Introduction to the study of the history of language

by Herbert A. Strong; Willem Sijbrand Logeman; Benjamin Ide Wheeler

Voice.

We have seen that what in formal grammar appears as the ‘object’ of a verb is often, from a psychological point of view, the subject of a sentence (cf. Chap. VI.). The use of the passive voice enables us to do away with this incongruence: the object of the action becomes the subject of our sentence, and the grammatical construction is thus made to harmonise with the psychological instinct. For instance, if, in answer to the question Whom does he prefer as companion? we say John he would prefer, we overcome, by a construction somewhat alien to the genius of the English language, the difficulty of expressing that John, the object of the verb to prefer, is in our mind the subject of a statement: John is the person whom he would prefer.

But such an inversion as John he would prefer is not always possible; while such an extension as John is the person whom he would prefer, though, indeed, always a possible construction, would be felt as very awkward and needlessly lengthy. This difficulty is evaded by the use of the passive voice: and the use of this voice serves to give clearness and elegance to style.

It is, however, perhaps not superfluous to point out that, whether we employ the active or the passive voice, the ACTUAL relation existing between the subject and object of our sentence remains the same. Whether we say John loves Mary, or Mary is loved by John, the person John is in either case described as the agent; the person Mary is the object of the feeling expressed by the verb. It is the form only of the two sentences which differs; it is the syntactical, and not the real relation of subject and object which varies. Hence we may say that the distinction of voice in the verb is to some extent purely syntactical in its nature. It is, moreover, clear that the distinction implied in voice could not arise before the distinction between the grammatical subject and object had been established. Until such was the case, mere juxtaposition of substantive and verb must have served equally as the expression of the active and of the passive relation between subject and predicate.

A somewhat similar phenomenon, possibly a survival of this prehistoric stage, is observable in the nominal forms of the verb, which, though indeed already specialised in the earliest stages of those languages with which we are acquainted, contain nothing in their actual formation which can assign them to either voice. And, again, if we consider fully the Latin genitives known in grammar as objective and subjective, we find a similar indefiniteness of expression prevalent as to relationship active or passive. Amor patris (‘love, father’s’) can, according to the context, signify either the love which the father feels, or that which is felt for the father by some one else.

The present participle, now always called active, is even yet sometimes used in a passive meaning, and this use was formerly much more common. We hear, even at the present day, such phrases as Do you want the tea making? I want my coat brushing, etc.[156] Again, we have expressions like One thing is wanting, common now as in Shakespeare’s time;[157] so much is owing, etc. Other instances not less striking have become obsolete: as, his unrecalling crime (Rape of Lucrece, l. 993) for unrecalled = ‘not to be recalled;’ and his all-obeying breath (Ant. and Cleop., III. xiii. 77) = his breath obeyed by all. We find, also, Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears (= pleased ears) in Rape of Lucrece, l. 1126.

In Gothic there is a remarkable and indeed unique instance of this use (Mark xv. 15): Atgaf Jesu usbliggvands, i.e. (Pilate) gave Jesus scourging = gave up Jesus to be scourged, or for being scourged.

The so-called gerundives in Latin have commonly a passive meaning; thus, amandus usually means ‘fit to be loved.’ But here, again, we meet with exceptional uses which prove that what is now regarded as the ‘regular’ meaning is in reality but accidental and adventitious. Oriundus means ‘arising’ and, in somewhat older Latin, we find forms like pereundus, ‘perishing,’ placendus, ‘pleasing,’ etc.

Little as the distinction of voice is expressed in the nomen actionis, it is equally little inherent in the infinite. In such a sentence as I gave him a good beating, the meaning of beating is active; in the sentence He got a good beating, it is decidedly passive. Similarly, in such a sentence as I can read, the infinitive is active, but this is owing to the context: for instance, in such a sentence as This is not easy to read, it is clearly passive. Yet no one would call these phrases ambiguous. We can therefore easily imagine that infinitives may have existed long before they were differentiated into separate forms to mark the two voices. We still employ many infinitives which might be called neuter, neither active nor passive: such as, for instance, ‘Is it better to say yes or to say no?’ ‘fair to see;’ ‘a marvel to tell.’

In Gothic, however, we find many instances of infinitives which, being commonly employed as actives, are conveniently considered as belonging to that particular voice; but which, in special sentences, have a very clearly defined passive sense. Thus, qêmun ðan môtarjôs daupjan = Came then publicans (to) baptise = to be baptised (Luke iii. 12); Untê sunus mans skulds ist atgiban in handuns mannê = For (the) son (of) man due is (= must) deliver into hands (of) men = shall be delivered into. (Luke ix. 44); Varð ðan gasviltan ðamma unlêdin jah briggan fram aggilum in barma Abrahamis = (It) happened then (to) die (to) the beggar and (to) bring from (= by) angels into (the) bosom (of) Abraham = It came to pass that the beggar died and was carried, etc. (Luke xvi. 22); du saihvan = to see = for being seen (Matt. vi. 1), etc.

Though, then, in these and similar cases we find infinitive forms with unquestionably passive meanings, it would not be quite correct to assign them in formal grammar to the passive voice.

A grammatical passive is only acknowledged in cases where that passive has been formed from the same stem as the active, and has been marked off from it by a special method of formation, as in such cases as amo, ‘I love,’ amor, ‘I am loved.’ The relation of an intransitive verb to its corresponding causative, resembles that of a passive to its active, as in such cases as to fall, to fell; to drink, to drench; to sit, to set: and the pairs from roots etymologically unrelated, to make, to become; to kill, to die. In the case of the intransitive verbs, however, as compared with that of the grammatical passive, we do not dwell so much in thought upon an operating cause as constituting the difference between active and passive. But this distinction is so slight, that we actually find intransitive verbs used with a sequence such as we should expect after a passive, as in He died by the hand of the public executioner; He fell by his own ambition. On the other hand, we can see the transition from the passive to the active in the case of the Russian—where the active form is employed to express a passive sense,—and of the so-called deponent verbs. We have to translate a form like the Latin verti by ‘to turn,’ employing the middle voice. A case like Jam homo in mercaturâ vortitur, ‘The man is now busy with merchandise’ (Plautus, Mostellaria, III. i. 109) may serve to show how nearly allied is the middle or passive voice to the deponent proper. No doubt a true deponent differs from a verb used in the middle voice, by the fact that the deponent takes an accusative after it; but how nearly the two touch one another, may be gathered from such instances as that given above, by the side of adversari regem (Tac., Hist., iv. 84,), ‘to oppose, or to oppose one’s-self to, the king.’

One of the most common ways, in which the passive takes its origin, is from the middle voice, which is sometimes seen to be formed from the composition of the active with the reflective pronoun. We have in English two examples of this method of formation, in the words (to) bask and (to) busk: to bask means ‘to bathe one’s-self;’ to busk, ‘to prepare one’s-self,’ or ‘get ready.’[158] The sk stands for sik, as it appears in Icelandic, the accusative case of a reflective pronoun of the third person. The Russian often, in like manner, employs a reflective form in -sya instead of the passive, just as does the French; thus, Tavárni prodáutsya, les hardes se vendent, ‘The goods are sold,’ lit. ‘sell themselves:’ cf. Rien ne s’y voyait plus, pas même des débris (De Vigny).[159] ‘Nothing more was to be seen, not even the ruined remains.’

In these cases, one element of the signification of the middle voice is discarded. The middle voice denotes that an action starts from a person, and returns to him. In I strike myself the action ‘strikes’ starts from the speaker, but visits him again with its effects; in I am struck the action is visited upon the subject, but does not originate therewith. There are some reflective combinations, even in English, where the consciousness of the activity of the subject has practically disappeared: as in How do you find yourself? I bethought me; He found himself in an awkward position: but these, it will be seen, approach more to the use of the simple intransitive, by means of the relationship which this bears to the passive; cf. s’exciter with être excité; ‘to be excited:’ moveri, with se movere, ‘to move.’ There are certain uses of the verb, in French and German, in which the operation of the subject is almost effaced: as, sich befinden, in Wie befinden sie sich (‘How are you?’); cela se laisse dire (‘that may be said’).

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CHAPTER XVI.
DISPLACEMENT OF THE SYNTACTICAL DISTRIBUTION.

The reader who remembers and fully apprehends the wider meaning, which in Chapter VI. we assigned to the terms (Psychological) ‘subject’ and ‘predicate,’ must realise how comparatively seldom the grammatical categories of the same name coincide with the corresponding parts of the thought to which the sentence is to give utterance. We defined the subject as the expression for that which the speaker presupposes known to the hearer, and the predicate as that which indicates what he wishes the hearer to think or learn about it. Hence, as we saw, the sentence theoretically consists of two parts; but, as each of these parts may be extended, we get—if we indicate subject and predicate by the letters S and P respectively, and the extensions by a, b, c, etc.—the following scheme for a simple sentence: Sabc + Pdef.

Now, in such a sentence, the grammatical subject, with all its extensions, will correspond with the psychological subject, and the grammatical predicate and its extensions with the psychological predicate, only in case the extensions of the subject are really no more than additions made in order to specify the known or presupposed, and if the predicate contains nothing which serves any further purpose than to convey the thought about that subject. But as soon as to the subject-noun, for instance, an adjective is added which conveys new thought about the subject; or, again, as soon as the object is indicated by a noun accompanied by a similar ‘additional’ qualification, then these additions or extensions become ipso facto psychological predicates, and the sentence, grammatically simple, becomes a psychologically complex one. Thus, suppose a good Charles and a wicked Charles have been spoken of, and the latter is known to have done something with his thick stick to the speaker; then, and then only, can a sentence like The wicked Charles has beaten me with his thick stick be a psychologically simple one. In this sentence then, The wicked Charles is subject, has beaten is predicate, and with his stick extension, and the psychological and grammatical divisions coincide completely. But suppose that it was known that the same person had beaten the speaker, but that the instrument was not known; or that the action and the instrument were known, but not the recipient of the blows: in this case the sentence, though remaining a simple one, would at once cease to correspond in its grammatical parts to the psychological divisions of (a) Charles has beaten me (subject) + with his stick (predicate), or, (b) Charles has beaten with his stick (subject) + me (predicate). In fact, if we wished to make the grammatical form correspond to the divisions of that psychologically simple statement, we should have to adopt a form grammatically complex; such as The instrument with which Charles has beaten me is his thick stick, or, The person whom Charles has beaten with his thick stick is I, according to the circumstances of the case.

In any of the cases enumerated above, the psychological subject and predicate were simple. But suppose that the hearer was not aware that anything had happened, nor could be supposed to have any predisposition to call the individual in question ‘wicked.’ Then, though the sentence remains grammatically a simple one, we really get the following complex PSYCHOLOGICAL analysis:— 1. Subject: Charles
Predicate: is (in my opinion) wicked.
2. Subject: The wicked Charles
Predicate: has beaten.
3. Subject: The object of that beating
Predicate (with copula): is I.
4. Subject: The instrument with which that beating was inflicted upon me
Predicate (with copula): is a stick.
5. Subject: That stick
Predicate (with copula): is thick.
While, therefore, the scheme could grammatically be symbolised aS + Pbc, we should have to symbolise the psychological analysis somewhat as follows:—

P + S
{____}
S´ + P´
{_____}
S´´ + P´´
{______}
S´´´ + P´´´
{_______}
S´´´´ + P´´´´
{_______}

At first sight this may seem far-fetched and uselessly refined, but the student will find that it is desirable to force himself in some such manner to fully realise the absolute inadequacy of our grammatical terms and distinctions when we apply them to psychological questions: and to realise, also, the vagueness with which long habit has taught us to be satisfied in our modes of expression, and in our constructions for various thoughts, differing essentially, though perhaps not always widely.[160] It is the full conception of the somewhat haphazard nature of our constructions which will help us to understand how uncertain and how different in various speakers must, on the one hand, be the correspondence between the grammatical and psychological subject and predicate; and, on the other, how vague must often be the distinctions between the parts of our sentences, and how varying the grouping of these parts, as we more or less consciously conceive of them as connected or as ‘belonging together.’ All is here fluctuating and indefinite. Thus, as a rule, the word is in sentences like He is king, He is subject, is mere copula, and king the real predicate; though, when we utter the same words in order to state that he and no one else occupies the throne, he becomes psychologically predicate, and king, or rather is king, becomes subject, whatever the grammatical form of the sentence may seem to prove to the contrary. Again, in He IS king (i.e. now, and not only going to be so), he as king is subject, is (now) predicate.

Psychologically, the idea of the copula as mere link between subject and predicate is far more extensive than ordinary grammar admits. Thus, in What is the matter with him? He has got the toothache, the predicate of the latter sentence is the toothache, has got is copula.

In Will he be quick, do you think? Oh yes, he was running very quickly, the words was running are a mere copula, unless, emphasised by stress of accent, they are made to convey the specially desired statement that the person spoken of ran, and did not walk slowly or ride, etc., in which case they are a true predicate.

We have here illustrated how one of the means for distinguishing the predicate from the other parts of the sentence is found in accent or stress.

But we do not invariably thus emphasise our predicate. An interrogative pronoun, for instance, is always a psychological predicate. If we ask Who has done this? we usually lay our stress on done or on this, though these words, being mere expressions for the observed and known fact, contain the psychological subject, and the unknown person indicated by who is the predicate sought for by the questioner.

There exist other elements of speech which are regularly subjects or predicates; for instance, a demonstrative referring back to a substantive previously expressed and commencing a sentence, is necessarily a psychological subject, or part of it: I know those men are my enemies: them I despise. A relative pronoun, of course, has the same function: there is a man whom I respect highly. Again, every element of a sentence whose connection with the rest is denied by means of a negative particle is generally a psychological predicate; as, Yield not me the praise (Tennyson) = ‘The person to whom praise is due is not I.’ But not to me returns day (Milton, Par. Lost, iii. 41) = ‘Day returns to many, but among those is[161] not I.’

This, of course, includes any words expressing the contrast with the negatived element: Give not me but him the praise = ‘The person to whom praise is due is not I, (but) he.’

Besides emphasis, we have, in so-called inverted constructions, the means of characterising any part of a sentence as subject or predicate. Thus: One thing thou lackest (Mark x. 21) = ‘One thing there is which thou hast not.’ ‘No pause of dread Lord William knew’ (Scott, Harold, v. 15) = ‘Not a pause of dread existed which Lord William knew’ = ‘Not a pause of dread was made by Lord William.’

A means of establishing correspondence between the grammatical and psychological predicate has been incidentally illustrated in the foregoing discussion. It is the periphrastic construction with is, of which instances are very numerous. It is to you, young people, that I speak; What I most prize in woman, is her affections, not her intellect (Longfellow); It is thou that robbest me of my Lord (Shakespeare, 2 Hen. VI., IV. ii.); It was not you that sent me hither, but God (Gen. xlv. 8).

This construction is quite common in many other languages: French—C’est a vous que je m’adresse (= ‘It is to you that I myself address’); German—Christen sind es, die das getan haben (lit. ‘Christians are it, that that done have’ = ‘It is (the) Christians that have done this’).

In English, another construction often serves the same purpose: As to denying, he would scorn it; As for that fellow, we’ll see about him to-morrow. Or (with the psychological subject simply in the nominative, without any verbal indication of its connection with what follows), Husband and children, she saw them murdered before her very eyes; My life’s foul deed, my life’s fair end shall free it (Shakespeare, Rape of Lucr.); The prince ... they will slay him (Ben Jonson, Sejanus, III. iii.); That thing, I took it for a man (Lear, IV. vi. 77). Antipholus, my husband ... this ill day a most outrageous fit of madness took him (Com. of Errors, V. i. 138). When, in this construction, the words which head the sentence stand for the same thing as the subject pronoun of the following clause, the result, of course, is not a readjustment of the parts, but an (often useless) emphasis: cf. John, he said so; The king, he went, etc. When the psychological subject would, in the simpler constructions appear as a genitive, this is indicated by the pronoun standing, in that case, e.g., ’Tis certain every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his head (Henry V., IV. i. 197). That they who brought me in my master’s hate, I live to look upon their tragedy (Rich. III., III. ii. 57); And vows so born, in their nativity all truth appears (Mid. Night’s Dream, III. ii. 124).

In Chapter VI. we have discussed the point that in reality an adjective is psychologically a predicate: an expression like The good man containing, in fact, a statement that the man is good. There is a construction, however,—and one, too, not unfrequent,—in which the adjective contains the psychological and logical subjects; e.g., The short time at my disposal prevented me from calling upon him—‘The shortness of the time prevented,’ etc. Though this construction may perhaps be due to a contamination between, say, The shortness of the time prevented and The short time did not allow, it still remains certain that in the construction, as it stands, a displacement has occurred.

It might a priori be expected that all this uncertainty and vagueness would cause parts of a sentence which grammatically belong together to cohere but loosely, and eventually to get separated, whilst other grammatical connections, which at first did not exist, would thereby arise. It is clear, for instance, that in the sentence I sit on a chair, the preposition on is as closely connected with the verb to sit as with the noun a chair. Nay, it may be said that the ties which connect it with the noun in this and similar cases must once have been, and perhaps in the linguistic consciousness of some speakers still are, stronger than those between the preposition and the verb. This would appear from the fact that the various prepositions used to govern in English—as they still do in German, for instance—various cases, while these ties would be strengthened by the common occurrence of the preposition with a noun, unaccompanied by any verb; e.g., That book there on the chair; The man in the garden, etc. It is, however, evident in many constructions that the noun has separated from the preposition, and that the latter has entered into closer connection with the verb. We owe to this, e.g., the Latin and German ‘compound verbs,’ as excedere, ‘to go out from,’ anliegen, ‘to be incumbent on,’ etc., which used to govern, or still do govern the case which would have followed the preposition if used immediately before the noun and detached from the verb. In English, this or a similar displacement has given rise to such constructions as And this rich fair town we make him lord of (K. John, II. i. 553); a place which we have long heard of; Washes of all kinds I had an antipathy to (Goldsmith); Logic I made no account of (Smollett, Rod. Random, 6); This house I no more show my face in (She stoops to conquer, IV.); The false paiens stood he by (P. Langtoft).

A careful study of the above examples will show that in these and several of the following, the construction has the effect and is most likely due to a desire of bringing the psychological subject to the head of the sentence. It is at present chiefly employed in relative and interrogative clauses, and in sentences in the passive voice: The intended fire your city is ready to flame in (Coriolanus, V. 2); An idle dare-devil of a boy, whom his friends had been glad to get rid of (Green, Short History, p. 732); Stories of the lady, which he swore to the truth of (Tom Jones, bk. xv., ch. 9); He was such a lover, as a generous friend of the lady should not betray her to (ibid., xiii. 2); A pipe in his mouth, which, indeed, he seldom was without (ibid., ii. 2): The eclipse which the nominal seat of Christianity was under (Earle, Anglo-Saxon Liter., p. 25); Such scruple of conscience as the terrors of their late invented religion had let them into (Puttenham, Arte of Poesie, Arber’s reprint, p. 24); An outrage confessed to on a death-bed (Liv. Daily Post, Aug. 1, 1884, p. 5, col. a.); He was seldom talked of, etc. What humour is the prince of? (Hen. IV., II. iv).[162]

In the sentence I will never allow you to read this book, there is no doubt that every speaker feels this book as object of read, and read this book as object of allow. If, however, in order to make this book if it is psychological subject, appear also as the grammatical subject, we say This book I shall never allow you to read, we can very well understand how a speaker’s linguistic sense may come to connect this book directly as object with the entire group allow to read, nay more, with the verb allow; as if it stood for I will never allow you this book to read. This may arise all the more easily that, in a clause like I have to read this book, the words this book are historically the object of have and not of the infinitive to read, and that, in the form this book I have to read, the noun is in close proximity to its historical government I have. Hence, such transference of government from the infinitive to the group finite verb + infinitive and finally to the finite verb has occasionally really taken place, as can be shown by the way in which such clauses have sometimes been turned into the passive voice. A sentence like The judge allowed them to drop the prosecution can, strictly speaking, be turned into the passive only in one or other of the following ways: They were allowed to drop the prosecution, or, The judge allowed that the prosecution should be dropped; in each of which cases, the object of the verb has become the subject of the same verb in the passive voice. If, however, aided by such constructions as The prosecution which the judge allowed them to drop, the object (prosecution) of the verb to drop becomes, first, object of the syntactical combination allow to drop, and, finally, in the illogical thinker’s consciousness or linguistic sense, object of the verb to allow,—there may arise a passive construction something like the following: The prosecution which was allowed to be dropped. This construction is indeed incorrect in English, but its parallel may be occasionally heard from careless speakers, and a careful study of it will illustrate and make intelligible such phrases as the German, Hier ist sie zu spielen verboten, literally = ‘Here is she (i.e., Minna v. Barnhelm, i.e., the play of that name) to play forbidden’ = ‘Here it has been forbidden to play her (sc. it),’ as passive of ‘They have forbidden to play it here;’ Die stellung des fürsten Hohenlohe wird zu untergraben versucht = ‘The position of the Prince Hohenlohe is to undermine attempted’ = ‘An attempt is being made to undermine the position, etc.;’ or again, the Greek χιλίων δράχμων ἀπορρηθεισῶν λαβεῖν (Demosthenes), lit. ‘One thousand drachms having been agreed to receive’ = ‘It having been agreed that I should receive one thousand drachms.’ Similarly, the Latin Librum legere cœpi = (‘I begin to read the book’) is turned into the passive, Liber legi cœptus est = (‘The book to be read has been begun’), the perfect parallel of our somewhat fictitious English example.

In our examples, ‘He has got the toothache,’ etc., we saw that the grammatical predicate often has, in reality, no other psychological function than that of mere copula, or, as it is often called, connecting word. The regular and constant use of certain words in that manner has led some grammarians to group these together as a separate grammatical category, a grouping or distinction to which many others vigorously object. The view which one takes in this question is mainly influenced by (a) what we call a ‘connecting word,’ and (b) a clear distinction between the grammatical form and the function of a word. Now, a connecting word is a word which serves to indicate the connection between two ideas or conceptions, and which accordingly can neither stand alone, nor have any definite sense if placed with only one such conception. Such a connecting word between subject and predicate we have in the verb to be, the copula, in most of its uses. It is said by some that the word is never has any other function than that of true predicate, and that the predicatival adjective or noun is always to be considered a determinant of the predicate. This, whilst true as to grammatical form, is certainly incorrect as to function. In the first place, we have already discussed (Chap. VI.) how sentences like Borrowing is sorrowing, contains no less, but also no more than Borrow sorrow, in which the latter word contains the true psychologic predicate. Further, if we were to attribute to the word is in such sentences the same force as, for instance, in God is, i.e., God exists, we should necessarily have to explain a sentence, This is impossible, as ‘This exists as something impossible;’ which every one will at once perceive to be nonsense.

We must recognise in sentences like Borrow sorrow an original construction, by the side of which there sooner or later arose clauses truly denoting existence, such as God is, or even God is good, in which, at first, is had its full meaning of exists, and good had consequently such the function of an adverb. When once, in the latter and similar sentences, a displacement and redistribution of the function began to take place, and the adjective good (or, e.g., the noun king in He is king) acquired the force of a true logical predicate, the fuller construction with the copula is more and more frequently ousted the shorter one, which had no such link between subject and predicate. The reluctance of some grammarians to admit this is perhaps partially due, also, to the fact that the copula has always retained the full inflectional forms of a true predicatival verb. Hence they did not so easily realise the displacement which had occurred—a displacement which, in other sentences, where the part thereby affected is flectionless, is easier to demonstrate.

We shall first discuss one more instance of how a displacement affects inflected parts of speech, and then one or two in which the words concerned have no longer any inflection to connect them with other forms, and to protect them from isolation and change of function.

In the sentences I make him and I make a king, we have two accusatives of slightly different functions: the one indicating the OBJECT of the action (him), and the other indicating the RESULT of the action (a king). If the two statements be now combined, then, applied as they are to convey to the hearer the two distinct pieces of information as to the object and as to the results of the action, both of which were previously unknown to him, we have undoubtedly one verb with two distinct and equipoised accusatives. But assuming that either the object of the action or the result is already known, it is then only the other member of the pair which has the full predicatival force, whilst the former inevitably enters into a closer relationship with the verb. The member which retains the full force of a predicate becomes predicate to the group; nay, even—as in our example, where the verb cannot be taken in its literal meaning—the one noun becomes almost a predicate to the other, I make him king being very similar in meaning to He becomes king through my agency. If this is the correct explanation of the origin of similar constructions, we must perhaps consider the use of an adjective as second accusative as due to analogy with this use of the noun. We must not forget, however, that the line of demarcation between adjective and noun was once very much more vague and indefinite than it is now.

In a similar way, the sentence I teach him to speak and I declare him to be an honest man must be a combination, with consequent displacement of relation, of two independent clauses—the one with a noun, or the equivalent thereof, and the other with an infinite as object. It is thus we explain the origin of the Latin accusative with infinitive.

An example of displacement, or re-arrangement of relations, is next furnished by the origin and history of our correlatives either, or, both, and. Either means originally (A.S. ægðer, contracted from æghwæðer = á + ge + hwæðer) one of two, so that either he or you is really = one of the two; you or he, where the word either, as it were, sums up or comprehends the whole of the following enumeration. It stands, therefore, in syntactical relation to both the members of the clause which are connected (or contrasted) by or; but is now usually felt as connected with the first only, the sentence being divided as either he + or you. Similarly, both means two together. Hence both you and I originally had the full force of the two together, i.e., you and I. The word which stood in syntactical relation with the pair has therefore, as in the former case, become co-ordinate with the word and, which once formed part of the group it governed, and we now feel and explain expressions like our examples as consisting of the two groups, both you + and I.

In the last two examples the words are now flectionless, and have become, when used in such constructions, connecting words, a change entirely owing to such displacement of relationship between the parts of the sentence as we have been studying in this chapter.

In the discussion of our example on page 270 we noticed how even a grammatically simple clause might in reality be a logically complex one. Vice versâ, a clause logically simple may be expressed by a grammatically complex sentence. I asked him after his health, as an answer to What were you asking him? is a psychologically and grammatically simple sentence.[163] The answer might, however, without in the least degree altering the thought expressed, have been cast in the form I asked him how he was—a grammatically complex sentence.

Again, logical independence and grammatical co-ordination do not by any means necessarily go together—a sentence like He first went to Paris, whence he proceeded to Rome, where he met his friend being in form complex with main and subordinate clauses; in meaning, however, equivalent to an aggregate of three co-ordinate ‘main’ clauses: He went + from there he proceeded + there he met.

Nay, it occasionally happens that syntactical form and logical function are in direct opposition. Thus, e.g., in Scarcely had he entered the house, when his mother exclaimed, There is John! what is logically the main clause has the grammatical or syntactical form of a subordinate one.

It cannot now, therefore, seem strange that in syntax we also meet with the parallel of the process which gave birth to such words as adder, orange, newt, and nickname. Adder, cf. Ger. natter, Icelandic naðr, was in Anglo-Saxon nædre. Similarly, orange, derived from the Persian nâranj, was originally preceded by an n. In the combination with the indefinite article a or an (the older form) this n was thought to belong to the article only, and the sound-groups anorange, anadder were wrongly split up into an + orange, an + adder. On the other hand, the groups anekename (really an + ekename) and anewt (really an + ewt) were erroneously broken up into a + newt, a + nickname.[164]

A precisely similar occurrence in syntax has given us our conjunction that. I know that (= ‘I know this thing’) + he can sing, when combined into the group of subject I, predicate know, object (double, the one part being explanatory of the other) that and he can sing, gradually became divided, or divisible for the linguistic consciousness, into I know + he can sing, with the conjunction that for connecting word.

In some cases the correspondence between psychological and grammatical distribution is so incomplete, the subordinate and main clauses are so interwoven in the grammatical form, that it becomes impossible to separate the parts in our ordinary analysis. This happens more especially when a part of the grammatically subordinate clause really contains the psychological subject, and when, consequently, that part, with a construction similar to that discussed on page 274 is put at the head of the clause. When, in the sentence I believe that something will make you smile, the word something expressed the psychological subject, Goldsmith emphasised this fact by writing, Something, that I believe will make you smile; cf. Milton’s Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat; With me I see not who partakes, etc. This arrangement, then, places the main clause between parts of what is grammatically the subordinate one. In not a few cases confusion or uncertainty may, then, arise as to whether the words which head the sentence must be considered as belonging to the subordinate clause or as governed by the verb of the main clause. If we say The place which he knew that he could not obtain, we may hesitate as to whether place is really object to knew or to obtain. We can, and often do, avoid this ambiguity and intermixture of main and subordinate clauses by a kind of double construction, like The place, of which he knew that he could not obtain it.

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CHAPTER XVII.
ON CONCORD.

In inflectional languages, words relating to the same thing in the same way are commonly made to correspond formally with each other. This correspondence we call grammatical concord. Thus we find concord in gender, number, case, and person subsisting between a substantive and its predicate or attribute, or between a substantive and a pronoun or adjective representing the latter. Similarly we find a correspondence in tense and mood within the same period, or complex of sentences. This concord can hardly be said to be the necessary result of the logical relation of the words; the English collocation, the good father’s child, where no formal concord is established between ‘the good’ and ‘father’s,’ seems as logical as des guten vater’s kind, where the article and the adjective have their respective genitive forms as well as the noun. Concord seems to have taken its origin from cases in which the formal correspondence of two words with each other came about, not owing to the relation borne by the former to the latter, but merely to the identity of their relation to some other word. Thus we should have an example of primitive concord in fratris puer boni, if felt by the speaker’s linguistic consciousness something like of (my) brother (the) child of (the) good (one), i.e., the child of (my) brother, the good, i.e., the child of (my) good brother.

After such correspondence began to be regularly conceived of as concord, i.e., as a habit natural to language, we must suppose that, owing to the operation of analogy, it extended its area to other cases to which it did not logically belong. We shall be confirmed in our theory that such was the procedure, if we examine certain cases in which the extension of concord can still be historically followed.

In the first place, let us take such a case as Ce sont mes frères. In English we translate this by Those are my brothers. The subject, however, in this case merely directs attention to something unknown until the predicate states what has to be known: the English pronoun, therefore, should strictly speaking stand in the neuter singular, as, indeed, it habitually did in A.S. ðæt sindon, etc., and as it does in Modern German to the present day—Das sind meine brüder. Even in Modern English we have cases like It is we who have won; ’Twas men I lacked; Is it only the plebeians who will rise? (Bulwer, Rienzi, i. 5); but commonly, in Modern English and elsewhere, it appears brought into concord with the predicate, as These are thy glorious works (Milton): in Italian—È questa la vostra figlia? = ‘Is this (fem.) your daughter?’ Spanish—Esta es la espada = ‘This (fem.) is the sword’ (fem.): in Greek—Αὕτη τοι δίκη ἐστι θεῶν (Homer) = ‘This (fem.), then, is the judgment (fem.) of the gods:’ and in Latin this use is extremely common; as, Eas divitias, eam bonam famam, magnamque nobilitatem, putabant (Sall., Cat., 7),[165] = ‘These (fem. plur.) they considered riches (fem. plur.), this (fem. sing.) a good name (fem.), and great nobility (fem.);’ i.e., ‘This they looked upon as true riches; by such means they strove for fame; that was what they thought conferred true rank:’ Patres C. Mucio agrum dono dedere quæ postea sunt Mucia prata appellata (Livy, ii. 13) = ‘The fathers (senate) gave to C. Mucius a field as a present which (neut. plur.) afterwards were called the Mucian fields (neut. plur.).’

On the other hand, we find instances like Sabini spem in discordia Romana ponunt: eam impedimentum delectui fore (Livy, iii. 38) = ‘The Sabines base their expectations on the domestic quarrels of the Romans; (they hoped) that this (fem. sing. agreeing with spem) would be a preventative (neut. sing.): and so Si hoc profectio est (Livy, ii. 38) = If this (neut.) is a setting-out (fem.).’ It seems that, in the former cases, the subject has been made to agree with the predicate just as the predicate in other cases conforms to the subject.

We sometimes find, in Latin, words which commonly occur in the singular only, placed in the plural when connected with words used in the plural only; as, summis opibus atque industriis (Plautus, Mostellaria, 348) = ‘with the greatest means (exertions) and zeals (for zeal):’ neque vigiliis neque quietibus (Sallust, Cat., 15) = ‘neither during watchings nor during rests (for rest):’ paupertates—divitiæ (Varro,[166] Apud Non.) = ‘poverties (for poverty)—riches.’ Similarly, we find She is my goods, my chattels (Shakespeare, Tam. of Shrew, III. ii.), where the singular would be the natural form for chattel; but good in the singular would have a different meaning from goods, and chattels is made to conform to goods.

The so-called predicatival dative in Latin seems to have started from cases like quibus hoc impedimento erat = ‘to whom this was for a hindrance:’ Mihi gaudio fuit = ‘It was for a joy to me:’ etc.

It was felt that the ordinary predicate was put in the same case as its subject, and the concord was analogically extended to the dative. Thus Cicero (Dom., 3) writes Illis incuria inimicorum probro non fuit = ‘To them (dat.) the negligence of their enemies was not (for a) reproach’ (dat.), i.e., ‘was no reproach,’ as contrasted with tuum scelus meum probrum esse = ‘that your wickedness (acc.) should be my reproach (acc.).’

In a sentence like They call him John the name John ought strictly speaking to have no case; the simple stem should stand: and we might even expect the vocative to occur after verbs of naming, as it actually does sometimes in Greek; as, Τί με καλεῖτε κύριε; (Luke vi. 46), translated, in the Vulgate, Quid vocatis me domine?[167] and in the authorised version, Why call ye me lord, lord? Thus in Latin, too: Clamassent ut litus Hyla, Hyla, omne sonaret (Vergil, Eclogue vi. 43), ‘They were shouting so that the whole shore was echoing Hylas! Hylas!’ (voc.); Matutine pater seu Jane libentius audis (Hor., Sat. II., vi. 10), ‘O Father Matutinus, or Janus, if thou givest readier ear thus addressed.’ But the most common usage at the present day is the accusative; which is already found at least once in the few remnants of Gothic literature which we possess: in Luke iv. 13, we read: Jah gavaljands us im tvalib, ðanzei jah apaustuluns namnida = ‘and choosing out (from) them twelve whom also apostles (acc. plur.) (he) named.’ This accusative seems to be an analogical transference from such cases as the common construction, Izei ðiudan sik silban taujið = Qui regem se facit = Who king himself makes.

In cases like He bears the name John, the pure stem, or the nominative which most nearly represents it, should stand; as it does in the instance given. In English, we often use phrases like ‘the name of John,’ after the analogy of ‘the city of Rome,’ etc. In Latin, we find merely exceptionally such cases as Lactea nomen habet (Ovid, Metam., i. 168) = ‘It (the Milky Way) has the name milky,’ where milky is nominative. In classical Latin, concord is observed by placing the nominative side by side with nomen when this word stands in the nominative; as, Cui nomen Arethusa est (Cicero, Verr., iv. 53) = ‘Whose name is Arethusa;’ Ei morbo nomen est avaritia (Cicero, Tusc. Disp., iv. 11) = ‘To that malady the name is avarice.’ But we not uncommonly find in Latin that, while the word nomen is in the nominative, the name itself is made to agree with the noun or pronoun expressing the person who bears it; as, Nomen Mercurio est mihi (Plautus, Amph., Prol. 19) = ‘The name is Mercury (dat.) to me (dat.),’ i.e. ‘My name is Mercury;’ Puero ab inopia Egerio inditum nomen (Livy, i. 34) = ‘To the boy (dat.) from his poverty Egerius (dat.) was given the name,’ i.e. ‘The name of Egerius was given to the boy from his poverty.’ Nay, we find a similar vacillation in concord where nomen is in the accusative case; as, Filiis duobus Philippum et Alexandrum et filiæ Apamam nomina imposuerat (Livy, xxxv. 47) = ‘To his two sons he had given the names Philip and Alexander, and to his daughter, Apama.’ In this sentence, we have nomen in the accusative plural and the names Philip, etc., also in the accusative, though singular; so that the latter agree in case with nomen, and not with the datives (filiis duobus and filiæ) of the persons bearing them. In the following instance the reverse is the case: Cui Superbo cognomen facta indiderunt (Livy, i. 49) = ‘To whom (dat.) Superbus (dat.) the name (acc.) his deeds have given,’ i.e. ‘To whom his deeds have given the name Superbus.’ This very vacillation proves that the speakers recognised no logical necessity for employing one case rather than another; but, in default of an absolute stem, chose a case which seemed to tally with some existing principle of concord already prevailing in language.

A similar vacillation occurs in cases of the predicatival noun or predicatival attributive with an infinitive, as in It suited him to remain unknown.

In English no doubt could arise, as the adjectives maintain an absolute form; but even in German, where the adjectives when used as predicates have different forms from those which they bear when used as epithets, it is correct to say, Es steht dir frei als verständiger mann zu handeln = ‘It stands thee free as sensible man to act,’ i.e. ‘You are free to act as a man of sense,’—in which case we find the declined nominative ‘verständiger,’ used as it is whenever the adjective is followed by a noun, and when, consequently, according to the rules of German grammar, the undeclined form cannot be employed.

In Latin the nominative stands if it can be connected with the subject of the governing verb: as, Pater esse disce (‘Learn to be a father’); Omitto iratus esse (‘I cease to be angry’); Cupio esse victor (‘I desire to be victor’). In poetry we find expressions like ait fuisse navium celerrimus (Catullus, iv. 2) = ‘Says that it was the fastest of ships,’—a construction copied by Milton in ‘And knew not eating death’ (Par. Lost, ix. 792:) ‘Sensit medios delapsus in hostes’ (Vergil, Æn., ii. 377) = ‘He perceived that he had fallen into the midst of enemies.’ In these cases, celerrimus and delapsus are nominative, instead of the usual accusative; and similarly, in Greek, we find the nominative coupled with the infinitive used substantively, though this may be in another case: as, Ὁπόθεν ποτὲ ταύτην τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν ἔλαβες τὸ μανικὸς καλεῖσθαι, οὐκ οἶδα ἔγωγε (Plato, Symp., 173 D), ‘Whence ever thou didst take this name the-to-be-called mad (nom. sing. masc.), I don’t know;’ Ὀρέγονται τοῦ πρῶτος εκαστος γίγνεσθαι (Thucydides, ii. 65), ‘They wish for the (gen.) first (nom.) each (nom.) to become (gen.),’ i.e. ‘They all wish to become first.’ Nay, in Greek, it is possible to connect with the infinitive even a genitive or dative depending on the governing sentence; as in Εὐδαίμοσιν ὑμῖν ἔξεστι γίγνεσθαι (Demosthenes, Dem. iii. 23), ‘It is permitted you (dat.) to become happy (dat.);’ Ἐδέοντο Κύρου ὡς προθυμοτάτου γενέσθαι (Xenophon, Hell., I. v. 2), ‘They were begging Cyrus (gen.) to show himself as energetic-as-possible (gen.).’

In Latin we find the connection with a dative, though not so widely as in Greek: as, Animo otioso esse impero (Terence, Phorm., II. ii. 26) = ‘Mind (dat.) easy (dat.) to be I command (myself—dative understood),’ i.e. ‘I order my mind to be at ease;’ Da mihi fallere, da justo sanctoque videri (Hor., Ep. I. xvi. 61), ‘Grant me to deceive, grant me (dat.) to seem just and holy (dat.);’ Vobis necesse est fortibus viris esse (Livy, xxi. 44), ‘It is necessary for you (dat.) to be brave men (dat.);’ and commonly with licet (‘it is allowed,’) as in Republica mihi neglegenti esse non licet (Cicero, ad Att., i. 17), ‘In politics I dare not be indifferent.’[168] To take this last example, for instance, we have (1) the governing sentence Non mihi licet (‘It is not lawful for me,’ dat.), (2) the infinitive esse (‘to be’), and (3) the dative (depending on the governing sentence, and connected with the infinitive), neglegenti (‘indifferent’).

There are a few exceptions to this customary usage.[169] The accusative is sometimes found after licet, as in the passage Si civi Romano licet esse Gaditanum, etc., ‘If it is allowed a Roman Citizen (dat.) to be a citizen of Gades (acc.).’ This use depends on the fact that the accusative is the ordinary case of the subject with the infinitive, e.g. Permitto civem Romanum esse Gaditanum,[170] ‘I permit a Roman Citizen (acc.) to be a citizen of Gades (acc.).’

There are, again, other cases in which no concord is expressed; in which concord, indeed, is almost incapable of being carried out. In these cases, in default of the pure stem which—were it possible to employ it—would be the only natural form to employ, the place has been supplied by the nominative. In English, for instance, we are familiar with such phrases as My profession as teacher, his position as advocate. In Latin we find such constructions as Sempronius causa ipse pro se dicta damnatur (Livy, iv. 44.), ‘Sempronius is condemned, his cause having been defended (abl. abs.) himself (nom.);’ Omnes in spem suam quisque acceptis prœlium poscunt (Livy, xxi. 45), ‘All they having been accepted after their own hopes, each demand battle’ (here omnes (‘all’) is nominative, while acceptis (‘having been accepted’) is ablative absolute); Flumen Albin transit longius penetrata Germania quam quisquam priorum (Tacitus, Annals, iv. 45), ‘He crosses the river Elbe after penetrating Germany further than any of his predecessors,’ lit. ‘Germany having been penetrated (abl. abs.) further than any (nom.) of his predecessors (i.e. had penetrated it).’ In these cases, no doubt ipse and quisquam, ‘himself’ and ‘any,’ depend, grammatically speaking, on the subject of the finite verb, but they belong logically to the ablative absolute only, with which they cannot be brought into concord.

Variation of concord exists between two parts of the same sentence in various languages, as in the case of ‘What is six winters?’ (Shakespeare, Rich. II., I. iii.), as against ‘What are six winters?’ ‘Such was my orders,’ as against ‘Such were my orders;’ ‘She is my goods;’[171] ‘What means these questions?’ (Young, Night Thoughts, iv. 398). Bacon (Advancement of Learning, II. ii. 7) has ‘A portion of the time wherein there hath been the greatest varieties.’ The original rule was that the copula, like every other verb, followed the number of the subject, as in the first-named instances; and as, again, in French, in such cases as C’est eux, ‘It is they;’ Il est cent usages, ‘There is hundred usages;’ C’était les petites îles, ‘It was the little islands.’ In Latin, also, Nequam pax est indutiæ (A. Gellius), ‘A truce (lit. truces) is a bad peace;’ Contentum rebus suis esse maximæ sunt divitiæ (Cicero, Pro. Ar., vi. 3), ‘To be content with one’s circumstances are the greatest riches.’ In these cases it is indifferent which substantive be considered the logical subject.

In German, on the other hand, it is common, when the predicate is plural, to put the copula in the same number; as, das sind zwei verschiedene dinge = ‘That are two different things.’ Other languages have corresponding usages; thus, in Modern Greek, Ἔπρεπε νὰ ἦναι τέσσαρα, ‘There behoves to be four.’ In Old Greek we find Τὸ χωρίον τοῦτο, ὅπερ πρότερον Ἑννέα ὁδοὶ εκαλοῦντο, ‘This spot which were before called the nine ways’ (Thuc., iv. 102); and in French we find such expressions as Ce sont des bêtises, ‘This are stupidities.’ Even in English we find such phrases as ‘Their haunt are the deep gorges of the mountains.’[172] The usage seems due to the fact that the plural makes itself more characteristically felt than the singular. On the other hand, in several languages the converse usage is possible; i.e. the copula in the singular stands with a plural subject and before a singular predicate: as, in Greek, Αἵ χορηγίαι ἱκανὸν εὐδαιμονίας σημεῖον ἐστι, ‘The services is a sufficient token of prosperity:’ in Latin—Loca quæ Numidia appellatur (Sallust), ‘Places which is called Numidia;’ Quas geritis vestes sordida lana fuit (Ovid, Ars Am., iii. 222), ‘The clothes you wear was dirty wool:’ in English—Two paces in the vilest earth is room enough (Shakespeare, 1 Hen. IV., V. iv. 91); Forty yards is room enough (Sheridan, Rivals, v. 2). We also find the curious instance of ‘Sham heroes, what are called quacks’ (Carlyle, Past and Present, ii. 7): in Spanish we have Los encamisados era gente medrosa, ‘The highwaymen (lit. ‘shirtclad’) was a cowardly lot’ (Cervantes).

Similarly, we find in the person of the verb a corresponding usage: It was you; Is that they? in French—C’est moi (‘It is I’); C’est nous (‘It is we’); C’est vous (‘It is you’): in Old French it was possible to say C’est eux (‘It is they’). On the other hand, in Modern German we find such forms as Das waren sie (‘That were you’); Sind sie das (‘Are you that’): and in Old French, Ce ne suis je pas = ‘This no am I (at-all);’ C’estez vous (‘This are you’); but C’ont été (‘This they have been’); Ce furent les Phéniciens qui inventèrent l’écriture (Bossuet), ‘It were (3rd plur.) the Phenicians who invented writing.’

In sentences beginning in English with there, and in French with the (neut.) il, we find that commonly in English the verb agrees in number with the subject which follows it, whilst in French it agrees with the pronoun il, as Il est des gens de bien (‘There is good people’); Rarement il arrive des révolutions (‘Rarely there happens revolutions’). In English we more commonly find the plural; cf. Mätzner, vol. ii., p. 106—There were many found to deny it: but we also find There is no more such Cæsars (Shakespeare, Cymb., III. i.).[173]

A participle employed as a predicate or copula may agree with the predicatival substantive instead of the subject; as, Πάντα διήγησις οὖσα τυγχάνει (Plato, Rep., 392 D), ‘Everything happens to be an explanation,’ where the part. οὖσα (lit. ‘being’) agrees with διήγησις (‘explanation’); Paupertas mihi onus visum (Terence, Phorm., I. ii. 44), ‘Poverty (fem.) to me a burden (neut.) seemed (neut. part.)’ = ‘Poverty seemed to me a burden;’ Nisi honos ignominia putanda est (Cicero, pro Balb., 3), ‘Unless honour (masc.) is to be thought (fem.) shame (fem.).’ On the other hand, we find Semiramis puer esse credita est (Justin, i. 2) = ‘Semiramis was thought to be a boy,’ where the part. credita (‘thought’) takes its gender from Semiramis, and not from puer.

The predicate, again, which would naturally follow the subject, may follow some apposition of the subject: as, Θήβαι, πόλις ἀστυγέιτων, ἐκ μέσης τῆς Ἑλλάδος ἀνήρπασται (Æschines v. Ctes., 133 ), ‘Thebes (plur.) a neighbouring city, is torn from the centre of Greece;’ Latin—Corinthum totius Græciæ lumen extinctum esse voluerunt (Cicero, Leg. Man., 5), ‘Corinth (fem.), the light of all Greece, they wished to be extinguished (neut.).’ Again, though the subject is plural, we find the verb agreeing with its distributival apposition, and placed in the singular; as, Pictores et poetæ, suum quisque opus a vulgo considerari vult (Cic., de Offic., i. 41), ‘Painters and poets each wishes that his work should be examined by the public.’

The construction is more striking still in which the predicate is made to agree with a noun compared with the subject (1) in gender—as, Magis pedes quam arma tuta sunt (Sallust, Jugurtha, 74[174]) = ‘Feet (masc.) are safer (neut.) than arms (neut.):’ (2) in number—Me non tantum literæ, quantum longinquitas temporis mitigavit (Cicero, Fam., vi. 4) = ‘Me not so much letters as length of time has comforted:’ (3) in gender and number—as, Quand on est jeunes, riches, et jolies, comme vous, mesdames, on n’en est pas réduites à l’artifice (Diderot), ‘When one (sing.) is young, rich, and pretty, (fem. plur.) as you are, ladies, one (sing.) is not reduced (fem. plur.) to artifice:’ (4) in person and number—as, Ἡ τύχη ἀεὶ βέλτιον ἢ ἡμεὶς ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιμελούμεθα (Demosthenes, Phil., I. 12), ‘Fortune always for us more than we care for ourselves.’ In English we meet with many sentences like ‘Sully bought of Monsieur de la Roche Guzon one of the finest horses that was ever seen.’ The concord of the predicate with a second subject connected with the words and not is also curious; as, Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day (Shakespeare, 2 Hen. IV., IV. ii.).[175]

In Greek, an apposition separated from the noun by a relative sentence may follow the relative pronoun in case; as, Κύκλωπος κεχόλωται, ὃν οφθάλμου ἀλάωσεν, ἀντίθεον Πολύφημον (Hom., Od., i. 69), ‘He is wrath with the Cyclops (gen.) whom (acc.) he deprived of an eye, the divine Polyphemus (acc.).’

A demonstrative or relative, instead of following the substantive to which it refers, may follow a noun predicated of it; as, in Latin, Leucade sunt hæc decreta; id caput Arcadiæ erat (Livy, xxxiii. 17), ‘These things were decreed at Leucas (fem.); that (neut.) in the capital (neut.) of Arcadia;’ Thebæ quod Bœotiæ caput est, ‘Thebes (fem. plur.) which (neut.) is the capital (neut.) of Bœotia;’ Φόβος ἣν αἰδὼ εἴπομεν (Plat.), ‘Fear (masc.) which (fem.) we call modesty (fem.).’

A relative pronoun logically referring to an impersonal indefinite subject usually follows the definite predicate belonging to that subject; and, of course, the predicate of the pronoun does the same. Thus we have to say ‘It was a man who told me,’ and not ‘It was a man which told me:’ ‘It is the lord Chancellor whose decision is questioned.’ It is the same in German and in French; as, C’est eux qui ont bâti (‘It is they who have built’). In French, too, the person of the verb in the relative sentence follows the definite predicate, as C’est moi seul qui suis coupable (‘It is I alone who am guilty’); and it is the same in English—‘It is I who am in fault.’ On the other hand, in N.H.G. the use is to say Du bist es, der mich gerettet hat, ‘Thou art it who me saved has,’ = ‘It is thou that (who) hast saved me.’

In a relative sentence, the verb connected with the subject of the governing sentence goes into the first or second person, even though the relative pronoun belongs to the predicate, and the third person would strictly be natural: cf. Non sum ego is consul qui nefas arbitrer Gracchos laudare = ‘I am not such a consul who should think (1st pers.) it base to praise the Gracchi’ (Cicero); Neque tu is es qui nescias = ‘Nor are you he who would ignore’ (2nd pers.), i.e. ‘Nor are you such a one as to ignore.’

In English, this construction is very common; as, ‘If thou beest he: but O how fall’n! how changed From him, who in the happy realms of light didst outshine myriads’ (Milton, Par. Lost, bk. i., 84, 85); ‘I am the person who have had’ (Goldsmith, Good-nat. Man, iii.). This construction was common in Anglo-Saxon; as, Secga œnigum ðâra ðe tirleâses trôde sceawode = ‘Of the men to any of those (plur.) who of the inglorious the track looked at (sing.)’ + ‘To any of the men who looked at the track (of the) inglorious (man)’ (Beowulf, 844).

So in French—JŹlthe d’ epi psychê Thêbaiou Teiresiao chryseon skêptron echōne suis l’homme qui accouchai d’un œuf (Voltaire), ‘I am the man who laid (1st. pers.) an egg’; Je suis l’individu qui ai fait le crime, ‘I am the person who have done the crime;’ and Italian—Io sono colui chi ho fatto, ‘I am he who have done.’

The predicate or attribute, instead of agreeing with the subject, or with the word which it serves to define, may agree with a genitive dependent on that subject; as, Ἦλθε δ’ ἐπί ψυχή Θηβαίου Τειρεσίαο χρύσεον σκῆπτρον ἔχων (Homer, Od., xi. 90), ‘The soul (fem.) of the Theban Teresias (masc.) came having (masc.) a golden sceptre.’ In English we find ‘There are eleven days’ journey from Horeb unto Kadesh-barnea’ (Deut. i. 2).

In French it is customary to say La plupart de ses amis l’abandonnèrent, ‘The most part of his friends abandoned (plur.) him;’ but La plupart du peuple voulait, ‘The most part of the people wished (sing.):’ in the former case the quantity of individuals is regarded; in the latter the people are looked upon as a totality divided.

The attribute sometimes in Latin and Greek, referring to the person addressed, appears in the vocative: as, Quibus Hector ab oris Expectate venis? (Vergil, Æn., ii. 282), ‘From what shores, Hector, O long expected, dost come?’ Stemmate quod Tusco ramum millesime ducis (Persius, iii. 28), ‘Because thou, O thousandth, dost draw thy lineage from an Etruscan tree.’ Thus, in Greek, Ὄλβιε, κῶρε, γένοιο (Theocr., Id., xvii. 66), ‘Mayst thou be happy, O boy,’ lit. ‘O happy, O boy, mayst thou be!’

Such examples as these may aid us to understand the way in which concord has spread beyond the area to which it strictly belonged. And we may gather from these some idea of the way in which this process grew up in prehistorical times. We must remember, however, that concord was not felt so indispensable in the earliest stages of language, because absolute forms without inflectional suffixes were then the rule.

The question now comes, What were the rudiments from which concord proceeded? We must suppose that a period once existed in which substantives coalesced with the stem of the verb, and in which pronouns could precede the stem, just as our actual verbal inflections seem to owe their origin in many cases to the coalition of pronouns with the stem. We must therefore suppose that, just as it was possible to say Διδω-μι (‘Give I’), so it was possible to say ‘Go father,’ ‘Father go’ (for ‘Father goes’); and ‘I go,’ just as it was possible to say ‘Go I,’ ‘Go thou,’ ‘Go he’ (instead of ‘I go,’ etc.). There are actually some non-Indo-European languages in which the third person singular differs from the other persons by dispensing with any suffix. Such is Hungarian,[176] in which the root ‘fog,’ ‘seize,’ is thus declined—fog-ok, fogo-s, fog. Here, then, the original plan maintains itself, of coalition according to the formula ‘Go-father,’ or ‘Father-go.’ In the next stage, the subject is repeated, as, when we say Ἔγω δίδωμι, we are really saying ‘I give I.’ This process is very common in some modern languages, especially in poetry, when emphasis is to be given to the subject: as, The night it was still, and the moon it shone (Kirke White, Gondoline);[177] The skipper he stood beside the helm (Longfellow): Je le sais, moi; Il ne voulut pas, lui; Toi, tu vivras vil et malheureux,—‘I know it, I;’ ‘He would not, he;’ ‘Thou, thou shalt live vile and wretched.’ Similar is the anticipation of the subject by an indefinite il; as, Il suffisait un mot, ‘There sufficed a word.’ The pronoun was originally doubled only where it was specially emphasised, just as in uneducated conversation at the present day we hear such forms as I says, says I. But such pronominal reduplication must have spread, and have affected the verbal forms when they were completely formed, just as it, at an earlier period, affected the tense-stems. It is, however, by this time so far forgotten that the termination of such a word as legit represents a personal pronoun, that its most common use is to indicate its relationship with the subject by mere concord; as Pater legit, lit. ‘Father read—he,’ i.e. ‘father reads.’ In fact, the personal endings at the present day merely serve to mark the verb as such, and sometimes to express the difference between different moods.

In the case of nouns, the concord of gender and number, at any rate, is first formed in the pronoun to which reference is made, to which gender, too, owes its origin, as in such cases as illæ mulieres, ‘those women (nom.);’ illas mulieres (acc.).

Concord in case appears first in apposition; as, Imperatoris Cæsaris exercitus, ‘The army of Cæsar (gen.) the commander (gen.),’ where it serves to show that both nouns have the same relation to exercitus. But here there is no more actual necessity for employing the case-ending twice, than there is for repeating the pronominal suffix in the case of the verb. This we may see in such cases as King Arthur’s seat; La gloire de la nation française, ‘The glory of the French nation.’ A concord in gender and number occurs, even at the present day, only where it is demanded by the nature of the case; as, La dame sur le visage de laquelle les grâces étaient peintes (Fénelon), ‘The lady on the face of whom the graces were painted.’

The concord of substantives in apposition having been the first to form itself—as in Cæsaris imperatoris Romani, ‘Of Cæsar (gen.) the Roman-commander (gen.)’—we must suppose the concord of the attributival and predicatival adjective to have been modelled upon that use; as, Cæsaris domini potentis, ‘Of Cæsar (gen.) the powerful master (gen.),’ or Cæsaris invicti, ‘Of Cæsar (gen.) unconquered (gen.).’ In other words, their origin reaches back to a time when the adjective still occupied the same category as the substantive, and was not yet thought of as occupying a category of its own. The transition is marked by such substantives as are called, in Latin grammars, Mobilia, which in the forms of their genders resemble adjectives. Such as coquus, ‘cook’ (masc.); coqua, ‘cook’ (fem.): dominus, ‘lord;’ domina, ‘lady:’ rex, ‘king;’ regina, ‘queen.’ As these substantives passed into adjectives, they maintained the concord, and it then came to be regarded as of the essence of the adjective.

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CHAPTER XVIII.
ECONOMY OF EXPRESSION.

Language, as a rule, employs no more material than is necessary to make the hearer or reader understand the meaning intended to be conveyed by the speaker or writer. This statement must be taken merely generally, for it admits of many exceptions. But, as a rule, language, like a careful housewife, husbands its resources, and tends rather to economy than to lavishness in their employment. Everywhere in language we meet with forms of expression which contain just so much as is needed to make the employer of language understood, and no more. In fact, the supply offered by language depends on the demand, and on this alone. A gesticulation may supply the place of a sentence; a nod, a frown, a smile may speak as plainly as any words. Much, too, must depend upon the situation: on the relations of the speakers to each other; their knowledge of what is passing in each other’s minds; and their common sentiments with regard to the subject discussed. If we consider a form of expression which shall convey a thought under all possible conditions to any possible hearer as the only correct standard, and measure all other forms with that standard, then all these will appear imperfect, or, as grammarians would say, elliptical.

Practically, however, ellipse should be assumed in a minimum of cases, and each form of expression should be referred to its origin. Otherwise, we must be content to regard ellipse as an essential part of language; in fact, we shall have to regard language as habitually containing less than ought rightly to be expressed, and hence we should have to regard most expressions as elliptical.

We will consider first the cases in which a word or phrase is said to be supplied from what precedes or what follows. It hardly seems that we are justified in using the word supplied. Take such a sentence as Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? (Rich. II., III. ii. 14). We can hardly contend that in the perfectly expressed sentence we should have to supply dead after Bushy, Green, and the Earl, etc. Again, in such a sentence as He saw me and grew pale, it seems unnecessary to supply he with grew pale; nor in such a combination as in fear and hope need we supply in before hope merely because we can also say in fear and in hope. It seems more correct to drop the notion of supplying, and to think of single positing with plural reference—regarding what usually is called a sentence, not as an independent self-contained integer, but as a link in a continuous series.

It is common to assume an ellipse in such cases as ‘the German and French languages,’ and still more in the form ‘the German language and the French.’ But we have really here a pair of elements standing in the same relation to a third. That this is so, we see by the fact that there are other languages in which the two elements are really treated as a unity and attached as such to the third, which then becomes strictly speaking the second. This is shown by the use of the plural. We say, for instance, in Latin—quarta et Martia legiones (Brut. apud Cicero, ad Fam., ii. 19), ‘the fourth (sing.) and the Martian (sing.) legions (plur.),’ beside legio Martia quartaque, ‘the legion Martian and fourth’ (both in Cicero); Falernum et Capuanum agros, ‘the Falernian (sing.) and Capuan (sing.) fields (plur.)’ (Livy, xxii. 15): Italian—le lingue Greca e Latina, ‘the languages Greek (sing.) and Latin (sing.),’ besides la lingua Greca e Latina, ‘the language Greek and Latin:’ in French—les langues Française et Allemande:—so, the fourth and fifth regiments; the second and third days.

In the same way, in the case of such sentences as John writes well, James badly, we are prone to assume an ellipse. But that the current assumption of an ellipse cannot be always right is proved by the fact that even in English we sometimes meet with a plural predicate: as, ‘Your sister as well as myself, said Booby, are greatly obliged’ (Fielding, J. Andr., iv. 7); ‘Old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door,’ (Shakespeare, 1 Henry IV. II. iv.): as against, ‘Ely, with Richmond troubles me’ (Rich. III., IV. iii.); ‘Until her back, as well as sides, was like to crack’ (But., Hud., II. i. 85).[178]

In Latin, we actually find this construction with the ablative absolute: ille Antiocho, hic Mithridate pulsis, ‘the former when Antiochus, the latter when Mithridates WERE defeated’ (Tacitus); quod tu aut illa queri possitis, ‘what thou or she require could (the verb plural)’ (Tullia, ap. Cicero, ad Fam., iv. 5): cf.— ‘Not the King’s crown nor the deputed sword,
The marshal’s truncheon nor the judge’s robe,
Become them.’
(Shakespeare, Meas. for Meas., II. ii. 60); ‘For there nor yew nor cypress spread their gloom’ (Th. Campbell, Theodoric). So in French—‘Ni l’or ni la grandeur ne nous rendent heureux’ (La Fontaine), ‘Neither gold nor grandeur make us happy:’ and in Latin—‘Erant quibus nec Senatus gloriari nec princeps possent,’ lit. ‘There were (some) of whom neither Senate boast nor the Emperor could (plur.)’ (Plin., Pan., 75).[179] This plural has originated from cases where the copulative connection could be substituted without essential alteration of meaning—as, ‘Yew and cypress spread not there their gloom,’—and has thence been extended by analogy. In fact, for the instinct of language, the predicate has been posited once and not twice.

In sentences like ‘I will come and do it,’ ‘Who steals my purse steals trash’ (Othello, III. iii. 157), ‘Who was the thane lives yet’ (Macbeth, I. iii. 109), we have instances of an element common to the principal and subordinate sentence, and also in such sentences as ‘It is thy sovereign speaks to thee,’ a variety of sentences constructed ἀπὸ κοινοῦ. Sometimes also, in German, we find such sentences as Was ich da träumend jauchzt und litt, muss wachend nun erfahren (Goethe), lit. ‘What I there dreaming cheered-at and suffered must waking now experience;’ with which we may compare sentences like Milton’s ‘Thou art my son beloved: in him am pleased,’ and ‘Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed, and faints for succour’[180] (Shakespeare, As You Like It, II. iv. 75). It occurs frequently in dialogue that words of one speaker are not repeated by another, and they are ordinarily described as being supplied. Really, however, dialogue must be regarded as a continuous whole, so that, e.g., the words of one speaker (or their contents) form subject to predicate uttered by the other. Cf.—

‘O Banquo, Banquo!
Our royal master’s murdered——
(Lady Macb.) Woe! alas!
What, in our house?’

If we take a sentence like ‘my relatives and friends,’ the common element my stands at the outset of the whole sentence; it is then nearer indeed to relatives, but is without difficulty referred to friends. But insertion in the second part of the sentence is also possible: cf. ‘It (i.e. love) shall be (too) sparing and too severe’ (Ven. and Adon., 1155), ‘Beggars (sitting) in their stocks refuge their shame that (i.e. because) many have (sat) and many must sit there’ (Rich. II., V. v. 27); ‘of such dainty and such picking grievances’ (2 Hen. IV., IV. i. 198).[181] In this case, the first portion of the sentence remains incomplete until the common element has been spoken or written; and this serves to complete the first and the second part of the sentence simultaneously.

Sometimes the common element stands in different relations to the two others with which it is connected. Then concord must be violated: and different languages try to avoid this breach of concord in different ways.

We, in English, admit the want of concord in such cases as ‘She LOVES him not less than I (LOVE him);’ ‘He thinks so: not I;’ ‘They are going to-morrow: I too.’ The case is similar in French: Vous partez—moi aussi (= ‘You depart—me also’); and in German, Du gehst—ich auch (= ‘Thou goest—I too’). The sequence of tenses is not observed in ‘Therefore they thought it good you hear a play’ (Tam. of Shrew, Introduc. ii. 136);[182] ‘’Twere good you do so much for charity’ (Merch. of Ven., IV. i. 261). The infinitive has to be borrowed from the finite verb in cases like ‘He has done as he was bound;’ ‘He is gone where he was told.’

It is, of course, harder to find cases of discord in gender in English than in more highly inflected languages. In French, however, we find Paul et Virginie étaient ignorants (B. de S. Pierre), ‘Paul and Virginia were ignorant [masc. plur.]:’ and also Le fer, le bandeau et la flamme est toute prête (Racine), ‘The iron, the bandage and the flame is quite ready;’ C’est un homme ou une femme noyée (Boniface), ‘It is a man or a woman drowned (sing. fem.):’ cf. Lat. Visæ nocturno tempore faces ardorque cœli (Cicero, Cat., iii. 8). The case is similar in Italian and Spanish. In English, we find such sentences as ‘I am happy to hear it was his horse and not himself who fell in the combat.’[183]

A single word may actually stand in relation to two or more verbs, and represent two or more cases; as, which (accusative to spit and nominative to is), however, they pretend to spit wholly out of themselves, is improved by the same arts (Swift, Battle of the Books, p. 29, Cassell’s Edit.): so in Latin—Quibus insputari solitumst atque iis profuit (Plaut., Captivi), ‘On whom it is customary that it should be spat, and (this) has been good for them.’

In Latin, again, we find a nominative actually representing an accusative; as, Qui fatetur ... et ... non timeo (Cicero) = ‘Who confesses ... and ... (whom) I do not fear:’ and, again, a dative represents an accusative in Cui fidem habent et bene rebus suis consulere arbitrantur (Cicero), ‘In whom they trust and whom they deem to manage their affairs well.’

There are, again, cases in which the two principal notions are connected by a link which serves to define more closely the nature of the connection. Such links are often dispensed with, as in Hectoris Andromache, Cæcilia Metelli; or, The Duke of Westminster’s Ormonde. It is misleading, in such cases, to say that uxor, ‘wife,’ or filia, ‘daughter,’ or colt is to be supplied; indeed, no definite expression of the kind could be supplied unless the hearer or reader were conversant with the situation; and even then it does not follow that any one of the three words which we have mentioned would actually be supplied. The truth is that the genitive, in these cases, denotes a connection which may be rendered more definite as our knowledge of the situation becomes more intimate.

Indications of direction were no doubt originally associated with verbs of motion only; as, I am going thither. But they are now found attached to verbs of preparing, wishing and the like: as, Wo wollen sie hin? = ‘Where will you to?’ (= ‘Whither will you?’ = ‘Whither are you going?’); He purposeth to Athens (Shakespeare, Ant. and Cleo., III. i. 35); I must to Coventry (Rich. II., I. ii. 56); To Cabin! silence, (Temp., I. i.); To horse! to horse! (Rich. II., II. i.); Back to thy punishment, false fugitive; Forward, brave champions, to the fight (Scott, Lay of Last Minstrel, v. 20); And thou shalt back to France (Marlowe, Edward II., I. i.); Let us across the country to Terracina (Bulwer, Rienzi, iii. 1).[184] Similarly, the common Scottish phrase to want in, for to wish to enter. In these cases, we must suppose that the notions of preparing, wishing, etc., and of the terminus ad quem present themselves at once to our consciousness, and that they are directly connected as psychological subject and predicate. Then the ordinary construction in such cases, as, They are going home, or to Rome, occurred to the recollection, and the analogy of this form of expression co-operated to produce the form in question. The form has now become so usual that it cannot fairly be described as elliptical. Other similar phrases are I never let him from home; I will not let you out; Let me in; and, again, such as He is away, or He is off to Paris; in which case away and off to Paris are to be taken as predicates, and is as copula. With this construction may be classed the so-called constructio prægnans, like conditus in nubem (Vergil, Georgics, I. 442) = ‘Hidden into a cloud,’ i.e. ‘Having passed into a cloud and hidden itself.’

In Latin, a nominative case standing as subject is sometimes followed by an accusative standing without a verb; as, Cicero Cassio salutem, ‘Cicero to Cassius greeting:’ similarly, Unde mihi tam fortem? (Horace, Sat., II. v. 102); sus Minervam; fortes fortuna; dii meliora (Cicero, Phil., viii. 3); Di vostram fidem (Plaut., Captivi, 591).

In these cases, two notions are combined in the form of nominative and accusative because they stand in the same relation to each other as, in a more complete sentence, obtains between subject and predicate.

Similarly, in French, we find expressions like Vite un flambeau! (Racine), ‘Quick! a torch;’ Citoyens, trève à cette dispute! (Ponsard), ‘Citizens, enough of this dispute.’

Sometimes, again, a nominative standing as subject is connected with an adverb; as, hæc hactenus, ‘this so far;’ an tu id melius? ‘or (do you know) this better?’ ne quid temere, ‘nothing rash;’ ne quid nimis, ‘nothing too-much;’ ταῦτα μὲν οὖν δὲ ὁὗτως (= ‘that thou therefore thus’) (Plato). Similarly, we find in English, one step enough for me (Newman’s hymn, ‘Lead Kindly Light’). Many instances of such constructions may be found in Pepys’ Diary; as, I to bed, etc.

Sometimes we meet with sentences like I will give you an example how to do the thing. In this case, the subordinate sentence is combined with a principal sentence without some element of the sentence like, of how or as how you should do it. Thus we find sentences like the following:[185] To talk to a man in a state of moral corruption to elevate himself. Then sentences like You look what is the matter; where the sentence, if fully expressed, would be Look to see what is the matter. Similarly, in Greek, Ὅρη δίφρον, Εὐνόα, αὐτᾷ (Theoc., Idyll., xv. 2), ‘Look (for) a chair for her.’ Similarly, we have such phrases as As far as that goes; As far as I know; To be plain: and, again, such compressed sentences as in short; quant à cela (‘as for that’), etc.

In cases like to the right, to the left, the situation again stands instead of a substantive. Just so, in Latin, calida frigida (aqua),[186] ‘warm, cold (i.e. water):’ Hot or cold? (with reference to refreshments); Burgundy, Champagne; agnina, caprina (caro), ‘lamb, goat (i.e. flesh);’ Appia (via), ‘Appian (road);’ Martia (aqua), ‘Martian (water);’ une première représentation, ‘a first performance;’ a tenth; the Russian, French (language); la Marseillaise. In these cases, if we speak of ellipse at all, we must remember that we could not in many cases supply the ellipse without the situation. If we were to say, Bring the old instead of the new, this would be meaningless unless we had the wine before us: unless, indeed, we had something else, as clothes, for instance, in which case likewise the situation would supply the sense required. The more ‘usual’ such ways of speech become, the less do they depend on the situation. When we speak of Champagne, Bordeaux, Gruyère, etc., the word has passed from the position of an epithet into that of a true substantive.

In the case of genitive determinants, we meet with a similar development. An Oxford student would have no difficulty in understanding what was meant by We were beaten by St. John’s (College), nor a medical man by I am house surgeon at St. George’s. Similarly, we find in French la Saint Pierre (fête), ‘S. Peter’s (day);’ and, in Latin, ad Vestæ (templum), ‘to Vesta’s (temple);’ and in German, Heut ist Simon und Juda’s, ‘To-day is Simon and Juda’s (feast)’ (Sch.). In these cases, no ellipse can be assumed, for it is evident that the words are already apprehended as simple substantives.

In such forms as No further! the psychological predicate alfone is expressed, the unexpressed subject being the person to whom the words are addressed. We may gather that these words are apprehended as in the accusative case from parallel instances in other languages; as Cotta finem, ‘Cotta (made) an end;’ Keinen schritt weiter, No step further! It is the same with sentences like Good day, My best thanks, Bon voyage (‘Pleasant trip!’), etc. In sentences like Christianos ad leones (‘The Christians to the lions’) or Manum de tabula (‘Hand from table’), we might certainly take Christianos and manum as the psychological subject, and ad leones or de tabula as the predicate; but the accusative in Christianos and manum shows that a subject is really conceived of as taken from the situation, and that manum, Christianos, are regarded as the object of such subject. It is the same with cases: as, Ultro istum a me (Plautus), ‘Spontaneously him from me;’ Ex pede Herculem, ‘From foot Hercules;’ Ex ungue leonem, ‘From claw the lion;’ Malam illi pestem, ‘To him the plague’ (Cicero); Tiberium in Tiberim (Suet., Tib., 75), ‘Tiberius into the Tiber.’ In German we have cases like Den kopf in die höhe = ‘(The) head into the height’ = ‘Heads up!’ and, in English, probably such cases as Heads up! Hands down! are conceived of as in the accusative case. Other cases also, as well as adverbs, can be thus used: as, Sed de hoc alio loco pluribus = ‘But more of this hereafter;’ Hæc nimis iracunde = ‘This too angrily.’ Similarly, So Gareth to him (Tennyson, Gareth and Lynette, p. 47); Whereat the maiden petulant (ibid., p. 77).

Sometimes, as in the rhetorical figure which we call aposiopesis, the psychological predicate as well is taken from the situation; in this case gesticulation and the tone of the speaker may do much to promote the clearness of the situation. Thus we have suppressed threats, like the well-known Vergilian, Quos ego (Æn., i. 135), ‘Whom I!’[187]

Again, we find such expressions as, To be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus (is something).[188] Again, take such expressions as the wretch! A maid and be so martial! (Shakespeare, 1 Hen. VI., I. iv.); and, again, exclamations such as So young and so depraved! To sleep so long! and, To throw me plumply aside! (Coleridge, Picc., i. 2). Under this head will come the so-called Infinitive of exclamation in Latin. Hunccine solem tam nigrum surrexe mihi (Horace, Sat., I. ix. 72), ‘Oh that this wretched day (black sun) has risen for me!’ This use is also very common in French; as, Enfoncer ce couteau moi-même, chose horrible (Ponsard),[189] ‘To plunge this knife (into him) myself, horrible notion!’

Similarly, dependent sentences may become by us independent; as, ‘O that this too too solid flesh would melt!’ If I only knew! O had we some bright little isle of our own! (T. Moore). This use is similar in Anglo-Saxon.[190]

It is similar when conditional sentences are used as threats; as, If you only dare! Verbum si Addideris! (Terence), ‘If you say another word!’—or when such are set down and left uncompleted; as, But if he doesn’t come after all! French is full of parallels: cf. Et quand je pense que j’ai été plusieurs fois demander des messes à ce magicien d’Urbain (De Vigny), ‘And if I consider that I have several times asked this conjurer Urbain for masses!’ Puisque je suis là, si nous liquidions un peu ce vieux compte (Daudet), ‘As I am here (what) if we settled this old account?’ C’est à peine si ma tête entre dans ce chapeau (Acad.), ‘It is (only) with difficulty if my head gets into this hat;’ Passez votre chemin, mon ami. Que je passe mon chemin? Oui, qui, qui le pourrait (Regnard) = ‘Go on, my friend!—I, go on?—Yes, yes, if it were possible.’ These sentences with that are originally predicates; or, speaking from a grammatical point of view, objects. That I might be there to see! if fully expressed, would be I wish that I could be there to see. Cf. I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where ’tis spoken (Shakespeare, Tempest, I. ii.); Those other two equalled with me in fate, so were I equalled with them in renown (Milton, Par. Lost, iii. 33); Would to God we had died by the hand of the Lord (Exod. xvi. 3).

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CHAPTER XIX.
RISE OF WORD-FORMATION AND INFLECTION.

We have in former chapters dealt with, and frequently alluded to, the fact that much which is new in derivation and inflection is due to analogy. Much is due to this, but not all; and we must now ask whence originated these processes of derivation and flection, which cannot be explained as due to analogy, i.e. those which, instead of being moulded on a given pattern, have, on the contrary, served as the model for others. It is clear that as soon as language arose, even in its most primitive state, words must have been combined syntactically, in however simple a manner. Groups of etymologically connected words, words derived the one from the other by suffixes (as long, length; king, kingdom) or by flection (as book, books; go, goes),—such groups need not have existed at once, nay, must have arisen only gradually, and in course of time. How did they arise? Theoretically, three ways only seem possible.

Words formed independently for cognate ideas, might accidentally resemble each other so closely as to group themselves also phonetically, i.e. to be sounded more or less alike; or—what is essentially the same, though not quite so improbable—words originally different and expressing different ideas, might, in course of time, so develop in meaning and sound as to become members of a group. A case somewhat of this nature we studied in our word bound (cf. page 194), which, originally different in sound and form from the then existing past participle of to bind, has come to resemble it so much in form, and was used in such a sense as to cause all but students of language to group these forms together.

A second way is a differentiation in sound, i.e. two forms may arise, under the influence of accent or other causes, from the same word, which two forms then come to be differentiated in meaning. We have in this way, for instance, the two forms of the past tense of the verb werden (to become) in German, ward and wurde. These arose absolutely independently of any difference in meaning; once having arisen, a custom sprang up of using the one (ward) as aorist and the other (wurde) by preference as imperfect tense.

That in the above examples, the form which later on became bound is not itself an original creation, or that, in German, the two forms of the past tense were due largely to analogy, does not affect their value as illustrative of our point. We readily understand that both these ways were and are possible, but, at the same time, that in only very few cases they have been followed.

Only one way of explaining the origin of flection remains—‘composition.’

In order to explain how derivation and flection can have been derived from composition, we will go somewhat deeply into the nature and application of the latter. We shall then see how impossible it is to draw a sharp line between syntactical co-ordination, composition, derivation, and flection anywhere, and then—and only then—we shall acquire an insight into the true nature of the subject of this chapter.

If we study the composition of words in the various Indo-European languages, we soon learn to distinguish two different kinds. In one we find the so-called crude forms (that is to say, those forms of the words which, WITH THE CASE-ENDINGS, make up what we now consider the complete word) combined with other crude forms, the last of which alone assumes these case-endings. To illustrate this we must of course go back to ancient languages, in which this crude form is clearly distinct from the nominative or any other case. We have plenty of such compounds even now in English and other modern languages; but, in consequence of the wearing off of terminations, the most undoubted examples would illustrate (i.e. throw light upon) nothing. In Sanscrit, for instance, there are three plants which in the nominative singular would be called çaças (or çaçaḥ), kuças (ḥ) or kuçam (masc. or neut.), and palâçam. It is the crude forms of these nouns (without their nominative—s and m) which are used in the compound çaça-kuça-palâçam, which indicates a collection of the three. Again râjâ (with long â) is the nominative form of a stem râjan (‘king’) or râja (with short a). In the compound râja-purushas (h) we again find the crude form, this time the shorter form of the base: purushas means ‘man’ and the whole (= ‘king-man’) stands for king’s man. We might illustrate this kind by such words as our tragi-comic, melodramatic (melos = ‘song’).

In the other kind of compounds we find two or more fully inflected forms combined in one group. This is the method of composition which survives in our present linguistic consciousness, which sees compounds of the second kind even in those which are historically connected with the Indo-European type, illustrated in the former paragraph by râja-purushas. The wearing off of well-nigh all case-endings has in the present language almost completely obliterated the difference between crude forms and nominatives of nouns and adjectives or the infinitives of verbs. Hence, at present, the ordinary speaker realises no difference between, e.g., noon in noon-tide and the word noon in It is noon. Yet the compound noon-tide belongs historically to the former class, and noon is there a ‘crude form,’ if we may still so call it. In our following study of composition as at present employed in the English language, we neglect the scientific origin, but base our classification on appearance; in the present case, on present linguistic consciousness. One of the fullest and best-known lists of compounds in the English language is perhaps that given by Morris (Histor. Outlines, p. 222). We shall largely draw upon it in the following study, though we have, in our enumeration, rather considered the character of the component parts than, as Mr. Morris does, that of the function of the compound.

I. Nouns are compounded with Nouns—

1. Both in the same case; i.e. in apposition, the one explanatory of, or defining the other (in which case one of the nouns has a function almost, if not quite, identical with that of an adjective). Instances are spear-plant, noon-tide, church-yard, headman, oak-tree, master-tailor, merchant-tailor, prince-regent, water-course, watershed, head-waiter, plough-boy, bishopdom (found in Milton, dom = ‘jurisdiction’), bishopric (ric = A.S. rîce, ‘power,’ ‘domain’), bandog (= band + dog), barn (bere, i.e. barley + ern, i.e. ‘storehouse’), bridegroom (bride + groom = goom = A.S. guma, ‘man’[191]), bridal (bride + ale = ‘bride-feast’), cowslip (cow + slip, A.S. cu-slyppe = ‘cow dung’), hussy (= ‘house-wife’—Skeat, Prin. Eng. Etymol., p. 422), Lord-lieutenant, earlmarshal, wer-wolf (‘man-wolf,’ A.S. wer = ‘a man’), world (weoruld, wer = ‘man’ + ældu = ‘age,’ ‘old age,’ ‘age of man’), yeoman (= ‘village-man’—see Skeat), orchard (A.S. orceard, ortgeard, metathesis = wort-yard = ‘vegetable-garden’), Lammas (= hláf-maesse = ‘loaf-mass,’ ‘day of offering,’ ‘first-fruits’), handi-work (hand + geweorc = ‘hand-work’), mildew (= ‘honey dew,’ mil = ‘honey,’ A.S. mele), penny-worth.

2. Genitive + Nominative. Doomsday, Thursday, Tuesday (day of Tiw, the godhead), kinsman, trades-union, calf’s-foot (calf’s-foot jelly), lady day (lady as a feminine had no s in the genitive), daisy (‘day’s eye,’ A.S. dæges 4 éage), Wednesday (‘Wodan’s day’), shilling’s-worth.

3. Noun + Verbal Noun (the former having the function of object to the verb cognate with the latter). Man-killer, blood-shedding, auger (i.e. ‘nauger,’ a nauger having been divided as if = an auger; A.S. nafu-gár, ‘nave (of a wheel)’ ‘-borer,’ ‘-piercer’), groundsel (A.S. grunde + swelge = ‘ground-swallower’ = ‘abundant weed;’ already in the Saxon corrupted from gunde-swilge = ‘poison-swallower,’ with reference to healing effects),[192] lady (hláf-dige, ‘loaf-kneader’), soothsayer (= ‘truth-speaker’).

4. Two Nouns in other relations: nightingale (A.S. nihte-gale = ‘night-singer’), nightmare (mara, ‘an incubus,’ by night).

II. Nouns are compounded with Adjectives.

1. Adjective and Substantive.

a. Nouns. Nobleman, upperhand, good-day, sometime, meanwhile, freeman, blackbird, long-measure, sweet-william, lucky-bag, midday, alderman (ealdor-man = ‘elder-man’), Gospel (god-spell = ‘good-spell’ = ‘good tiding’), holiday (= ‘holy day’), halibut (= ‘holy but’ = ‘holy plaice for eating on holy days’), hoar-frost, hoar-hound (the hoar or greyish húna, i.e. the plant now called horehound), hind-leg, neighbour (= ‘near-dweller’), midriff (mid + hrif = belly), titmouse (small sparrow; mouse here = A.S. máse, small bird, not the A.S. mûs from which the common word mouse).

b. Adjectives. Barefoot.

2. Substantive and Adjective.

a. Nouns. Furlong (= ‘furrow long’ = ‘the length of a furrow’).

b. Adjectives. In many of these the noun has very much the functions of an adverb. Blood-red, snow-white, fire-proof, shameful, beautiful, manly (i.e. ‘man-like’), scot-free (free from paying scot, i.e. a contribution).

3. Substantive and Participle.

a. Earth-shaking, heart-rending, life-giving, blood-curdling.

b. Airfed, earthborn, moth-eaten.[193]

4. Numeral + Substantive.

Sennight (= ‘seven night’), fortnight (‘fourteen night’), twi-light (= ‘double light’ = ‘doubtful light’).

III. Pronoun and Substantive. Self-will, self-esteem.

IV. 1. Substantive and Verb (or Verbal Stem).

Verbs. Back-bite, blood-let, brow-beat, hoodwink, caterwaul (= ‘to wail like cats’).

2. Verb and Substantive.

Nouns. Grindstone, bakehouse, wash-tub, pickpocket, brimstone (i.e. brenstone = ‘burning stone’), rearmouse (hrére-mús, hreran, ‘to flutter’), wormwood (A.S. wermód = weremód, werian, ‘to defend,’ mód = ‘mood’ = ‘mind;’ ‘that which preserves the mind’), breakfast, spend-thrift (cf. wast-thrift—Middleton, A Trick to Catche the Old One, II. i.).

V. Adjective + Adjective (or Adverb + Adjective; it is not always possible to decide which).

1. Old-English, Low-German, deaf-mute, thrice-miserable.

2. Adjective (or Adverb) + Participle.

a. Deep-musing, fresh-looking, ill-looking.

b. Dear-bought, full-fed, high-born, dead-beat.

(In well-bred, well-disposed, etc., there is, of course, no doubt that the first element is an adverb.)

VI. Adjective and Verb. White-wash.

VII. Adverb and Verb. Cross-question, doff (do-off), don (do-on).

Further compounds we meet are made up of—

VIII. Pronouns with Pronouns. Somewhat.

IX. Adverbs with Adverbs. Each (= á (aye) + gelic = like, A.S. aelc).

X. Adverbs with Pronouns. None (= ne + one), naught (= ne + aught).

XI. Adverbs with Prepositions. Therefrom.

XII. Adverbs with Adverbs. Henceforth, forthwith.

XIII. Prepositions with their Case. Downstairs, uphill, instead.

XIV. Adverbs with Verbs. Foretell, gainsay, withstand, etc.

We also find more than two members formed into one; such as man-o’-war, will-o’-the-wisp, brother-in-law, nevertheless, whatsoever, etc. Sentences and phrases coalesce; as in good-bye (= ‘God be with you’), the provincial beleddy (= ‘By our lady,’ i.e. the Virgin Mary), may-be (provincially in America written mebbe), and, aided by metaphorical usage, forget-me-not, kiss-me-quick, etc.

The student should carefully go over these examples, and, in each of them, attentively study the full force of the compound, and see what is really expressed by the component part, and what implied by the mere fact that they are thus joined.[194] If he is acquainted with any foreign languages, he should also study all the various habits of these languages as regards composition. He will then gain a clear insight into the nature of the process, and see how impossible it is to fix a line of demarcation between compounds and syntactical combinations. This is further illustrated by the fact that much, which in one language is looked upon as a compound, in another is kept asunder; nay, in the same language one calls a compound what the other would count as two distinct words. Thus a German writes derselbe (= ‘the self,’ i.e. ‘the same’) as one word, whereas an Englishman writes the same; an Englishman writes himself where the German has, in two words, sich selbst. Cf. the Eng. long-measure with the Ger. langenmass; the Fr. malheureux (from malum augurium, ‘evil omen’) with the Eng. ill-starred, etc. It is this uncertainty, this vacillation, to which we owe the compromise of writing such combinations with a hyphen; e.g., a good-for-nothing. Though even this usage is not fixed and invariable; for one author will write, e.g., head-dress, another headdress, etc.

If there is no line of logical demarcation between compound and syntactical groups, no more is there a phonetic one. Misled by the fact that the words of a syntactical group are written asunder, and a compound written as one word, we might think that the members of such a compound were pronounced as though more intimately connected than those of a syntactical group. But combinations like those of article and noun, preposition and noun, are really pronounced as one continuous whole as much as any compound. Nor is there an essential difference in the accent, either in place or in force. Compare, for instance, with him and withstand or withdraw; the degree of strength (or perhaps rather the absence) of emphasis on the first word in Lord Randolph, Lord Salisbury, with that on the last ‘syllable’ in landlord; or, again, the quantity of stress we give to the preposition in the expression in my opinion with that on the first syllable of insertion. If the example of Lord Randolph v. landlord seemed to show that the PLACE of the accent has some significance, we have but to read the sentences Not Lord Randolph but Lady R. Churchill, or Not the landlord but the landlady spoke to the lodger, to find the accents in exactly the opposite relations and places. No special place of accent, then, is characteristic of a compound. A very instructive example we have in the compound Newfoundland. This is actually pronounced by various speakers in three different ways: one says Néwfoundland, another Newfóundland, and, again, another Newfoundlánd. What, then, makes every one feel this word, in all three pronunciations, to be compound? Nothing physiological, but simply and solely the psychological fact that the meaning of the group new-found-land has become specialised, and no longer corresponds to what once would have been a perfectly equivalent group, land-newly-discovered. Semasiological development and isolation is the criterion of a compound. What degree of such isolation is required cannot be stated in any hard and fast rule.

Such isolation can be effected in four different ways. (1) In the first place, the whole group, as such, can develop its meaning in a manner, or to a degree, not shared by the compound members. An example of this we saw just now in Newfoundland. (2) Or, again, the component parts, as separate words, may develop and change their meaning, without being followed in that development by the same words as part of the group. Thus, e.g., with originally meant against. This meaning it still has in withstand, whilst as a separate word it is not now used in that meaning. (3) Thirdly, the compound parts may become obsolete as separate words; as, for instance, ric in ‘bishopric’ (cf. supra, p. 317). (4) And lastly, the peculiar construction according to which the parts are connected or combined may become obsolete, surviving only in the formula, which thus becomes isolated. Thus, e.g., the genitive singular of feminine nouns can no longer be formed without s; hence Lady-day is now felt as a compound word, whilst ladies’-cloak or ladies’-house would not be so felt.

Though such isolation is necessary and may suffice to stamp a group as compound, we must not conclude that every group, where such isolation in one way or another has commenced, is ipso facto looked upon as a compound. Many considerations are here of importance, some of which will be brought out in a further study of some examples in which we can observe the commencement of the fusion.

The first step which a syntactical group takes on the road towards complete isolation and consequent fusion into a compound, is commonly the one we described under No. 1. in the former section. We must here distinguish two cases, which, though perhaps not easily distinguished in words, are yet clearly different.

An example will best serve to explain it. We have already more than once stated that in Lady-day the grammatical isolation of the genitive lady, as against the present genitive lady’s, serves to emphasise the fusion of the two parts into one compound. But we must not forget that this form of the genitive in this combination would not have been preserved if, at the time when the word lady by itself began to assume the genitive s—or, rather, began to follow analogically other genitives in s,—if, we say, the compound had not then already been isolated to a sufficient degree to protect the first component part against the influence which affected it when standing in other combinations. The absence of the s is therefore NOT the CAUSE of the isolation of the group, or the fusion of its parts. We must seek for that cause most likely in the fact that the genitive was, in this combination, used in a sense which always was or had become unusual. Lady-day, even when the form lady was still felt as genitive, would but mean ‘the day consecrated to the service of our Lady,’ or ‘the day sacred to our Lady.’ Now this use of the genitive must always have been an exceptional one. Never, for instance, could a man’s book or a lady’s cloak have had a similar meaning. It was therefore at first not so much the meaning of the component parts, as the MEANING EXPRESSED BY THEIR SYNTACTICAL CO-ORDINATION, which stood apart and became isolated. We see something of the same influence if we compare St. John’s wood and St. John’s Church. In the second group, the latter of the component parts has a meaning which suggests and helps to keep alive the correct meaning of the genitive-relation expressed by the flection of the former part. In St. John’s wood this is not so. This compound is therefore felt to be more intimately fused together than the other, and, while every one who uses the expression St. John’s Church thinks of the Saint who bore the name of John, but few speakers will do so in speaking of St. John’s wood. There is a very clear instance of this at hand in the German Hungersnot, lit. = hungersneed, i.e. ‘famine’ (need, suffering caused by hunger). Here the genitive with the word need has a very special sense, which, e.g., could not be expressed by the otherwise equivalent construction with of. ‘The need of hunger,’ if ever used in German, would be a very forced and uncommon way of expressing the idea ‘famine,’ a way which only a poet could adopt (die Not des Hungers). Here, then, again, it is not the sense of the words, but the sense of their syntactical relation which stands isolated.

On the other hand, if we consider forms like upstairs, always, altogether, we shall find that it is not this relation, but the whole meaning of the group as such, which has become isolated by development or specialisation of meaning. Upstairs has become equivalent to ‘on a floor of the building higher than we are now;’ always has been extended so as to include the relation of time, etc. This development has then generally given rise to what grammarians term ‘indeclinabilia,’ which sometimes, by secondary development have become capable of flection. Thus the German preposition zu (to, at), and the dative case frieden (peace), in a sentence like Ich bin zufrieden, gave rise to the compound zufrieden (lit. = ‘at peace’), ‘contented.’ When once the prepositional phrase at peace had developed into the adjective content, the compound was declined like other adjectives: ein zufriedener mann = ‘a contented man;’ etc.

Again, when the groups round-about and go-between had become nouns, they could be treated as such, and we find the plurals round-abouts and go-betweens.

The more highly a language is inflected, the less liable will the parts of a syntactical group be to fuse into one. It is much easier for a combination like Greenland or Newfoundland to pass into a real compound than for one like the German (das) rote Meer, ‘(the) Red Sea,’ though the amount of isolation of meaning is the same in both. Whether the group Green + land is nominative or dative or genitive, no change in the form of green occurs; in German, das rote Meer is nominative, des roten Meeres is genitive, dem roten Meer is dative. Every time one of the two latter cases is used, the addition of the flection n reminds us of the independence of the two words rot and Meer.

Just as by means of suffixes, etc., we derive new words from others, whether the latter are simple or compound forms (love, love-able; for-get, forget-able; etc.), so we sometimes find whole syntactical groups, which are not yet considered as having been fused into one compound, used with similar suffixes. Instances are: good-for-nothingness, a stand-off-ishness, a devil-may-carish face; That fellow is such a go-a-header; He is not get-at-able, etc., which no doubt scarcely belong to the literary language, but which show that the linguistic feeling of the speaker must have already apprehended these groups as unities; in other words, that the first step on the road towards welding them into a compound has been taken. A well-established instance appears in our ordinal numerals, such as one-and-twentieth, five-and-fortieth, etc.

A similar commencement of fusion we can observe in copulative combinations like wind and weather or town and country, as soon as the whole may be conceived as a single conception. In wind and weather this is the case, the two terms being in this combination SYNONYMOUS, describing the same object from different points of view. Other instances of this we have in bag and baggage, kith and kin, moil and toil, safe and sound, first and foremost, house and home, far and wide.[195] In town and country, on the other hand, we have two elements which, whilst CONTRASTING, supplement one another. Such groups are old and young, heaven and hell, gown and town, big and small, rich and poor, hither and thither, to and fro, up and down, in and out. In a few, the same member is repeated; as, out and out, through and through, again and again, little by little. A careful consideration of the real meaning of such groups will show that, strictly speaking, these form a subdivision of our second class.

Inflected languages like German afford a criterion not applicable to English, as to the fusion of such combinations. We find there, for instance, a group—Habe und Gut (Etymol. = have, as a noun, for ‘property,’ and good = ‘chattels’), for ‘all a man’s possessions.’ The first of these nouns is feminine, and consequently ‘with all (his) belongings’ would be ‘mit aller Habe;’ Gut, on the other hand, is neuter, and requires the form (dative after mit) ‘mit allem Gut.’ Goethe has treated the group Hab’ und Gut as a neuter noun, and written ‘mit allem mobilen Hab’ und Gut’ (‘with all movable possessions’).

We have seen that groups like one and twenty, five and forty, etc., were really far advanced on the way of fusion, as was shown by the formation of the corresponding ordinals. In the case of those which begin with one, we have a further proof of this in the use of the plural noun, e.g. ‘one and twenty men.’

It will be readily felt that in expressions like a black and white dog, the group black and white really is in a similar state of fusion. We have but to separate the parts into two really independent words by the insertion of a second indefinite article, to see at once that ‘black and white’ is the description of one quality of one object, a compound word to express one (though not psychologically simple) conception.

So, again, the group one and all is sufficiently welded into one to resist, e.g., the insertion of the preposition of before its second part. Thus we should say It was for the good of one and all (i.e. for the entire community) and not of one and of all.

We may assume that complete fusion between the parts of such copulative groups would be more common if it were not checked by the connecting particle and. In some of the most common of these the accent of and has become so much depressed that the word becomes almost inaudible: cf. hare and hounds, half and half, etc. In combinations where the connecting particle has become unrecognisable in consequence of such phonetic sinking, it no longer resists the fusion. Thus, Jackanapes has become to all intents and purposes one word. It stands[196] with the common preposition on, instead of of (cf. the very frequent use of this ‘on’ in Shakespeare and contemporaries), for Jack-of-apes, i.e., originally, ‘the man of the (or with the) [performing] apes,’ just as Jack-a-lantern stands for ‘Jack of the (or with the) lantern,’ etc. Combinations without any such connecting link pass, of course, all the more easily into compounds: cf. Alsace-Lorraine, as against such combinations as Naples and Sicily.

In the period of the Indo-European languages before inflections had taken their rise, or when they were not yet indispensable, the fusion into a ‘copulative compound’ (dvand-va) must have been simple and easy.

When a substantive has been specialised in meaning by being combined with an attributive, as blackbird, the combination may pass through all the changes of signification described in Chapter IV. without the uncombined substantive as such being affected. The result is commonly to make the combination richer in contents than the simple combination of the parts. Thus, by ‘a blackbird’ we understand the familiar songster to which we give the name, and no longer understand such birds as rooks, crows, etc., which might have been classed under the name ‘blackbird.’[197] Further modifications may set in, which may cause the epithet, strictly interpreted, to become wholly inapplicable. Thus, ‘a butterfly’[198] is applied to a whole class of insects quite irrespective of their colours. When we talk of the Middle Ages, we mean a strictly defined period of time, though no such definition is involved in the word middle. Privy Councillor denotes a definite rank; and the idea of privacy hardly enters into our heads as we pronounce the word: cf. also such expressions as the Holy Scriptures; the fine Arts; cold blood; Black Monday; Passion Week; the High School; the wise men from the East. It must be observed that the substantival determinants are only able to fuse with the word defined if they are employed in an abstract sense. This restriction does not, however, apply in the case of proper names.

A subdivision of this great class of words, thus specialised, is formed by common place-names which have become proper nouns by the aid of some determinant, itself possibly also unspecific. Such are the Red Sea, the Black Forest, Broadway, the Sublime Porte, the Watergate, the Blue Mountains, High Town, Beechwood, Broadmeadows, Coldstream, Troutbeck, Dog-island. It is similar, too, when an epithet attached as a distinguishing mark to a proper name comes to be apprehended as an integral portion of the proper name—in fact, as attaching to the individual; as, Richard the Humpback, Charles the Bald, William the Conqueror, Alexandra Land, the Mackenzie River, Weston-super-mare.

Compare also such compounds as Oldham, Littleton, Hightown, Lower-Austria, Great Britain.

The metaphorical application of a word is generally rendered intelligible by the context; especially and chiefly by the addition of a determinant: cf. ‘the head of the conspirators;’ ‘the heart of the enterprise;’ ‘the life of the undertaking;’ ‘the sting of death.’ Similarly, a determinant forming an element in a compound helps to render the metaphorical application intelligible; indeed, we are able by the aid of such a determinant to give to compounds a metaphorical sense, which we could hardly venture upon for the undetermined word alone: so, for instance, we give the name of German-silver to a material which we should not call merely silver; the name of sea-horse to what we would not call a horse: cf. further, sea-cow, elder-wine, ginger-beer, etc.

There are some cases, again, in which the compound has a proper, as well as a metaphorical meaning, and only as a compound acquires its metaphorical use: such are swallow-tail, negro-head, mothers’ joy, cuckoo-spittle, woolly bear, etc.

We have now to consider how syntactical and formal isolation contributes to further the fusion of the determinant with the determinate. If we compare two combinations such as kinsman with man-of-war, or man of deeds, we shall find that whilst the one has become an undoubted composition, the others are still groups of more or less independent parts. This is of course due to the fact that even now the word man is inflected, and that consequently the plurals, men of war and men of deeds, remind us of the fact that the first member of the group is an independent word. Formerly, when the flection was far more elaborate, this was, naturally, much more the case, and this alone would have sufficed to establish the feeling that, in compounds, the genitive which remained the same in all ‘cases’ of the compound had to precede. Of course, as long as flection sufficiently indicated the cases, both orders could be used in any group, but as then only such groups in which the genitive did precede became ‘compounds,’ those compounds became models, and the practice arose gradually and gradually became a rule. Another force then came to exert its influence in the same direction. In such genitival combinations it is, as a rule, the genitive which has the accent. When, then, this genitive was placed first, the whole group thereby resembled in accent the existing composites of the oldest formation, and so was more easily considered in the same light as these. The main cause must, however, be sought in a syntactical isolation, i.e., in our examples, an isolation in the construction of the article. As long as flectional terminations existed in their entirety, the Teutonic languages could dispense with the article before declined cases of nouns; in fact we may say the article did not exist, the demonstrative pronoun not yet having been degraded into what it became later on—a mere sign of case. Hence it was in old Teutonic languages quite possible, and a frequent practice, to use the genitive case of a noun alone without an article at all. We may be sure that this has also been true for the other cases. Phonetic decay, however, levelled the terminations of the other cases of a noun long before the genitive; and accusative and dative had long been alike (or very nearly so) at a time when in the masculine and neuter singular the genitive s was still preserved: in fact, as we know, in English it is all that has remained to us of the old flectional endings, with the exception of those s’s, in the plural which are original and not due to analogy. In that older stage of the language it was common to express an idea like the son of man by constructions just as in Ancient Greek, where the genitive stood between the article and the noun, which were both, of course, in the same case. Thus we find in Old High German, ther (NOM. SING. masc.) mannes sun (= ‘the man’s son’[199]). In Anglo-Saxon, Heofona rice ys gelíc ðám hiredes ealdre (‘of heaven’s (the) Kingdom is like the (DAT. sing.) household’s prince’). Gradually, however, the use of a noun without the article, largely, no doubt, owing to the levelling of all other cases, became more and more rare even in the genitive. Such rare standing expressions as remained without article, naturally assumed the appearance of compounds, and, especially in the case where the article belonging to the second noun preceded the genitive, the fusion was complete: the + kin’s + man became the + kinsman.[200]

We have already pointed out how the adjective and the noun entered into composition, and seen how, even in many combinations which we are not yet accustomed to look upon as fused into one, derivatives show that this fusion has at least partly been accomplished. Such are the many forms in ed, like black-eyed, etc., which are derived from the groups black eye, etc., and cannot be looked upon as compounds of black + eyed. We do not speak of an eyed person, for one who has eyes: cf. left-handed, self-willed, one-handed, etc.

In English, especially in Scottish dialects, many adverbs which commonly follow the verb, are occasionally made to precede it; as, to uplift, to backslide, etc. We may gather that in such forms no composition strictly so called has as yet set in, from the fact that the order is frequently transposed, as in sliding back, to lift up, etc. On the other hand, the fact that the words are joined in writing shows that the whole has begun to be apprehended as a unity.

In the case of most of these combinations we can trace the commencement of an isolation, which proves that the linguistic sense is ceasing to apprehend the elements as distinct. For instance, in English the old prepositional adverbs cannot be used independently and freely to form new combinations at will, but are confined to a definite group of combinations. Thus we can say, enfold and entwine: but not enthrow, for throw in. We can talk of onset, and onslaught, but not of on-run: of overflow, but not of over-pour. In many cases this isolation has led to a special development of meaning, and the word becomes still more definitely a compound; cf. such words as inroad, after-birth, offset, over-coat. From the union of the verb with the adverb, there arise nominal derivatives in which the sense is yet more specialised, such as offset, output, offal, under-writer.

An adverb derived from an adjective sometimes fuses with the nominal forms of the verb. The first impulse to this fusion is often given by the metaphorical application of one part of the compound: cf. deep-feeling, far-reaching, high-flying. The combination becomes even closer when the first part retains a meaning which has become unusual to it in general. For instance, in such a combination as ill-favoured, ill retains a trace of the time when it could be used as synonymous with bad.

In German, the comparative and superlative forms are actually used, showing the completeness of the fusion; as, der tieffühlendste Geist (Goethe), (lit. = ‘deep-feelingest ghost,’ i.e. ‘spirit’).

There are a few combinations of verbal-forms with an object accusative, which similarly occupy an intermediate position between the compound and the syntactic group; such as laughter-provoking, wrath-stirring, fire-spitting. No sharp line can be drawn between these instances of spontaneous and natural fusion, and the analogical formations coined by the poets; as sea-encompassed, storm-tossed, etc.

Again, and even in English, where the application of the inflected comparative and superlative is of so very limited application, it is the use of the comparative or superlative which affords a test as to the degree of fusion. It is, of course, possible to analyse most laughter-provoking, as provoking much laughter. But few would adopt such an explanation in a sentence like This is the most fire-spitting speech I ever heard.

Besides this, there are many verbal combinations which must be apprehended as compounds, from the fact that they represent a single notion only; such as with regard to, as soon as possible, forasmuch as, seeing that, none the less,—which must be considered to stand on the same footing as notwithstanding, nevertheless. This fusion is sometimes accompanied by a displacement of the psychological conception as to the parts of the sentence, whereby the natural mode of construction is altered, and the combination performs a new function, and becomes practically a different part of speech. For instance, we commonly hear I as good as promised it to them, where ‘as good as’ is nearly equivalent to ‘almost,’ and is construed like that adverb. We even meet with sentences like unclassified and prize-cattle, where a member of a compound is placed on the same footing as an independent word. Moreover, the first, or determinant member of the compound may be followed by determinants, as if it were itself independent; thus Milton can write hopeless to circumvent us; fearless to be overmatched: as if it had been ‘without hope to circumvent us;’ ‘having no fear to be overmatched.’ All this shows over and over again how completely impossible it is to draw the line between syntactical groups and compounds.

In this manner, then, syntactical isolation favours the fusion of a group into a compound. In our discussion of the form Jackanapes, we had already an instance how phonetic changes may have the same effect. This we shall now investigate and illustrate rather more in detail.

Though it would be impossible to prove the fact historically, it seems involved in the nature of the case that, for the most part, such phonetic changes at first arose in EVERY case of such closer and more intimate syntactical union; that they were re-adjusted and re-equalised later on, and were only preserved in groupings which, as a consequence of development of meaning, had become so far fused into one whole as to be capable of resisting the re-adjusting tendencies.

The simplest of such general effects of syntactical grouping is that the final consonant of a syllable is transferred in pronunciation to the next syllable. Thus, for instance, an apple is pronounced a-napple, without any pause; here + on is pronounced he + ron, etc. If, then, as in French, this final consonant disappears from pronunciation, save when thus made an initial, i.e. save before a word beginning with a vowel, we may expect its presence to have an isolating effect, and consequently to be sufficient to stamp the group as a compound. This, however, is only the case if such a preservation is not sufficiently frequent to be realised as a rule of pronunciation for all similar cases. In French, il peut = ‘he can,’ is pronounced without the t; in peut-être = ‘may be,’ ‘perhaps,’ the t is heard. Yet this has not isolated the form peut with t from the usual third person singular present indicative without t, because this t is preserved not in peut-être alone, or in a few such groups, but in all cases where the following word begins with a vowel; e.g., il peut avoir = ‘he can (may) have,’ pronounced with the t likewise. If we suppose the French language to discard at some time this liaison, as it is called, and always to pronounce peut without t even before vowels, then, and not till then, would the pronunciation peut-être with t stamp the combination as a compound.

So, again, the well-known process of avoiding hiatus by contraction or elision, in the case of a word ending in a vowel preceding one that begins with a vowel, has been sufficient to fuse two elements into one compound in many cases (e.g., about = a + be + ut (an); Lat. magnopere = magno + opere; Gothic sah, ‘this’ = sa + uh), but has no such effect in the case of the French article, or of the French preposition de, because the elision of the unaccented e and a is there an almost invariable and still ‘living’ rule.

A third general effect of close syntactical combination is the assimilation of a final and initial consonant. This, in present European languages, is scarcely, if at all, noticed or expressed in writing. It is, however, an exceedingly common occurrence in the spoken language, a fact of which every one can and ought to convince himself by a little attention to his own and other’s NATURAL pronunciation. It is only in cases where further reasons, in addition to this assimilation, such as, e.g., isolation by development of meaning or other phonetic development, have welded the group into a compound, or at least have advanced it a considerable distance on the road towards complete fusion, that the written language sometimes takes cognisance of the change, and, by the very spelling, indicates the compound nature of the group. We say ‘sometimes’ takes cognisance; for while spelling in no living language follows all the variations in pronunciation, no European tongue is further from accurately representing the spoken—that is, the real—language in its writing than English. Hence the instances even of acknowledged compounds, in which the assimilation in sound is indicated by the spelling, are comparatively rare. Such are gossib, for god + sib = ‘sib, or related, in God;’ leoman, for leof + man = ‘dear man;’ quagmire = quakemire, i.e. ‘quaking mire.’ Instances where the assimilation exists in pronunciation, but is not represented in writing, are plentiful: cupboard, pronounced cub-board (or cubberd); blackguard, pronounced blagguard, etc. In all these we must, on the one hand, admit with respect to the recognition of the group as compound, that, even if it has not promoted assimilation, it has at least checked the tendency to restore the theoretically correct pronunciation of the final consonant of the former member in each group. On the other hand, however, it is as certain that the very facility thus afforded to the working of the assimilating tendency has aided the phonetic isolation of the group and promoted the fusion.

The most effective cause of phonetic isolation, however, lies of course in the influence of accent. This has been sufficiently illustrated in the course of the foregoing discussions.

In all these discussions we have mainly regarded the transition of a syntactical group into a compound. Several of our examples, however, well illustrate the fact that, just as the fusion between the two members of some group may be insufficient to stamp the combination as a compound, so, also, such a compound loses its character as such for the consciousness of all but the student of language, when the fusion proceeds too far. The compound then becomes, to all intents and purposes, a simple word; it serves no more as model for analogical compounds with the same members, and at the very most gives the impression of having been ‘derived’ from its first member by a suffix. To instance this, we need only recall a few of our examples to the reader’s mind—bandog, auger, furlong, etc., or (with the suffixes) bishopric, kingdom, etc.

A careful study of these and similar examples will show that in the first-class of compounds, no longer recognised as such, sometimes both members have become obsolete, and in both classes almost always one.

We have now reached a point whence we can observe the conditions necessary to give birth to a suffix, or, if the phrase be preferred, necessary to degrade an independent word into a suffix.

We have seen a suffix originate in a noun which either (as in a case of ‘-ric’) became obsolete as an independent word, or whose connection with the etymologically identical independent form ceased to be felt in the linguistic consciousness of the community.

But such a fate may and does often befall a word without converting it into an acknowledged suffix. It has befallen the noun ðyrl (‘a hole’), in nostril (= nose-thirl), or the word búr (‘a dweller’) in neighbour (‘a near-dweller’), and yet neither -tril nor -bour have become recognised as suffixes in the English language.

What more, then, is required?

First of all, the first element must be etymologically perfectly clear; cf. kingdom, bishopric as against nos-tril, gos-sip.

Secondly, the second element must not occur in one or two combinations only, but in a sufficiently large group of words, in all of which it modifies the meaning of the first member in the same way; cf. nos-tril, gos-sip, as against ‘kingdom,’ ‘widowhood.’

This second condition can scarcely be fulfilled except in cases where—

Thirdly, the second element has originally, or in its combination with the others, some such abstract and general meaning as state, condition, quality, action, etc.

A few words on one of the best-known suffixes in English will make this clear. Though the phrase would hardly stand in written or literary language, we might indicate a dealer in pianos as the piano-man, i.e. ‘the man who has pianos.’ In the oldest stages of language, not only could a single noun be thus used with an almost adjectival force, but even a compound (or what was then still a syntactical co-ordination) of two or more nouns, or of adjective and noun, could be thus employed. Thus, e.g., in Sanscrit, a much-rice-king, would mean ‘a king who possesses much rice,’ i.e. ‘is rich;’ and the group man-shape (or its equivalent) might have been used for man-shape-having. Such compounds abound in Sanscrit, and could be formed at will. They were called Bahuvrîhi compounds. Now, without of course wishing to assert that the very combination man-ly is an original one, it is to such a combination of a noun with the noun which afterwards became lic in Anglo-Saxon that we owe the suffix ly. The phonetic differentiation and the development of meaning from shape-having to appearance or quality-having, isolated the member from its corresponding independent form (which in German and Dutch still exists as Leiche and Lyk = body or corpse), and gave us lic (later ly) as a suffix.

From all that we have said it must be clear that this process has gone on neither in prehistoric nor in historic times only, but is one which is repeated again and again, and consequently—seeing that prehistoric times are of unknown, but certainly enormous length—we must be on our guard against assuming that all these prototypes of Indo-Germanic suffixes must necessarily have existed at one time as independent words in the language, before the process which transformed them into suffixes began to operate. We may, nay, we are almost compelled to assume that there, too, they arose in succession, and that then as now, whenever phonetic decay or other causes had affected a suffix to such an extent as to take away the appearance of a derivative from what was once a compound, the suffix was no longer felt as such; it ceased to serve for new combinations, and another more weighty suffix took its function and supplanted it in all but a few remaining cases.

The most superficial knowledge of any modern language, or of Latin etymology, is sufficient to show that it is as impossible to draw a line between suffix and flectional termination, as between syntactical group and compound. Even a Frenchman, unless he has had the true historical explanation pointed out to him, feels in a future tense like j’aimerai, a verb-stem aim, and a termination -erai indicative of futurity, though, nowadays, there are but few students of French grammar who ignore the fact that aimerai is a compound of the infinitive aimer and the first person singular, present, indicative, ai = (I) have. Similarly, we may safely assume that few Romans felt in a pluperfect amaveram a perfect stem amav and eram the imperfect of sum, much less in amabo a present stem ama and a suffix derived from the same root as their perfect fu-i. It is certainly useless to illustrate this further.

We may now conclude with three observations, the truth of which will be apparent from what has gone before.

First. Even when an inflected form, by means of comparative study of all its oldest forms and equivalents in cognate languages, has been brought back to its prototype, and analysed into what are commonly considered to be its component parts, we must remember that these parts cannot have been fused into the integer which we now find made up of them, and yet have retained their original form and original meaning. Just as kingdoms has certainly not arisen from king + dom + s, a Greek optative pherois is not a compound of pher + o + i + s, though, undoubtedly, each of these elements have their regular representatives in other words of the same function, and most probably had their prototypes in fuller forms, in a more independent state. We have no means of knowing what these forms were, or what their original function was when still independent.

Second. Many words which we now consider as “simple” may have been compound or derivative. Our inability to further analyse does not prove primitive unity.

Third. In the history of Indo-European flection we do wrong if we assume the separate existence of a period of construction and one of decay.

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CHAPTER XX.
THE DIVISION OF THE PARTS OF SPEECH.

The division commonly adopted of the parts of speech in the Indo-European language is convenient as a classification; but it must be borne in mind that it is not logically accurate, nor is it exhaustive. It is indeed impossible to divide words into sharply defined categories, seeing that, however we may divide them, we shall find it difficult to exclude some from each category which may fairly claim to be registered under some other category or categories, basing their claim upon at least certain uses.

The accepted grammatical categories have had their form determined mainly by the consideration of three points: (1) by the meaning of each word taken by itself; (2) by its function in the sentence; (3) by its capacity for inflection, and the part it plays in word-formation.

As regards the meaning of the word, we may notice that the grammatical categories of substantive, adjective, and verb correspond to the logical categories of substance, quality, and activity, or, more properly, occurrence. But here, at the outset, we find that the substantive is not confined to the denotation of substance, as there are also substantives denoting quality and occurrence as, ‘brightness,’ a ‘rise.’ There are also verbs which denote continuous states and qualities; as, ‘to remain,’ or the Latin ‘cande’ = ‘to be white.’ Pronouns and numerals again have a right on the score of meaning to be separated as classes from substantives and adjectives: but these, again, must be separated from each other in their substantival as against adjectival use (e.g. each as against each man; Six went and six stayed as against Six men, etc.; this and that as against this book and that one), which forbids us to simply co-ordinate the classes: substantive, adjective, pronoun, numerals. And, on the other hand, it must follow that, if pronouns and numerals are to be regarded as distinct species of the noun class, the same separation must be extended to the adverb class: since badly, there, twice, are related to each other just as bad, this, two.

To come to the connecting words. The lines that define the class of the conjunctions are quite arbitrary; where, for instance, is called an adverb even in passages like this:[201] “Where, in former times, the only remedy for misgovernment real or supposed was a change of dynasty, the evil is now corrected at no greater cost than a ministerial crisis.” As and while, again, are called conjunctions. In the simple sentence, the test usually applied to distinguish prepositions from conjunctions is case-government. But it certainly is entirely illogical to call words like before, since, after prepositions when they occur in simple sentences, and to call them conjunctions when they connect sentences;—for this function is in both cases exactly the same; cf. before my interview with you, and before I saw you.

If we wished to classify words according to their function in the sentence, it might seem obvious to divide words (1) into those which can of themselves form a sentence, (2) into those which can serve as members of a sentence, and (3) those which can only serve to connect such members.

In the first division we might, then, place the interjections, which, when isolated, are really imperfect sentences. But these also occur as members of a sentence, sometimes with and sometimes without a preposition; as, Woe to the land! Out on thee! Oh my!

The finite verb in its original use better fulfils the idea of a perfect sentence. But in its present use it appears—if we except the imperative—as a mere predicate attached to a subject separately denoted. And the so-called auxiliaries are mainly used as mere connecting words.

Connecting words, again, such as conjunctions and prepositions, are, as we have seen, derived from independent words by a displacement as to the appreciation of the part which a word plays in a sentence (cf. Chap. XVI., pp. 282 and 284.). Such words are during, in regard to, notwithstanding. And there is this further reason why they cannot be sharply distinguished from other kinds of words—that a word may be an independent member of the particular sentence to which it belongs, and yet at the same time serve to connect this with another sentence. If I say, for instance, The man who believes this is a fool, the who is at once an independent member of the relative sentence and a connecting word between the principal and subordinate sentence. This is universally the case as regards the relative pronoun and relative adverb. It is true also of the demonstrative when this refers to the preceding or following sentence; as, I saw a man, he told me, etc. But even if this first classification as to function could be consistently carried out, any further attempt at subdivision leads us into fresh difficulties, considering that the substantive, as opposed to the adjective and verb, is the part of speech which serves as subject and object. We might, indeed, be tempted to utilize this fact as the principle of our subclassification. But we find in the first place that a substantive can also be used attributively and predicatively, like an adjective (cf. We are men, We are manly), and, on the other hand, other words may serve as the subject in such sentences as Well begun is half ended; Slow and steady wins the race; Finished is finished. An adjective, too, may serve as object; as, He takes good for bad; Write it down, black on white; to make bad worse.

We have indeed seen that the use of prepositions to introduce subordinate sentences is very common in English; as, After he had begotten Seth, etc.

The division which can be most systematically carried out is that which divides words according as they are inflected or not, and according to their mode of flection. In this way three convenient divisions may be made of nouns, verbs, and uninflected words. But even here the nominal forms of the verb, such as the infinitive, to love (amare, lieben) and indeclinable substantives such as the Latin cornu and the English adjectives, resist the carrying out of the division. Pronouns, again, are differently inflected from nouns, and they differ among themselves. In other languages, the system of inflection of the substantive is sometimes identical and sometimes not. It might be alleged that the formation of degrees of comparison was a decisive mark of the adjective: but even here we are met by the fact that some languages, like Sanscrit, can compare nouns and even persons of the verb;[202] and others, like Latin, can compare the substantive (cf. Plautus’ use of oculissimus—Curc. I. ii. 28, etc.) amicissimus = ‘(my) best friend,’ etc. This usage is seen in the English word ‘top-most,’ which is the substantive top with a double superlative ending (see Mätzner, vol. i., p. 270); the termination most superseded the O.E. m- est, which answered to the A.S. (e) mest, derived from a positive (e) ma, which itself had a superlative signification (cf. optumus). Again, the very meaning of some adjectives renders them incapable of comparison; as, wooden, golden, etc.

It is, then, clear that the current division of the parts of speech, in which all these three principles of classification are more or less embodied, leads to so many cross divisions that it cannot be consistently carried out. The parts of speech cannot be sharply and neatly partitioned off into eight or nine categories. There are many necessary transitions from one class into another; these result from the general laws of change of meaning, and from analogical formations which are characteristic of language in general. If we follow out these transitions, we at the same time detect the reasons which originally suggested the division of the parts of speech.

To consider, first, the division between substantive and adjective. The formal division is based in the Indo-European languages on the capacity of the adjective of inflections of gender and comparison. In individual languages still further distinctions have arisen. Thus, for instance, the adjective in the Teutonic and Slavonic languages admits of a double, nay we may even say a triple, mode of inflection: cf. gut, guter, der gute; in which declensions forms occur absolutely without analogy in the substantives. In Modern High German, we have to note the existence of the two declensions (the weak and the strong). On their uses and that of the third or undeclined form of the adjective in the predicate, the most elementary German grammar will give the student all information. As for the forms of adjectival (and pronominal) declension which are distinct from the noun declension, it is necessary to go back to Anglo-Saxon, or, better still, to Gothic. It is, of course, not necessary to master these languages thoroughly in order to simply compare their systems of inflection. Seeing that in English the adjectives have no flection, the test is no longer applicable to the language in its present form; though the test of capacity for comparison applies here still. But in spite of all differentiations of form, the adjective may receive, at first ‘occasionally’ then ‘usually,’ the function of a substantive: cf. The rich and the poor, old and young, my gallants.[203] From this substantival adjective a pure substantive may be derived by traditional use, especially if its form becomes in any way isolated as against other forms of the adjective; as, sir = Fr. sieur, from seniorem as against senior. The instinct of language shows that it apprehends the adjective definitely as a substantive when it connects it with an attributive adjective; as, the powdered pert (Cowper, Task); a respected noble, etc.: or with a genitive; as, the blue of the sky. In English the possessive pronoun is connected with many words, such as like, better, etc.,[204] which, if felt as adjectives, would demand other constructions. Cf. He was your better, sir (Sheridan Knowles, Hunchback, III. ii.); To consult his superiors (Cooper, Spy, ch. i.): He is my senior.

There are many adjectives in all languages which are completely transformed, such as sir (cf. supra); priest (a shortened form of what in French appears as prêtre, older form prestre (cf. Dutch priester), all from Greek presbuteros, ‘older,’ the comparative of presbus, ‘old’); fiend, M.E. fend, A.S. féond, ‘an enemy,’ originally the present participle of the verb féon, ‘to hate;’ friend, M.E. frend, A.S. freónd, originally present participle of fréon, ‘to love;’ etc.

The transformation of a substantive into an adjective is less familiar, and perhaps more interesting. In the process, we disregard some parts of the meaning of the substantive, excluding from that meaning first and foremost the meaning of substance, so that only the qualities attaching to the substance remain in view. This transformation virtually occurs as an occasional use whenever a substantive is employed as predicate or attribute: a king’s cloak (for a royal cloak); He is an ass, etc. A substantive in apposition approaches the nature of an adjective, especially when it is used to denote a class; and, again, more especially when the combination is abnormal and metaphorical: cf. a virgin fortress; a maiden over; boy-competitors; turkey-cock, hen-sparrow; a house-maid;[205] music-vows (Hamlet, III. i.) Sometimes an adverb which can strictly speaking be connected with an adjective only, is joined to the substantive, and serves to mark its adjectival nature. Thus we often hear such expressions as He is ass enough, idiot enough; More fool you, etc.

In other cases, again, such as twenty thousand troops were taken prisoner, the word prisoner shows by its absence of inflection that it is apprehended as an adjective.

It might be thought practicable to draw another distinction that would hold good as between substantive and adjective. The adjective, it might be alleged, denotes a simple quality, the substantive connotes a group of qualities. In such a word as blue, we have the one broad idea of one colour fairly defined and commonly understood within certain definite limits. In the meaning of, e.g., rose, we embrace all the qualities which go to make up our conception of flower in general, and the special flower which we call rose in particular. And no doubt the definition may be considered in the main correct. But the distinction cannot be consistently maintained throughout. For instance, there are many adjectives which cannot be said to indicate really one quality only. Such are most adjectives in like or ly (warlike, manly, etc.); and, on the other hand, substantives are again and again used so as to denote one quality and only one. The transition from the denotation of a simple quality to that of a group of qualities is effected by the use in a special sense of a substantival adjective; as, ‘the blacks,’ for ‘the negroes’ = ‘a radical,’ ‘a conservative.’ When once such usage has been started, there is no necessity for the train of thought, which led the first employer to specialise the word, to be present in the consciousness of other speakers. Directly the word has come to be so specialised, and the train of thought which led to its specialisation has been forgotten, the word stands isolated as an independent substantive.

The converse process is not uncommon; in which, out of a group of qualities, a single one is dwelt on and the rest are left out of consideration: such are, for instance, the names of colours; as, lilac, rose, mulberry, etc., used adjectivally. From this use the adjectives with specialised meanings, derived from substantives, we may gather that adjectives, i.e. terms for simple qualities, arose out of terms for groups of qualities, i.e. substantives. The process must have been from the very beginning that the speaker singled out one notion from a group and dwelt on it, passing over the others bound up in the group. In fact, the speaker must, at a very early stage, have used words in a figurative sense. In such expressions as That man is a bear, That woman is a vixen (as, indeed, when we say bearish or vixenish), we are ascribing to him or her only some one particular characteristic of the whole number of characteristics of the thing which the substantive indicates when used in its usual sense. The distinction between noun and verb might seem, at first sight, to be well marked both by the diversity of forms which characterise these separate parts of speech, and by the diversity of functions which they severally fulfil. But in English, we are at once met by the fact that we have numerous verbs which are identical in form with nouns, and in many cases are actually nouns employed as verbs; as, to lord it, to walk, to dog, to run: while we constantly see the process going on before our eyes, of the transference of a noun into the category of verbs; as, to chair a man, to table a motion. How near they may approach in function may be seen from sentences like I looked at the show, and I had a look at the show. No doubt it maybe said that verbs have certain formal characteristics, which distinguish the verb from the noun, such as personal terminations, distinctions between voices, and forms to denote mood and tense. But, in the first place, these forms have, to a great extent, disappeared in English, with its other inflections; and, in the second place, even in the most highly inflected languages we find verbs defective in some of these characteristics, and thereby approaching in form to nouns: cf. the Italian bisogna andare (= ‘I need to go’) as against Che bisogna andare (‘What need to go?’). While, again in nouns, forms occur defective in case and gender-signs; as, cornu, ‘horn;’ genu, ‘knee;’ etc. Further, in the Slavonic languages, we actually find the verb in the past tense agreeing in gender with its subject; as, Tui jelala, ‘Thou (feminine) didst wish,’ etc. Lastly, the differentiation of the construction of the two parts of speech is anything but sharply marked, as we may see in cases where a substantive actually takes the case which would naturally be taken by the verb with which it is connected: Seeing her is to love her; Hearing him recite that poem is enough to draw tears from the eyes.

Even in highly inflected languages, like Latin and Greek, the personal endings, commonly regarded as the special formal characteristic of the verb, have no place in the participles and infinitives.

Again, such an expression as Rex es, ‘Thou art king,’ is identical in meaning with Regnas, ‘Thou rulest;’ so that the verbal termination, as such, need not serve to mark any distinction of meaning between the verb and the adjective or substantive used predicatively.

If we say that it is of the essence of the verb to describe a mere transient process limited by time, while the adjective or substantive denotes a permanent quality, we must observe that the adjective may describe a transient quality; as, dirty, pale: while verbs may be used to describe states; as, to glow, cf. candere = to be white.

The participle must be regarded as partaking of the nature of the verb as well as of that of the adjective. The peculiarity of the participle, as compared with the adjective, is that it enables us to express an occurrence or event attributively; as, They, looking, saw. We must look upon adjectives as the older formation of the two, and indeed we must suppose that adjectives had been completely developed before participles could take their rise at all.

The characteristic difference between the participle and the so-called verbal adjective is that the participle, unlike the adjective, is capable of denoting tense; as, τύψας (= ‘having struck’). The participle, when standing as an attribute to a noun, partakes of the construction of a noun (i.e. substantive or adjective); as, Vir captus est (‘The man is caught’). But it may depart from the character of a noun by departing from such nominal construction, and striking out a new path of its own.

Thus, in He has taken her, He has slept, we have a use of the participle quite unlike the use of the adjective. No doubt it is true that such a phrase as He has taken her signified originally He has or holds her as one taken; cf. Cura intentos habebat Romanos, (Liv., xxvi. 1), but we do not now apprehend the construction thus. In French, the transition from the general adjectival into the special participial construction is clearer: J’ai vu les dames, ‘I have seen the ladies;’ but Je les ai vues, ‘I have seen (fem. plur.) them,’ and les dames que j’ai vues, ‘the ladies that I have seen (fem. plur).’ In Italian, we say Ho vedute (fem. plur.) le donne = ‘I have seen the ladies,’ as well as Ho veduto le donne (masc. or genderless sing.). In Spanish, all inflection in the case of periphrases formed with ‘haber’ is abolished; it is as correct to write la carta que he escrito = ‘the letter which I have written,’ as to say He escrito una carta = ‘I have written a letter.’ On the other hand, in periphrases made with tener (to hold, used as auxiliary like to have), a later introduction into the language, the inflection is always retained; in tengo escrita una carta, = ‘I have written (fem.) a letter (fem.)’ it is as imperative to observe the concord of gender as in Las cartas que tengo escritas = ‘The letters which I have written.’

Conversely: it is possible for the participle to gradually recur to a purely nominal character. Bearing in mind our definition of the participle, we may say that this recurrence has taken place as soon as the present participle is used for the lasting activity; as when we talk about a knowing man: and as soon as the perfect participle comes to be used to express the result of the activity; as, a lost chance. The more such participle is employed in a specialised meaning—as, for instance, metaphorically,—the more speedily and thoroughly will the transformation become accomplished; as in such cases as striking, charming, elevated, drunken, agèd, learnèd, crabbèd, doggèd, etc. Nay, such words may even combine with another, after the laws of verbal construction: as in the case of high-flying, well-wishing, flesh-eating, new-born, well-educated.

The participle, again, like other adjectives, may become a substantive, e.g. the anointed; and the substantival participle, like the adjectival, may either denote a momentary activity (or, rather, an activity limited as to time), e.g. the patient, i.e. the suffering one, or a state, e.g. the regent = the ruling one = the ruler. It may, indeed, entirely lose its verbal nature, as, friend, fiend, i.e. the loving one, the hating one, etc.

The nomen agentis, resembling in this respect the participle, may denote either a momentary or a lasting activity; as, the doer = ‘he who does;’ the dancer (if = ‘he who is wont to dance,’ e.g., as his profession). In the former application it remains closely connected with the verb; and there is no reason, except custom, why it should not, like the participle, take an object, just like the verb; in fact, that it should not be correct to say the teacher the boy for ‘he who teaches the boy,’ just as it is possible to say the school-teacher. We actually do find in Latin, dator divitias, ‘giver riches (acc. plur.)’ = ‘he who gives riches;’ justa orator (Plautus, Amphyt., 34), ‘the just things (acc. neut. plur.) orator or speaker’ = ‘he who speaks just things.’

In Shakespeare, we find and all is semblative a woman’s part (Twelfth Night, I. iv.), where an adjective, semblative, is similarly construed with a verbal force; the sentence being equivalent to ‘and all resembles that which we might expect in a woman.’ On the other hand, the nomen agentis, when denoting lasting activity, may separate more and more from the verb, and thus finally lose its special character, as noun indicating a ‘doer,’ e.g., owner, actor, father (lit. ‘he who feeds or who protects;’ from a root which means either to nourish or to protect).

The transition from verb to noun is again seen in nomina actionis, like transportation, liberation. These may also approximate to the verbal construction; as, My transportation from England to Ireland (‘I was transported from England to Ireland’); pearl fishery (‘the fishing for pearls’). Here, again, the notion of a lasting activity inherent in the substantive tends to make the original idea of a nomen actionis grow faint; and the connotation of a lasting condition sets in. And, again, the more that metaphorical and other unusual or special usages attach to the word, the more does such word become isolated as against its original use, cf. position, transportation, conviction, goings-on. It may, indeed, become so far isolated as to lose all connection with the verb, as in reckoning, in the sense of an account; cf. addition, in French, in the same meaning (cf. the French expression for ‘Waiter! the bill, please,’ Garçon! l’addition s’il vous plaît!)

The infinitive is really a case of the noun of action, and must originally have been constructed in accordance with the usage in force at the time for the syntactical combination of the corresponding verb with other nouns. But, in order that it may be felt as a true infinitive, its mode of construction must no longer be felt as it originally must have been felt; it must, in fact, have become isolated in its employment, and such isolation became then the basis of further development. But the infinitive having thus developed, reverts in many cases to the character of a noun: its want of inflection, however, always has a tendency to prevent this; and, accordingly, the most common cases in which it appears as a substantive are as subject or object. In sentences like ‘not to have been dipped in Lethe’s Lake Could save the son of Thetis from to die’ (Spenser, Faëry Queen); ‘Have is have’ (Shakespeare, King John, I. i.); ‘I list not prophecy’ (Winter’s Tale, IV. i. 26); ‘I learn to ride,’ etc., it seems certain that the infinitive is constructed after the analogy of a noun; but in such constructions as I let him speak, I hear him walk, it is hardly apprehended as so constructed by the instinct of language of the present day.

Languages which possess declined articles possess exceptional facilities for thus approximating the infinitive to a noun, as the Greek τὸ φιλεῖν, τοῦ φιλεῖν, etc. (= ‘the “to love”—of the to-love,’ etc.): cf. such instances as the English Have is have (Shakespeare, King John, I. i.); Mother, what does ‘marry’ mean? (Longfellow); Him booteth not resist (Spenser, Faëry Queen, I. iii. 20.) And similarly the German das lieben (‘the “to-love”’); French mon pouvoir (‘my “to-be-able”’). In Latin, the same approximation is rendered possible by the demonstrative pronouns; as, totum hoc philosophari (Cicero), ‘all this “to-philosophise;”’ Inhibere illud tuum (ibid.), (‘that “to-prohibit” of yours’). Modern High German and the Romance languages have gone so far as to employ the infinitive as the equivalent to a noun pure and simple, even in respect of inflection; as, Meines sterbens (= ‘of my “to-die”’); Mein hier-bleiben (= ‘my “here-remain,”’ i.e., ‘my remaining here’). In the Romance languages, the process is rendered easier by the abolition of case-difference; cf. mon savoir-faire (= ‘my “to know—to-do”’ = ‘my cleverness of management’). Old French and Provençal actually invest the infinitive with the s of the nominative case—Li plorers ne t’i vaut rien: ‘The “to-weep” not to thee there avails anything’ = ‘It avails thee nothing to weep’ (cf. Mätzner, iii., pp. 1-2).

It is possible for the verbal construction to be maintained in many cases, even in spite of the use of the article. For instance, τὸ σκοπεῖν τῖ πράγματα (lit. = ‘the “to-see” the matters.’).

The oldest adverbs seem to be mainly in their origin crystallised cases of nouns (adjectival or substantival), in some cases of which they are the result of the combination of a preposition with its case. Thus, in English, we have the genitive suffix appearing in else (formerly elles, the genitive of a root el or al, meaning ‘other’), once (= ‘ones’), twice needs. Much and little were datives, miclum and lytlum; cf. whilom (= hwílum.)

Thus, in Latin, many adverbs are derived from the accusative—as, primum, ‘first;’ multum, ‘much;’ foras, ‘abroad;’ alias, ‘at another time;’ facile, ‘easily;’ recens, ‘freshly:’ from the locative—as, partim, ‘partly;’ or the ablative, as falso, ‘falsely;’ recta, ‘by the right way;’ sponte, ‘voluntarily.’ The following are instances of the combination of a preposition with its regime: amid (= on-middum), withal, together, anon; French, amont, aval (= prep. a (‘at’) mont, ‘mountain,’ and val, ‘dale’ = upwards, and downwards).

This formation of adverbs leads us to suspect that the original method of forming them will also probably have been from nouns; and that as some of them may have proceeded from nouns before the development of inflections, in such cases merely the stem form, pure and simple, was employed to express adverbs. Thus such expressions as to speak true, to entreat evil, will represent the oldest types of adverbs.

The adverb stands in close relationship to the adjective. It bears a relation to the verb and to the adjective as well, analogous to that borne by an attributive adjective to a substantive; thus He stepped lightly is analogous to His steps were light; and That is absolutely true to The truth of that is absolute. This analogy manifests itself, among other instances, in this—that an adverb may, generally speaking, be formed from any adjective at will.

The adjective differs formally from the adverb in this, that the adjective, commonly speaking, admits of inflection, and hence of agreement with the substantive. In English, where this test is absent, it is difficult for the instinct of language to draw a sharp line between the two, as in to speak loud, to speak low. It is difficult, in English, to maintain that there is any real difference between the use of good in good-natured and the same word in he is good; or the use of well in he is well dressed, and in he is well.

Again, many adverbs in different languages resemble adjectives in this, that, when joined to another adverb, they take an adjectival inflection. Thus, in French, it is correct to say ‘toute pure,’ ‘toutes pures’ = ‘entire, (fem. sing.) pure,’ ‘entire (fem. plur.) pure (fem. plur.);’ both = ‘entirely pure,’ ‘quite pure:’ in Italian, tutta livida = ‘all (fem. sing.) livid’ = ‘quite livid:’ in Spanish, todos desnudos = ‘all (masc. plur.) nude’ = ‘quite naked.’

There are many cases in which an attributive adjective is employed convertibly with an adverb; cf. Hispania postrema perdomita est = ‘Spain LAST (fem. sing.) was conquered,’ for ‘AT LAST’ (Livy, xxviii. 12); Il arrive toujours le dernier, ‘He always comes last;’ Il est mort content = ‘He died happy.’ Compare also these two usages—De ces deux sœurs la cadette est celle qui est le plus aimée, ‘Of these two sisters the younger is the one who is the (neut.) more loved (fem. sing.);’ or la plus aimée, ‘the (fem.) more loved (fem.)’ (Acad.)[206]

Adjectives used in connection with nouns signifying the agent or the action are used in a way hardly to be distinguished from an adverbial use; as, a good story, a good story-teller, an old bookseller. In English, owing to its lack of inflections, an ambiguity may arise in such cases as the last cited; we might apply the word old to the man who sells the books, as well as to the books themselves. The common custom in English is to shun ambiguity by the use of the hyphen; as, an old-book seller. But English attempts likewise to remove the ambiguity by maintaining the adverb for one case, after the analogy of the construction with the verb—as, an early riser, a timely arrival, etc.—though this distinction is not consistently carried out.

The resemblance of adjectives and adverbs produces uncertainty in the meaning to be attached to certain adjectives; the adjective, when attached to a noun, may be conceived of as referring either to the person, or as referring to one of his qualities; thus, a bad coachman may either mean ‘a wicked coachman,’ or ‘a coachman looked upon as bad in the quality of his driving.’ In the latter case, the adjective is used in the special sense acquired by the adverb; as, he drives badly.

It is natural, then, as the adjective and the adverb so generally exist in pairs, that we should feel the need of possessing both parts of speech for all cases. There are, however, many adverbs which are derived from no adjective, and which thus have no adjective parallel to them. In this case we are compelled to employ the adverb with the function of the adjective, as in ‘He is there,’ ‘He is up,’ ‘The door is to,’ ‘Heaven is above;’ in which cases the instinct of language apprehends the construction as identical with that found in such phrases as He is active, The door is open, etc. Again, in such sentences as the mountain yonder, the enemy there, the drive hither, the adverb marks its difference from the adjective by its position in the sentence. But this rule is not consistently observed; there are cases in English where the adverb is inserted between the article and its substantive; as, on the hither-side, the above discourse, the then monarch, and more extensively in the vulgar that there mountain, this here book, where the adjectival adverbs are pleonastic.

Just as, e.g., in Latin, we find the adverb used in sic sum (‘so I am’), Ego hunc esse aliter credidi,[207] ‘I him to be otherwise believed’ = ‘I thought he was a different kind of man;’ so we find in English While this scene was passing in the cabin of the man, one quite otherwise (i.e. different) was passing in the halls of the master (Mrs. Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, i. 43), in which, and other similar constructions, the adverb again has all the functions of an adjective.

Prepositions and conjunctions as link-words or connecting elements took their origin from independent words through a displacement of the distribution. Prepositions were once adverbs, serving to denote more closely the direction of the verbal action; as, ‘to go in,’ ‘to carry off,’ ‘to throw up,’ ‘to fall down.’ They then became displaced, i.e. detached from the verb, and came to belong to the noun, furthering the disappearance of its case-endings and assuming their office.

To stamp a word as ‘connecting word,’ this displacement must have become customary and general. For, in their occasional usage, the most various parts of speech may serve as connecting words. The functions of the adverb, as such, have been sufficiently illustrated. It is thus only where such adverbs are with a certain regularity, or preferably, used as link-words, that they begin to be felt as prepositions or conjunctions. But even then, notwithstanding such syntactical development, the word can still be used independently in its former function, and it remains impossible to definitely range it in any particular class. This only becomes rational and feasible when the word has become obsolete in its original usage.

We may accordingly define a preposition as a link-word which may be followed by any substantive in some of its case-forms where this combination is no longer syntactically parallel to that between noun or verb and the word in its original independent sense. Accepting this definition, we shall not explain considering, in such a sentence as considering everything he has done very well, as a preposition, because its construction is that of the verb to consider. When we come to instead of it is different. Stead, A.S. stede, meant ‘a place;’ and in the stead of the man would have been a perfectly natural construction, the genitive case showing the independence of the noun: but whether the genitive is still felt as a genitive depends on the question whether we think of instead as a compound of the preposition in with the noun stead. As soon as we cease to feel it as such, we do not think of the genitive as regularly depending on the preceding substantive, and the preposition is created. No doubt the instance which we have given proves that the instinct of language is vacillating; we still find in his stead looked upon as somewhat archaic indeed, but still current English. In some cases the isolation has become looser, and in others it has become absolute. The word nigh (A.S. neáh, M.E. neigh, as in ‘neighbour’) was originally an adverb, and identical in meaning with the word near (A.S. néar, the comparative degree of néah). But we do not think of nigh and near as connected. The word till is still more peculiar. It is, properly speaking, a case of A.S. tíli, a noun (cf. Germ. Ziel, Gothic tils) meaning ‘aim’ or ‘goal,’ whence the idea of towards developed. Off and of are not thought of as connected, and yet they are the same word. In this case the relationship becomes obscured, owing to divergency in the development of signification. In other cases the isolation of the word is due to the disappearance of the old method of construction in which it was used. Thus since, M.E. sithens, is from síððen = A.S. síððan, which is itself a construction for síððan, put for síððam, ‘after that.’ Here the ðam is the dative case masculine of the demonstrative pronoun used as a relative; it answers exactly to the N.H.G. seit dem; cf. ni ðanaseiðs (Ulphilas, Mark ii. 14) + ‘no more.’ In the same way, the word ere is a comparative form derived from A.S. ǽr, ‘soon.’

The origin and rise of the conjunctions may, like that of the prepositions, be followed historically. Many of them arise from adverbs or pronouns in their function as connective words, as we have discussed in the foregoing paragraphs. These words, then, are already connecting-words ere they become established as conjunctions pure and simple. All depends thus upon the linguistic consciousness of the speaker, whether he will consider them as still pronoun or adverb, or as real conjunction, and this consciousness, again, is largely dependent upon the degree to which the word in question has been etymologically obscured.

We have seen how the demonstrative that has become a conjunction, and can easily realise how to some extent in many others, such as because, in case, etc., though no demonstrative word proper has entered into their composition, the relation of the noun which forms their second part to what follows is of a demonstrative kind.

Prepositions and conjunctions are more clearly distinguishable in such languages, as, e.g., German, where the flection of noun and adjective, or the absence of flection, shows whether the word is used as the one or the other. In English, this test has disappeared. But even in highly inflected tongues this test is not applicable in cases where a preposition is used before an indeclinable word or combination of words. And that such difference could not arise before the flection had arisen, is self-evident.

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CHAPTER XXI.
LANGUAGE AND WRITING.

We have now to consider the question of the relation of writing to language; how far it has influenced it, and continues to influence it; and for what reasons it seems an inadequate representation of language. The first thing necessary for us to remember is that, though writing is the only means whereby the speech of the past has been preserved for us, yet it is equally true that, before we can consider writing at all, we have to convert it into spoken language, and to affix sounds to the symbols of language which have descended to us from the past. All such translation of symbols affixed to language in the past must necessarily be imperfect; we can only arrive approximately, for instance, at a satisfactory conjecture of the actual sounds of the English language as spoken by Shakespeare; and the data for determining such questions must always be more or less incomplete.

The written representation of language must, however, always be an interesting object of study to the philologist—partly because it has been the vehicle of the sounds of language, and partly because it is an important factor in the development of language itself.

Writing appeals, in the first place, to a much larger community than speaking. A single page of written matter may appeal to thousands more easily than the most eloquent sermon or address. Nay, writing may in this way appeal to the whole of a linguistic community, causing those of the present time to exert their influence on generations yet unborn.

Writing which consistently and regularly represents the spoken language must be more effective in perpetuating that language than writing which does not so represent it. Theoretically, we assume that written languages fall into one or other of these classes, and we classify them as languages spelt phonetically and spelt non-phonetically, or, as some prefer to express it, historically.

But we must remember that no alphabet, however perfect, can assume to be a correct picture of language. Language consists of a continuous series of sounds, never broken, but consecutive. Just as no amount of drops of water separately considered could give the picture of a river, so no amount of symbols, however minute, could give the real picture of a sentence. A sentence, nay, a single word, is a continuous whole; the symbols whereby we represent it can represent only the chief parts, and represent them as disconnected. The transitions, the links remain unindicated, and so do such important factors as quantity, accent, and tone.

Further, the alphabets in use are, even the best of them, imperfect. It is plain that, when the members of a particular linguistic community, like, e.g., the Germans or the Portuguese, seek to make their alphabet a consistent picture of the sounds of speech, they aim merely at representing the sounds of their own language. A scientific alphabet should aim at representing all possible sounds, and not merely those needed in an alphabet of a particular linguistic community.

Even in the case of the best-spelt languages, i.e. the languages in which the principle of one sound standing for one sign, and one sign for one single sound obtains, we shall find that these aim only at satisfying the ordinary practical needs of the language. They make as few distinctions as is consistent with ordinary clearness and consistency. For instance, they deem it unnecessary to denote the difference of sounds arising from the position of a letter in a syllable, a word, or an accent, provided only that a similarity of position produces habitually similar results. A certain degree of consistency is thus attained without a superfluity of symbols. In Modern High German, for instance, the hard s sound in lust, brust, etc., has the same symbol to represent it as that which elsewhere represents the soft s sound: but no ambiguity arises from this, because s, when followed by t, unless the group st is initial, is always hard; thus the s in reist is pronounced as in lust. Similarly, final s is habitually pronounced hard or unvoiced; as, hass, glas, eis.

In the same way, in English, it would have been superfluous, in an alphabet merely directed to satisfy practical needs, to adopt a special sign for the front nasal n in sing; because n, followed by and combined with g, always has the same sound. Similarly, n, in such combinations as the Fr. vigne, Ital. ogni, has a consistent and regular pronunciation, and therefore there is no need for any special representation of it.

There are indeed languages, like Sanscrit, in which the principle of phonetic spelling is more or less carefully carried out. Generally, however, we find that the same sign of any particular alphabet has to serve for more than one sound, and it almost invariably happens that we augment the confusion by employing different signs for one and the same sound. The chief reason for these defects is because most nations, instead of creating symbols to represent the sounds in their own language, have been content to adopt an alphabet ready to hand, made to suit the requirements of the language of another nation. Thus the alphabet used by most civilised nations was that which the Phenicians elaborated from the Egyptian hieroglyphics; and the Russians adopted with modifications the Greek adaptation of this. Another reason for the inconsistency is that, as pronunciation changes, it is obvious that the denotation of symbols ought to change as well. These same causes may also produce an unnecessary superfluity of symbols. In English, for instance, the alphabet suffers alike from superfluity and defect. Several signs serve to denote the same sound, as c, k, ch; c, s; oo, ou; ou, ow; a, ai; e, i, ee, ea, ie, ei; i, y; cks, x; oa, aw; and many others might be cited. Again, there are many cases in which the same symbols denote different sounds, such as th in thin and then; a in hat and fatal; i in pin and pine.[208]

It is not the place here to point out in detail the advantages of a well-spelt language over a less well-spelt one.[209] Practically, however, the consideration cannot be disregarded that, if English orthography represented English pronunciation as closely as Italian does Italian, at least half the time and expense of teaching to read and to spell would be saved. This is assumed by Dr. Gladstone[210] to be twelve hundred hours in a lifetime, and as more than half a million of money per annum for England and Wales alone. A few instances, taken mainly from Pitman’s work, may serve to show how all-pervading the irregularity is.

The same symbol serves to denote different vowel sounds (1) even in words etymologically connected; as, sane, sanity; nation, national; navy, navigate; metre, metrical; final, finish; floral, florid; student, study; punitive, punish: (2) in words etymologically unconnected, as in fare, have, save; were, mere; give, dive; notice, entice; active, arrive; doctrine, divine; gone, bone; dove, move, rove, hover. Again, cf., change, flange; paste, caste; bind, wind; most, cost; rather, bather; there, here; fasting, wasting.

By collecting examples in this way, Mr. Pitman has arrived at the conclusion that, in English, we endeavour to express fourteen distinct sounds by using five signs in twenty-three different ways, without any real means of discriminating when one sound and when another is intended, or what sign should be used to denote a particular sound. But besides these separate vowel signs, digraphs and trigraphs to the number of twenty-two are used to express the same fourteen sounds which the five vowel signs have already attempted to represent; though they, in addition, attempt to represent two more diphthongal sounds, making sixteen distinct sounds in all. For instance, pail, said, plaid; pay, says; heat, sweat, great, heart; receive, vein, height; key, prey, eye; sour, pour, would; town, sown.[211]

Of the consonants, we may remark, in the first place, that many are silent, as in debt, limb, indict, condemn: in some cases, silent consonants have been interpolated to suggest a mistaken derivation, as in sovereign, foreign, island; in others, again, they have been capriciously retained to mark the derivation of a word (as in receipt), and yet omitted in the case of other words derived from the same source. Then, for instances of the inconsistent use of consonants, we may take the following table from Pitman; (a few examples have been added):—

ch.—church, chaise, ache; yacht, drachm. ck.—pick (k or c superfluous). gh.—ghost, cough, hough; dough, night, inveigh. ng.—singer, linger, infringer. ph.—physic, nephew; phthisical. rh.—rhetoric, myrrh, catarrh. sc.—science, conscience, discern, score. sch.—schism, schedule, scheme. th.—thistle, this, thyme. wh.—whet, whole.

If, in addition to these obvious defects in alphabets, we bear in mind the fact that the accentuation commonly remains for the most part undenoted, we must admit that our alphabets present us with a very imperfect picture of spoken language. For an attempt to realise a scientifically correct alphabet, we must refer to Sweet’s ‘Handbook of Phonetics,’ and Melville Bell’s ‘Visible Speech,’ ‘Sounds and their Relations,’ A. J. Ellis, etc., not to mention the works in other languages, such as those by Techmer, Vietor, Trautmann, Sievers, etc.

We have to bear in mind that writing is to living language nothing more than what a rough sketch is to a finished picture. The sketch is, commonly speaking, sufficient to enable one familiar with the figures which are meant to be represented, to recognise them. But should several painters attempt to reproduce a finished sketch from such rough outline, they would produce a set of pictures differing very much in details. For instance, each painter, if he did not recognise certain objects in the sketch, would be tempted to substitute in their place others with which he might be familiar. Just so, those who seek to reproduce the sounds of a language from written symbols, will be tempted to substitute similar sounds with which they are familiar for the sounds of the sketch, as, for our purpose, we may call the alphabet. Even in the case of a foreign language possessing an alphabet in some respects identical with our own, like the French, it is considered necessary to prefix to the alphabet a description of the sound intended to be conveyed by the symbol; and even this cannot obviate the necessity of hearing the sound, especially when the alphabet is not based upon scientific principles. It is equally true that the same remarks are applicable to the case of a dialect belonging to the same group of languages as our own.

In any linguistic area where the same language is spoken, there exist different dialects, i.e. variations from the standard language possessing a quantity of divergencies from the sounds of the standard language. The common alphabet has to stand as the representative of all these dialects alike, and the same symbol has to present, for instance, the u sound as uttered by a west countryman and as uttered by a Scotchman. R, again, is pronounced by a Londoner quite differently from the way in which it is pronounced by a Scotchman. F is pronounced like v in Devonshire and Cornwall; and the h is in many words notoriously written but not pronounced in the greater part of England proper. Besides such obvious differences, which might be multiplied indefinitely,[212] we have to remember that the quantity, the pitch, and the accent remain undenoted by the standard alphabet in the different dialects; and we shall easily see that a large quantity of dialectic differences is taken no account of in writing. The obvious result of this want of adequate representation of the sounds of the separate dialects must be that the speakers in the separate dialects must each consider that the sound with which he is himself familiar is the one intended to be represented by the symbol which he sees.

The result of our present system of representing sounds is that we are unable to give an idea of other dialects than our own, except in cases where the discrepancy between these and our own is very strongly marked. Even in such cases merely a rough indication of the pronunciation can be given; but the delicate and manifold differences occurring between the speech of individuals of different communities and different generations must pass unmarked. It is needless to add that the present system of representation of sounds is useless as a register of the actual state of pronunciation, and of the changes which are gradually occurring. How interesting would it be to Englishmen had a scientific alphabet been employed to record the different stages of pronunciation of their language, so that the nineteenth century might know with approximate exactitude how Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton spoke!

But in any changes which we may see fit to make in orthography, we must beware of supposing that, in a perfect alphabet, we should possess an absolutely controlling influence over pronunciation and sound changes. No doubt if sounds were accurately registered by a scientific alphabet, the more educated classes of the community who were familiar with this alphabet and its denotation would be led to attempt to maintain their pronunciation in accordance with the standard afforded them by this. But, even assuming that such an alphabet were generally adopted, it is plain that it could only represent one particular dialect of any linguistic area, which dialect would, as a rule, be that of the best-educated classes in the community. Then, as now, dialects would remain unrepresented, or, at the best, would be registered for scientific purposes or for a limited use. Then, as now, absolutely different sounds occurring in different dialects would be denoted by the same letters. Then, as now, different sound images would be associated with different letters, which are, of course, merely connected with sounds by an association of ideas. Then, as now, the written language would be unable to record the changes that had passed upon the language of an entire community, confining itself to those that had passed over the normal or standard dialect, which, as we have seen, would be in England the dialect of the educated classes. But it must be held that language is not consciously altered to suit orthography; any such alteration would be contrary to the common development of language. The orthography may, however, be altered to suit the language; but, as it is obvious that the language must change more quickly than the orthography, it follows that the orthography must remain, at the best, an imperfect record of written sounds.

The defects of written speech which have been already indicated are not as great as those which set in when the orthography of a language has been long settled. The original spellers tried to commit the sounds of each word to writing; they broke up the word into its elements, and compounded the letters corresponding to these elements to the best of their ability. But there is no doubt that practice in reading and writing makes this process continually shorter. The consciousness that the symbol is bound up with the sound grows gradually fainter. A group of symbols represents a group of sounds; and the sounds are apprehended in groups, and not singly. The sentence, and not the word, becomes the basis of reading. Indeed, fluent reading and writing would be impossible if this were not the case. Poets, like Burns, who write in their own dialect, however much they may try to reproduce accurately the sounds of that dialect, and however well they may succeed, still are fain to content themselves with a certain conventional approximation to accurate representation; in fact they are very much influenced by the conventional orthography of the literary language. They are also constrained to attempt to produce an approximate amount of accuracy with the smallest amount of labour; and their labour is considerably lessened by their acceptance of conventional symbols. Our forefathers really tried to indicate consistently their pronunciation of their words. They tried to spell phonetically, and the result may be seen in the different spellings of the manuscripts of Langland, Chaucer, Shakespeare, etc.

The advantages of a fixed orthography are mainly that the reader connects a definite orthographic image with a definite signification. We can understand this if we take two words which are pronounced identically but differently spelt, such as bough, and the verb to bow. Were these words written identically, the written picture common to the two would associate itself with the sound common to the two words, whereas, at present, each meaning has its own distinct symbol. Each divergence in spelling, though from a phonetic point of view it may be an improvement, increases the difficulty of understanding what is written. Divergencies or want of fixity in spelling may arise from the awkwardness of writers, who may have employed several signs to denote the same sound, or a single sign for more than one; or, again, it may arise from the want of some controlling body, like an academy, whose business it is to regulate orthography. On the other hand, it may be due to the very perfection and consistency of the characteristics of the language which has to be reproduced. If, for instance, as in Sanscrit, or in Welsh, the spelling of the same word varies with its pronunciation according to its position in the sentence, a single meaning must be expressed by different symbols, and it is impossible for one definite written picture to connect itself with the first form. The more fixed the orthography, the more is the process in reading and writing facilitated.

On the whole, it is true that the natural tendency of the orthography is towards greater fixity, though it is also true that retrogressive movements sometimes occur, as when marked phonetic changes set in. There are three principal methods whereby it is commonly sought to produce a fixed and uniform orthography: (1) by the abolition of variations between several different methods of spelling; (2) by regarding etymology and taking it as a guide to orthography; and (3) by holding to traditional spelling and disregarding sound. The first of these methods is, generally speaking, in accordance with the aims of phonetic reformers; the two latter are in direct contravention of their aims. But against these efforts to produce fixity in orthography there remains always the counter tendency to bring language and its written expression into harmony; and this tendency exhibits itself partly in the effort to correct original deficiencies in spelling, and partly in a reaction against the discrepancies constantly produced in written language by sound-change. As these two tendencies are constantly operative, the history of orthography is a description of the temporary triumph of one or other of these two forces.

If we should institute a comparison between the development of writing and that of language, we shall find certain points of resemblance, and others of marked divergence. With reference to the latter; in the first place, changes in orthography are brought about more consciously, and with more purpose on the part of the writer, than changes of language on the part of the speaker. In the second place, whereas in language a whole linguistic community is exposed to a change, in the case of writing, only that portion of the community who write or print or publish are directly interested. And thus it is that the authority of single individuals is able to carry weight to a much larger extent than in language. Again, orthographical changes do not depend upon personal contact, but appeal to the eye, and therefore are capable of affecting a wider, if a less numerous, public than linguistic changes. A good instance of the effect of changed orthography is seen in the Welsh language as contrasted with the Gaelic. The Welsh has changed its old cumbrous orthography for a simpler and more phonetic system; and, in consequence, the Welsh language has become more easy to acquire, and, generally speaking, a handier instrument of literary intercourse. No reformer has arisen for Gaelic, which consequently is little read and little written in comparison with its Cymric sister.

One of the most obvious difficulties that meets the orthographical reformer at the outset is the presence in the alphabet of one or more signs to represent the same sound, a case which has been already referred to in this chapter. This superfluity of sound-signs may be an inheritance from the language whence the alphabet in use is borrowed; thus, in our alphabet, we have received c and k and q, all denoting the same sound. Or, again, it may happen that, in the language from which the alphabet was borrowed, two signs had a different value, but that the language which borrows them is unable to employ these signs to make such a distinction, which, indeed, does not exist in it. Thus, the Greek alphabet employed χ to represent the aspirated guttural; but, as we do not employ that sound at all, the symbol ch, as seen in cholera, is superfluous. Again, both symbols of the borrowed language easily pass into use in the language which borrows them, if the sound which the borrowing language means to represent lies between the two sounds represented by the symbols borrowed. Thus, for instance, in the Upper German dialect, at the time of the introduction of the Latin alphabet, there was no distinction answering to that between the Latin g and k, b and p, f and v, consequently, one of these symbols was, for that particular German dialect, superfluous.

In English there is one cause of vacillation which should be noticed as of interest, viz., the attempt of certain writers to omit certain letters which seem to them superfluous, as when honor, color, etc. are written instead of honour, colour, etc. As far as this spelling expresses supposed philological accuracy, it is, of course, erroneous.

Superfluities in spelling are disposed of in much the same way as superfluities in words and forms. The simplest way is by the disuse of one of the two signs. The other way is by differentiating the signs which were originally used indifferently. This differentiation may serve to supply a want in the language; as when, in Modern German, i, u, and j, v were gradually parted into vowel and consonant. Thirdly, it happens that one manner of spelling becomes usual in one word, and a different manner in another, the differences depending upon mere caprice. Thus we spell precede, but proceed; proceeding, but procedure; stream (from A.S. stréam) with ea, but steep (A.S. stéap) with ee. A.S. bréad is now written bread, but A.S. réad has become red; A.S. nu we write now, but ðu is at present thou; etc. Some of these and similar inconsistencies owe at least their preservation, if not their origin, to the desire of differentiating in the spelling such words as have the same sound but different meanings; e.g., to and too, steel and steal, red and read, etc.

Etymology, or, more correctly, etymological grouping, and analogy have great influence upon spelling, as well as on the spoken language. Again and again an older phonetical spelling has been replaced by a real or fanciful etymological one. Thus, for instance, it is owing to the influence of etymological grouping when certain alternations of sound, due to flection or other change of position, are left without indication by any corresponding changes of spelling. Thus, in Anglo-Saxon, the word dæg had its plural dagas. Final g was dropped, and the vowel before it changed into the sound now represented by ay in day. A g between two vowels, however, generally became w, and, accordingly, dagas became dawes, a form frequently found in Middle English. In this case, analogy interfered, and a new ‘regular’ plural, formed directly from the singular day, replaced the older historically correct form. It is, however, possible to imagine that this had not happened in the spoken language, and that, whilst people SAID day, dawes, they had WRITTEN day, dayes. Or rather, if the declined cases in the singular had remained in use—in which cases, also, the g stood between two vowels—that the w written in the declined cases of the singular, and in all cases of the plural, had begun in time to be written also in the nominative singular, where the y was the ‘regular’ form. This supposititious case is only an instance of what has happened in many languages, e.g., in German. German ‘unvoices’ all final consonants; i.e., a d or t, when final, is pronounced t, a p or b is pronounced p, etc. Before terminations of inflection, however, d and b remained ‘voiced,’ and we find accordingly in Middle High German such pairs as nom. tac, gen. tages. The g of the declined cases has, however, supplanted the c of the nominative singular, and the word is now written throughout with g, though no one pronounces the same sound in the nominative singular, as in, say, tages, or nom. plur. tage, etc.

Again, etymological considerations first caused and now preserve the insertion of b in debt, g in reign. That, in many cases, these etymological considerations arose from sheer ignorance does not alter the fact that it was their influence which, after causing the insertion of, e.g., the g in sovereign, the h in rhythm, the l in could, the w in whole, the p in receipt, saved these absurdities from desirable extinction.

It must, however, be admitted that, owing to these very irregularities and inconsistencies of spelling, as far as it is to be regarded as representing the spoken language, we owe sometimes a greater uniformity and regularity in the grammar of the written language than could obtain if spelling followed pronunciation more closely than it does.

Thus, for instance, in most weak verbs the past tense is expressed in writing by the addition of ed, though sometimes, in the spoken word, nothing but the sound of d (I roll, I rolled), or even t (I express, I expressed), is added. The ed, in these cases, may be considered to be preserved partly from habit, partly from a feeling, to some extent etymological, that such and such a meaning (or change of meaning) is indicated by such and such a spelling or letter-group.

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CHAPTER XXII.
ON MIXTURE IN LANGUAGE.

There are two senses in which we may speak of mixture in language—the broader sense in which every speaker must influence those who hear him, and be influenced by them in turn, and the narrower sense in which one language or one dialect is influenced by another with which it is but distantly connected.

In order to understand the process of such mixture as this, we ought to observe, in the first place, what passes in the case of individuals. The circumstances leading to such mixture may be best observed in the case of persons who speak more than one language. Bi-lingualism on a large scale, of course, is best seen where a community resides upon the confines of two linguistic areas, as on the borders of England and Wales. It may, again, be due to the sojourn of a person in a foreign country: it becomes more marked still when persons pass from one country and settle in another; and still more when large masses of people are permanently transferred under foreign domination by conquests and by colonisation, as in the case of the inhabitants of British India or the French population of Lower Canada.

The knowledge of a foreign tongue may also be imparted by writing, as when we learn classical Latin and Greek; but in this case, the influence exerted by the foreign tongue is felt only by the better educated classes of society.

In all cases where nations have been brought into contact, and have been mixed on a large scale, bilingualism is common. It is natural to expect that, of the two languages employed, that of the more prominent nation will gain a preponderance over the other, whether its prominence be due to its power, or industrial or intellectual capacity. There will be a change, in fact, from bilingualism to unilingualism; and the process will leave traces more or less marked on the superior language.

An instance of this process on a large scale was afforded by the Roman Conquest of Gaul, the consequence of which was a struggle between the tongue of the Latin conquerors and that of the Celtic conquered race. The result was that the Latin ousted the Celtic, but not without leaving traces of the Celtic idiom in certain words, in the pronunciation, and the construction of the language.

But it will be found that the mixture will not easily affect single individuals, so as to transform their diction into a language made up of elements equally, or nearly equally, taken from either of the two conflicting languages. Even assuming that a person is perfectly master of both languages, and that he may pass from one to another with perfect ease, he will yet adhere to one language for the expression of a clause or a sentence. Each tongue may, however, exercise a modifying influence upon the other in the way of affecting its idioms, its accent, its intonations, etc. It may happen that the influence of one tongue may be predominant in particular areas of language, as we see that the English is in Lower Canada in matters of commerce. This leads to such expressions as jobbeur, cheurtine (shirting), sligne (sling), charger le jury, forger, cuisiner les comptes, etc.: see American Journal of Philology, vol. x., 2.[213] Of course, where one of two or more languages has been learnt as the mother tongue, this will always have more influence over foreign languages, however perfectly acquired, than the latter will have over the mother tongue; but we must not under-rate the influence which a foreign language may have upon the mother tongue, especially when it is looked upon as fashionable, or as the key to an important literature. The influence of the foreign tongue may obviously spread to persons who are wholly unacquainted with it, by the contact of these with persons who have adopted or assimilated the foreign elements.

The two principal ways in which a foreign idiom may influence the mother tongue are these. In the first place, foreign words may be adopted into the mother tongue and retained, commonly speaking, in a more or less altered form. The English language has borrowed words of this kind from numerous languages. Thus, from Dutch, we get the word sloop (sloep, itself a loan-word from Fr. shaloupe; whence we, again, have borrowed shallop), yacht: yam, from some African language, through the Portuguese: from Spanish—flotilla, cigar (Sp. cigarro), mosquito: from Italian—domino, casino, opera, stucco: from Persian—chess (Persian sháh, a king, through O.Fr. eschac), orange, shawl, rice, sugar. India gives us sepoy; Germany, meerschaum; Russia, a steppe; China, tea; etc.[214]

In the second place, the method of connecting and arranging the sentences, and the idioms used by the mother tongue may be taken from the foreign language, and this, even though the material of the language be maintained intact.

The chief cause for the adoption of foreign words into the mother tongue is, of course, the need felt for them in the mother tongue. Words are constantly adopted for ideas which have as yet no words to express them. The names of places and persons are the most common among such adopted words, to which may, of course, be added the names of foreign products, such as tea, sago, chocolate. The names of such products may be taken from the language of communities in a very low state of civilisation. On the other hand, when a language finds it necessary to introduce technical, scientific, religious, or political terms, it is fair to suppose that the language which lends the words must be that of a nation in a higher state of culture than the language of the nation which borrows them. There are many words relating to social subjects imported into English from French which may serve to give a good idea of the weak point of the nation which borrows, and of the strong point of the nation which supplies them. Such are numerous works having reference to ease in conversation, such as bon-mot, esprit, ‘wit;’ verve, ‘liveliness; ‘élan,’ spring;’ etc.; and it will be correspondingly found that the language whence such supplies are drawn is very rich in the qualities for which it possesses such abundance of names.

But languages may be tempted to borrow beyond their actual needs when the foreign language and culture is higher prized than the native, and when, accordingly, the usage of such words is considered fashionable or tasteful. Instances in point are the numerous Greek words introduced into classical Latin, such as techinæ (Plautus, Most., II. i. 23), and the numerous French words borrowed by German and English, such as étiquette, chaperon, à outrance.

If a speaker has an imperfect mastery of a foreign tongue, he will be apt to employ, when endeavouring to speak it, numerous loan-words from his mother tongue. He will, in fact, insert into the foreign tongue any number of words which may serve the purpose of expressing the idea which he feels necessary. Such loan-words, of course, take time before they become usual. They cannot become usual unless they are often repeated, and, as a rule, unless they proceed spontaneously from several individuals as the expression of a general need. Even then they may only become current in particular circles: as when, for instance, such technical terms as those applicable to music are borrowed. Such words, when fairly accepted by the language, are treated like other words in the language, and are regarded by the speakers of it as native, and inflected as such. Foreign words, when borrowed, are commonly treated thus. There are no two languages in which the two stocks of sounds are precisely identical. Consequently, the speaker will, as a rule, replace the foreign sounds by those which he conceives most nearly to represent them in his own language; and, in cases where the foreign language possesses sounds not known in his own, he will fail to pronounce these correctly, at least till after much practice. It is well known how very seldom any one masters a foreign tongue so as to speak it without some incorrect accent. Thus it happens that in the cases where a conquering language spreads over a nation speaking a different language, the original language of the conquered people must leave some traces in the production of sounds, and changes will occur in other ways as in accentuation, etc. Numerous instances might be cited of where such invasion of a conquering tongue has occurred on a large scale, as in the case of the Moorish invasion of Spain, the Latin invasion of Gaul, the Norman-French invasion of Saxon England.

In cases where one people merely comes into contact with another in the course of travel or of literary intercourse, the number of those who acquire the language of the foreign people will be necessarily small. The word will, therefore, from the outset, be pronounced imperfectly; the persons who first introduced the word or those who immediately accepted it will insert sounds with which they are familiar among the foreign ones. It thus happens that when a foreign word has once made its way into a language, it commonly exchanges its proper sounds for those native to the language which borrows it. Even those who know the foreign language most perfectly, and are aware of the proper pronunciation of the loan-word, have to conform to the pronunciation of the majority, at the risk of passing for affected or pedantic. For instance, in English, in spite of all the numerous loan-words which occur in the written language, very few new sounds have been introduced, such as the nasal m in employé; and even these sounds are dispensed with among the uneducated, and imperfectly reproduced by many of the better educated. One common result of the adoption of a foreign word into another language is that popular etymology begins to operate, causing the word to appear less strange to those who have borrowed it, as in the familiar instance rose des quatre saisons, ‘rose of the four seasons,’ transformed by English gardeners into quarter sessions rose.[215]

The changes which naturally affect foreign words upon their reception into the language, must of course be kept distinct from those which affect them after they have become an integral part of the language, when they change according to the laws of sound-change of the language into which they are adopted. In fact, it is often possible to tell the epoch at which a word has passed from one language into another, by noting whether it has or has not participated in certain laws of sound-change. Thus, where in Old High German the Latin t is represented sometimes by t, and sometimes by z (as tempal = templum), ‘temple’ as against ziagil (= tegula = ‘till’), the form with z represents an older stage of borrowing than the form in t; and, again, words in which the Old High German represents the Latin p by ph or f, must be held to represent an older stage of borrowing than those in which it is found as p or b: cf. pfeffer, ‘pepper;’ Pfingsten, ‘Pentecoste,’ as against pîna, (Lat. ‘pæna’): priester (Gk. ‘presbuteros’).

Similarly, such a word as chamber, or chant, must plainly have been borrowed before the period of sound-change when the sound of ch regularly took the place of the Latin c; and this we know to have been the history of the c sound in the dialect of the Ile de France, whence those and other similar forms come to us.

But foreign words are exposed, after their adoption, to the same assimilating forces as when they are first adopted: and one of the transforming forces which should be mentioned is the transference of the native system of accentuation to foreign words. In English, a study of Chaucer or Langland will show us how French words originally adopted and pronounced according to the French method of accentuation, by degrees, and not till after a period of vacillation, passed over to the system common in Teutonic languages: thus Chaucer has lánguage and langáge; fórtune and fortúne; báttaile and battáile; láboure and labóur: thus Pope accentuates gallánt. Of course, words may be so far phonetically modified as to become unrecognisable even by persons who know the language whence they are borrowed. Who, for instance, would recognise in the word pastans[216] the French passé-temps, our pastime; or in the common Scotch word ashet, the French assiette. Thus, in the same author, Gavin Douglas, we find veilys (calves), representing the old French word, véel (vitellus). The strangeness may be increased still more by changes which have occurred in the language from which the word is borrowed. Thus our word veal represents an older form of the French language than veau; and the German pronunciation of many French words is that of an older period of French pronunciation; as París, concért, offizíer. German words adopted by Romance languages have been even more violently transformed: who, in the French words tape, taper, would recognise the German zapfen; in the Italian toppo, the German zopf; in the French touaille, the South German zwehle; in the Italian drudo, the German traut? In the same way, the signification of the word in the parent speech may change; as in the case of the French emphase, ‘bombast,’ as against emphasis; biche (‘hind’), etc. Finally, it may disappear in the parent language and survive as a loan-word in the language which has borrowed it; as, for instance, the French word guerre, ‘war,’ in which survives the Old High German werra, ‘quarrel,’ the same word as our war.

The word may be borrowed several times at different periods. It appears in different forms, of which the more recent bears the stamp of the parent language, while the older has been exposed to phonetic changes which have more or less violently acted upon its form. It will generally be found that the meaning attaching to the word when it is borrowed a second time will differ from that which it bears on the first occasion. These words which are more than once borrowed are commonly called doublets; they are very numerous both in French and English, and have been treated of at length by Bréal and Skeat. Instances of such are priest, presbyter; champagne, campaign; preach, predict; prove, probe. Proper names constantly afford instances of repeated forms of borrowing processes; cf. Evans, Jones, Johns; Thomasson, Thomson; Zachary, Zachariah. It sometimes happens that a loan-word long since naturalised in a language receives a partial assimilation to its form in the language whence it originally came; a good instance of this is seen in such forms as honor, color, etc., which, especially in America, are often so written, instead of honour, colour, etc. Sometimes words are adopted into a language from two kindred languages; the signification will then be similar, and the sound will differ but little—the sense, as well as the form, contributing to keep the two words together. German has several of such loan-words borrowed from the French and Latin; as, ideal and ideell; real and reell; which at a former period had an actually identical meaning, but now are differentiated. In English, spiritual and spirituel differ like spiritus and esprit. Some words, again, are borrowed from a language in which they already occur as loan-words. Thus the French have borrowed from English the word square, O.Fr. esquarré. Thus, again, Greek words come to us through the medium of the Latin: whence it is usual to write such forms as Æschylus, Hercules, instead of Aischulos, Heracles. Thus, again, Latin words borrowed from Greek have come into English through the medium of French—cf. such words as music, protestant, religion, etc.; and also such proper names as Horace, Virgil, Ovid, and Livy. Persons conversant with the original naturally refer such words to the language through which they came; and thus, in adopting Greek words, they employ the Latin accent and the regular English termination which represents that French termination whence the English one came. Such words are alopecy, academy, etc.

Derivatives formed with unusual suffixes often receive in addition the regular normal suffix. This is specially the case when a native synonymous suffix is added to the foreign one: as in Waldensian, Roumanian, sometimes the native suffix is substituted for the original suffix of the foreign language; as, Sultana, for Sultaneh. Words are borrowed in their entirety; but not suffixes, whether derivative or inflectional. When, however, a large number of words is borrowed containing the same suffix, these range themselves into a group, and fresh formations are formed upon the analogy of these. Thus, in English, after the analogy of such words as abbey, rectory, etc., we have such words formed as bakery, tannery, brewery: and, again, we find Romance words like French mouchard, ‘a spy,’ Italian falsardo, ‘impostor,’ with the Teutonic suffix: and very many English words with a French suffix; as, oddity, eatable, drinkable, murderous: and, again, poisonous, as against vénéneux in French. In English, again, we find such suffixes as -ist in jurist forming fresh additions to their group by analogy, mostly, however, in educated circles; as, Elohist and Jahvist, though such words spread eventually to the whole nation, as in the case of protectionist. -Ism is another of these, as in somnambulism; and -ian, as in Hartingtonian.

Inflectional terminations are also thus adopted, but more rarely, and only between nations that have been in close contact. In German it is common to use Christi as the genitive of Christus, and often the French plural in s is applied to German words, as in Frauleins. In English, we speak of phenomena, etc., and we employ indices in a mathematical sense. The English genitive ending has found its way into Indo-Portuguese, as in Hombres casa, ‘the man’s house.’ The gypsy dialects have adopted the inflectional terminations of each country where they are spoken.

Words are sometimes affected in their meaning by other languages; and further, the idioms peculiar to one language are affected by those current in another. This influence is called the influence upon linguistic form. The most common instance of the effect of one language upon another in this case, is where, when two words partially coincide in meaning, they are assumed to exactly tally in the whole extent of their meaning. This is, of course, one of the most common faults in translation. Thus an English child, learning French, will often be heard to use expressions like ‘Cela n’est pas le chemin,’ for ‘That is not the way;’ a German will say ‘brought a leading article,’ for wrote; a Frenchman, ‘Can you conduct?’ for ‘Can you drive?’ Sir Charles Dilke, in his Problems of Greater Britain,[217] gives an interesting account of the French Language as spoken by the French settlers in lower Canada. It appears that the more educated of these speak a somewhat archaic and very pure French, but that the peasant or shopkeeper will say Je n’ai pas de change, for ‘I have no change.’ He will describe dry goods on his sign-board as marchandises sèches, and will call out when busy ‘J’ai un job à ramplir.’ In public meetings we hear of ‘les minutes,’ and the seconder of a resolution is called officially ‘le secondeur.’ The ‘speaker’ is l’orateur, and ‘Hear! Hear!’ is rendered by Ecoutez.

Sometimes a word is coined in one language after the model of one existing in another language, to supply a want felt by the language which borrows. This is especially the case with technical terms, as when accusative, ablative, etc., are introduced into English from the Latin model; and such words as these are liable to be misunderstood, as they may only tally with one portion of the meaning of the original word, or, indeed, in some cases be a mistranslation, as where, genetivus, ‘the begetting case,’ was taken as the Latin equivalent of γενικός, ‘the general case,’ and accusativus, ‘the accusing case,’ of αἰτιατική, ‘the conditional case.’ Another instance is the word solidarity, which we have coined to express the French solidarité.

Again: entire groups of words, or idioms, are literally translated from one language into another. Thus we hear, in the mouths of Irishmen, such expressions as I am after going, this being the literal translation of the Irish idiom for the rendering of the future tense. Thus the Austrians say Es steht nicht dafür, for ‘it is not worth the trouble,’ because the Bohemians express this phrase by nestojé za to. The following idioms are current in Alsace;[218] it will be seen that they are literal French renderings of German phrases. Est-ce que cela vous goûte? ‘Does that please your taste?’ Il a frappé dix heures, ‘It has struck ten;’ Il brûle chez M. Meyer, ‘There is a fire at M. Meyer’s;’ Ce qui est léger, vous l’apprendrez facilement, ‘That which is easy, you will learn it easily;’ Cher ami, ne prends pas pour mauvais, ‘Dear friend, do not take it amiss;’ Pas si beaucoup, ‘Not so much;’ Attendez; j’apporterai une citadine, ‘Wait; I will bring a citadin (drink).’ On the other hand, the South-West Germans employ phrases after the French model; as, Es macht gut wetter, ‘It is fine weather.’

Finally; the syntax of one language may exercise an influence over that of another language. An instance of this has been already given. The form of the French language, which is a Romance language grafted on to a Celtic stock, has been much influenced by Celtic syntax (cf. the mode of expressing numerals, soixante-dix = 60 + 10, parallel to Celtic 3 scores + 10; quatre-vingts = 4 × 20 = Celtic 4 scores, etc.).

Again: as the Slavonic languages can employ one form for all genders and numbers of the relative, we find in Slavo-German the word was (what) correspondingly employed; cf. ein mann, was hat geheissen Jacob: der knecht, was ich mit ihm gefahren bin.

Of course authors may consciously imitate a foreign idiom with the view of producing a particular effect, as when Milton wrote ‘and knew not eating death;’ ‘Fairest of all her daughters Eve.’

In the case of dialects, almost the same remarks hold good as in the case of different languages. Word-borrowing is the most common process. Such words are most readily borrowed as are needed by the borrowing dialect for its own purposes; such as the Scotch words dour, douce, feckless, etc. Sounds, on the other hand, are not easily influenced by kindred dialects. The nearest native sounds are commonly substituted for those of the alien dialect. Of course the case may occur where two dialects have, in the course of their development, so far parted that words etymologically connected have lost all connection in sound. In this case, the sound of the alien dialect will as a rule be maintained. An instance of this is the Scotch unco’ in the phrase unco’ guid, which is really the same as uncouth; but the accent has shifted, and this tends to disguise the origin of the word.

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CHAPTER XXIII.
THE STANDARD LANGUAGE.

In all modern civilised countries, we find, side by side with numerous dialects, a standard language, professing to stand aloof from all dialects, and to represent what may be called the classical form of the language. This standard language is in fact an abstraction, an ideal, a supreme court of language prescribing rules to be followed in the case of each language. It bears the same kind of relationship to the actual processes active in language, as a particular code of laws to the aggregate of all the cases in any district in which that code is applied; or of a definite dogmatic text-book to the religious practices and faiths of all the individuals of a community confessing the particular faith embodied in that book.

Such a standard language as we have described,—as it does not result from the various processes natural to the life of language,—necessarily differs from language in general by its fixity; wherever a change takes place in a standard language, the element of consciousness is more clearly present than in the ordinary changes of language. Not that a standard is absolutely all-foreseeing in its provisions, or can claim to decide on the entirety of the cases for which it gives the example. A code of law, in the same way, or a confession of faith, may be liable to several interpretations, and may not cover some of the cases which come under its purview. Besides this, we must always take into account the possible lack of intelligence on the part of those who ought to act up to its provisions; and, again, the feeling which must set in from time to time, that many of the provisions of the code are obsolete, owing to fresh moral or economical views which may have become current since it was drawn up. When such a feeling has set in strongly, the code is commonly altered to suit the demands of the day. Just so the standard language may, and indeed must, alter from time to time; but its alterations are, like those of the code, adopted designedly, or at all events with much more consciousness than those which set into the ordinary course of language.

This standard language is, speaking generally, the language of a certain restricted circle in an entire community—most commonly, as in England, the language of the best-educated classes. The standard language may be settled in two different ways: (1) by spoken language; (2) by written authorities. Supposing that a standard language is to result from a spoken language, it is necessary that the persons who are regarded as authorities should be in continuous and full communication with each other, in order to keep the standard as consistent as possible. Sometimes we find a particular town or district cited as speaking the language which is quoted as the standard. Thus it is common to quote Hanover, in Germany, and Tours in France, as places where the purest German and French are heard. But it is clear that, even assuming the correctness of such model towns or districts, none but the better-educated classes even of those districts can be looked upon as likely to maintain the standard language in its purity. In England, the standard language can be defined in no other way than as the language of the well-educated classes, who make it their object to speak alike, and to exclude abnormal or dialectic variations from the standard language. In France, besides the appeal to the usage of the educated, there is the further tribunal of the Academy, whose verdict is final upon all questions of literary taste and diction. In Germany, the language which must be taken as the standard language is not that of any town or district, but the purely artificial language employed on the German stage in serious drama. This language forms a very interesting and remarkable example of a standard language which is consciously maintained as the most effective medium of communication for a nation which is more divided into dialects than most other European nations. The stage language of Germany is maintained by a continuous and careful training, based on a knowledge of the science of phonetics. The objects aimed at by the actors have been twofold: in the first place, it was necessary to practise an eclecticism in the choice of their language, which should succeed in making it intelligible to the largest number of German speakers: in the next place, beauty and grace could not be left out of consideration. Hence a fixed norm had to be settled on and maintained, as it is plain that a consistent pronunciation maintained unchanged is a main factor in promoting intelligibility. Again, inconsistency in pronunciation is practically the admission of dialectical peculiarities: and such peculiarities at once suggest characterisation where none would be in place. Those points, then, in the varying dialects, were alone selected for this normal language which seemed more conducive to clearness. Sounds and intonations peculiar to any dialect were admitted into the standard language if they contributed to this result. Syllables which had come, in the course of time, to be slurred over on account of their light stress were reinstated in the integrity of their original sounds. The orthography was made to aid in the reconstruction of the pronunciation. Such studied straining after clearness must necessarily prevent the stage language from passing into a colloquial language. Its very clearness would savour of a stilted affectation. But, with all its rigidness and precision, the stage language still exercises some influence upon the sounds of the colloquial language—considerably more than that exercised by any particular dialect. But its form is to a large extent poetical; indeed, it receives much of its language ready made from the poets.

As we stated above, in the case of our own language the only normal standard that we are able to point to as the purest English is that commonly spoken among educated people. In this case it is obvious that the agreement between the different classes who aim at maintaining the norm can be at best but an imperfect one. Each class of educated men will have a tendency to fall into certain peculiarities of speech which will mark them off in some degree from all others. The language of the bar is not quite that of the army. The language of the Church differs from that of both. The language of the educated in England, however,—in other words, the language of those who aim at following the norm,—agrees in one respect, that in all an emancipation from dialect is aimed at, and, to a large extent, attained. This result is largely owing to the fact that in England the better-educated classes are in the habit of sending their sons to be educated out of their own dialectical district, and the result is that they come into contact, at an early period of their lives, with companions whose language is characterised either by different dialectical peculiarities from their own, or by an absence of any. But even so it must always be remembered that those who speak their language in its greatest purity, i.e. with the greatest absence of dialectical peculiarities, are subject to the changes which mark all language and are an inseparable concomitant of its existence.

But there is another means whereby a standard or common language may become fixed, and may come to serve as the normal or ideal language of the speakers of any given language. This means is the reduction of such normal language to writing. The reduction of the standard language to writing renders it independent of those who speak it, and enables it to be transmitted unchanged to the following generations. It further permits the standard language to spread without direct intercourse. Of course, the influence of a written language upon dialects is much more powerful upon the material than upon the phonetic side. A Scotch peasant may read a page of the Times every day, and, if he reads it aloud to his family, the absence of Scotticisms will act powerfully upon the younger generation, and to a certain extent upon himself. But he will probably continue to pronounce the standard language in much the same way as his native dialect.

It is possible to make strict rules for the maintenance of a written language, by adhering to the usage of definite grammars and dictionaries, or of particular authors, and admitting no other authorities. This happens when, for instance, modern Latinists aim at reproducing the style of Cicero, like Mr. Keble in his celebrated Prælectiones. But if so-called purity of style and expression be gained by this process, surely far more is lost. The author writing under such restrictions must necessarily lose much of his power of original expression, and must find himself very much cramped in his vocabulary. In fact, writing at a period when the whole character of the civilisation has changed from that of his model’s epoch, he will find himself at a loss for words to express his most common conceptions.

The fact is that a written language, in order to live and be effectual, must change with the changing times, and admit into itself words and methods of expression which have become usual among those for whom it is to serve as the model. It may maintain a conservative influence by refusing to admit such words and expressions too hastily; but it must allow of no absolute barriers to their ingress. Modern Latin, in the shape of the Romance languages, has survived, and has proved adequate to the expression of modern thought; but in its ancient form, it has died out as a living language; and the fair dream of the Humanists that the tongue of Cicero might serve as the medium of communication to all civilised Europe was destined to pass away unrealised, from the simple fact that they insisted too strongly that this tongue should be exclusively modelled upon that of Cicero himself.

A literary language which has emancipated itself from its models must, of course, become less regular as time goes on, and each individual who employs it introduces into it some of his own peculiarities of idiom. But it need not split up into varieties geographically situated, as must needs be the case under similar circumstances with spoken language. For instance, the English written in America is much more like the English written in England than is the dialect spoken in Cornwall like that spoken in Yorkshire. Sound-change, of course, under our present alphabetic system remains wholly undenoted. Inflections, word-significations, and syntax are of course exposed to change, but to a less extent than in the spoken language. Such a word as bug may have retained its older significance of insect in America, and have been specialised in England; but the word is written in the same way in the two countries alike. Similarly, will and shall may be exchanged, or one of these used to the exclusion of the other; but they will remain spelt in the same way. Besides this, it must be remembered that the so-called classical models in any language will always continue to exert a large influence upon those who write in it; and this will always be an influence antagonistic to change.

The method whereby a standard language may best secure the greatest possible agreement over the largest possible area, and may join to this agreement the necessary adaptation to the changed circumstances of civilisation, is by keeping to the ancient models in syntax and accidence, and by allowing, at the same time, a certain freedom in the creation of new words, and in the application of new significations to old ones.

Our great national languages are at once literary and colloquial, and hence they possess a standard literary language and a standard colloquial pronunciation and vocabulary. The problem is how to keep those two languages in harmony. The colloquial language is, of the two, as we have seen, liable to change in its phonetic conditions—a change to which the written language is not so much exposed. It is therefore obvious that the more a language changes phonetically, the less will it be represented by the written language; and it is also plain that in a language like English, whose spelling is so very far from phonetic, the discrepancy between the written and spoken language may go so far that the former may cease to exert much, if any, influence upon the latter. To remedy this state of things, phonetic alphabets have been drawn up, and various reforms in spelling have been recommended from time to time, in order to bring the written into harmony with the spoken language.

The more that the natural language of each individual departs from the standard language, the more will he naturally regard the standard language as something foreign; the effect of this will often be that, as the discrepancies between his natural dialect and the standard language are more clearly felt, he will make a more conscious effort to seize and get over those differences. Thus, in the border counties of Wales, or of the Highlands, a more correct literary English is spoken than in many English counties.

The different individual dialects of any country, i.e. the forms of language used by each individual, are constantly changing their position in respect to the norm, or standard written language. On the one hand, the natural changes incident to all language are always tending to alienate these from the norm; on the other, the conscious and artificial efforts made to approximate the individual language to the norm are constantly in play side by side with the other tendency. The main method whereby this conscious approximation is effected is, in the first place, the instruction given in civilised countries at school; and, in this case, the standard language, or an approximation to it, is learnt at the same time as the language of the district. But the dialect of each individual’s home cannot fail to influence largely his acquisition of the standard language. England, as before remarked, forms an exception to most other countries in this respect, that many children are brought up comparatively free from the dialect spoken in their geographical area.

But, when all is said, there remains to be taken into account the difference in each individual’s pronunciation, and his greater or less capacity for assimilating the difference between the artificial dialect and his own. These considerations will always operate as powerful solvents of the integrity of a standard language.

It must further be noticed that the stock of words and their meanings, as well as inflections and syntax of the artificial or standard language, are constantly being recruited from the natural language. Instances in point would be the different Scotch words, such as ne’er-do-weel, adopted into standard English. Where the same word occurs both in the natural and the artificial language, it sometimes happens that both words are preserved in the latter; sometimes with a differentiation of meaning and sometimes without; instances are birch, church, shred, as distinct from the Northern birk, kirk, screed. It will thus be seen that the colloquial language which serves as the model of each individual is itself a compromise between the strict normal language and the home dialect.

In the second place, the artificial language affects the natural language by supplying it with words and inflections in which it is deficient. Such terms would naturally be such as the artificial language is more fitted to supply. No dialect throughout Britain is free from such influence as that described.

In the third place, it should be observed that when persons speak an artificial and a natural language side by side, the use of the former spreads at the expense of the latter. The artificial language was originally confined to writing, and was employed as a means of communication with persons speaking a strange dialect. Once established as an official channel of communication, it has a tendency to spread to all literature, and gradually to private correspondence. And this is easy to understand, seeing that the young generation generally learns to read and write from written records, and that it is obviously easier to accept a form of orthography made ready to our hand than to invent a system of orthography which shall be applicable to other dialects besides one’s own.

When the artificial language has once become the fashion, then, and not till then, will the employment of dialect seem a mark of want of culture. There are many countries still in which the most educated persons are not ashamed to speak in their natural dialect. This is the case, for instance, in Switzerland and in Greece at the present day, and, to a less extent perhaps, in Scotland. It is therefore a mistake to suppose that the natural language must necessarily be deemed inferior or more vulgar than the artificial. It is, in fact, the necessity for the employment of the artificial language which causes it to be universally adopted.

We have now briefly to consider under what circumstances a common language becomes established. It seems to be certain that no common language would have arisen without some necessity for its appearance; and that necessity arose from the fact of the different dialects into which any linguistic area must naturally be split up becoming so far alienated from each other as to be reciprocally unintelligible, and, of course, the difficulty of comprehension would be greater in the case of dialects, geographically more widely separated, than in the case of those spoken by neighbouring people. Indeed, the wider the area over which a common language spreads, and the more numerous the dialects which it embraces, the more successful does it commonly turn out. Good instances of this truth are afforded by the Greek κοινή, and in that of the Latin language in its spread over the Romance-speaking areas.

We assume, then, in the first instance, the necessity felt for a common language, before such is called into existence. It is further an indispensable preliminary that a certain degree of intercourse, whether literary, commercial, or otherwise, should exist between the areas, however distant they may be, which are to partake of the common language. It might seem natural to suppose that as soon as, and whenever any certain given number of dialects had reached a certain degree of difference from each other, there would naturally be evolved a common language which would suffice for their needs. But, as a matter of fact, we do not find this to be the case. The common language sometimes develops between two or more areas possessing dialects less nearly related to each other, more readily than between similar areas linguistically nearer related, supposing that there are special circumstances to favour the development. In some cases political circumstances may effect this, as where a common dialect for Germany was called into being on the basis of a common German nationality. As a contrast to this, we may take the case of Polish and Czechish, which are, linguistically speaking, more nearly related than High and Low German, and which yet, as in the main belonging to different political areas, have no necessity for a common language, and have therefore never created one.

If a common language has once established itself in a large area, it is rare for another common language to arise for a portion only of that area. Thus a Provençal common language would be an impossibility in the face of the powerful French which has spread over the greater part of France. Again, a common language can hardly arise for any large area whose single parts have already some common language which suffices for their needs. This may be seen in the failure of the Panslavists to create a common language in an area already occupied by Polish, Servian, etc. No example of this fact can be drawn from England.

The introduction of printing is a powerful aid to the extension of a common language. Thanks to the invention of printing, a written record can quickly be communicated to a large linguistic area in the shape given to it by the author, and an impulse is likewise given to studying what is presented to readers in such an attractive and commodious guise. But it is necessary that the alphabet employed should be identical for all the people in the linguistic area in question; and, of course, the language expressed by that alphabet must be widely understood over that area.

It should further be noticed that a common language must, generally speaking, be based upon an existing dialect, and that this dialect then modifies itself to suit the demands of the different dialectic areas which demand the common language. Thus, Luther expressly tells us that he based his translation of the Bible upon the dialect of the Saxon Chancellery: Modern French is based upon the dialect of the Ile de France: Chaucer chose the London dialect as the most appropriate for his purpose. Such cases as the modern attempts to form a common language in the instance of Volapük, etc., have been but partially successful; there was no strong existing basis upon which to found them.

It must be assumed as a necessity to the success of any common language, that there are a number of persons compelled by circumstances to make themselves acquainted with one or more foreign dialects. This may be brought about by the demands of commerce, or from the fact that the persons in question are compelled to live in the foreign linguistic area, and to employ its tongue. We can see the operation of these causes in such cases as the creation of such a lingua franca as Pigeon English, which arises not merely from the fact that the English and Chinese who use it as a vehicle of communication are ignorant of each other’s language, but further from the fact that the Chinese who employ it speak dialects so different as to be partially or wholly unintelligible to each other. Similar remarks hold good of the Spanish in South America,—which is learned by Italian immigrants speaking different dialects, and serves as a lingua franca to them. But even when such lingua franca, or common language, has been formed, it is liable in its turn to further development. It may be influenced, for example, by the more perfect acquisition of the standard language on the part of those who use the dialect based upon it as a common language; as is probably the case with the Pigeon English spoken by the Japanese: or, by the adoption into the common language of an increasing number of words from the vocabulary of those who are gradually allowing their own dialects to be superseded by the common language.

Supposing, however, that a special dialect has been selected as the model for a standard language, even in civilised countries, we must not assume that it is possible to adopt it as the actual and pure model. The model dialects cannot fail to be influenced by the dialect of the special speaker or writer, and in many cases this mixture may make itself very prominent. This is especially seen, perhaps, in the case of literature which, like journals and periodicals, is intended mainly to circulate in the special dialectic area. Thus, for instance, Americanisms, Scotticisms, and Hibernicisms, are more common in the newspaper press of America, Scotland, and Ireland than in the standard literature published in those countries. Again, the dialect, on which the model or normal language was based, will, from the very nature of language, change more rapidly than the normal language itself, which must from its nature be more conservative; so that here, again, a discrepancy cannot fail to set in between the dialect and the model language. The truth of this may be well seen in the changes which have passed over the London dialect in comparatively recent times. The habit of omitting the aspirate, or, as we say, dropping the h, seems to be quite a recent development in English,[219] and to have spread probably at the end of the last century. Dickens’ Londoners frequently drop their aspirates: and he seems to be the first writer who makes his characters do this on a large scale. On the other hand, the ven and vy of his characters are hardly now heard in London.

And thus the artificial language, if it extend over a large area, becomes differentiated into dialects more or less strongly marked, in much the same way as the natural language within a particular district. Probably English is the language in which this fact can be noticed more easily and on a wider scale than in the case of any other language, from the fact that the areas of English-speaking races are so widely separated in many cases; and all isolation must tend to strengthen the power of the dialect as against the artificial language. So-called Americanisms, for instance, may be older forms of the English language retained by the American dialect and lost by the English. On the other hand, they may be new importations into the standard or model language from the colloquial language, or from some dialect. These Americanisms, again, spread to such English-speaking countries as Australia, Canada, and New Zealand more readily and quickly than they do to England. Consequently, the artificial language, in spite of its tendency to conservatism, is manifestly changing in the different English-speaking areas, although the change is not, of course, as great or as quick in its fulfilment as that which comes to pass in the development of dialects in the area of a definite territory.

It is, of course, possible to arrest to some extent the change in an artificial language by the influence of academies, who shall authoritatively decide upon the permissibility or otherwise of the use of a certain word or phrase; but under normal circumstances the involuntary development which we have spoken of is characteristic of a standard language as well as of language in general.

A single linguistic area may, under the proper conditions, develop a duality or even a plurality of standards, though instances of the entire co-ordination of two different standards are, in the history of language, very rare. The classical example for the duality of standard is offered by the linguistic conditions in Greece during the period between 250 and 50 B.C. Two types of normalised or standard language, neither of them corresponding exactly to any one folk-dialect, and each of them almost entirely uninfluenced by the other, asserted their pre-eminence over the folk-dialects in two distinct districts. The one, which we may call ‘Eastern Greek’ or the Attic κοινή, was based upon the Attic dialect; the other, which we may call ‘Western Greek,’ was based upon the Laconian. The former was the language of those political and commercial interests that centred about the Ægean; the latter, of those that centred about the Gulf of Corinth. The former represented the new cosmopolitan spirit of Hellenism, the latter the conservative and provincial spirit that had its political expression in the Achæan and Ætolian leagues.

Here, as elsewhere, the levelling of the peculiarities of provincial speech in the interest of a standard language represents and corresponds to a levelling of provincial barriers in the interest of a unitary civilisation, and under the impulse of great common movements of commercial intercourse, political organisation, or religious thought, and the appearance of two areas of levelling in language betrays the existence of two areas of common commercial, political, literary, or religious interest. The division of German Protestantism into the Lutheran and Swiss wings, coupled with political distinctions, availed to maintain for a long time, even in the printed form, a Swiss standard of German, as distinguished from the so-called Modern High German.

To be distinguished from the cases of duality or plurality of standard are those of complexity of standard. A portion of a linguistic area, which recognises in general outlines, or in the most essential characteristics, the common standard of the whole, may develop inside these limits a secondary standard of its own, which, in its turn, asserts itself as a unifying influence above the disparities of the popular dialects. Such is the status of the American-English, if indeed it be admitted that there be any American standard at all. The wide disagreement upon this latter much-mooted question arises largely from a failure to recognise what the true nature of a standard in language is. In the light of the preceding discussion, and by the help of the abundant available material, it cannot be difficult to reach some consistent solution of this question.

The attitude of the extremists on the one side is well represented by the dictum of Richard Grant White:[220] ‘In language whatever is peculiarly American is bad.’ In other words, the absolute test of correctness is the English standard, which is notably the usage of the educated classes in the great centre of English life. It must, however, be remarked, at the beginning of any discussion of this sort, that the question concerns not what ought to be or might best be, but what is the fact. If it be actually the fact that any considerable body of men, whose usage, be it through respect for their culture, their intelligence, or their position, or for any other reason, commands the deference of the great mass of American speakers and writers, follows so loyally the English standard as to regard as bad in language all that is peculiarly American, then it is the fact that there is no such thing as an American standard in language. There is, then, only one standard English speech, and that the standard of London.

There exists, however, in America no educated or cultured class in the English sense. The educated stand nearer the people than in England. The children of the better classes are, furthermore, not so easily isolated from the influence of the dialect of their locality as in England. Certainly there exists in general no class with which the popular mind associates the idea of authority in matters of speech, nor whose speech is respected or admired as correct. The class of men most likely to be imitated and most likely to exercise an unconscious influence upon the usages of society is the intelligent mercantile class, but this is not a permanent or well-defined body. Certainly it is not a body likely to follow puristically a foreign standard of speech.

It is in part this absence of a homogeneous usage among the more intelligent and influential classes, such as undoubtedly exists in England, that occasions the apparently immoderate use of dictionaries in America as standards of orthoëpy. So various is the usage in the pronunciation even of many common words, like quinine, courteous, envelope, tribune, route, suite, wound, that the ear in its confusion of impressions fails to decide definitely, and recourse must be had to the dictionaries. It is most frequently in cases of doubt like these that appeal is made to the greater certainty of the English standard. It plays the part of a convenient arbiter. This differs entirely in principle from an attempt, for example, to introduce the totally non-American pronunciation of trait with silent t final, or of bureau with accent on the second syllable.

No single district or city in America ever has been or can be generally recognised as furnishing a standard of speech. Washington is in no such sense the capital of the United States as Paris is of France; New York is not a metropolis in the sense that London is. Eastern Massachusetts, with its chief city Boston, enjoys a certain preëminence in the superior education and intelligence of its people; but its local idiom, like the general spirit of its population, is too strongly provincial to attract any imitation. In fact, nowhere in the United States have the schools and all their adjuncts made more vigorous efforts to root out the popular dialect, and nowhere does the English standard receive so full recognition. The situation furnishes a tolerably exact parallel to the rigidity of Hanoverian German, an imported standard on Low German soil, and constitutes a further illustration of the well-known orthodoxy of recent converts. The schools of Boston teach the ultra-English pronunciation of been as bīn, while the native dialect has běn, and the American κοινή has extended to general use the secondary form bĭn.[221]

The stage is not yet in a position to exercise any marked influence upon the language, to say nothing of furnishing a standard. The influence of the pulpit is probably greater.

But though neither the stage, an educated class, nor any given locality has availed to vindicate for itself the right of establishing a standard, it is an incontrovertible fact that, within certain limits and to a certain extent, an American standard of English does exist. There is a great number of words, of word usages, of pronunciations, of phrases, and of syntactical constructions, which have, though not recognised in English usage, a universal and well-accepted currency among the best writers and speakers of America, and rise entirely above all suspicion of provincialism. To avoid or rebuke them, or to attempt the substitution of pure English words or expressions would be only an ostentatious purism unsupported by the facts of society and the necessities of language, and would expose the would-be corrector even to ridicule and to the reproach of alienism. As has already been remarked, we are not concerned in a case like this with the ideally desirable, but solely with the existing fact. On no other basis can the existence of a standard be determined. If, for example, any one should, in deference to English usage, assume to correct an established and universally accepted American expression like railroad car, which a well-known poet[222] has thought worthy a place in serious verse, into its foreign equivalent railway carriage, it would be generally regarded as an odious affectation. The relatively few Americans who, without any sufficient reason, but in a spirit of undisguised and helpless imitation, affect to adopt English manners, usages, and dress, are as a class notably unpopular with the mass of Americans, and, as unpopular, are uninfluential. What is true of their other usages, would be in like degree of their language.

To illustrate from the vocabulary alone, there is a large and constantly increasing body of non-English words, which are used in all sections of the country, which are shunned by no class of writers or speakers, but which are universally used and esteemed as sound and normal expressions. Such are lengthy, to donate, to loan, to gerrymander, dutiable, gubernatorial, senatorial, bogus, shoddy, mailable; these are slowly penetrating into the English of England, and the path of such words is rendered plainer by their previous adoption in the British Colonies, whose linguistic history is so akin to that of America. Many words of this kind are of French, Spanish, Dutch, or Indian origin, but have been so thoroughly assimilated into the language by usage as to rank entirely with the purest English element; thus levee, crevasse, prairie, canyon, ranch, stampede, to stampede, corral, boss, stoop, squaw, wigwam, hickory, racoon, moccasin, hammock, canoe, toboggan, hominy, opossum, terrapin.

In determining the existence of a standard and what may belong to that standard, we are in no wise concerned with the origin of words or expressions. It is not a question of origin, but a question of usage and of ‘good form.’ The observation that to guess, in its sense of ‘opinari,’ is found in Chaucer and Gower, contributes nothing to either side of the discussion whether there is or is not an American standard. The only question is whether guess, ‘opinari,’ is in universal and accepted American use. The fact is, that, though in widely extended use, it still remains dialectic, and is not a feature of the standard. The word fall for autumn may in isolated instances be found in English writers, and is undoubtedly with some meaning or other a good old English word, but the fact is, that, as a substitute for autumn, it is not ‘good form’ in England, and is in America. Spry, ‘active, nimble,’ is an ‘Americanism,’ because, though found in the English dialects, it is a standard word only in America. The American use of sick, in retaining the old English value now expressed by the modern English ill, vindicates rather than controverts the existence of a separate standard. Differences in the uses of words common to the two types are illustrated by the following: lumber, in English, ‘cumbersome material;’ in American, equivalent also to English timber: tiresome, in English, ‘dull, annoying;’ in American, ‘fatiguing,’ as ‘a tiresome day:’ to fix, in English (and sometimes also in American), ‘to fasten;’ in American, ‘to repair,’ ‘to arrange:’ corn, in English, ‘grain;’ in American, ‘maize:’ transpire, in English, ‘to exhale,’ ‘to become public;’ in American, ‘to occur:’ bright, in English, (of persons) ‘cheerful;’ in American, ‘quick of intellect.’ Cases in which the two standards use different words for the same idea or object are, Amer. piazza, Eng. verandah; Amer. bureau, Eng. dressing-table; Amer. elevator, Eng. lift; Amer. sleigh, Eng. sledge; Amer. trunk, Eng. box; Amer. store, Eng. shop; Amer. public schools, Eng. national schools; Amer. academies, Eng. public schools; Amer. to graduate, Eng. to take a degree; Amer. student, Eng. undergraduate; Amer. druggist, Eng. chemist. Amer. mush, Eng. porridge; Amer. biscuit, Eng. roll; Amer. cracker, Eng. biscuit; Amer. candy, or confectionery, Eng. sweets; Amer. pitcher, Eng. jug; Amer. tidy, Eng. antimacassar; Amer. postal, or postal-card, Eng. post-card; Amer. city, Eng. town; Amer. fall, Eng. autumn; Amer. sick, Eng. ill; Amer. rare (of meat), Eng. underdone; Amer. smart, Eng. clever. Many articles of clothing, especially men’s clothing, have different names. Thus, Amer. vest, Eng. waistcoat; Amer. sack-coat, Eng. jacket; Amer. pants, Eng. trousers; Amer. drawers, Eng. pants; Amer. underwear, Eng. underclothing; Amer. waist, Eng. body, bodice; etc., etc.

Especially instructive it is to note how special activities, particularly those of more modern development, have found themselves in England and America separate vocabularies. Let us take for illustration the language of railways and railway travel: compare Amer. locomotive, Eng. engine (also American); Amer. engineer, Eng. driver; Amer. fireman, Eng. stoker (limited in America to steamships); Amer. conductor, Eng. guard; Amer. baggage-car, Eng. van; Amer. railroad, Eng. railway; Amer. car, Eng. carriage; Amer. cars (as ‘to get off the cars’), Eng. train (also American); Amer. track, Eng. line; Amer. to switch, Eng. to shunt; Amer. switch, Eng. point; Amer. to buy one’s ticket (not unknown in England), Eng. to book; Amer. freight-train, Eng. goods-train; Amer. depot (pronounced de̅e̅´po), Eng. station (gaining ground in America); Amer. baggage, Eng. luggage; Amer. trunk, Eng. box; Amer. to check, Eng. to register; Amer. horse-car, Eng. tram or tram-car; Amer. horse-car track, Eng. tramway. The Americans adhere to a nautical figure, and speak of ‘getting aboard the cars.’

American political life has developed also a vocabulary of its own. Some of these words have gained a limited currency in England, but are mostly felt still to be importations. Such political Americanisms are caucus, stump, to stump, filibuster, federalist, senatorial, gubernatorial, copperheads, knownothings, carpetbaggers, mass-meeting, buncombe, to gerrymander, to lobby, mileage (as a money-allowance for travelling), wire-puller, etc.

Many words have received derived or special meanings which have become established in general and unquestioned usage: thus, locality, ‘a place;’ notions, ‘small wares;’ clearing, ‘a cleared place in the forest;’ squatter, ‘one who settles on another’s land;’ whereas in Australia the latter word has developed into the special meaning of one who rents a large area of government land on which to depasture sheep.

Vastly more important for our purpose than these mere differences of vocabulary are those differences in phrases and turns of expression, which, as subtler and less noticeable to the ordinary hearer and reader, are less open to superficial imitation. Compare American quarter of five with English quarter to five (also American, but less common than the former); Amer. lives on West Street, Eng. lives in West Street; Amer. sick abed, Eng. ill in bed; Amer. that’s entirely too, Eng. that’s much too; Amer. back and forth, Eng. to and fro; Amer. there’s nothing to him, Eng. there’s nothing in him; Amer. named after, Eng. named for (also American); Amer. it don’t amount to anything, Eng. come to; Amer. fill teeth, Eng. stop teeth; Amer. walking; lying around, Eng. walking about; Amer. are you through? Eng. have you finished? Amer. that’s too bad, Eng. what a pity (also American); Amer. as soon as (also Eng.), Eng. directly (‘directly he arrives’), Amer. right away, Eng. directly, straight away; Amer. once in a while, Eng. now and then; Amer. quite a while, Eng. some time; Amer. go to town, or go into the city, Eng. go up; Amer. takes much pleasure in accepting, Eng. has much pleasure; Amer. have a good time, Eng. to enjoy one’s self (also American).

It is not totally without significance that American usage has established and confirmed a standard of orthography that is in some few points divergent from the English: thus honor, honour; wagon, waggon; check, cheque; traveler, traveller; center, centre; by-law, bye-law; jewelry, jewellery, etc.

Much that in English usage is approved and standard sounds to American ears strange and outlandish. The English use of nasty, for example, is to the American, with whom it implies the quintessence of dirtiness, distinctly abhorrent and all but disgusting: even more may be said of the semi-colloquialisms knocked up, ‘tired,’ and screwed, ‘intoxicated;’ while, e.g., haberdasher and purveyor are as good as foreign words.

The possession of a common literature holds the two languages strongly together, and assures a narrow limit to the possibilities of divergence. It is only within this limit that the American standard exists. Freedom of trade and intercourse, that has come with the building of railways and especially since the close of the civil war, is rapidly replacing the local idioms with a normal type of speech, and it is upon the common usage in the chief centres and along the chief avenues of commercial activity and national life that this normal type is based. It corresponds to no one of the local dialects, but stands above them all; it corresponds in the main with the English standard, but maintains a limited independence within the scope of certain modern and special activities of American life.

---

INDEX
The numbers refer to the pages.

• A
• À (Fr.), [237]
• A (indefinite article), [183]
• Aau, aautch, (interjection,) [163]
• Ablaut. See Gradation.
• About, [336]
• Absente (preposition), [210]
• Abstract v. concrete, [45], [52];
• sentences, [98]
• Academy, [390]
• Accent, effect of, [208], [338];
• vacillation of, in loan-words, [388].
• See also Stress.
• Accusativus, meaning of the word, [392];
• general force of, [128], [130];
• ‘free,’ [129];
• ‘attached,’ [129];
• ‘cognate,’ [129];
• of space, [129];
• of time, [129];
• predicative, [130];
• of direction, [130], [308];
• after compound verbs, [131];
• accusative with infinitive, [215], [281];
• accusative with infinitive after licet, [292];
• verbs with double, [281]
• Acetum (Lat.), [31]
• Ach (Ger.), [32]
• Ache (substantive and verb), [144]
• Action of the human mind conscious and unconscious. See Mind.
• Açvas (Sans.), [65]
• Adder, [283]
• Adjective, general category of, [343];
• used as substantive, [207], [348];
• denoting action with dependent case, [355];
• used with adverbial force, [359];
• French, in f, [39];
• theory to explain origin of, variable, [239];
• as psychological predicate, [274];
• as psychological subject, [274];
• predicatival (gramm.), [280];
• as grammatical predicate, [290];
• indefinite, [104].
• See also Substantive.
• Adverbs, origin of, [358];
• in e (A.S.), [224];
• adverbial genitives, [175], [177];
• adverbial expressions, [176];
• adverbial s, [216];
• without corresponding adjective, [360];
• some developed in meaning independently of corresponding adjective, [180];
• v. conjunctions, [344]
• Æftermest, [145]
• Æschylus v. Aischulos, [390]
• After: ‘I am after going,’ [392]
• Aftermost, [145]
• Aftumists (Goth.), [145]
• Agan, [11]
• Aged, agèd, [236]
• Aïeuls, aïeux (Fr.), [235]
• Aigin (Goth.), [189]
• Aiws (Goth.), [201]
• Albeit, [211]
• Alderman, [319]
• Alopecy, [390]
• Alphabet, origin of, [368];
• imperfect, [5], [366];
• phonetic, [370]
• Also, as, [236]
• Altogether, [325]
• Always, [325]
• Amant (Fr.), [232]
• Amends, [250]
• American usages and vocabulary contrasted with English, [416]
• Amicissimus, [347]
• Amid (adverb), [358]
• Anagramme (Fr.), gender, [245]
• Analogy, [11], ch. v.;
• ‘false,’ [83];
• produces normal as well as abnormal forms, [83];
• combined with original creation, [165];
• influence on spelling, [378];
• influence of change in function on, ch. xii.;
• v. phonetic development, [182]
• Analysis. See Grammatical, and Sentence.
• And, copulative combinations with, [328]
• Anecdotage, [143]
• Anothergaines, [143]
• Ἀπὸ κοινοῦ, [305]
• Aposiopesis, [312]
• Appas, appâts, (Fr.), [235]
• Apposition, source of concord, [300].
• See also Relative clause.
• Ardeo (Lat.), [211]
• Arm, [65], [193]
• Article, pleonastic use of, [156];
• omitted in prepositional phrases, [176]
• As, [236], [274], [344];
• ‘as good as,’ [335]
• Ascian, axian, [38]
• Ass, [62]
• Assiette (Fr.), [388]
• Assimilation, [35], [38];
• of final and initial consonants, [337]
• Association between memory pictures of sound and of position, its nature, [26]
• Attacher, attaquer, (Fr.), [232]
• Attributes, degraded predicates, [114];
• predicative, [117];
• in the vocative, [298]
• Auburn, [57]
• Auger, [318], [338]
• Autrui (Fr.), [251]
• Awfully, [180]
• B
• Babble, [212]
• Backbite, [206]
• Backslide, [333]
• Bahuvrîhi compounds, [339]
• Bait, [49]
• Ball, [57]
• Band (Ger.), [234], [235]
• Bandog, [317], [338]
• Bang, [163]
• Bank (Ger.), [235]
• Bar, [56]
• Barley-corn, [66]
• Barn, [317]
• Bask, [266]
• Baudet (Fr.), [67]
• Bay, [57], [62]
• Be (verb), as copula, [279]
• Beast, [243]
• Become—make, [265]
• Bed, [66]
• Before, [344]
• Beggar, [179]
• Behalf, on my, [148]
• Bein (Ger.), [68]
• Belfry, [197]
• Belly, [66]
• Berstan (A.S.), [88]
• Bescheiden-beschieden (Ger.), [232]
• Best, [35]
• Biche (Fr.), [388]
• Billy-ruffan, [198]
• Birch-birk, [403]
• Bird, [38], [63]
• Bishop-dom, -ric, [317], [338]
• Bitter, [57]
• Blackguard, [337]
• Blae, [57]
• Blavo (Span.), [57]
• Blood, [58]
• Blue, [57]
• Board, [49]
• Bogus, [414]
• Bond-bondage, [196]
• Boom, [163]
• Boss, [415]
• Botany and its terms applied to express relationship of languages, [13]
• Bound, [194]
• Bourgogne, [274]
• Bourn, [38]
• Böse (Ger.), [237]
• Both ... and, [282]
• Box, [48]
• Bracci, braccia, [235]
• Breadth, [182]
• Breakfast, [205]
• Brebis (Fr.), (gender), [244]
• Brid, [38]
• Bridal, [317]
• Bride, [38]
• Bridegroom, [317]
• Bright, [416]
• Brimstone, [320]
• Brock, [65]
• Bron (Dutch), brunnen (Ger.), [38]
• Broom, [49]
• Brother, [173], [235]
• Bug, [401]
• Bull, [49]
• Bur, [339]
• Burgher, [64]
• Burn, [38]
• Burst, [88]
• Burthen, [143]
• Busk, [266]
• Butler, [64], note
• Butter (verb), [65]
• Butterfly, [329]
• By, [139]
• Bye-law, [50]
• C
• Cackle, [165]
• Cadedis (Gasc.), [162]
• Call, construction of to, [288]
• Can (verb), [28], [275]
• Canadian French, [382]
• Canoe, [415]
• Canon, [49]
• Cantata, [231]
• Canyon, [415]
• Caput (Lat.), [66]
• Car (Fr.), [214]
• Carelessness of utterance, [8]
• Carousal, [196]
• Cases, [127].
• See under various names of cases.
• Castra (Lat.), [250]
• Categories in grammar, [3];
• artificial, [7];
• psychological and grammatical, ch. xv.;
• how arrived at, [343]
• Caterwaul, [320]
• Causatives, [265]
• Cause (Fr.), [232]
• Causes of change in language, how they operate, [8];
• of sound-change, [34]
• Ch in French loan-words from Latin, [387]
• Chaire, chaise, (Fr.), [233]
• Champagne, campaign, [389]
• Change in language, causes of, [8];
• classification of, [11];
• change in meaning, [10], ch. iv.;
• change in function, influence on analogical formation, ch. xii.;
• change in function does not always entail change in form, [210].
• See also Sound-change, Meaning, Usage, Differentiation, Development.
• Chaperon, [385]
• Cherry, [86]
• Chess, [383]
• Chiefly, mainly, [237]
• Child’s language, [60];
• how acquired, [36];
• its influence, [17]
• Chinee, [86]
• Chit-chat, [164]
• Chose (Fr.), [232]
• Church—kirk, [403]
• Classes and species, nothing but abstractions, [14]
• Classification, when and how far rational, [14]
• Clean, [57]
• Climate, influence of, [8]
• Cloths, clothes, [235]
• Coach, [49]
• Cock, [57]
• Collective nouns, [247]
• Color, colour, [389]
• Combination of ideas, the means whereby language expresses, [92]
• Comparative, formation of, [79], [199];
• double, [154];
• for positive, [154];
• and superlative in German, [334];
• ditto in Sanscrit, [346], note.
• Comparison of development of language with that of species, how far correct, [13];
• how far incorrect, [16]
• Complex sentences, [119]
• Component parts of ‘derived words’ not present in their original form, [341]
• Composition, illustrated and classified, [316]
• Compound verbs in Latin and German, [275]
• Compounds, originally significant part of, assumes form of derivative, [197];
• one language separates what another regards as, [321];
• no phonetic demarcation possible between syntactical groups and, [322];
• criterion, [323], [334];
• ditto for inflected languages, [327];
• dvandva, [329];
• develop in meaning without the simplex being affected, [329];
• influence of isolation on formation of, [331];
• compounds followed by word dependent on part of, only, [335];
• phonetic isolation, effect on formation of, [335]
• Compare (Ital.), [38]
• Concord, ch. xvii.;
• not expressed, [292];
• variation of, [293];
• whence arisen, [299];
• spreads beyond proper area, [299];
• absence of, in elliptical sentences, [306]
• Concrete. See Abstract.
• Conjunctions, [344], [361], [363]
• Connection between successive cases of sound-utterance only psychical, [26]
• Connecting words, do they form a distinct grammatical category? [279].
• See also Link-words.
• Connotation v. denotation, [350]
• Considering (preposition), [210], [362]
• Constructio πρὸς σύνεσιν, [241]
• Contamination, ch. viii.;
• difference between, and formation by analogy, [141];
• in words, [141];
• in syntax, [145];
• doubtful example of, [275]
• Contents of a word, ‘material’ v. ‘formal’ or ‘modal,’ [74]
• Convergence of forms of different function causes that difference to be overlooked, [204]
• Cool, [28], [31]
• Co-ordination v. subordination, [283]
• Cope, [193]
• Copula, [271];
• number of, with predicate in plural, [293];
• psychological, more extensive than grammatical, [272].
• See also Connecting words and Be.
• Copulative combinations, [327];
• compounds, [329]
• Copy (in Chaucer), [59]
• Corn, [63], [415]
• Corral, [415]
• Correlation of ideas, [74]
• Corvus, [44] note
• Could, [379]
• Cows, kine, [235]
• Cowslip, [317]
• Crack, [165]
• Crackle, [165]
• Crane, [11], [44], [56]
• Cray-fish, [197]
• Creation, original, ch. ix., [10]
• Crevasse, [415]
• Crimp, [161]
• Critique (Fr.), [234]
• Crocodilus (Lat.), [38]
• Crown, [57]
• Crumple, [161]
• Cubit, [66]
• Cup, [65]
• Cupboard, [337]
• Cur (Lat.), [213]
• D
• Daisy, [318]
• Dans (Fr.), [237]
• Darkling, [216]
• Dash, [163]
• Dative, [129];
• predicative, [287];
• with infinitive in Latin and Greek, [291]
• Dawn, [172]
• Day, [171], [378]
• Debt, [379]
• Declension, history of, in Teutonic, [200].
• See also Phonetic development.
• Dedans (Fr.), [237]
• Demonstrative, irregular concord of, [296]
• Demori (Lat.), [211]
• Denotation v. connotation, [350]
• Deperio (Lat.), [211]
• Deponent verbs, [265]
• Derivation of our words, [218], [321]
• Derselbe (Ger.), [321]
• Descent, meaning of the term and influence of, in language, [15];
• difference between linguistic and physical, [16]
• Determinant, various functions of, [116]
• Development, of language, ch. i., its essence, [9];
• of meaning in primary and derivative, [179];
• effect of phonetic development on, [181].
• See also Meaning.
• Diadème (Fr.), [245]
• Dialects, origin of, [18];
• difficulty of classification, [18];
• criterion for distinction of, [22].
• See also Language.
• Die—kill, [265]
• Differentiation, of language, ch. ii.;
• of one language into more than one, more accurate statement, [15];
• why not greater than actually it is found to be, [16];
• tendency to, and that to unification, not successive, [22];
• of meaning, ch. xiv.;
• in form, coinciding with differentiation in function, [189]
• Ding-dong, [164]
• Direction, indication of, [308]
• Displacement of usage, [9];
• in etymological grouping, ch. xiii.;
• in syntactical distribution, ch. xvi.
• Dissimilation, [38]
• Dogme (Fr.), [245]
• Doins (O.Fr.), [144]
• Doleo, with accusative and infinitive, [215]
• Doff, [320]
• Don, [320]
• Donate, [414]
• Donkey, [57]
• Double genders, [234]
• Doublets, [230], [389]
• Doubt (verb), [211]
• Douce, [393]
• Dour, [393]
• Drab, [57]
• Drink, drench, [265]
• Drudo, [388]
• Dubitative mood, expressed by future tense, [261]
• During, [345]
• Dutiable, [414]
• Dvandva, compounds, [329]
• E
• Each, [320]
• Eáge (A.S.), [84]
• Eatable, [390]
• Economy, of expression, ch. xviii.;
• of effort, [8]
• Ee-sound, formation of, [31]
• Either, or, [282]
• Elder, [193]
• Elements of speech-utterance, we are generally unconscious of, [27]
• Erila (O.H.G.), eller (M.H.G.), [38]
• Ell, [66]
• Elliptical sentences, [302];
• in how far correctly so called, [308]
• Else, [176], [358]
• Emphase (Fr.), [388]
• En (Fr.), [237]
• Enfold, [333]
• Énigme (Fr.), [245]
• Enjoy, [67]
• Entwine, [333]
• Environment, influence of, on development of language, [15]
• Épigramme (Fr.), [245]
• Ere, [363]
• Erkenntniss (Ger.), [234]
• Erle (Ger.), [38]
• Ernstlich, ernsthaft, (Ger.), [237]
• Été (Fr.), [85], [244]
• Etiquette, [385]
• Etymological grouping, influences on spelling, [378].
• See also Grouping.
• Ever, [47]
• Evolution. See Comparison.
• Examen (Lat.), [49]
• Executive, [28]
• Execution, [28]
• Expatiate, [59]
• Extravagant, [59]
• Eye, [65]
• Ezzih (O.H.G.), [38]
• Ἥμισυς. Ὁ ἥμισυς τοῦ χρόνου, [148]
• F
• F, [10], [32]
• Facility of utterance, [34]
• Façon (Fr.), [231]
• Fadrein (Goth.), [249]
• Faith, [61]
• Falconer, [64]
• Fall (autumn), [415]
• Fall—lie, [258];
• fall—fell, [265]
• Fare thee well, [148]
• Fashion, [231]
• Father, [71], [173]
• Fatherhood, [241]
• Feather, [66]
• Feckless, [393]
• Fiend, [349]
• Feodor (Russ.), [10]
• Filth, [182]
• Find, [67]
• Finfi (O.H.G.), [38]
• First utterances not reproduceable at will, [167]
• Fish, [63]
• Fix, [415]
• Fizz, [163]
• Flos (Rom. lang.), [244]
• Fluobra (O.H.G.), [38]
• Folks, [248]
• Foot, [56], [66], [86], [181], [189]
• Foreign influence, effect of, [7]
• Forget-me-not, [321]
• Forgetive, [60]
• Forlorn, [174], [186]
• Form, [56]
• Formal contents of a word, [74]
• Formal groups, [76]
• Formation of new groups, ch. xi.
• Fortnight, [319]
• Foudre (Fr.), [234]
• Fowl, [63]
• Fox, [57]
• Fräulein (Ger.), [242]
• Frequentative verbs, [160]
• Friend, [349];
• “I am friends with him,” [148]
• Frôfor (A.S.), [38]
• Fromage (Fr.), [67]
• Frugi (Lat.), [210]
• Fruit, [62]
• Frumentum (Lat.), [62]
• Fulhans (Goth.), [189]
• Furlong, [319], [338]
• Future tense, [260];
• formation of, in French and in Latin, [341].
• See also Tense.
• G
• G (A.S.), becomes y or w, [172]
• Gafulgins (Goth.), [189]
• Gallows, [250]
• Gas (Dutch), [158]
• Gash, [161]
• Gaudeo, with accusative and infinitive, [215]
• Gender, grammatical, recognised by concord, [239];
• originally probably corresponded with natural, [240];
• differentiation of, [234];
• change of, [242];
• follows that of allied groups, [244];
• remaining traces of, in English, [245];
• double, [234]
• Genealogical terms applied to relationship between languages, [13]
• Genitive, meaning of the word, [392];
• the case, [127], [129];
• partitive, [134];
• subjective and objective, [174-175];
• isolation of meaning of, [177], [323];
• with infinitive in Greek, [291];
• old genitive singular feminine, [323]
• Gens (Fr.), [241], [248]
• Gentlemanlike, [212]
• Γέρανος, [44], note
• German silver, [330]
• Gerrymander, [414]
• Gerund, construction of, in Latin, [148];
• or verbal nouns as present participle, [215]
• Gerundive, sometimes active in meaning, [264]
• Gesicht (Ger.), [235]
• Gesticulation, [302]
• Gesture-language, [166]
• Gew-gaw, [164]
• Gh, [35]
• Ghostly, [61]
• Glass, glare, [188]
• Glorioso (Ital.), [38]
• Gnat, [35]
• Go, [57]
• Go-betweens, [326]
• Good-bye, [162], [321]
• Good-natured, [212]
• Goose, [56]
• Gospel, [319]
• Gossip, [337]
• Gradation of vowel-sound, effect of, on development of meaning, [181]
• Grain, [44]
• Grammars, all incomplete, [6];
• historical, comparative, descriptive, their province, [1];
• deal in abstractions, [2];
• draw lines of demarcation where historian of language traces connection, [9]
• Grammatical analysis v. logical analysis, [268]
• —— categories, how arrived at, [343]
• —— and psychological categories, ch. xv.
• —— relations and logical relations not sharply separated, [12]
• —— rules, their nature, [12]
• —— system inadequate, [7], [270]
• Grave, [193]
• Green, [144]
• Greenland, [326]
• Groundsel, [318]
• Groups, of ideas in the mind, [3], [73], [76];
• modal and material, [76], [170], [178];
• formation of new, ch. xi.;
• changes in, [171].
• See also Phonetic Development, Syntax, and Numerals.
• Grouping, mainly governed by function of the words, [206];
• displacement in etymological, ch. xiii.
• See also Inflection.
• Γρύς, [44], note
• Gubernatorial, [414]
• Guerre, [388]
• Guess, [415]
• Gypsy dialects, [391]
• H
• Hab’ und Gut (Ger.), [327]
• Hale, [192]
• Hallelujah, [163]
• Halibut, [319]
• Hammock, [415]
• Hand, [58] (Ger.), [202]
• Handiwork, [318]
• Harrow, [162]
• Head, [56], [65], [66]
• Headlong, [216]
• Health, [182]
• Hear, [59]
• Heart, [65]
• Helter-skelter, [164]
• Hemel (Dutch), [235]
• Hercules v. Heracles, [390]
• Hereabouts, [216]
• Hickory, [415]
• Hide, [194]
• Hie, hier (Ger.), [184]
• Higgledy-piggledy, [164]
• High-spirited, [212]
• History of language, its task, [4], [9]
• Historic present, [257]
• Hláfmesse (A.S.), [43]
• Hoarhound, [319]
• Hole, [193]
• Hominy, [415]
• Homographs, [193], note
• Homophones, [193], note
• Honor v. honour, [389]
• Horn, [70]
• Horreo, with accusative and infinitive, [215]
• Horse, [71]
• Hosannah, [163]
• Hotch-potch, [164]
• House, [43], [46]
• Humility, [61]
• Hungersnot (Ger.), [325]
• Hurly-burly, [164]
• Hurrah, [163]
• Hurtle, [161]
• Hussy, [318]
• I
• I, a diphthong, [28]
• Ideal, ideell, [389]
• Ideas, groups of, [73]
• Idioms translated or borrowed, [392]
• Igitur (Lat.), [208]
• Il (Fr.), sentences beginning with (neut.), number of the verb, [295]
• Ill, sick, [237];
• in compounds, [334]
• Imitation, tendency to, [8]
• Impersonal verbs, have they a subject, [101]
• Impertinent, [49]
• Impossible, [35]
• Income, [28]
• Indefatigable, [38]
• Indefinite adjectives and pronouns, [104]
• Individual peculiarities, [5];
• their effect, [8];
• only the individual has real existence, species and classes are abstractions, [14];
• consciousness as to change in language, [8]
• Infinitive, case of nomen actionis, [356];
• used as noun, [357];
• active, passive and neuter, [264];
• of exclamation in Latin, [312]
• Infitias ire, with accusative and infinitive, [215]
• Inflection, [93];
• origin of, ch. xix.;
• influence of phonetic development on new grouping in, [198];
• convergence of systems of, in three degrees, [200];
• terminations of, in loan-words, [391]
• Influence, of one language on syntax in another, [391]
• “—— over,” [213]
• Insect, [61]
• Instead of, [362]
• Interjections, [16], [345];
• psychological predicates, [166]
• Interjectional phrases, [100]
• Interrogative pronouns and adverbs, [104]
• Intonation in Chinese and Scandinavian, [94]
• Intransitive verb passive, [265]
• Invoice, [250]
• Inwards, [176], [216]
• Ipse (Lat.), [212]
• Irnan (A.S.), [38]
• Isolation and unification, ch. x.;
• formal and material, [178];
• syntactical, [177];
• semasiological, criterion for compound, [323];
• four ways of effecting, [323];
• syntactical and formal, contributes to form compounds, [331];
• phonetic, has same effect, [335]
• It, for cognate accusative, [130]
• “It is ... who,” [273]
• J
• Jackanapes, Jack-a-lantern, [328]
• Jactito (Lat.), [145]
• Jamdudum (Lat.), [149]
• Jiminy, [162]
• K
• K, sounds of, [32]
• Kaladrius (M.H.G.), [39]
• Κατ’ ἐξοχήν, [53], [63]
• Keen, [28], [31]
• Keeper, [179]
• Κέραμος, [244]
• Kill—die, [265]
• Kingdom, [338]
• Kinsman, [331]
• Kiss-me-quick, [321]
• Κισσός, [244]
• Kit-kat, [164]
• Klein (Ger.), [49]
• Kleinheit, kleinigkeit (Ger.), [236]
• Knecht (Ger.), [35]
• Knight, [35]
• Know, [35];
• —learn, [258]
• Κύανος, [244]
• Κυπάρισσος (Mod. Gk.), [245]
• L
• Laden (Ger.), [235]
• Lady, [318]
• Lady-day, [323]
• Lammas, [43], [318]
• Lance-knight, [197]
• Language, first production of, without thought of communication, [166];
• when can it be said to exist, [168];
• have animals got it, [168];
• of each individual the parallel of individual plant in Botany, [13];
• difficulty of observation of any given state of, [6];
• but incomplete expression of thought, [71], [302];
• language and writing, ch. xxi.;
• changes in, [8];
• of two kinds, [24];
• ‘a language alters,’ two meanings of this phrase, [36];
• a further development of dialect, [21];
• ‘regular’ v. ‘irregular,’ [78].
• See also Standard Language and Speech.
• Lasso, [415]
• Last, [35]
• Laws of sound-change, are they absolute, [39];
• meaning of the term, [40]
• Lay, [193]
• Learn—know, [258]
• Leastest, [145]
• Length, [182]
• Lengthy, [414]
• Leoman, [337]
• Lesser, [85], [145]
• Letters (Dutch), [235]
• Lettre (Fr.), [250]
• Levee, [415]
• Li (Russ.), [214]
• Lie—fall, [258]
• Linguistic form, influence of, [391]
• Link-words, [93].
• See also Connecting words.
• Liquorice, [198]
• Literary language, [23].
• See also Standard language.
• Loan (verb), [414]
• Loan-words, causes of adoption, [384];
• often at first superfluous [227], [231];
• for technical terms, [392];
• borrowed from dialects [227];
• the same from two different dialects, [389];
• borrowed from language in which they are already loan-words, [389];
• two distinct kinds of changes in, [387];
• retaining their inflection, [391];
• their suffixes, [390]
• Locus (Lat.), [234]
• Long measure, [321]
• Lumber, [415]
• Lump (Ger.), [234]
• Lose (verb), [186]
• M
• Mailable, [414]
• Mainly, chiefly, [237]
• Make, become, [265]
• Malheureux (Fr.), [321]
• Man, [181], [189]
• Man-o’-war, [321], [331]
• Μάραθος, [244]
• Marble, [38]
• Marter, [38]
• Mash, [161]
• Match, [48]
• Materials, names of, [251]
• Material contents of a word, [74]
• Matter groups, [76]
• Maurgins (Goth.), [188]
• Maybe, [211], [321]
• Mead, meadow, [87]
• Mean, [48]
• Meaning, of same word never identical in the mind of two speakers, [51];
• change of, chs. iv., xiv.;
• narrowing and widening, [43];
• transference of, is ‘occasional’ or ‘usual,’ [44];
• test for occasional or usual, [59];
• occasional, does not always include all the elements of usual, [57];
• how specialised, [56];
• test for independence of derived, [50];
• if inaccurately conceived how corrected, [61];
• of existing word encroached upon, [237];
• change of, in syntax, [70], and ch. vii.;
• change of, affects construction of verbs in Latin, [211].
• See also Development, Compound.
• Membra, membri, (Lat.), [235]
• Mémoire (Fr.), [234]
• Memory pictures, their nature and growth, [33];
• of sound and of position, [25];
• alone connect the several utterances of the same sound by the same speaker, [33];
• we are unconscious of their existence, [27];
• unstable and shifting, [35];
• their development, [168]
• Mer (Fr.), [244]
• Metaphorical expressions, [57]
• Metathesis, [37]
• Métier (Fr.), [32]
• Midriff, [319]
• Migration of tribes, effect on language, [22]
• Mildew, [318]
• Milt, [142]
• Mind, conscious and unconscious action of the human, [3]
• Mine, [215]
• Minnow, [144]
• Minuit (Fr.), [244]
• Mixture in language, ch. xxii.;
• two meanings of this expression, [381];
• how it arises, [381]
• Mobile, movable, [237]
• Moccasin, [415]
• Modal contents of a word, [74];
• modal groups, [76]
• Mood and tense, [261];
• potential, [260]
• Moon, [43]
• More, [85]
• Mother, [173]
• Mouse, [86], [181]
• Movements of vocal organs, control of, [30]
• Murderous, [390]
• N
• N, displacement of, [283]
• Name, various constructions of the noun, [289]
• Nanu (Sans.), [214]
• Ne (Lat.), [214]
• Νεανίας, [245]
• Near, [362]
• Neck, [66]
• Needs, [176]
• Negation, pleonastic, [154]
• Negative particle after verbs of denying, [155]
• —— sentences, [102]
• Neighbour, [319], [339]
• Neuheit, neuigkeit (Ger.), [236]
• Nevertheless, [321], [335]
• Newfoundland, [322], [326]
• News, [250]
• Newt, [283]
• Nickname, [283]
• Nigh, [362]
• Night, [35]
• Nightingale, [318]
• Nightmare, [318]
• Noce (Fr.), [250]
• Nomen (Lat.), construction of, [289]
• —— actionis, [355];
• inexpressive of voice, [262]
• —— agentis with dependent case, [355].
• See also Noun.
• Nominative, in predicate, [290];
• with infinitive, [290], [291];
• stands instead of pure stem or ‘absolute case,’ [289], [292]
• None, [320]
• Nonne (Lat.), [214]
• Nostril, [339]
• Notwithstanding, [345]
• Noun as predicate, its case, [290];
• used as verb, [207], [351].
• See also Substantive.
• Nul (Fr.), [155]
• Number, [247] (see also Plural, Singular, There);
• referring to abstracta, [250];
• ‘neuter,’ corresponding to neuter gender, [251], [253].
• See also Quisque.
• Numerals, [252], [344], [393];
• ordinals, [326]
• Nursery language, [164]
• O
• Object, grammatical, origin of, [112]
• Occasional meaning, [44]
• Octo (Lat.), [35]
• Oddity, [390]
• Œils, yeux, (Fr.), [235]
• Of, off, [363]
• Of mine, [215];
• of in adverbial expressions, [176]
• Offal, [334]
• Office (Fr.), [234]
• Offset, [334]
• Once, [358]
• One and all, [328]
• Onomatopoiesis, [160]
• Onset, [333]
• Onslaught, [333]
• Opossum, [415]
• Optative, expressed by future tense, [261]
• Orange, [283]
• Orchard, [318]
• Oreste (O.Fr.), [143]
• Origin of language, conditions of creation not different from those of historic development, [11], [157]
• Original creation, ch. ix.;
• nature of, [158];
• conditions of, [159];
• combined with analogical formation, [165]
• Ὄρνις, [63]
• Οὐκ οῦν, [214]
• Output, [334]
• Outrance, à, (Fr.), [385]
• Overflow, [333]
• Overlook, [133]
• Overreach, [133]
• Overtake, [133]
• Owe, [11]
• P
• P, [32];
• p, pf, [387]
• Pagan, [49]
• Paille (Fr.), [234]
• Pale, [193]
• Palliolum (Lat.), [38]
• Palsangguné (Fr.), [162]
• Par (Fr.), [214]
• Παρά, [133]
• Parataxis, [121]
• Participles, [353];
• present, [137], [179], [263];
• agreement of, when used as predicate, [295];
• ‘misrelated,’ [137];
• participial constructions, [138].
• See also Tense.
• Parts of speech, ch. xv.;
• see also under names of.
• Passive, [204], [277];
• of intransitive, verbs, [265];
• formation of, [266];
• in Scandinavian, [211];
• when acknowledged in formal grammar, [265];
• and active voice differ only syntactically but express the same actual relation, [262].
• See also Voice.
• Past tense. See under Tense.
• Pastime, [388]
• Pauser, [64]
• Pea, [86]
• Pein (Ger.), [387]
• Pen, [66]
• Pensioner, [64]
• People, [248]
• Pereo (Lat.), [211]
• Period of construction and of decay, [342];
• of roots, [158]
• Periphrastic “It is ... who,” [273]
• Person, vacillation in use of, with copula, [294]
• Personal terminations, probable origin of, [300]
• Pfeffer (Ger.), [387]
• Pfingsten (Ger.), [387]
• Phonetic science, [29];
• compensations, [36], note;
• alphabet, [5], [370];
• spelling, [27], [366]
• —— development of word-groups, [182];
• causes convergence of same cases in different systems of declension, [201];
• of different cases in same system, [202];
• formation of new modal groups, [198];
• confluence of forms, two effects of, [192];
• differentiation, its effect on development of meaning, [181];
• change influences formation of compounds, [335].
• See also Compounds.
• Phrases, entire, coalesce into a compound word, [321]
• Physical organs, their linguistic action, [4]
• —— phenomena of linguistic activity, [5]
• Pig, [62]
• Pin, [50]
• Place-names, [56], [64], [330]
• Πλάτανος (Mod. Gk.), [245]
• Pleonasm, [153];
• in negation, [154];
• pleonastic article, [156]
• Plume (Fr.), [49]
• Plupart (Fr.), [298]
• Pluperfect tense formation in Latin, [341]
• Plural, formation, [79];
• with force of singular, [249];
• and singular mixed in one sentence, [287], [293].
• See also Number.
• Poetry, rich in synonyms, [228];
• Icelandic, [228]
• Poisonous, [390]
• Point, [57]
• Politique (Fr.), [234]
• Popular etymology, [10], [195], [386]
• Portuguee is correct, [86]
• Positive for comparative, [154]
• Post, [48], [50]
• Potential mood, [260]
• Poulterer, [64]
• Præsente (as preposition), [210]
• Præterito-præsentia, [258]
• Prairie, [415]
• Preach, predict, [389]
• Predicate, logical, psychological, grammatical, [95];
• grammatical and logical when identical, [268];
• often distinguished by stress, [272];
• by inverted construction, [273];
• psychological alone expressed, [311];
• in negative sentences, [273];
• grammatical, often no more than copula, [279];
• extension of, [114];
• in plural after copula in singular, [293];
• vice versâ, [294];
• participle as, concord of, [295];
• in concord with apposition instead of with subject, [295],
• with noun compared with subject, [296],
• with genitive dependent on subject, [298];
• in relative clause agreeing with the noun which it qualifies instead of relative pronoun which is subject, [297].
• See also Subject.
• Predicatival attribute, case of, [290]
• Prefix be, [131]
• Preliminary statement of psychological subject, [274]
• Prepositions, [210], [361];
• Latin, [133];
• Greek, [133], [183];
• German, [213];
• ‘personal,’ in Welsh, [277];
• verbs compound with, [275];
• post position of, [275];
• pleonastic use of, [153], [277];
• do prepositions ‘govern’ cases, [132]
• Prepositional phrases, [176]
• Present. See Tense.
• Priest, [349], [389];
• priester (Dutch), [387]
• Printing, influence of, [406]
• Prior, [38]
• Privy councillor, [329]
• Prófecto, (Lat.), [208]
• Pronoun, [344];
• interrogative, [104], [272];
• demonstrative, [272];
• relative, [272];
• ditto, omitted, [115];
• indefinite, [104];
• personal, declension of, [202];
• reflective, [209]
• Proper names, [46], [63]
• Proportion in analogical formation, [79]
• Prove, probe, [389]
• Provide, [236]
• Psychological and grammatical categories, ch. xv.
• Psychical organisms, their importance, [4];
• how observable, [6];
• the only permanent element in speech, [26]
• Puns, [48]
• Pursuer, persecutor, prosecutor, [237]
• Purvey, [236]
• Q
• Quagmire, [337]
• Quarter-sessions rose, [198]
• Quatre-vingts (Fr.), [393]
• Questions, rhetorical, [107];
• different forms of, [105]
• Quin (Lat.), [213]
• Quinque (Lat.), [38]
• Quisque (Lat.), singular with verb in plural, [251]
• R
• Racoon, [415]
• Radical (Fr.), [49]
• Ranch, [415]
• Real, reell, [389]
• Rear, [181]
• Receipt, [379]
• Recreant, [49]
• Reign, [379]
• Relative, relation, (substantive), [226]
• Relative pronoun, [296];
• omitted, [115], [277] note, [305].
• See also Predicate.
• Repetition of subject. See Subject.
• Republic, [212]
• Respect, [236]
• Rhythm, [379]
• Rhone (gender in Ger.), [244]
• Riddle, [86]
• Righteous, [197]
• Rinnan (A.S.), [38]
• Ritter (Ger.), [180], [234]
• Roots, [165];
• so-called period of, [158]
• Roundabouts, [326]
• Rosary, [69]
• Rumple, [161]
• Run, [38]
• S
• Sachant (Fr.), [232]
• Sail, [58]
• Sake, [194]
• Sandhi, [337]
• Sanglier (Fr.), [67]
• Savant (Fr.), [232]
• Scales, [250]
• Scandinavian intonation, [94]
• Schème (Fr.), [245]
• Schlecht, böse, (Ger.), [67], [237]
• Science of language, [2]
• Scholar, [64]
• Scot-free, [319]
• Sea-horse, [330]
• Secure, [136]
• See (Ger.), [234]
• See-saw, [164]
• Seethe, sodden, [186]
• Sehr (Ger.), [67]
• Self, as suffix, [208], [321]
• Senatorial, [414]
• Sennight, [319]
• Sentence, definition of, [92];
• consisting of one word, [98];
• without verb, [280], [309];
• consists usually of two parts, [268];
• extension of simple, [108];
• when psychologically simple, [269];
• complex, [119];
• grammatically simple but logically complex, [270];
• vice versâ, [282];
• main and subordinate, with common element, [306];
• that cannot be analysed, [285];
• of demand, [102];
• negative, [102];
• interrogatory (two kinds of), [103];
• of surprise, [106];
• and phrases coalesce into compound-words, [321]
• Sentir (Fr.), [136]
• Separate, sever, [236]
• Serra, serro, (Portug.), [236]
• Serviceable, useful, [237]
• Sessions, [250]
• Set, sit, [265]
• Settle, [194]
• Sever, separate, [236]
• Shade, [45], [87]
• Shallop, [383]
• Shallow, [233]
• Shambles, [250]
• Shamefaced, [197]
• Shay, [86]
• Shed, [194]
• Sheer, [194]
• Sheet, [56]
• Shoal, [233]
• Shoddy, [414]
• Shop, [180]
• Shoulder, [66]
• Shred, [403]
• Sick, [237], [415]
• Siesta, [231]
• Silly, [97]
• Since, [139], [363]
• Sing-song, [164]
• Singular with force of plural, [248].
• See also Plural and Number.
• Sir, [349]
• Sirloin, [197]
• Sisclar (provençal), [144]
• Sit, set, [265]
• Skatte-ter (Dan.), [235]
• Slap, slip, slop, [161], [163]
• Sloop, [383]
• Slight, [67]
• Smash, [161]
• Snip, snap, [164]
• Sodden, [186]
• Soixante-dix (Fr.), [393]
• Solidarity, [392]
• Sore, [67]
• Sort (Fr.), [244]
• Sound, [48], [195]
• Sounds of a language and their representation in writing, [5] (see also Phonetic, Writing, Spelling);
• not easily influenced by dialects, [393]
• Sound-change, [10], ch. iii., or sound-shifting in Teutonic, [19] (see also Verner’s law);
• causes of, [34];
• rate of, [37];
• laws of, are they absolute, [39];
• and sound interchange, [39];
• two effects of, [191];
• effect of, on grouping of words, [171]
• Sound utterance, connection between successive cases of, only psychical, [26].
• See also Speech.
• Sovereign, [197], [379]
• Sparrow-grass, [198]
• Species and classes nothing but abstractions, [14]
• Speech, [5];
• elements of, utterance, [24];
• of intermediate districts, [21]
• Spelling, English, [27], [367], [368];
• French, [27];
• German, [367];
• Sanscrit, [367];
• advantages of fixed, [374];
• influence of analogy on, [378].
• See also Writing.
• Spem habeo, with accusative and infinitive, [215]
• Spiritual, [61], [389]
• Spry, [415]
• Square, [389]
• Squaw, [415]
• Squarson, [144]
• Squash, [161]
• Squire, esquire, [234]
• Stage, influence on standard language, [397], [413]
• Stan (A.S.), [84]
• Stamp, [62]
• Stampede, [415]
• Stand, [57];
• —step, [258]
• Standard language, ch. xxiii.;
• what is it, [395];
• how fixed, [396];
• in English, [397];
• in Germany, [396] (see also Stage);
• American, [410];
• complexity of, [410];
• influence of, [4];
• action and reaction between, and individual dialects, [402];
• conditions required to create need of, [405];
• two standards for each language, [401];
• develops by borrowing from natural language, [403];
• even standard language, will break up into dialects, [408]
• Steht, es—nicht dafür, (Ger.), [392]
• Step, stand, [258]
• Stile, [193]
• Stoop, [415]
• Straightways, [176]
• Stress, on psychological predicate, [96], [272];
• in compound words, [322].
• See also Accent.
• Stupeo (Lat.), [211]
• Subject, logical, grammatical, psychological, [95];
• grammatical and logical, when identical, [268];
• how indicated originally, [96],
• by emphasis, [273],
• by inverted construction, [97], [273];
• precedence of, in consciousness of speaker, [97];
• subject and predicate not the same for speaker and hearer, [100];
• differently conceived by different speakers or hearers, [271];
• preliminary statement of psychological, [274];
• repetition of, [300];
• subject in singular with verb in plural, [286].
• See also Predicate.
• Subordination v. co-ordination, [283]
• Substantive, [343];
• how distinguished from adjective, [347];
• used as adjective, [349].
• See also Noun.
• Suegra (Span.), [245]
• Suffixes: origin of, [338];
• in loan-words, [390];
• applied to syntactical groups, [326];
• able, [219];
• ard, [390];
• ate, ation, [220];
• ble, [219];
• dom, [91], [236];
• ed, [212], [319] (note), [333];
• in weak verbs, [380];
• er, [64];
• er, est, [199];
• ery, [390];
• ful, [91], [223];
• hood, [236];
• ian, [390], [391];
• ing, [137], [178];
• ism, [391];
• ist, [390];
• le, [160];
• less, [223];
• ling, long, in adverbs, [216];
• ly, [208], [340];
• μα, gender of derivatives in Romance languages, [245];
• ment (Fr.), [208];
• ness, [224], [236];
• no, [188];
• o (It. third person plural), [143];
• ough, [142];
• s, [79];
• self, [208];
• some, [91];
• tas (Lat.), té (Fr.), [85];
• th, [178];
• tion, [222] note;
• tism, [86];
• waru (A.S.), [249];
• y, [91]
• Sultana, [390]
• Superfluity, how it arises, [226];
• how obviated, [227], [229]
• Superlative for comparative, [154]
• Sûr (Fr.), [136]
• Surcease, [196]
• Synecdoche, [58], [68]
• Synonyms, [226];
• in poetry, [228]
• Synovya (Russ.), [236]
• Syntax, fundamental facts of, ch. vi.;
• change of meaning in, ch. vii.;
• of one language influencing that of another, [391];
• syntactical distribution, displacement of, ch. xvi.;
• syntactical groups with suffixes, [326];
• syntactical co-ordination expressive apart from the meaning of the co-ordinated words, [323]
• T
• T, sounds of, [32];
• in Latin t or z in German, [387]
• Tail, [66]
• Taper, [388]
• Technical terms, loan-words for, [392]
• Tense, [253];
• origin of, expression, [256];
• logically complete scheme of, [253];
• deviations from the same, [256];
• tenses in Hebrew, [259];
• tense relation often expressed by different verbs, [258];
• compound tenses, [259];
• tense absolute, [255], [258];
• present, for future, [256], [257], [260];
• ditto for past, [257];
• historic present, [257];
• past for future, [256], note;
• past for present, [257];
• past tense and past participle, [88];
• future, [260];
• tense and mood, [259], [261];
• formation of, in French and Latin verbs, [341]
• Terrapin, [415]
• Th, two sounds of, [28]
• Than, then, [236]
• That, [248], [283], [363]
• Theodore, [10]
• There, sentences beginning with, number of the verb, [295]
• Thing, [10]
• ðiudans (Goth.), [188]
• Though, [35], [139], [143]
• ðyrl (A.S.), [339]
• Tiber (gender in Ger.), [244]
• Tick-tack, [164]
• Till, [152], [362]
• Tiresome, [415]
• Tittle-tattle, [164]
• Titmouse, [319]
• Tobacconist, [86]
• Toboggan, [415]
• Tongue, [56]
• Tooth, [181], [189]
• Topmost, [347]
• Touaille (Fr.), [388]
• Towards, [216]
• Train, [56], [57]
• Transferred epithets, [136]
• Translations, [51]
• Transpire, [67], [415]
• Trapano (Ital.), [144]
• Travail, [235]
• Triers (O.Fr.), [143]
• Tuesday, [318]
• Turtur (Lat.), [38]
• Twice, [358]
• Twilight, [319]
• U
• U, formation of oo-sound, [31]
• Ugh, [163]
• Umlaut, effect of, on development of meaning, [181]
• Un (Fr.), sound of, [183]
• Unawares, [176]
• Unco’, [394]
• Understand, [67]
• Undertaker, [179]
• Underwriter, [334]
• Unification, in declension, [186];
• in verbs, [187];
• direction of, [188];
• order of, [186];
• three rules, [186], [187];
• sometimes disadvantageous, [191].
• See also Differentiation.
• Uniformity, advantage of, [191]
• Until, [152]
• Unwalkative, [60]
• Upstairs, [325]
• Upwards, [176]
• Usage, displacement of, [9], [17];
• occasional v. usual, [45]
• Use, [237]
• Useful, serviceable, [237]
• Usher, [64], and note
• Usual v. occasional meaning, [44]
• Usui (Lat.), [210]
• V
• Vaaban (Dan.), [235]
• Val (Fr.), [244]
• Valeur (Fr.), [85]
• Veal, [388]
• Verb, [265], [343], [352];
• in Latin, construction of, [211];
• compound with adverb, [333];
• derived from French, [196];
• with two accusatives, [288];
• of incomplete predication, [281]
• Verdorben, verderbt (Ger.), [236]
• Verner’s law, [172], [185]
• Villain, [49]
• Vocabulary, American v. English, [416]
• Vocal organs, we are unconscious of their action, [29];
• control of their movements, [30]
• Vogel (Dutch), [235]
• Voice, [261];
• passive, [261];
• middle, [265-267];
• not expressed or implied in nomen actionis, [264];
• distinction of, purely syntactical, [262].
• See also Passive.
• Voile, [250].
• Vouchsafe, [206]
• Vowels, formation of, [31].
• W
• Wairilos (Goth.), [38]
• Was (in Slavo-Ger.), [393]
• Was, were, [185]
• Wealth, [182]
• Weary, [223]
• Wednesday, [318]
• Wegs (Goth.), [201]
• Weil (Ger.), [139]
• Weiss, ich (Ger.), [257]
• Welcome, [213]
• Weleras (A.S.), [38]
• Well, [193]
• Welladay, [162]
• Werden (Ger.), [315]
• Werwolf, [318]
• Where, [344]
• Whereabouts, [216]
• While, [139], [344]
• Whole, [193], [379]
• Wigwam, [415]
• Will-o’-the-wisp, [321]
• Wirken auf (Ger.), [213]
• Wiseacre, [196]
• With, [323]
• Withstand, [323]
• Words, reproduced from memory or formed by analogy, [217];
• word-formation, rise of, ch. xix.;
• a word consists of unbroken series of sounds, [27];
• division of sentence into, [81], [182];
• ditto in child’s consciousness, [80];
• now considered simple may have been compounds, [342]
• Works, [250]
• World, [318]
• Wormwood, [320]
• Worser, [145]
• Writing, [27];
• and language, ch. xxi.;
• in how far can it represent speech, [366];
• written language, influence of, on standard, [399]
• X
• X, two sounds of, [28]
• Y
• Yawn, [144]
• Yeoman, [318]
• You, ye, [88]
• Z
• Ziegel (Ger.), [387]
• Zounds, [162]
• Zufrieden (Ger.), [325]

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