6

it necessary to inquire into the origin of language. We shewed that there is every reason for supposing it to be of human production; and that the base or root-words would readily be procured from the sounds of external nature, these being condensed into onomatopoeias.' We then explained that there can be no such thing as 'abstract terms,' but that the law of Onomatopoeia in the first place, and that of Correspondence in the second, have combined to furnish the entire framework and superstructure of language. To continue the subject according to the requirements of order, it is necessary therefore that we replace ourselves for a while beside the first framers of language, and note the gradual steps by which they would proceed with its construction; or in other words, how the theory we have been explaining has had its outbirth in practice.

80. On the condensation of any given sound into an onomatopoetic word, it would serve, primarily, for the designation of the object producing that sound. Then it would be applied to objects resembling the original by virtue of agreement in their essences or qualities; and then it would be extended to the denomination of circumstances exclusively connected with our interior being. This process would go on with every onomatopœia separately. It would not be, however, after any specific rate, but according to the verbal necessities of the would-be speakers. Every word would thus have three stages. The first would be that of its purely onomatopoetic application; the second its extension to related physical objects; and the third would be its extension to the invisible things of our inner being. Until these three provinces of meaning have been obtained by a word, its functions are not fully developed; and it has none beyond these, for these three comprise all that are possible; completion being marked here, as everywhere else throughout the universe, by ternary composition. Considered in reference to language,especially that portion of it required to denote sensations, thoughts, and sentiments, the world would thus continually prove itself to the fathers of spoken language, a repertory of picturesque and lovely symbols, adapted to render audible and pleasing what would otherwise have been no more than mystery and silence. It is impossible to conceive of a more benevolent institution, inasmuch as it operates both ways. For as some author remarks, the very same circumstances which would open an easy vent to the utterance of the speakers of early times, are those which would simultaneously assist and charm the apprehensions of their hearers. Of course the principle is the same now, but then it would act with infinitely greater beauty, because there was not a single word but what exhibited all the evidence of having been constructed by it; and

because social intercourse was wholly dependent on the practical recognition of its function.

81. At this immense distance of time it is manifestly impossible to pronounce as to the particulars of any specific procedure of the primitive framers of language. For transcripts of their conduct we must therefore look to what has been done in later ages, under the impulse of the same great natural laws of mental action by which they were directed. Examples are abundant in all the ancient languages. We there see primitive words giving rise to large families of secondary terms, many of which we have taken up in modern times, and still further expanded. An excellent illustration of this progress is seen in the history of the class of words founded on the onomatopoetic interjection st (as when we say hist!), and used in the Indo-European languages to denote cessation, quiet, fixedness, and the numberless collateral circumstances and objects of which these terms are either literally or metaphorically descriptive, the central idea of the entire family being that of standing. If the reader will articulate st, and watch the process, it will be found that no utterance requires so little exertion of the vocal organs, or so small a quantity of breath. Self-checking, it is an exact type of the things which the words constructed from it invariably denote, and is therefore naturally adapted to furnish their designations. Here, then, we have both the origin of the onomatopoeia, and the explanation of its fertility as a root. The earliest verbal shape which the original sound is ascertainable to have acquired, is the Oriental ti-sta-mi or ti-stha-mi, ‘to stand.' From this, like the branches of a tree from its trunk, subsequently came the Greek oráw and orn-u, the Latin sto and si-sto, the old Teutonic stam, and others; and these, in their turn, gave rise to innumerable derivatives, just as branches do to twigs and leaves. Such of the race as cannot be affiliated on any one of these main progenitors, probably sprang up from the original st as lateral shoots, just as a progeny of subordinate stems is often seen surrounding the main trunk of a tree in a state of nature.

82. It is not pure etymology which shews these things, but etymology and correspondence. The former carries us only part way in the investigation of the history of language. It opens the gate of the garden, but is unable to shew us round. It is quite a mistake, therefore, to suppose that etymology is, per se, the history of language. If it were, there would not be such multitudes of words given in the lexicons as of unknown derivation.' Correspondence takes up the subject just where Etymology is fain, by its own rules, to leave it; and by shewing their spiritual affinities, indicates the origin of words which

etymology has no alternative but to regard as inexplainable. It thus subserves precisely the same purpose in regard to language that modern chemistry has done in regard to the determination of the 'simple substances.' Those things which, in chemical phrase, etymology regards as bases, correspondence shews to be only oxides of bases. Or to use another analogy, correspondence is to language just what the beautiful arcana of vegetable physiology are to botany,-the wealth and essence of the entire science. It is on these principles, accordingly, that the family of words we are now adverting to, is enabled to be brought together.

83. Among the simplest derivatives of the original st which are contained in our own language, are the verb forms, such as stay, stop, stand. Primarily, these words denote physical cessation or quietude; thence, by correspondence, all kinds of mental or emotional cessation; also resolution, repose, fixity of purpose, continuity of action, &c. Hence we speak of 'standing content,' 'standing the test,' 'staying' a man's fears, and of putting a 'stop' to his intentions. Of the word 'stand' alone, there are no less that seventy such metaphors in daily use, independently of its compounds, such as withstand' and 'understand.' It is in the Scriptures, however, that the most beautiful of these figurative applications occur, and as they refer exclusively to spiritual things, it is clear that we understand them solely through their identity in essence with the phraseology of common life. Take, for example, the use made of the word stand':

'The grass withereth, the flower fadeth,

But the word of our God shall stand for ever.'-Isaiah xl. 8.

'The works of his hands are verity and righteousness,

All his commandments are sure,

They stand fast for ever and ever.'-Psalm cii. 7, 8.

'He shall not be afraid of evil tidings,

For his heart standeth fast, trusting in the Lord.'-Psalm cxii. 7.

84. The poets use the word in similar ways, and often with singular beauty of effect: Homer, for instance, when describing the conduct of Penelope after her husband's long-protracted absence. (Odyssey 23. 103). Penelope is so hard to persuade that it is really Ulysses who stands before her, that Telemachus, chiding her silence and seeming indifference, reproaches her as having but a stony heart.' Nay, my son,' she replies, it is that my whole being stands still within me,' (tévvov éμòv, θυμός μοι ἐνὶ ΣΤΗΘΕΣΣΙ τέθηπεν) meaning that she is utterly stupified and confounded by her mingled astonishment, joy, and misgivings.

Pindar, again, adverting to the enraptured wonder with which Hercules stood contemplating the beautiful wild olive-trees of the Hyperboreans, at once describes his attitude and feelings by saying,τόθι δενδρεα θαύμαινε ΣΤΑΘΕΙΣ.—Olymp. iii. 57.

Though an ordinary colloquial term, like 'stand,' (to which it is equivalent) yet so expressive is the word σrabeìs, by virtue of its correspondential character, that it immediately spreads out the whole scene before the mind, and in the most charming manner. The graceful trees, the blue sky beyond them, the sunshine creeping among their foliage, all rise up in company with the figure of the spell-bound hero, forming a picture vivid as the life, and filling us with the same agreeable satisfaction that is produced by coming suddenly in view of a beautiful and ample prospect. So with Virgil's description of the sea, when it was so smooth and tranquil, that the shepherd-boy walking on the sands saw his figure reflected in the water. (Ecl. ii. 26). The youth tells his companion that this occurred one day cum placidum ventis staret mare,' literally when the sea stood unruffled by the winds.' Here, as in the preceding instance, we have a word so beautifully suggestive, that the mind not only acquaints itself with the circumstance described, but immediately awakes to all its most treasured recollections of the shore, as enjoyed at those peaceful seasons when the waters, touching the beach without a sound, and almost without a movement, bless and console us with their calmness.

6

Ovid also makes powerful use of the word on many occasions. Thus, in describing the effects of the deluge, he says 'sternuntur segetes,' 'the corn fields were laid flat.' (Met. i. 273.) Herein is pictured in the most striking and beautiful manner, the utter stop put to that ceaseless waving and swaying beneath the breeze which is so celebrated a charm of fields of ripening grain.

85. In every case, the word we are considering thus acts upon the mind as the keynote of a melody, which lies within it like the odour within a rose-bud. Such, indeed, is the essential quality of all truly poetical expressions, and unless received in this way, we fail to realize their greatest charm. The reason why the poet makes so peculiarly delicious and wonderful a use of words is, that he is the high-priest and interpreter of nature, and in his spirit recognizes more deeply than the generality of men how consummate and sublime is that relation of outward things to invisible ones, on which all language and poetry are built up;

'The world is full of glorious likenesses;

The poet's power is to sort them out,

And to make music from the common strings
With which the earth is strung; to make the dumb
Earth utter heavenly harmony, and draw

Life clear and sweet and harmless as spring water
Welling its way through flowers.'-Festus.

Poetry, therefore, cannot be successfully discussed apart from the metaphysics of language. Men may call it an abstraction' or 'an idea in the mind,' and talk about it as such, but a clear perception of the philosophy of words is the only key that unlocks its full and boundless meaning.

86. Perhaps the most beautiful example in English poetry, of which the effect is mainly owing to the introduction of the word stand,' is that in Thomson's Seasons, where the lady discovers while bathing, that she has been watched :

'With wild surprise,

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense,

A stupid moment motionless she stood.'

Here are pourtrayed not only her physical attitude, but the utter paralysis of sense produced by the overwhelming shame and terror of the moment. It is interesting to observe that Ovid uses the equivalent word 'adstitit' in narrating the celebrated story of Diana and Acteon. (Met. iii. 187.) The introduction of the word stupid greatly adds to the force of the above passage, the primary sense of stupid' being 'fixed' or 'insensible.'

6

87. The relation of stillness to the onomatopoetic st needs no argument. It is quietude itself. Hence the sublime command of Jesus to the stormy waves, Peace, be still!' so grandly foretold in the 107th Psalm, 'He maketh the storm* a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.' The magnificent display of power here afforded is no less consolatory than majestic, being representative of the healing efficacy which the love of God can exert over the soul when tossed and disturbed by evils, a condition of which it is impossible to have a more striking emblem than a dark and troubled sea. It is this fact, indeed, which both the prophecy and its accomplishment are intended to unfold. For the circumstance of the Divine allaying a material tempest serves no higher purpose, regarded in itself, than to exhibit him as a tremendous, and, it may be arbitrary, autocrat over the elements. Far more beautiful,

* The word 'storm,' being associated with movement and disturbance of the most violent kind, may seem to be an exception to the st words. But in reality it strengthens and supports their character. For storm is not a derivative of st, but of the same parent that has furnished turn and tornado, the s being a prefix, as in tumble and s-tumble, tenax and s-tingy, pedis and s-peed, taurus and s-teer.