[1] Beattie seems to think that the antediluvians had an alphabet, and that hieroglyphical was posterior to alphabetical writing. “The wisdom and simple manners of the first men,” says he, “would incline me to think, that they must have had an alphabet; for hieroglyphic characters imply quaintness and witticism.” In this reasoning I cannot concur. Alphabetic writing is indeed simple, when known; so also are most inventions. But, simple and easy as it appears to us, we have only to examine the art itself, to be fully convinced, that science, genius, and industry, must have been combined in inventing it. Nay, the learned author himself acknowledges, “that though of easy acquisition to us, it is in itself neither easy nor obvious.” He even admits, “that alphabetical writing must be so remote from the conceptions of those who never heard of it, that without divine aid it would seem to be unsearchable and impossible.” I observe also that in passing from picture-writing to hieroglyphical expression, and in transferring the signs of physical to intellectual and invisible objects, fanciful conceits would naturally take place. It is true also that the manners of the antediluvians were simple; but it is not from prudence nor simplicity of manners, but from human genius, gradually improved, that we are to expect inventions, which require the greatest efforts of the human mind.

[2] Cicero regards the invention of alphabetic writing as an evidence of the celestial character of the soul; and many have ascribed its origin to the inspiration of the Deity. To resort to supernatural causes, to account for the production of any rare or striking event, is repugnant to the principles of true philosophy. And how wonderful soever the art of alphabetical writing may appear, there can be no necessity for referring its introduction to divine inspiration, if the inventive powers of man be not demonstrably unequal to the task. Picture-writing is generally believed to have been the earliest mode of recording events, or communicating information by permanent signs. This was probably succeeded by hieroglyphical characters. How these pictures and hieroglyphical devices would, either through negligence or a desire to abbreviate, gradually vary their form, and lose their resemblance to the objects which they represented, may be easily conceived. Hence that association, which existed between the sign and the thing signified, being founded in resemblance, would in process of time be entirely dissolved. This having taken place, hieroglyphical characters would naturally be converted into a mere verbal denotation, representative of words and not of things. Hence, as Goguet, in his work, “De l’Origine des Loix,” &c., reasonably conjectures, would arise by a partial and easy analysis, a syllabic mode of denotation, which would naturally introduce a literal alphabet. This conjecture must seem highly probable, when it is considered, that both a verbal and syllabic mode of notation are still practised by some Eastern nations.

[3] I am aware, that in considering the letters y and w to be the same with i and u (oo), I maintain an opinion, the truth of which has been disputed. The reasons, however, which have been assigned for rejecting it do not appear to me satisfactory.

[4] The mouth is not the proper organ for producing sound; but merely the organ for modulating and articulating the specific sounds.

[5] The sound of th in thin, is usually marked with a stroke through the h, to distinguish it from its other sound; thus, tħick. This distinction is by some writers reversed.

[6] Hutton’s Investigation of the Principles of Knowledge, vol. ii. p. 688.

[7] Plato and Aristotle, when they treat of prepositions, considered the noun and the verb as the only essential parts of speech; these, without the aid of any other word, being capable of forming a sentence. Hence they were called τὰ ἐμψυχότατα μέρη τοῦ λόγου, “the most animated parts of speech.” The latter of these philosophers, in his Poetics, admits four, adding to the noun and the verb the article and the conjunction. The elder Stoics made five, dividing the noun into proper and appellative.

[8]

Horace has been thought by some to countenance this doctrine when he says,

[9] The plural number, and the genitive singular, seem to have been originally formed by adding er to the nominative singular, as you, you-er, your; they, they-er, their; we, we-er, our. This termination was afterwards changed into en, and then into es or s. Thus we have still in provincial usage, though now almost entirely obsolete, childer for the plural of child, and the double plural in child-er-en, children, with the double genitive in west-er-en, western.

[10] Brethren, in Scripture, is used for brothers.

[11] The obsolete plural occurs in the Bible. “These men were bound in their hosen and hats.”—Dan. iii. 21.

[12] Baker inclines also to this usage in preference to the other; but does not affirm it to be a plural noun.

[13] Much is sometimes joined with collective nouns; but these denote number in the aggregate; thus, much company.

[14] The gender of mors, virtus, sol, θάνατος, ἀρετή, ἥλιος, was unalterably fixed.

[15] It seems, however, to be more applicable to the English language than to any other with which I am acquainted.

[16] These observations will sufficiently explain the reason why we cannot concur with Dr. Johnson in thinking that there is “an impropriety in the termination,” when we say of a woman, “She is a philosopher.” The female termination in such examples is not wanted; it would be pleonastic and improper. The meaning is, “She is a person given to the study of nature.” If we had been speaking of a lady devoted to philosophy, and had occasion afterwards to mention her by an appellative, we should feel the want of the appropriate termination; and instead of saying “the philosopher,” we should wish, for the sake of discrimination, to be able to say, “the philosophress,” or to employ some equally distinctive term. In the example adduced by the learned lexicographer, the female termination is superfluous; and would intimate a distinction of philosophic character, instead of a distinction of sex, the latter being denoted by the female pronoun.

[17] We remark, in some instances, a similar phraseology in Greek and Latin. Θεὸς and θεὰ, deus and dea, are contradistinguished as in English, god and goddess; the former of each pair strictly denoting the male, and the latter the female. But the former, we find, has a generical meaning, expressing “a deity,” whether male or female; and is frequently used when the female is designed, if divinity in the abstract be the primary idea without regard to the sex, thus,

Here the term θεός is applied to Venus, the character of divinity, and not the distinction of sex, being the chief object of the poet’s attention. Θεός is, therefore, to be considered as either masculine or feminine.

“Ἀλλά μ’ ἁ Διός γ’ ἀλκίμα θεός.”—Soph. Aj. 401.

“Μήτε τις οὖν θήλεια θεός.”—Hom. Il. Θ. 7.

“Descendo, ac ducente deo, flammam inter et hostes
Expedior.”—Virg. Æn. ii. 632.

Here, also, deo is applied to Venus, as likewise in the following passage, “deum esse indignam credidi.”—Plaut. Pœn. 2, l. 10.

[18] Πτῶσις γενική: general case. It has been supposed by some that the Latins, mistaking the import of the Greek term, called this the genitive case. See Ency. Brit., Art. Grammar.

[19] Amor Dei denotes either amor quo Deus amat, or quo Deus amatur. Reformatio Lutheri, either qua reformavit, or qua reformatus est. Injuria patris, desiderium amici, with many other examples which might be produced, have either an active or passive sense. ἡ ἀγαπὴ τοῦ Θεοῦ, אהבת יהוה, l’amore de Dio, l’amour de Dieu, severally involve the same ambiguity with “the love of God.”

[20] Of the six declensions, to one or other of which the learned Dr. Hickes conceives the inflexion of almost all the Saxon nouns may be reduced, three form their genitive in es, as, word, wordes; smith, smithes. In the Mœsogothic, a kindred language, the genitive ends in s, some nouns having is, some ns, and others as, as, fan, fanins; faukagagja, faukagagjis.

[21] It must be obvious, that the terms general and universal belong not to real existences, but are merely denominations, the result of intellect, generalising a number of individuals under one head.

[22] Non ut intelligere possit, sed ne omnino possit non intelligere curandum.—Inst. lib. viii. cap. 4.

I am inclined to think that our language possesses a superiority in this respect over the Greek itself. Ἐγένετο ἄνθρωπος ἀπεσταλμένος παρὰ τοῦ Θεοῦ may signify either “man in the species, or an individual, was sent from God.” The author of the article Grammar, in the Encyc. Brit., observes, “that the word ἄνθρωπος is here restricted to an individual by its concord with the verb and the participle.” If he mean by this that the term must be significant of only one individual, (and I can annex no other interpretation to his words,) because a singular verb and participle singular are joined with it, he errs egregiously. Numberless examples might be produced to evince the contrary. Job. v. 7. ἄνθρωπος γεννᾶται κόπῳ “man (mankind) is born unto trouble;” where the subject is joined to a verb singular. Psal. xlix. 12. ἄνθρωπος ἐν τιμῇ ὢν οὐ συνῆκε, “man being in honour abideth not.” Here also man for mankind is joined with a participle and verb singular. And here it may be pertinently asked, would not the term one for a in the first example somewhat alter the meaning, and convey an idea different from that intended by the evangelist?

[23] They are the Saxon words this or thes, “hic, hæc, hoc,” that or thæt, “ille, illa, illud,” which were frequently used by the Saxons for what we term the definite article, as, send us on thas swyn, “send us into the swine.” Mark v. 21, tha eodon tha unclænan gastas on tha swyn, “then the unclean spirits entered into the swine.”

The Saxon definites are se, seo, thæt, for the three genders severally; and tha in the plural, expressing the or those, as, thæt goed sæd, the good seed. Thæt is also joined to masculine and feminine nouns, as, thæt wif, the woman; thæt folc, the people. Thæ (pronounced they) still obtains in Scotland, as, “thæ men” for “these men.”

[24]

ארץ‏‎ ‎‏הארץ.

[25]

אשרי האיש.

[26] Horne Tooke appears to me to have erred in deriving odd from ow’d. His words are these: “Odd is the participle ow’d. Thus, when we are counting by couples or pairs, we say, ‘one pair,’ ‘two pairs,’ &c., and ‘one ow’d,’ ‘two ow’d,’ to make up another pair. It has the same meaning when we say, ‘an odd man,’ ‘an odd action,’ it still relates to pairing; and we mean ‘without a fellow,’ ‘unmatched.’” Now, I must own, this appears to me a very odd explanation; for, in my apprehension, it leads to a conclusion the very reverse of that which the author intends. The term odd is applied to the one which stands by itself, and not to that which is absent, or ow’d, to complete the pair. If I say, “there are three pairs, and an odd one,” the word odd refers to the single one, over and above the three pairs, and not to the one which is wanting; yet Mr. Tooke refers it to the latter. His explanation seems at once unnatural and absurd. Had he substituted, according to his own etymology, add for and, saying, “three pairs, add an ow’d one,” he must, I think, have perceived its inaccuracy. It is the odd and present one, of which the singularity is predicated, and not the absent or ow’d one.

[27] “Quivis seu quilibet affirmat; quisquam, quispiam, ullus, aut negat aut interrogat,” are the words of an ancient grammarian. It is observable also, that in Latin, ullus, any, is a diminutive from unus, one; as any in English is from ane, the name of unity, as formerly used.

[28] In Anglo-Saxon ic, in German ich, in Greek ἐγὼ, in Latin ego. Mr. Webb delivered it as his opinion, that the pronoun of the first person was derived from the Hebrew ech or ach, one, used by apocope for achad or ahad, he added, “oned,” or “united.” It is doubtless true, that ech occurs in one or two passages for one: see Ezek. xviii. 10, and Ps. xlix. 8; in which latter passage it is rendered in our translation, brother, and by R. Jonah, one; but we apprehend that this fact will by no means justify his conclusion. And as he considered that the pronoun of the first person radically denoted one, he imagined that the pronoun of the second person came from the numeral duo, du, tu, thu. Now, it must be granted that there is an obvious resemblance between ic and ech, and also between duo, tu, and thu; but were we to draw any conclusion from this similarity, it would be the reverse of that which the author has deduced. It seems quite preposterous to suppose, that the necessity for expressing a number would present itself, before that of discriminating between the person speaking and the person addressed. The rude savage could not converse with his fellow without some sign of this distinction; and if visible signs (as is probable) would be first adopted, we may reasonably presume, on several grounds, that these would soon give place to audible expressions.

The pronoun ic is in Saxon declined thus:

[29] The pronoun of the second person is thus declined:

[30] The Anglo-Saxon he is declined thus:

[31] 

[32] This pronoun is from the Anglo-Saxon hyt or hit, “i” or “that.”

[33] In Anglo-Saxon hi, in Teutonic die.

[34] In Anglo-Saxon, hwa, hua; Gen. hwæs; Dat. hwam; Acc. hwæne, hwone. Also hwilc, whence, says Hickes, proceeded which, the letter l being elided.

[35] Mr. Tooke contends, that this part of speech is properly termed adjective noun, and “that it is altogether as much the name of a thing, as the noun substantive.” Names and designations necessarily influence our conceptions of the things which they represent. It is therefore desirable, that in every art or science, not only should no term be employed which may convey to the reader or hearer an incorrect conception of the thing signified, but that every term should assist him in forming a just idea of the object which it expresses. Now, I concur with Mr. Tooke in thinking, that the adjective is by no means a necessary part of speech. I agree with him also in opinion, that, in a certain sense, all words are nouns or names. But, as this latter doctrine seems directly repugnant to the concurrent theories of critics and grammarians, it is necessary to explain in what sense the opinion of Mr. Tooke requires to be understood; and in presenting the reader with this explanation, I shall briefly state the objections which will naturally offer themselves against the justness of this theory. “Gold, and brass, and silk, is each of them,” says Mr. Tooke, “the name of a thing, and denotes a substance. If, then, I say, a gold-ring, a brass-tube, a silk-string; here are the substantives adjectivè posita, yet names of things, and denoting substances.” It may be contended, however, that these are not substantives, but adjectives, and are the same as golden, brazen, silken. He proceeds: “If again I say, a golden ring, a brazen tube, a silken string; do gold, and brass, and silk, cease to be the names of things, and cease to denote substances, because instead of coupling them with ring, tube, and string, by a hyphen thus (-), I couple them to the same words, by adding the termination en?” It may be answered, they do not cease to imply the substances, but they are no longer names of those substances. Hard implies hardness, but it is not the name of that quality. Atheniensis implies Athenæ, but it is not the name of the city, any more than belonging to Athens can be called its name. He observes: “If it were true, that adjectives were not the names of things, there could be no attribution by adjectives; for you cannot attribute nothing.” This conclusion may be disputed. An adjective may imply a substance, quality, or property, though it is not the name of it. Cereus, “waxen,” implies cera, “wax;” but it is the latter only which is strictly the name of the substance. Pertaining to wax, made of wax, are not surely names of the thing itself. Every attributive, whether verb or adjective, must imply an attribute; but it is not therefore the name of that attribute. Juvenescit, “he waxes young,” expresses an attribute; but we should not call juvenescit the name of the attribute.

It may be asked, what is the difference between caput hominis, “a man’s head,” and caput humanum, “a human head?” If hominis, “man’s,” be deemed a noun, why should not humanum, “human,” be deemed a noun also? It may be answered, that hominis does, in fact, perform the office of an adjective, expressing not only the individual, but conjunction also; and that Mr. Wallis assigns to the English genitive the name of adjective. Besides, does not Mr. Tooke himself maintain, “that case, gender, and number, are no parts of the noun”? and does it not hence follow, that the real nouns are not hominis, but homo,—not man’s, but man? for such certainly is their form when divested of those circumstances which, according to Mr. Tooke, make no part of them. If the doctrine, therefore, of the learned author be correct, and if the real noun exclude gender, case, and number, as any part of it, neither hominis nor humanum, man’s nor human, can with consistency be called nouns.

But let Mr. Tooke’s argument be applied to the verb, the τὸ ῥῆμα, which he justly considers as an essential part of speech. “If verbs were not the names of things, there could be no attribution by verbs, for we cannot attribute nothing.” Are we then to call sapit, vivit, legit, names? If so, we have nothing but names; and to this conclusion Mr. Tooke fairly brings the discussion; for he says, that all words are names.

Having thus submitted to the reader the doctrine of this sagacious critic, with the objections which naturally present themselves, I proceed to observe, that the controversy appears to me to be, in a great degree, a mere verbal dispute. It is agreed on both sides, that the adjective expresses a substance, quality, or property; but, while it is affirmed by some critics, it is denied by others, that it is the name of the thing signified. The metaphysician considers words merely as signs of thought, while the grammarian regards chiefly their changes by inflexion: and hence arises that perplexity in which the classification of words has been, and still continues to be, involved. Now, it is evident that every word must be the sign of some sensation, idea, or perception. It must express some substance or some attribute: and in this sense all words may be regarded as names. Sometimes we have the name of the thing simply, as person. Sometimes we have an accessary idea combined with the simple sign, as “possession,” “conjunction,” “action,” and so forth, as personal, personally, personify. This accessary circumstance, we have reason to believe, was originally denoted by a distinct word, significant of the idea intended; and that this word was, in the progress of language, abbreviated and incorporated with the primary term, in the form of what we now term an affix or prefix. Thus frigus, frigidus, friget, all denote the same primary idea, involving the name of that quality, or of that sensation, which we term cold. Frigus is the name of the thing simply; frigidus expresses the quality in concreto, or conjunction. Considering, therefore, all words as names, it may be regarded as a complex name, expressing two distinct ideas,—that of the quality, and that of conjunction. Friget (the subject being understood) may be regarded as a name still more complex; involving, first, the name of the quality; secondly, the name of conjunction; thirdly, the sign of affirmation, as either expressed by an appropriate name, or constructively implied, equivalent to the three words, est cum frigore. According, then, to this metaphysical view of the subject, we have first nomen simplex, the simple name; secondly, nomen adjectivum or nomen duplex, the name of the thing, with that of conjunction; thirdly, nomen affirmativum, the name of the thing affirmed to be conjoined.

The simple question now is, whether all words, not even the verb excepted, should be called nouns; or whether we shall assign them such appellations as may indicate the leading circumstances by which they are distinguished. The latter appears to me to be the only mode which the grammarian, as the teacher of an art, can successfully adopt. Considering the subject in this light, I am inclined to say with Mr. Harris, that the adjective, as implying some substance or attribute, not per se, but in conjunction, or as pertaining, is more nearly allied to the verb than to the noun; and that though the verb and the adjective may, in common with the noun, denote the thing, they cannot strictly be called its name. To say that foolish and folly are each names of the same quality, would, I apprehend, lead to nothing but perplexity and error.

It is true, if we are to confine the term noun to the simple name of the subject, we shall exclude the genitive singular from all right to this appellation; for it denotes, not the subject simply, but the subject in conjunction—the inflexion being equivalent to “belonging to.” This indeed is an inconsistency which can in no way be removed, unless by adopting the opinion of Wallis, who assigns no cases to English nouns, and considers man’s, king’s, &c., to be adjectives. And were we to adopt Mr. Tooke’s definition of our adjective, and say, “It is the name of a thing which is directed to be joined to another name of a thing,” it will follow, that king’s, man’s, are adjectives. In short, if the question be confined to the English language, we must, in order to remove all inconsistency, either deny the appellation of noun to the adjective, and, with Wallis, call the genitive case an adjective; or we must first call man’s, king’s, &c., adjectives; secondly, we must term happy, extravagant, mercenary, &c., nouns, though they are not names; and thirdly, we must assign the appellation of noun to the verb itself.

From this view of the subject the reader will perceive that the whole controversy depends on the meaning which we annex to the term noun. If by this term we denote simply the thing itself, without any accessary circumstance, then nothing can be called a noun but the name in its simple form. If to the term noun we assign a more extensive signification, as implying not only the thing itself simply and absolutely, but also any accessary idea, as conjunction, action, passion, and so forth, then it follows, that all words may be termed names.

[36] The Saxons formed their comparative by er or ere, ar or ære, er, or, ur, yr, and their superlative by ast, aste, est, ist, ost, ust, yst. Now ar means before; hence the English words ere and erst. Thus, in Saxon, riht wisere means “righteous before,” “just before,” or “more than.” The suffix is equivalent to the Latin præ, and the Hebrew preposition min, signifying also before; the only difference being this, that what is a suffix to the Saxon adjective is in Hebrew a prefix to the consequent subject of comparison, and that in Latin the preposition following the positive stands alone.

Mr. Bosworth, in his “Elements of Anglo-Saxon Grammar,” a work displaying sound philological principles, has remarked, that the Gothic superlative in itsa bears an obvious resemblance to some of the Greek superlatives, as, ἄριστος, κάλλιστος, βράδιστος.

[37] Up and in are now used as adverbs and prepositions.

[38] This phraseology is Hebraistic—“more than all his children” is the literal translation of the original, מְּכל־בניו præ omnibus filiis, seu, magis omnibus filiis suis.

[39] See a valuable little volume on English Grammar, by Mr. Grant. The “Institutes of Latin Grammar,” by the same author, we would recommend to the attention of every classical student.

[40] I, hi, hie, “to go,” he considers to be from Ἰ-έναι, the Greek verb; and hence to be derived the Latin verb I-re, “to go,” “to hie.”

[41] Intransitive verbs sometimes are used transitively, as, when we say, “to walk the horse,” “to dance the child.” They also admit a noun of their own signification, as, “to run a race.”

[42] Conformably to general opinion I here consider the English language as having a passive voice. How far this opinion is well founded shall be the subject of future inquiry.

[43] Mr. Bosworth seems to think, that the word tense is derived from the Latin tensus, “used to denote that extension or inflexion of the word, by which difference in time is implied, or difference in action is signified.” I am rather inclined to consider it as derived from the French tems or temps, and that from tempus.

[44] “Some,” says Dr. Beattie, “will not allow anything to be a tense, but what, in one inflected word, expresses an affirmation with time; for, that those parts of the verb are not properly called tenses, which assume that appearance, by means of auxiliary words. At this rate, in English, we should have two tenses only, the present and the past in the active verb, and in the passive no tenses at all. But this is a needless nicety; and, if adopted, would introduce confusion into the grammatical art. If amaveram be a tense, why should not amatus fueram? If I heard be a tense, I did hear, I have heard, and I shall hear, must be equally entitled to that appellation.”

How simplicity can introduce confusion I am unable to comprehend, unless we are to affirm that the introduction of Greek and Latin names, to express nonentities in our language, is necessary to illustrate the grammar, and simplify the study of the language to the English scholar. But the author’s theory seems at variance with itself. He admits, that “we have no cases in English, except the addition of s in the genitive;” whence we may infer, that he considers inflexion as essential to a case. Now, if those only be cases, which are formed by inflexion, those only should, grammatically, be deemed tenses, which are formed in the same manner. When he asks, therefore, if amaveram be a tense, why should not amatus fueram be a tense also? the answer on his own principles is sufficiently obvious, namely, because the one is formed by inflexion, the other by combination. And, I would ask, if king’s be a genitive case, why, according to this theory, is not of a king entitled to the same appellation? I apprehend the answer he must give, consistently with his opinion respecting cases, will sufficiently explain why amaveram, and I heard, are tenses, while amatus fueram, and I had heard, are not.

Nay, further, if it be needless nicety to admit those only as tenses, which are formed by inflexion, is it not equally a needless nicety to admit those cases only, which are formed by varying the termination? And if confusion be introduced by denying I had heard to be a tense, why does not the learned author simplify the doctrine of English nouns, by giving them six cases, a king, of a king, to or for a king, a king, O king, with, from, in, or by a king? This surely would be to perplex, not to simplify. In short, the inconsistency of those grammarians, who deny that to be a case, which is not formed by inflexion, yet would load us with moods and tenses, not formed by change of termination, is so palpable, as to require neither illustration nor argument to expose it. If these authors would admit, that we have as many cases in English, as there exists relations expressed by prepositions, then, indeed, though they might overwhelm us with the number, we should at least acknowledge the consistency of their theory. But to adopt the principle of inflexion in one case, and reject it in another, precisely parallel, involves an inconsistency which must excite amazement. Nil fuit sic unquam impar sibi. Why do not these gentlemen favour us with a dual number, with a middle voice, and with an optative mood? Nay, as they are so fond of tenses, as to lament that we rob them of all but two, why do they not enrich us with a first and second aorist, and a paulo post future? and, if this should not suffice, they will find in Hebrew a rich supply of verbal forms. We should then have kal and niphal, pihhel and pyhhal, hiphhil and hophhal, hithpahhel and hothpahhel, and numerous other species and designations. What a wonderful acquisition this would be to our stock of moods, tenses, and voices!

One of these grammarians, indeed, reverencing the old maxim est modus in rebus, observes, that “it is necessary to set bounds to this business, so as not to occasion obscurity and perplexity, when we mean to be simple and perspicuous.” This is so far good; because, though it vindicates the impropriety, it modestly would confine it within decent bounds. But surely it cannot be necessary to remind this writer, that when the boundary between right and wrong, propriety and impropriety, is once passed, it is extremely difficult to prescribe limits to the transgression; and that arbitrary distinctions, resting on no other foundation than prejudice or fashion, must ever be vague, questionable, and capricious. These are truths of which, I am persuaded, the author to whom I allude needs not to be reminded. But it may be necessary to impress on his attention another truth equally incontestable, that no authority, how respectable soever, can sanction inconsistency; and that great names, though they may be honoured by ignorance and credulity with the most obsequious homage, will never pass with the intelligent reader, either for demonstration or for argument. This author, in defence of his theory of cases and tenses, observes, “that the proper form of a tense, in the Greek and Latin languages, is certainly that which it has in the grammars of these languages.” On what evidence is this assumption founded? Here is exhibited a petitio principii, too palpable to escape the detection of the most inattentive reader. He proceeds: “But in the Greek and Latin grammars we uniformly find that some of the tenses are formed by variations of the principal verb, and others by the addition of helping verbs.” It is answered that the admission of these forms in Greek and Latin grammars is a question of mere expediency, and nowise affects the doctrine for which we contend, any more than the admission of six cases in all the Latin declensions affects the doctrine of cases; though in no one declension have all the cases dissimilar terminations. This position it would be easy to demonstrate: it would be easy likewise to show why, notwithstanding this occasional identity of termination, six cases are admitted in all the declensions; but the subject is foreign to our present purpose. It is important, however, to observe, what has escaped the notice of the author, that the principle, on which the admission just mentioned may be expedient in a Latin grammar, has no existence whatever in the English language.

“It is, therefore,” he continues, “indisputable, that the principal, or the participle, and an auxiliary, constitute a regular tense in the Greek and Latin languages.” This, as I have remarked, is a palpable petitio principii. It is to say, that because amatus fueram is a tense, therefore “I had been loved” is a tense also. The author forgets that the premises must be true, to render the conclusion legitimate. He forgets, that a circular argument is a mere sophism, because it assumes as true what it is intended to prove. Whether amatus fueram be or be not a tense, is the very point in question; and so far am I from admitting the affirmative as unquestionable, that I contend, it has no more claim to the designation of tense, than ἔσομαι τετυφώς—no more claim than amandum est mihi, amari oportet, or amandus sum, have to be called moods. Here I must request the reader to bear in mind the necessary distinction between the grammar of a language and its capacity of expression.

In answer to the objection of inconsistency, in admitting tenses where there is no inflexion, yet rejecting cases where there is no change of termination, the author says, “that such a mode of declension cannot apply to our language.” But why can it not apply? Why not give as English cases, to a king, of a king, from a king, with a king, by a king, at a king, about a king, &c. &c.? The mode is certainly applicable, whatever may be the consequences of that application. A case surely is as easily formed by a noun and preposition, as a tense by a participle and auxiliary. But the author observes, “the English language would then have a much greater number of cases than the Greek and Latin languages.” And why not? Is the number of cases in English, or any other language, to be limited by the number in Greek or Latin? or does the author mean to say, that there is any peculiar propriety in the number five or six? The author, to be consistent with himself, ought to acknowledge as many cases as there are prepositions to be found in the English language. This, it may be said, would encumber our grammar, and embarrass the learner. This is, indeed, an argument against the expediency of the application, but not against the practicability of the principle in question. Besides, it may be asked, why does the author confine his love of simplification to cases? Why not extend it to tenses also? Why maintain, that inflexion only makes a case, and that a tense is formed without inflexion? Why dismiss one encumbrance, and admit another?

The author observes, that “from grammarians, who form their ideas and make their decisions respecting this part of grammar, on the principles and construction of languages, which in these points do not suit the peculiar nature of our own, but differ considerably from it, we may naturally expect grammatical schemes that are neither perspicuous nor consistent, and which will tend more to perplex than inform the learner.” Had I been reprehending the author’s own practice, I should have employed nearly the same language. How these observations, certainly judicious and correct, can be reconciled with the doctrine of the writer himself, I am utterly at a loss to conceive. His ideas of consistency and simplicity are to me incomprehensible. He rejects prepositional cases for the sake of simplicity, and he admits various moods and tenses, equally foreign to the genius of our language, in order to avoid perplexity. Surely this is not a “consistent scheme.” Nay, he tells us, “that on the principle of imitating other languages in names and forms (I beseech the reader to mark the words), without a correspondence in nature and idiom, we might adopt a number of declensions, as well as a variety of cases, for English substantives: but,” he adds, “this variety does not at all correspond with the idiom of our language.” After this observation, argument surely becomes unnecessary.

I have here, the reader will perceive, assailed the author’s doctrine merely on the ground of inconsistency. It is liable, however, to objections of a more serious nature; and were I not apprehensive that I have already exhausted the patience of the reader, I should now proceed to state these objections. There is one observation, however, which I feel it necessary to make. The author remarks, that to take the tenses as they are commonly received, and endeavour to ascertain their nature and their differences, “is a much more useful exercise, as well as a more proper, for a work of this kind, than to raise, as might be easily raised, new theories on the subject.” If the author by this intends to insinuate that our doctrine is new, he errs egregiously. For Wallis, one of the oldest, and certainly one of the best of our English grammarians, duly attentive to the simplicity of that language whose grammar he was exhibiting, assigned only two tenses to the English verb. He says, Nos duo tantum habemus tempora Præsens et Præteritum; and on this simple principle his explanation of the verb proceeds. In the preface to his grammar, he censures his few predecessors for violating the simplicity of the English language, by the introduction of names and rules foreign to the English idiom. Cur hujusmodi casuum, generum, modorum, temporumque fictam et ineptam plane congeriem introducamus citra omnem necessitatem, aut in ipsa lingua fundamentum, nulla ratio suadet. And so little was he aware that the introduction of technical names for things which have no existence, facilitates the acquisition of any art or science, that he affirms it in regard to the subject before us to be the cause of great confusion and perplexity. Quæ (inutilia præcepta) a lingua nostra sunt prorsus aliena, adeoque confusionem potius et obscuritatem pariunt, quam explicationi inserviunt.