word Wasserstaub water-dust, which occurs on the first page of "Auf der Höhe." What a play of the imagination, by the way, in this word, and how dull and flat in comparison our 'spray!' = What a singular impression of personal dignity one derives from the expression se attollit, he lifts himself up, for surgit he rises. The Bible abounds in such expressions, which always seemed to me peculiarly suited to the grand old Hebrew patriarchs. "He opened his mouth and spake." "He lifted up his voice and wept." I think the gradual extension of the name Asia, or rather of the application of the name, is noticed in Newman's Translation of the Iliad. It meant, first, the delta of the Cäyster; second, the kingdom of Croesus, extending to the Halys; third, upper Asia, the Persian kingdom; fourth, the continent. This is exactly paralleled by the following: Hellas meant first a small district of Phthiotis in Thessaly; second, northern Greece, from the Cambunian Mountains to the Corinthian Gulf; third, all Greece; fourth, all regions inhabited by the Greek-speaking races. The Romans, at the period of their greatest luxury, had beds so high that it was necessary to mount into them by means of ladders; and hence "to go to bed" might be expressed by "to scale a bed" (scandere lectum). The poor Romans lived in garrets, our poor in cellars. We take off our hats when we enter the house of another; the ancients removed their shoes. At Rome, carriages were not allowed to be driven through the streets; we permit horse and steam cars. The word gentleman, it is complained, is very much abused nowadays. Several years ago the notorious Isaiah Rynders, of New York, was superintending the execution of a man at Sing-Sing. After the rope had been adjusted, he was observed to hold a brief conversation with the condemned, and then, coming forward, he announced that he had given the "gentleman " permission to make some remarks, but he had declined. It was not stated whether the " gentleman" was an American. If he was, his declining to make a speech should have rescued his name from oblivion. There is a droll definition of the word in question, and one that would not be accepted now, in Froude's History, vol. viii., p. 11. Every tyro in Greek knows that the word for on the left hand — appós came to mean unlucky, because the seer, in taking ἀριστερός omens, stood with his face to the north; and hence the west, the region of sunset and darkness, the quarter of ill-boding signs, was on his left. It was natural for the cheerful Greek to shrink from uttering a word of evil omen, and to substitute one of exactly opposite sense. Accordingly, what was unlucky was called svupos, portending good. Apparently from a similar feeling, or possibly to propitiate the powers of evil, the Irish peasantry call witches "good people." A curious repetition of a thought that has just been clearly and pointedly expressed, occurs in Whitney's "Study of Language," page 90. He says, "Words are changed in phonetic structure, not according to the impression they make upon the organs of hearing, but according to the action which they call for in the organs of speaking." And then adds, " Physiological, not acoustic relations, determine how sounds shall pass into one another in the process of linguistic growth." This recalls an illustration by Macaulay of Dr. Johnson's two styles, his conversational and his literary style. "The Rehearsal," he said, "has not wit enough to keep it sweet"; then, after a pause, " it has not vitality enough to preserve it from putrefaction." W. C. C. ENGLISH GRAMMAR. — NO. 4. THE SENTENCE. In our previous articles we have considered what we regard as the proper method of teaching grammar to such pupils as can spend only a short time upon this science, and who can, at best, therefore secure a knowledge of only those portions of it which are most directly practical. Let us now consider this science, with reference to the proper method of teaching it to pupils who intend to pursue a more extended course of study, — who design to go on through the High School, and perhaps through College. For such pupils, the study of grammar is not simply the appropriation of those more promi nent facts of etymology and syntax which are indispensable to correct writing and speaking. The study of grammar should now contemplate nothing less than the mastery of the English Language; not simply the proper forms of words to be used to indicate the various modifications of thoughts or conceptions, nor the proper combination of the original and modified forms of words in discourse, but the philosophy which underlies all this verbal mechanism. In a word, we are now to pursue the study of language, precisely as we pursue the study of Arithmetic, not, as was the method thirty years ago, by working mechanically under set formulas, blind to the reason of the pupil and limited in application, but as is the method everywhere now, by the development of principles. We will suppose, then, that the pupil has mastered thoroughly etymology, in the manner indicated in our previous papers, that he has arrived at an age when he can use with success his reasoning powers, and that he understands that he is to work with as much. energy, and spend as large a part of his daily hours of study, upon his grammar as upon his arithmetic or his geography. How then shall we begin? Manifestly, precisely as we should begin any other science, by considering it, first, in its larger dimensions, its more prominent characteristics and features, and then passing to details. That this is the proper method of commencing the study of any science, no teacher of experience can doubt. Dr. Francis Wayland, for many years one of the most successful teachers in this country (with reference to this very point), says: - "In investigation, we proceed from particulars to generals; we discover particular facts, and reduce them to classes; and then, going still further, comprehend these classes under more general classes, until we have arrived at the widest generalizations in our power. But when we wish to instruct, or communicate our knowledge, this process is reversed. We then begin with the simplest and most universal principles, comprehending the greatest number of individuals under them. From these we proceed to the largest subordinate genera, from these to the sub-genera or species, until we have mastered the whole class of objects which our most generic classification comprehends. At each step, as we proceed downwards from the more to the less general, we add some new elements, until we at last arrive at the conception of the individuals with which, in the labor of investigation, we commenced." Such, without a question, always and everywhere, is the true method of procedure. The study of grammar, then, as a science, should begin with an understanding of the sentence. Discourse is made up of sentences. These are the largest elements that enter into its composition. Here, then, the pupil in language should commence his investigations. All there is of grammar, indeed all there is of logic, or of rhetoric, is included in the sentence. When, then, the pupil has learned all there is to be learned of the grammar that is employed to make a sentence, he has learned all the grammar that is.necessary to compose the essay, the oration, the book. Let us then first consider the sentence as a whole. search out its philosophy. What is a sentence? Let us All knowledge is, substantially, mere classification. We know nothing in its essence, we know only the qualities or attributes of a thing; that is, we know to what class of objects previously discovered, this particular object belongs. Language is composed almost entirely of words designating classes of things, as book, chair, table, house; or of classes of qualities, as white, green, red, warm, cold; or of classes of action, as walk, ride, swim, work, think. Now, as has been said, all we can ever know, and all we can ever tell to others, of any individual object with which we happen to be acquainted, is simply the particular class of attributes, qualities, or actions which characterize it, and to which it belongs. Communication, then, with our fellow-men, consists simply in referring the various objects which constitute the theme of our discussion to their appropriate classes. A sentence, then, simply is the classification of an object expressed by verbal signs or words; and inasmuch as all knowledge is simply a classification of objects, and since all communication of knowledge is simply a verbal expression of such classification, it follows that every sentence, in whatever language, will be in essentials, logically considered, the same thing. Now, a sentence comprises two indispensable elements. These are termed, in the language of our grammars, the subject and the predicate. What are these elements, and how are they related to one another? We have seen that all we can tell about any object is simply to refer it to its class. The words descriptive of the classes of objects are the common nouns, the adjectives, the verbs, etc., which constitute the common stock of knowledge among men. Hence, of necessity, every sentence contemplates two distinct conceptions, the thought, or thing, known only to the speaker, a knowledge of which he wishes to communicate; and the class to which the object belongs, which, being a common term, is known to all his hearers. The former or individual object in the mind of the speaker, and unknown to the hearer, is always and of necessity the subject; while the latter, or the term known to the hearer and the speaker alike, is always and of necessity the predicate. The communication of knowledge, then, supposes always these two things: 1. Certain individual things, thoughts, or facts known to the speaker, and not known to the hearer. 2. Certain common abstract terms expressive of conceptions, known to both speaker and hearer. Hence, when the knowledge possessed by the speaker and the hearer is precisely the same in quantity and kind; or when the knowledge of the one is entirely distinct from the knowledge of the other, so that they have no facts or conceptions in common, communication is impossible, since nothing new can be given, in the one case, and nothing can be made intelligible in the other. Thus, the communication of thoughts consists simply in the speaker's creating in the mind of the hearer, out of his own store of knowledge, conceptions similar to those in his own mind. This he does by means of the sentence. Thus, A wishes to give to B an idea of a pearl. B has no conception whatever of the object, but he has very clear ideas of such common terms as color, form, magnitude, etc. We have, then, at once, the two elements of a proposition, and can proceed. A's conception of a pearl unknown to B, for the subject; and B's knowledge of the qualities of matter in general, in common with |