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clan or tribe as their last source of pride. The aristocracy of European countries, like the conquering races of all lands, rejoice in bearing the names of the territories they have won by their valor, as the Spaniard adds name to name, to make known his high parentage and just claim to be considered a "hidalgo,” the son of somebody. Why is it that death appears so strangely disguised in some languages? The poetical Greek called his burying-place, such as it was, a кoyunтýptov, or sleeping place; the faith of the Hebrew spoke in his "Bethhaim," or "house of the living." The proud Roman avoided the very name of what was to him, but too often, mere annihilation; he did not like to die, but called it "vitam suam mutare," "transire a seculo," or "si quid de eo humanitus contigerit." The French of our day shows, with regard to death, that peculiar feature in the national character which dislikes being disturbed by unpleasant impressions in the enjoyment of life, and most admires ingenious delicacy in avoiding all directness by euphemistic terms. The word "mort" is but rarely heard in France; it has an icy breath about it, which the Frenchman avoids as a bad omen, like the Roman of old; the odor of death he changes into an "odeur du sapin;" he prefers the "char funèbre," to the "corbillard" "trépas" and "décès” to straightforward terms, and the English "corpse" is to him a simple "corps." The genius of the language bends to his whims and fancies so far as to allow him to speak of "mourir tout en vie," and even to say 66 se mourir," as if death was nothing but a voluntary act, chosen at will. Highly poetical and slightly transcendental appear, on the other hand, the German "Friedhof" and "Gottesacker," which gradually find their other idioms also.

way into

An unexpected insight into national peculiarities is thus often gained by watching the effect of certain modes of thought or even passing fancies of a people on their language. It appears strange that the Frenchman should deem travelling (travailler) his hardest work, and to be a Gentile (gentil) his highest honor. Both these words were formed when the Germanic Frank conquered Roman Gaul. A heathen, a Gentile, he was nevertheless the conqueror; and what had been a term of stern rebuke and fierce condemnation became, in the powerful master of the land, a word of distinction; "homo gentilis" soon changed into "gentil" and "gentilhomme," and from its new home crossed the Channel to become in England a "gentleman." But long after the Frank had achieved the conquest, he well remembered the vast amount of labor and blood it had cost him to get over the immense walls with which the Roman tried to protect his fortified encampments and towns. To scale them, to get "trans vallum," was the most difficult part of his military labor; so he soon came, by analogy, to call every uncommon effort a "travail," and what the Frenchman still ascribes to the labors in childbed and the report of the Minister of Finances-apparently his hardest works as they are both called "travail" by eminence the Englishman of the Middle Ages applied to his labor in travelling through foreign countries.

It is, however, not in classes of words or single words only, that the effects of such peculiarities of the national mind may be seen. The very sound of a language, its most minute details, bear the mark of that unbroken connection between mind and word. Some languages are soft and harmonious, because they

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were formed in a happy and peaceful state of society; thus the Greek and, though perhaps less clearly, the Latin show, even now, to the careful observer, that they belong to nations among whom the ear and the laws of harmony were well developed and therefore consulted. The Romance of our day still exhibit symptoms of the times of barbarism during which they assumed their form, and that it was necessity and the stern will of the Conqueror which gave them existence. The slightest peculiarities, undistinguished by the foreigner, often remain as witnesses of strange peculiarities of a nation which, as a people, may long since have disappeared from among the dwellers upon earth. Conquerors may overthrow thrones, destroy cities and villages by fire, exterminate the inhabitants by the sword, and yet not eradicate such slight differences. They may stand in arms upon the banks of a river, as the Galaadites of old stood ready to destroy the last of the Ephratians who would hiss with Ephraim in pronouncing the word "Shiboleth," instead of giving it the peculiar sound of the Galaadites, and yet the same almost imperceptible hiss, which cost centuries ago the life of tens of thousands, is heard, even now, on the opposite sides of a ford in the river Jordan.

CHAPTER XXVII.

FASHION OPERATING ON LANGUAGE.

The Latin-Lexicographers-Danish in English-Italian in French-Les Précieuses.

THIS mysterious power of Language to perpetuate the nicest shades of thought, so positively contradicting the old saying, "verba volant," is the more surprising, as a mere caprice, a fashion, a whim, often suffice to produce such changes. Nor would this be possible if Language were really made, as was once believed, by the few and not by the many, if it lay in the power of a Sheridan or a Jones, a Luther or a Webster, an Academy of Sciences or of Bran, to modify a national tongue. It is the people, and the whole people, by whom language is made, and every fraction of a nation has its representative there. Whether this fraction be the highest or the lowest in the land, its individual influence is a caprice whenever it acts without necessity, consideration or taste, though very often such caprice is in reality the most subtle metaphysic, escaping both the perception of the learned and the consciousness of those who act by it.

The Latin already exhibits instances of such effects produced by local influences or the authority of certain classes of society. Seneca and Silius use as correct phrases as we find in the speech

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"In Catilinam or in the "Eneis," but the introduction of bad constructions and newly-invented words, as well as the confounding of different kinds of style with each other, prove abundantly that the language of Seneca and Silius is no longer that of Cicero and Virgil. The change of gender in the word “alvus,” which Priscian tells us was once Masculine, may have had no better cause than the grammatical blunder of Louis XIV., who, when only five years old, called for " 'mon carosse," and thus made the former Feminine for ever a Masculine.

The tendencies, also, of certain portions of a people are often strikingly illustrated by the biased taste of the best lexicographers. Thus Sheridan and Jones represent the popular tendency of the English idiom, whilst Walker leans towards the more elegant language of those classes of society which claim both better knowledge and greater refinement. As the history of Languages becomes better known, their irregularities and whimsicalities are gradually explained and referred to their proper source. That the English should give the peculiar sound of an additional y to precisely nine words beginning with g or k (guile, guise, guide, guard, kind, kite, kibe, kine, and sky), is now generally ascribed to the influence of Danish, where the same sound is found, and the silent h in Thames and Thomas is similarly explained. A more striking instance is the influence of Italian pronunciation on the sounds as well as the orthography of the French in the time of the Valois, and when the "Mignons" of Henry VIII. extended the corruption of their manners to the language also. A handful of favorites and unlettered courtiers, under the protection of Catharine and Maria of Medici, succeeded in giving the French an Italian form and sound, which