gooder" and "goodest," and the like. Its own and others' care corrects these errors; but if the care be wanting, the error remains; and. there are ever in existence, among the lower strata of language-users, hosts of these deviations from correct usage, always threatening, and sometimes succeeding in making their way to the surface, and securing recognition and general adoption. The conservative forces arrayed against them, aided by school instruction and reading, are now so powerful among us that the language changes but very slowly in this way, yet the examples given are truly typical, and illustrate a force always in action. That, in these and other methods, lan guage actually undergoes notable change is palpably true. Go back only to

our Bible translation, to Shakspeare, and much is found which is no longer good English. Go back five hundred years, to Chaucer, and our own tongue is only partially intelligible to us. Another five hundred years carries us to the AngloSaxon of King Alfred, a totally strange form of speech, as much so as the modern German; and yet each one of the thirty or forty generations between us and Alfred was as singly intent on transmitting to its successor the language it received from its predecessor as is our own.

These facts and conditions are of universal occurrence in linguistic history. All language is handed down in the manner described, and is subject to the same disturbing forces. The process of transmission always has been, and always will be, imperfect. No tongue remains the same during a long period of time. This is the fundamental fact on which rests the whole method of linguistic investigation.

We see now what is meant when language is spoken of as having an inde pendent existence, as being organic, or an organism, as growing or developing, and so on. These are only figurative modes of speech. Language has no existence, save in the minds and mouths of those who employ it. It is an aggregate of signs of thought, deriving their significance from the intelligent agreement of speakers and hearers. It is in their power, and subject to their will. As they maintain it in existence, so their consenting action modifies and alters it. It cannot be changed hastily or capriciously, because it depends upon general consent, which can be won only for such modifications and extensions as are in accordance with its already established rules. Individuals are constantly trying experiments of alteration upon it, with childish errors of expression, with bad grammar, with slang, with artificial turns of phrase, and arbitrarily coined words. But these are, for the most part, only laughed at as blunders, or put down as mannerisms and vulgarisms. Individual authority, except in special cases, is too weak to force itself upon public opinion. The speakers of language constitute a republic, in which authority is conferred only by universal suffrage, and for due cause. High political rank does not give power over speech. The grammatical blunders of an emperor do not become the rule to his subjects. But individuals are allowed to introduce novelties and changes into the general speech; thus, for instance, to name their own inventions or discoveries, if they do it discreetly and suitably; and great masters of the art of speech, poets, orators, are permitted to touch even the more intimate and sacred parts of language. Is it called for? is it in accordance with the usages and analogies of the language? is it offered or supported by good authority?— such are the considerations by which, in any given case, general consent is won or repelled, and this decides whether the proposed change shall be rejected, or shall become part and parcel of the universal speech.

As, then, an organic being grows by the gradual accretion of homogeneous organic matter, as its existing parts and processes form the new addition, in order to help the life and functional action of the being, so language extends by the addition of material accordant with its substance, evolved by its formative methods, and intended to secure the end of its existence, the expression of the thoughts of those who speak and write it. It thus presents striking and instructive analogies with organic life; but to call it an organism outright, as some do, and to claim that its growth is independent of human agency, and that its study is, therefore, to be ranked among the physical sciences, is palpably and seriously to misinterpret it. Language is an institution, constantly undergoing, at the hands of those who use it, adaptation to their varying circumstances and needs. Between all determining causes and their results in its development stands, as middle term, the human mind, seeking and choosing expression for human thought. Its every part is a historical product. Its study is a historical science, a branch of the study of the human race, and of human institutions.

As every constituent item of language is the product of a series of changes, working themselves out in history, the method of linguistic investigation must be historical. To understand the structure and character of speech, and to penetrate to its origin, we must follow backward the modifying processes to which it has been subjected, endeavoring to understand the influences which have produced and governed them. This can be done to but small extent by means of contemporary records. We must call to our aid the art of etymological analysis. On etymology, the tracing out of the history of individual words, is founded the whole science of language. To illustrate the methods of etymologizing, and to bring to light some of its results, by simple and characteristic examples, is the object of this second lecture.

Let us look first at evidence showing the composite nature of words. We are all the time putting together two words to form a compound; as, fearinspiring, god-like, house-top, and so on. But the extent to which language is the result of such composition is apparent only on deeper study. Fearful is as clear a compound, on reflection, as fear-inspiring; yet ful is, to our apprehension, a kind of suffix, forming a large class of adjectives from nouns, like the suffix ous, (in peril-ous, riot-ous, &c. ;) and its independent origin and meaning are but dimly present to the mind of one who uses the adjectives. Fearless and its like are not less evident compounds; but the less here is not our word less, but the altered form of an older word, meaning "loose, free." Again: ly, in godly, brotherly, &c., is of yet obscurer origin, and we deem it merely a suffix; but a study of the other forms of our language, or a comparison of kindred Germanic dialects now spoken, shows it to be descended from the adjective like, which has been used in all the languages of our family as an adjective-forming suffix; we alone have given it the further and now remotely derived office of adverbial suffix, employable at will to convert any adjective into an adverb. The d of such words as I loved, I hated, is proved by the form it wears in the oldest Germanic tongues to be a relic of the past tense did: I loved is originally I love did. Such and which were once so-like and who-like, and so on. The same is the case in the Latin part of our language, and even in its oldest and most essential constituents. The ble or ple of double, triple, and so on, is the root plic, meaning "bend, fold;" triple is the precise etymological equivalent of three-fold. The two letters of am, which scems as simple a word as aught can be, are relics of two elements: one, the root as, meaning be;" the other, the pronoun mi, meaning "me, I;" am stands for as-mi, "be-I." The third person, is, has lost the whole of a second element, ti, which it once possessed, and of which at least the t is left in nearly all the kindred languages; compare German ist, Latin est, Greek esti, Sanscrit asti, &c.

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With few exceptions, all the words of our language admit of such analysis, which discovers in them at least two elements: one radical, containing the fundamental idea; the other formal, indicating its restriction, application, or relation. This is, in fact, the normal constitution of a word; it contains a root and a suffix or prefix, or both, or more than one of both. Thus, inapplicabilities contains two prefixes and three suffixes, all clustered about the root plic, “bend ;" and it is, as it were, the fusion and integration of the phrase “nume rous conditions of not being able to bend or fit to something."

Our examples show that word-analysis is, at least in part, only the retracing of a previous synthesis. We are as sure of the actuality of the process of combination by which these words were formed as if it had all gone on under our own eyes. There would have been no such suffixes as ful, less, ly, &c., if there had not been before in the language the independent words full, loose, like, &c. No small part of the formative elements of our language can thus be proved descended from independent words; if a considerable part do not admit like proof, we are not authorized to suppose that their history is different

from that of the others, but only that we have not at command the evidence which would explain it.

The same examples show not less clearly that alteration, corruption, and mutilation of the products of combination is a rule of the life of language. The reason of this corruption lies in great measure in the fact that, having once struck out a compound, we are not solicitous to keep up the memory of its descent. We accept the word coined as a conventional sign for the idea which it conveys, and give our attention mainly to that. Hence case and convenience in the use of the word are consulted; a long vocable is contracted; a hard combination of consonants is mouthed over into more utterable shape; subordinate elements are defaced into conformity with the inferiority of their consequence. So the sailor says bos'n for boatswain, to'gal'nts'ls for topgallantsails, &c. This is a part of the wise economy of speech, a sign and means of the integration of words, contributing to conciseness and vigor of expression. But it is also a blind tendency, and its effect is in part destructive. It leads to waste as well as economy; case and convenience being consulted by the sacrifice of what is valuable as well as the rejection of what is unnecessaryif, indeed, it can truly be said that a people not undergoing degradation of character ever sacrifices anything of its language which is really valuable without providing an equivalent. A language may thus, at any rate, become greatly altered, giving up much which in other tongues is retained and valued. Our own English offers one of the extremest examples known of the prevalence of these wearing-out tendencies.

In

Thus, for instance, the primitive language from which our own is descended had a full set of terminations for the three persons plural of the verb, viz: masi, tasi, nti-c. g., lagamasi, lagatasi, lagunti, "we lie, ye lie, they lie." Latin they appear shorn of their final vowel, as mus, tis, nt. In Gothic, the oldest Germanic language, they are reduced to their initial consonants only, m, th, nd—thus, ligam, ligith, ligand. They are still, in this form, pretty distinctive, and sufficient for their purpose. But the prevailing custom of expressing the pronouns along with the verb lessened their necessity, and in Anglo-Saxon they are all reduced to a single form, ath in the present, on in the imperfect. We, finally, have cut them off entirely, and say we lie, ye lie, they lie, without any endings designating the person.

In the declension of nouns we have effected a revolution not less thorough. Our ancient mother-tongue declined every noun substantive in three numbers, with eight cases in each, and every adjective in three genders besides. With us all adjective declension has disappeared, and of substantive declension we have saved only a genitive and a plural ending, both s. In a few plurals, as men, mice, teeth, we have seized upon a distinction at first euphonic and accidental only, and have made it significant. So also in the conjugation of our "irregular" verbs, as sing, sang, sung; the change of vowel was at first merely euphonic, then became, as in most German dialects it still continues, auxiliary to the sense, and finally, with us, it is in many cases the only means of distinction of present, preterite, and participle.

In one remarkable case, the wearing-out processes have led to the total abandonment of a conspicuous department of grammatical structure. A distinction of gender in nouns, as masculine, feminine, or neuter, marked by differences of termination and declension, has ever prevailed in the family of languages to which ours belongs. Even in the Anglo-Saxon, nouns were still masculine, feminine, or neuter, not according to their natural character, but in conformity with the ancient tradition, on fanciful grounds of difference, which we find it excessively difficult to trace out and recognize. But in the extensive decay and ruin of grammatical forms attending the elaboration of modern English from Anglo-Saxon and Norman French, this whole scheme of artificial