Chapter V: The Morphology of Speech (3)

This long inquiry into the causes which have made the article sometimes an affix and sometimes a prefix has introduced us to the last department of the morphology of speech—that which is known as syntax, or the arrangement of words in a sentence. Professor Earle has remarked that syntax varies inversely as accidence; wherever we have an elaborate formal grammar, there we have a corresponding poverty of syntax; wherever we have little formal grammar, as in Chinese or English, there syntax comes prominently into view. This is only another way of stating the fact that in default of such contrivances as inflections, language has recourse to rules of position in order to denote the grammatical relations of words; and though Greek shows us that a highly developed accidence may exist along with an equally developed syntax, yet it is quite true that a language which makes such large use of composition as Sanskrit, must be very poor in the matter of syntax. Composition and syntax are antagonistic to each other. The study of comparative accidence, or, as it is rather loosely called, comparative grammar, is much in advance of that of comparative syntax; indeed, it is but lately that comparative syntax has attracted the attention of philologists to any extent, Jolly, Delbrück, Bergaigne, and others being among the pioneers of this branch of linguistic science. Here, too, we must work back to that inner form which underlies the choice of the position of words in a sentence; we must find out by the comparative method what were the primary syntactical rules observed by a group of cognate tongues, what were the grammatical conceptions they indicated, and how they were modified by the several languages in the course of their subsequent history. The germs of syntax are capable of infinitely various development, although each family of speech starts with its own special point of view, its own particular principle. The Aryan began by placing the defining word before the word defined; the Semite by placing it after; just as in Burman the defining word precedes, while in Siamese or Tai it follows. Languages, which have never attained to the idea of a verb, like the Polynesian, must necessarily differ materially from those in which the verbal conjugation plays a principal part; while in the polysynthetic languages of America, syntax in the proper sense of the term can hardly be said to exist at all. Unlike formal grammar, however, syntax is comparatively changeable; Coptic has become a prefix language, whereas its parent, Old Egyptian, was an affix one, and the growth of rhetoric as well as the development of grammatical forms tend to obliterate the old landmarks and principles of syntactical arrangement.

The history of the accusative with the infinitive in Latin is a good example of this. Prof. Max Müller describes his utter amazement when he was first taught to say, _Miror te ad me nihil scribere_, “I am surprised that you write nothing to me,”[283] and there was plenty of reason for it. He has clearly shown that most of the Greek and Latin infinitives were originally dative cases of abstract nouns, and not locatives, as has often been maintained; the Greek δοῦναι or δοϝέναι, for instance, answering to the Vedic _dâváne_, “to give,” τετυπέναι to _vibhráne_, “to conquer” or “effect,” _amare_, _monere_, _audire_, to _jîv-áse_, “to live.” The Greek middle infinitive in -θαι is a relic of the Vedic dative of an abstract infinitive from the root _dhâ_, “to do” or “place,” ψευδέσ-θαι, “to do lying,” exactly answering to the Vedic _vayodhai_ (for _váyas-dhai_), “to do living,” or “to live,” on the model of which analogy has created the false forms τύψεσθαι, τύψασθαι and τυψθήσεσθαι. The true character of the Latin infinitive may be discovered from the verb _fieri_, which goes back to an earlier _fiesei_, the dative of a stem in -_s_. Bearing in mind, then, what the infinitive originally was, we have little difficulty in understanding how it came to be used with an accusative, which was really the object after the principal verb. The sentence quoted above simply meant at first: “I am surprised at you for the writing of nothing to me,” just as _te volo vivere_ was “I choose you for living,” or _tempus est videndi lunæ_, “it is the time of the moon, of seeing (it);” and the extension of the use of the accusative with the infinitive to sentences in which we can no longer trace any reflection of its original force, is only another example of the power of analogy in spreading a particular habit, the proper sense and meaning of which have been forgotten.

Let us remember, however, that at the time when an Aryan syntax was first forming itself, there was as yet no distinction between noun and verb. The accusative and genitive relations of after days did not yet exist; they were still merged together in a common attributive or defining relation, and the growth of the verb was necessary before a genitive could be set apart to define the substantive, and an accusative or object to define the verb. Reminiscences of this primitive state of things have survived into the later forms of speech. When Plautus says, “Quid tibi hanc tactio est,” he is using _tactio_ as he would _tango_, and while in the Rig-Veda nouns in -_tar_ govern an accusative like transitive verbs, we actually find a verb undergoing comparison in _bhavatitarâm_, “he is more so.” In fact, genitive and accusative alike are what Mr. Sweet calls “attribute-words,” the one being the attribute of the noun, the other of the verb, and before there was any distinction between verb and noun there could be no distinction between them also. The modern Englishman may well ask whether there is any difference between “the performing this,” and “the performing of this;” or between “doing a thing,” and “doing badly.” The Latin supines and gerunds, which are petrified cases of nouns, are followed by what are termed “the cases of their verbs,” and the so-called indeclinable participles of Sanskrit, which are really instrumentals of nouns in -_tu_, equally take the accusative after them. In Greek εὐτυχώς ἔχειν has the same meaning as εὐτυχίαν ἔχειν, and the Greek and Sanskrit use of an accusative with the verb “to be,” shows us how artificial are our distinctions between transitive and intransitive verbs. The adverbial sense of the accusative comes out plainly in the Homeric ἀκήν ἔσαν, and is one more proof of the fact that the accusative, like the genitive, must be classed along with the adjective and the adverb as a qualifying word that defines and limits the words to which it is attached. Custom and grammatical development have alone determined how such qualifying words should be severally used.

The languages of our family of speech are in fair agreement as to the employment of the accusative and the genitive; there are other syntactical contrivances, however, where such an agreement is not to be found. The “ablative absolute” of Latin, for instance, is replaced by a genitive absolute in Greek, by a dative in Lithuanian, by a locative, sometimes also a genitive, and very rarely an ablative, in Sanskrit. In old English we have apparently a dative (as in Anglo-Saxon), as when Wycliffe writes, “they have stolen him, us sleping,” whereas, as Mr. Peile observes,[284] we should now say, “we sleeping,” using the nominative as occasionally in Greek. As a matter of fact, this so-called “casus absolutus,” this case “freed” from all government, and standing outside the sentence to the perpetual astonishment of the grammarians, is really a qualificatory word, dependent like the adverb upon the verb, and denoting the circumstances, or instrument, or mode of an action. Instead of the construction used by Wycliffe, we might just as well have had, “they have stolen him during our sleep.”

Perhaps the first thing that strikes us when we first learn the classical languages, and more especially Latin, is the freedom with which words are dropped _pêle-mêle_, as it were, into a sentence. This power of transposing words stands in marked contrast with the comparatively fixed order of words in a modern European language. When Tennyson says, “Thee nor carketh care nor slander,” we feel that he has gone to the extreme length of what is possible even in poetry, and the arrangement of a German sentence, in spite of its inflections, is determined by somewhat severe rules. We must remember, however, that the apparent freedom of the classical languages is due in great measure to the artificial style of literary men who took advantage of the inflectional character of the dialects they spoke to invert the position of words for rhetorical purposes, and that such inversions were not usual in the language of everyday life. We cannot judge a language properly from the works of its literary men, and this is particularly the case with Latin, where the language of literature was divided by a great gulf from the language of the streets. But even in Latin we find the verb gravitating towards the end of the sentence; this is its predominant position, for instance, throughout the second book of the “Gallic War” of Cæsar, who represents the spoken language of his time much more closely than most of the other authors of Rome. Now, M. Bergaigne, in the very able series of articles already referred to,[285] has lately tried to show that this was not always the position of the Aryan verb. He begins by distinguishing between _phænomena_, or qualities and acts, and _objects_ which are recognized either as bearing these qualities, or as the ends and instruments of the acts. His phænomena, therefore, will answer to our qualificatory words, and a sentence in which they occupy the principal place will be a predicative one, just as sentences in which an object is brought into prominence will be “sentences of dependence.” The substantive verb is but a late creation; even in Latin a sentence like “majorum benefacta perlecta” is perfectly intelligible though “sunt” is omitted; and such a phrase as _Deus est sanctus_ meant at first “God exists as a holy being,” the adjective being a predicative attribute or “phænomenon” in apposition to _Deus_. It was only by degrees that the sense of “existence” disappeared from the verb, and it became a simple copula. More than once we have referred to the primary rule of Aryan syntax, according to which the qualifying word is placed before the word qualified; this is a rule which is borne witness to by almost every compound, by the verb which affixes the personal pronouns to its stem; nay, even by our own English, which still makes the adjective precede its noun. Where the rule seems to be violated, an explanation is generally forthcoming. Latin and Greek compounds like _versipellis_ or φιλάδελφος, really signify “who has the skin changed,” “one who has a brother beloved,” the first part of the German _tauge-nichts_, our _dare-devil_, is an imperative, and the second element in the Sanskrit _dṛishṭa-pûrvva_, “seen before,” is a pronoun. Whether Bergaigne is right in following Grimm’s explanation of compounds like φερέ-ϝοικος, παυσί-νοσος, as containing imperatives, is an open question, though in the Rig-Veda the imperative and conjunctive are certainly inverted and set before their case; it is more probable that we are here dealing with instances of false analogy, δαμάσιππος, “she who tames horses,” having been made equivalent to ἱππόδαμος “horse-tamer,” and so made the model of a new formation. As for the _hippopotamus_, or “river-horse,” the animal came from Egypt, and so, too, did the manner of compounding its name. Proper names like Ἀγαθός δαίμων, or _Neapolis_, are scarcely in point; in them, moreover, the attribute and subject are in apposition. The curious use of the article in Greek with two nouns, one of which is a genitive, is based upon a different reason. When the article had once established itself in speech, ὁ τοῦ χοροῦ διδάσκαλος exactly answered to ὁ χοροδιδάσκαλος, “the choir-master,” and the second noun being drawn back to the place of its article, we get ὁ διδάσκαλος τοῦ χοροῦ and ὁ διδάσκαλος ὁ τοῦ χοροῦ, an order which is observed in modern Albanian. Turning to Latin, we find that the adjective when placed after the substantive implies a sentence of predication, _res militaris_ being “a thing which is military,” _navis longa_, “a ship which is long.” It is only proper names compounded with _Forum_ and _Portus_, like _Forum Julii_, which reverse the order of words as we have it in _juris-consultor_, and in these proper names the stress is on the second part of the compound. The altered position of the adjective in the Romance languages is probably due to the influence of the periphrastic genitive with the preposition _de_; at all events the older constructions place the adjective before its noun.

The rule followed by genitives and adjectives must have been followed by verbs, which are merely attributes of their subjects, and the formation of the verb by affixing the personal pronouns to the attribute or verbal stem confirms this conclusion. In the primitive sentence the object would have come first, then the attribute or verb, and lastly the subject; and the Latin _credo_, which has the same origin as the Sanskrit _śrad-dadhâmi_, “heart-placing-I,” is a good illustration of it. But a want came to be felt of distinguishing between the attribute as a mere qualificative and the attribute as a predicate, and so while the old order remained the type of a qualificative sentence, it was reversed in predicative sentences; the subject was put at the beginning and the verb at the end. This process was assisted by the division of the sentence into two halves, one-half consisting of the subject with its dependent words, and the other half of the verb and object; and if we suppose that each half was represented by a single compound, we can easily see how ready to hand the process would have been. Indeed, the verb seems to fix itself at the end of the sentence almost naturally, since the deaf-mute when taught to communicate with others, invariably sets the verb in this position, the subject and object to which his thought is chiefly directed being the first to occur to his mind. It is this position of the verbal attribute which has established itself in Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, Gothic, and Anglo-Saxon; which still is the rule in German in dependent sentences, and has only been changed in English and the Scandinavian and Romanic dialects through the analogy of the substantive verb and the extended use of prepositions. A preparation for the new arrangement of the sentence, however, which places the object last, was already made by the infinitive. On the one hand, the infinitive could govern a case, and so was correctly preceded by the governed word; on the other hand, it was itself a case dependent on the principal verb. But its nominal character was more and more obliterated by its employment with verbs like _posse_ or _velle_, _can_ or _will_; “he has the ability for doing,” gradually came to be “he can do.” Hence in Homer, as in Old Latin and Old German, the infinitive is mostly found at the end of the sentence, originally, it is true, accompanied by its cases, but afterwards standing alone to qualify the verb, and separated by the latter from the cases with which it was construed. But with all this confusion of the old order, such cases as the ablative or instrumental still maintained their proper position before the word they qualified, and when crystallized into adverbs continued to stand preferably immediately before the verb. Many of these adverbs afterwards became prepositions, the government of the noun passing from the verb to the adverb that accompanied it; other prepositions, like the Latin _gratiâ_ or the Greek χάριν, originated in substantives construed with genitives; and hence the preposition was first of all a postposition, following and not preceding its case. Even now _nach_ stands after its case in German, and we speak of _thereon_ and _thereof_, _homeward_ and _leeward_, to say nothing of _God-wards_ and _you-wards_, or of what is told us of Chaucer’s Shipman,[286] that “fful manye a drauȝt of wyne hadde he i-drawe ffrom Burdeaux ward,” while the Latin _mecum_, _nobiscum_, and the like, survived to the last days of the language. So, too, in Anglo-Saxon the preposition sometimes runs counter to its name by coming after its case, as _hî wyrcað þone cyle hine on_, “they produce cold him on,”[287] but this construction is fully explained when we find the preposition occupying the same place in an adverbial sense, as in the Saxon Chronicle (1016): _se here him fleâh beforan_, “the army him fled before.”

So long as sentences remained simple and unconnected, there was but little reason for serious changes to occur in the order of their words. But it was quite different when an attempt began to be made to connect them together, to compose sentences that were dependent or subordinate. When a sentence became an object or attribute of another, the arrangement that had hitherto held good was necessarily thrown into confusion. Not only might an idea be an attribute of an attribute, but that again might be the attribute of another attribute. This intimate connection and fusion of sentences seems peculiarly suited to the genius of Aryan speech; where a whole sentence could be expressed by a single long compound, it was easy enough to make it dependent on something else. The Semitic tongues, which held composition in abhorrence, were equally averse to an intimate connection of sentences; neither process was very compatible with the habit of thought which placed the qualifying word second instead of first, and we are left to gather the relation of a subordinate sentence to a principal one merely from their juxtaposition, or the monotonous repetition of the simple conjunction “and.” Indeed, the Semitic languages have not risen far above the condition of the deaf-mute or the Polynesian, who have no dependent sentences, each sentence standing complete and entire by itself.[288] If the Dayak wishes to express even so simple a notion as “I thought that he was rich,” he is obliged to say, _iṅgärä-ku iä tatau_, “my thought; he rich.” What a contrast to the Greek language with its manifold particles, its subtle analysis of thought, its delicate expression of every shade of connection between ideas! Such, however, had not always been the condition even of the Greek language, or at all events of the language from which it had sprung. If, for instance, we examine the history of the relative sentence, we shall find it growing by slow degrees out of simple subordination. First of all it was merely set side by side with the principal clause, as in Hebrew and Assyrian poetry, or such English phrases as “This is the man I saw.” Next, the object of the antecedent clause was represented in the consequent by a demonstrative pronoun for the sake of clearness and emphasis; and so we may say: “This is the man, that (man) I saw.” Then in time the demonstrative came to be used in all cases alike, and not only where peculiar stress had to be laid; it ceased to be any longer a pure demonstrative, and became a relative applied by analogy to instances in which the demonstrative could hardly have been employed.[289]

We have now passed in review all that is included under the morphology of speech. The morphology of speech is the reverse side of its physiology, dealing with the spirit and inner life of the sentence just as the physiology of speech deals with the outward frame. If words are posterior to the sentence, if they are in fact but so many crystallized and abbreviated sentences, that part of the science of language which treats of their meanings ought strictly to follow a chapter on morphology. That which is most scientific, however, is not always the most practically convenient, and such is the case with our present subject. But we must not forget that the signification of a word is really determined by its relation to the other words with which it is combined, and if this does not seem to be the case with the isolated words we find in the dictionary, it is only because these isolated words are petrified sentences whose meaning has long ago been established, partly by reference to other sentences, partly by a determination of the relations between the parts of which they are composed. The mutual relations of the elements of a sentence, as well as of fully formed sentences, constitute grammar in its widest sense; they constitute also the morphology of language. A fact of grammar is a compound of two things—the conception of a relation between one idea and another, and the embodiment of this conception in phonetic utterance. Both parts of the compound are continually developing, and becoming at once simpler and clearer, and the duty of the linguistic morphologist is to trace the history of this development, and follow it back to its earliest source. We have to discover the different mental points of view from which the structure of the sentence was regarded by the different races of mankind, to investigate and compare the various contrivances and processes through which these points of view eventually found their fullest expression, to classify the modes of denoting the relations of grammar at the disposal of language, to examine the nature of composition and of stems in the groups of speech of which they are characteristic, to analyze the conceptions of grammar and determine the elements and germs out of which they have sprung, and finally, to ascertain the true origin and meaning of the so-called rules of syntax, and keep record of the changes that take place in the arrangement of words. The mind of man has indeed been cast everywhere in the same mould, but the scenes amid which its infancy was cradled, the conditions under which it grew up, have differed materially and produced a corresponding difference in the expression of its thoughts in language. Two rivers may start from the same spring, but one may flow, clear and limpid through granite mountain ranges and silent forests into a tropical sea—the other may run a turbid and discoloured course through low marsh-lands, by steaming mills and crowded wharves into a northern ocean. It is only when we have thoroughly explored the morphology of each group of kindred tongues, have seen how their inner form has gradually expanded like the flower out of the seed, that we can venture to bring our results together, to compare the morphology of one group of languages with that of another, and learn wherein they differ and wherein they agree.

FOOTNOTES

[1] “Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion,” p. 65.

[2] See Jolly (translation of Whitney), “Die Sprachwissenschaft,” p. 640.

[3] 660-690.

[4] See the quotations in Steinthal: “Geschichte der Sprachwissenschaft bei den Griechen und Römern” (1863), pp. 181 _sq._

[5] Proclus, p. 9.

[6] Anomalist as he was, moreover, Krates was not blind to the defects of language as it was commonly used, and it would appear that the ninth book of his Satires was devoted to the reform of orthography.

[7] He introduced the practice of writing _r_ between two vowels instead of _s_, and banished the use of _z_ “because its pronunciation resembles the sound that passes through the teeth of a dying man” (Pomp. Dig. i. 2, 2, 36, Mart. Cap. i. 3, § 261, ed. Kopp). Panætius had read his poetical “Maxims,” or “Sententiæ,” which Cicero calls “Pythagorean” (Tusc. iv. 2, 4).

[8] Max Müller: “Lectures on the Science of Language” (eighth edition, 1875), p. 111.

[9] It is given in Bekker’s “Anecdota,” pp. 629-643. Its authenticity is satisfactorily defended by Lersch, “Sprachphilosophie der Alten,” ii. pp. 64-103.

[10] Γραμματική ἔστιν ἐμπειρία τῶν παρὰ ποιηταῖς τε καὶ συγγραφεῦσιν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ λεγομένων. Μέρη δὲ αὐτῆς εἰσὶν ἕξ· πρῶτον ἀνάγνωσις ἐντριβὴς κατὰ προσῳδίαν, δεύτερον ἐξήγησις κατὰ τοὺς ἐνυπάρχοντας ποιητικούς τρόπους, τρίτον γλωσσῶν τε καὶ ἱστοριῶν πρόχειρος ἀπόδοσις, τέταρτον ἐτυμολογίας εὕρεσις, πέμπτον ἀναλογίας ἐκλογισμός, ἕκτον κρίσις ποιημάτων, ὅ δὴ καλλιστόν ἐστι πάντων τῶν ἐν τῇ τέχνῃ.

[11] A good idea of the character of his etymologizing may be gathered from the following quotation:—“_Vestis_ nomen factum est per syncopen ex composito _perestis_, et mutato _r_ in _s_ (ut sæpe factum est), _pesestis_ sive _pesestas_, a verbo _per-edo_, _per-es_, _per-est_; quo significatur, quidquid _peredit_ et plane consumit et _perdit_ materiam quamque, unde facta est, ut lues illa epidemica pestis appellationem obtinuerat.” Elsewhere he asserts that _sin_ is derived from σίνειν, while _so_ is merely ὥς reversed. But Junius is quite equalled by Scaliger, Voss, Wachter, and other philologists of the same school. Thus Scaliger says (“De Caus.” c. 35):—“_Ordinis_ nomen Græcum est. Dicebant militibus tribuni—‘Hactenus tibi licet; hic consistes: eò progrediere, huc revertere; ὅρον δῶ,’ inde _ordo_;” and again (“De Caus.” c. 28) that _quatuor_ is κατερα, _i.e._ και ετερα (the aspirate being dropped as among the Æolians), because when the Latins had counted “unum, alterum, tria; pro _quarto_ dixere _et alterum_.” Scaliger, again, agrees with Voss in deriving “_opacus_ ex _Ope_, hoc est, _terrâ_; nam umbræ et frigoris captandi causa in subterraneos se specus abdebant,” and _pomum_ from πῶμα, because most fruits quench the thirst. Voss identifies the Latin _rus_ with the Greek ἄρουρα, “præciso _a_,” and declares: “ab ἔπω, qua notat _operor_, venit Latinum _opus_.” Perhaps the various etymologies proposed for the word _cause_ by Perottus will give the best illustration of what once passed for “a true account of the origin of words.” It is either (1) from _chaos_, as being the first cause of things, or (2) from καῦσις, because heat “kindles and inflames us” to action, or (3) “a cavendo,” because a cause forewarns (“cavet”) us that something should or should not be done, or, finally (4), “a casu, quia causa accidit.” To these Voss adds a fresh possibility, that _causa_ comes from “_caiso_,” that is, “quærere seu petere.” Perottus, again, derives “_locusta_ ex _locus_ et _ustus_, quod tactu multa urat, morsu vero omnia erodat.” We cannot but be struck by the ingenuity of these old scholars. Wachter, however, offers us equally absurd etymologies in the field of modern High German. Thus he brings _kämpfen_ (from _campus_) from _kam_, “the fist,” _cat_ from _ge-wachten_, the French _guêter_ (!), and agrees with Clauberg in making _neigen_ the source of _nacht_.

[12] Where there is so much to choose from it is difficult to select; but perhaps the richest morsels of the book are the reference of the Latin suffix -_or_ in words like _sonorous_, as well as the final syllable of Hebrew words like _tabor_, to the “Celtic” _mhor_, “great,” and the derivation of the Egyptian Rameses from the “Celtic” _raromeireas_, “gasconading.” The author, however, cannot claim to be _facile princeps_ of the year in the matter of bad etymologizing. A certain Mr. Boult has printed two papers, read before the Literary and Philosophical Society of Liverpool, in which, among other novel statements, he informs us that _city_ is derived from the “Celtic” _sigh-tigh_ or “peace-house;” _count_ from _co-meas_, “united assessment,” _alderman_ from _all-dor-meann_, “chief of the great door,” and _custom_ from _cur-do-meas_, “rent of assessment.” It is needless to observe that “Celtic” with both writers means the decayed forms of an Irish dictionary.

[13] “Whitney’s Sprachwissenschaft,” p. 660.

[14] “De Vulg. El.” I. xii. p. 46, cxvi. (ed. Fraticelli, 1833).

[15] Ed. Jebb (1733), pp. 44-56. We may notice that Bacon in this part of his book (p. 44) draws attention to the existence of the French (“Gallicorum”), Picard, Norman, and Burgundian dialects in France, which differ from one another in many idioms and uses of words.

[16] Edited by Graesse (1850).

[17] See Thurot: “Extraits de divers Manuscrits latins pour servir à l’histoire des Doctrines grammaticales au Moyen Age” (1869).

[18] “Histoire des Langues sémitiques,” p. 272.

[19] Thus Voss derives νεός from the Hebrew particle _nâ_, “now.”

[20] See second edition of first collection of “Fragmente zur deutschen Literatur” (1768).

[21] See Pott: “W. von Humboldt’s Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues” (1876), I. p. cciv.

[22] On this book of Bernhardi’s was founded Reinbeck’s “Handbuch der Sprachwissenschaft, mit besonderer Hinsicht auf die Deutsche Sprache” (1815)—intended for school use.

[23] “Lettere,” p. 415 _sq._ (Florence, 1855.)

[24] Max Müller: “Lectures,” p. 155.

[25] “Works, with Life,” by Lord Teignmouth (1807), iii. p. 34.

[26] The second edition of his work on Language, in six vols., “with large additions and corrections,” was published in 1774.

[27] Quoted by Max Müller: “Lectures,” i. p. 150.

[28] “Ueber die Verwandtschaft der malayisch-polynesischen Sprachen mit den indisch-europäischen” (1841).

[29] “Die kaukasischen Glieder des indo-europäischen Sprachstammes,” 1847.

[30] See the Edition of Pott, published in two volumes in 1876.

[31] Beginning in 1859.

[32] A new edition has just been brought out (1878), with a valuable appendix, by Scheler.

[33] “Observations sur la langue et la littérature provençales,” p. 14.

[34] “Charakteristik der hauptsächlichsten Typen des Sprachbaues,” pp. 20-75. Steinthal’s criticism is criticized in turn by Pott in his edition of Humboldt’s essay, “Ueber die Verschiedenheiten des menschlichen Sprachbaues” (1876).

[35] Edited by Steinthal (1856).

[36] Translated into French by F. de Wegmann (1859).

[37] “Die Darwinische Theorie und die Sprachwissenschaft,” 1863 (translated into French in the first part of the “Collection Philologique,” 1868, and into English by Bikkers, 1869); “Ueber die Bedeutung der Sprache für die Naturgeschichte des Menschen” (1865), and “Die Deutsche Sprache” (second edition, 1869).

[38] Translated into English by Keane for the “Library of Contemporary Science” (1877).

[39] “Essai sur la Langue Poul” in the “Revue de Linguistique” (Jan. et Avr. 1875).

[40] “Ursprung der Sprache,” with a preface by Häckel. Translated by T. Davidson (1869).

[41] “Ursprung und Entwickelung der menschlichen Sprache und Vernunft” (1869).

[42] See also Benfey’s article, “Einige Worte über den Ursprung der Sprache,” in the “Nachrichten von der k. Gesellschaft der Wissensch. zu Göttingen,” Jan. 30, 1878. Benfey here points out that just as we share a capacity of walking with the lower animals, so also do we share with them a capacity for communicating with one another by the help of a language of some sort. And he remarks pertinently that it was not harder for the first men to understand the meaning of what was said to them than it is for domestic animals nowadays to learn the meaning of the words and phrases we use in speaking to them or giving them orders.

[43] “Der Ursprung der Sprache” (1877).

[44] See his “Vergleichende Grammatik der indo-germanischen Sprachen” (1873), I. Appendix, pp. 56-98.

[45] “Agglutination oder Adaptation” (1873).

[46] “Mémoires de la Société de Linguistique de Paris,” ii. 5.

[47] “Anthropologie der Naturvölker,” i. p. 272.

[48] “Grundriss der Sprachwissenschaft,” I. i. p. 49 (1876).

[49] “City of the Saints,” p. 151.

[50] “Trans. Eth. Soc.” (1869), i. p. 283.

[51] “Expedition to the Rocky Mountains,” iii. p. 52.

[52] Sayce: “Principles of Comparative Philology” (second edition), p. 26.

[53] “De l’Esprit,” i. p. 2. Aristotle attacks Anaxagoras for holding διὰ τὸ χεῖρας ἔχειν, φρονιμώτατον εἶναι τῶν ζώων τὸν ἄνθρωπον (“De Part. Animal.,” iv. 10).

[54] “Festus,” p. 28.

[55] II. 405, ed. Burm.

[56] Max Müller: “Lectures,” ii. p. 179 (8th edition).

[57] Whitney: “Life and Growth of Language,” p. 120.

[58] See I. Disraeli: “Curiosities of Literature,” vol. iii. pp. 79, 80.

[59] Milligan: “Vocabulary of the Dialects of some of the Aboriginal Tribes of Tasmania,” p. 34.

[60] See Mr. Hartshorne’s Paper read before the British Association (1875).

[61] “Tropical South Africa,” p. 132.

[62] “Journal of the Anthropological Institute,” vi. 2 (Oct, 1876), p. 119.

[63] A “pig” is called _poro-poro_, and the act of “eating” _nam-nam_. We must remember, however, that just as a nurse will speak to a child in nursery-language, so a savage on being asked the name of an object may have recourse to onomatopœia, instead of giving the real native word.

[64] Plato termed it ἀπείκασμα (“Krat.,” 402 D, 420 C.).

[65] On the whole subject of the onomatopœic origin of words, see (but with caution) Wedgwood’s introduction to his “Dictionary of English Etymology” (first edition, 1859), and Farrar: “Chapters on Language,” and “Origin of Language” (1860), ch. iv. Compare Buschmann in the “Abhandlungen der k. Akademie der Wissenschaft zu Berlin” (1852).

[66] See page 82.

[67] Latin _et_, Greek ἔτι, Zend _aiti_, Sanskrit _ati_, are referred by Weber (“Indische Studien,” ii. p. 406) to the root _at_, “to go.”

[68] As in Chaucer: “Knight’s Tale,” 2488:—“But by the cause that they sholde ryse.”

[69] See “A Comparative Vocabulary of the Barma, Malayu, and T’hai Languages,” published at Serampore in 1810. A Siamese compound like _lúk-mai_, “fruit,” literally, “son of wood,” is an exact equivalent of the Hebrew “son of Belial” for “sinner,” or “master of hair” for “hairy.”

[70] Steinthal: “Charakteristik der hauptsächlichsten Typen des Sprachbaues,” pp. 165, 171, 173.

[71] See Du Ponceau: “Langues d’Amérique,” pp. 120, 200, 234, 236, 237.

[72] Pickering: “Indian Languages,” p. 26.

[73] Part iii. (1853), pp. 420-445.

[74] See Latham in the “Proceedings of the Philological Society,” vol. vi. (1852-3), p. 85; and in the “Transactions of the Philological Society” for 1856, pp. 40, 41.

[75] “Charakteristik,” &c., p. 113.

[76] This order of the pronouns was a later innovation in the language, and seems due to Semitic influence. In the older period of the speech the form was _rû-n-mu_ or _rû-mu-n_.

[77] Suetonius: “De illustr. Gramm.,” 22. “M. Pomponius Marcellus ... quum ex oratione Tiberium reprehendisset, affirmante Ateio Capitone, ‘et esse illud Latinum, et, si non esset, futurum certe jam inde;’ ‘Mentitur,’ inquit, ‘Capito. Tu enim, Cæsar, civitatem dare potes hominibus, verbo non potes.’”

[78] Sir John Stoddart: “Universal Grammar, or the Pure Science of Language,” 2nd edition, 1852.

[79] By French writers.

[80] As by Schleicher.

[81] As by Ascoli.

[82] In A. J. Ellis: “Early English Pronunciation,” pp. 1293-1307, 1352-1357.

[83] Humboldt’s “Travels,” Engl. Tr., i. p. 322.

[84] Compare A. Erman: “Journey round the Earth through North Asia,” iii. § 1, p. 191.

[85] P. 159.

[86] v. p. 774.

[87] “Travels,” Engl. Tr., i. p. 310.

[88] So in Japan the learned class has introduced the Chinese characters under the name of Koyé or Won, and with them the Chinese pronunciation and order of words. In Koyé (that is to say in Chinese) the particles come first, then the verb, and, lastly, the case. The reverse is the case in Japanese, or when the characters are read as Yomi, that is, as ideographs standing for Japanese words. Thus, the Koyé “sed non videbo hodie illum” would have to be read in Yomi, “illum videbo hodie non sed.”

[89] Sayce: “Journal R. A. S.” x. 2 (1878).

[90] “Arische Studien,” i. 2, pp. 45-61.

[91] De Charencey in the “Revue de Linguistique” (1873), i. 1, p. 57.

[92] “Ein Problem der Homerischen Textkritik” (1876), p. 95. Pott (“Wilhelm v. Humboldt ueber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues,” i. p. 15) suggests that the change of the Latin demonstrative into the article of the Romance languages was due to Teutonic influences.

[93] Sayce: “Lectures upon the Assyrian Grammar and Syllabary,” pp. 61, 62, “Journal R. A. S.,” x. 2, pp. 251, 252 (1878).

[94] _E.g._ θῠω in Od. 260, Theok. iv. 21; Aristophanes and the Attic poets preserve the long vowel.

[95] Hackländer: “Ein Winter in Spanien” (Werke xxii.), ii. 78.

[96] N. H., iii. 20, 24.

[97] Schott: “Abh. der Berlin. Akad.” (1865), p. 440.

[98] Deffner: “Neogræca” in Curtius’ “Studien,” iv. 2, p. 307.

[99] Burton: “Etruscan Bologna,” p. 246.

[100] Karl Verner in Kuhn’s “Zeitschrift,” xxiii. (New Series, iii. 2.)

[101] For Greek synonyms, see Trench: “Synonyms of the New Testament” (1865).

[102] Apud Priscian. vii. 345.

[103] “Mémoires de la Société de Linguistique de Paris,” ii. 5.

[104] V. _a_ 24, _sve mestru karu fratru_ = “si major pars fratrum.”

[105] On the other hand, the Asiatic members of the family have certainly lost the distinction that existed in the parent speech between the vowels represented in the European members by _ă_, _ĕ_, and _ŏ_, so that the differentiation of the root _ar_ may have been earlier than the period of Aryan separation. In the Finnic group roots are similarly differentiated by a modification of the vowel, _kah-isen_, _koh-isen_, and _kuh-isen_, for instance, being “to hit” or “stamp,” _käh-isen_ and _köh-isen_, “to roar,” _keh-isen_ and _kih-isen_, “to boil.”

[106] This happy term was the invention of Professor Max Müller.

[107] Mill: “System of Logic,” ii. p. 240.

[108] Grimm’s “Law: a Study” (1876).

[109] Böhtlingk: “Ueber die Sprache der Jakuten,” p. 168.

[110] “Introduction to the Study of the Chinese Characters” (1876).

[111] “De Div.” ii. 40, 84.

[112] Gallatin: “Synopsis of the Indian Tribes of North America,” in the “Archæologia Americana,” ii.

[113] “Die Melanesischen Sprachen” (1873), p. 4. According to Meyer (“Sitzungsberichte d. Oesterr. Akademie,” 1874, p. 301), “Riedel has made us acquainted with twenty-three dialects in some parts only of North Celebes, and the number of dialects in the whole island can only be estimated at hundreds.... But in New Guinea this dialectical variety is very much greater and more thorough-going, since there the very foundations of a state have not yet begun to be laid.”

[114] “Travels” (English translation), i. 298.

[115] Gibbon: “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” (ed. Milman and Smith), vii. p. 387. Dr. Deffner, however, asserts that there never was a tithe of that number of dialects in the country.

[116] Prince Lucien Bonaparte reckons that there are 660,000 Basques in Spain and 140,000 in France.

[117] Sayce: “Principles of Comparative Philology” (2nd edition), p. 87.

[118] The progress of cuneiform research has shown that a similar woman’s dialect existed among the Accadians, and “a woman’s language” is also said to exist in Bengal.

[119] “United States Exploring Expedition,” vii. 290.

[120] “Natal Colonist,” Sept. 3rd, 1875. Mr. Theal says (“The Cape Monthly Magazine,” June, 1877, p. 349): “A woman, who sang the song of ‘Tangalimlibo’ for me, used the word _angoca_, instead of _amanzi_, for ‘water,’ because this last contained the syllable _nzi_, which she would not on any account pronounce. She had, therefore, manufactured another word, the meaning of which had to be judged by the context, as, standing alone, it is meaningless.” This is a good instance of the way in which a savage dialect may grow up.

[121] Waitz, iii. 477.

[122] _Mi_ took the place of _o_ in old Japanese, hence the title of the _Mi-kado_, or “high Gate” (Grande Porte).

[123] See Hoffmann: “Japanese Grammar,” pp. 72 _sq._ and § 111-120.

[124] Endlicher: “Chinesische Grammatik,” pp. 258 _sq._

[125] Pott: Humboldt’s “Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues,” i. p. 395.

[126] Max Müller: “Lectures,” i. p. 56.

[127] “On the best Method of Studying the American Languages,” p. 11.

[128] P. 152 (4th edition).

[129] Andree: “Wendische Wanderstudien” (1874).

[130] Appendix to Mielcke’s edition of Ruhig’s “Wörterbuch.”

[131] “Pasigraphical Dictionary and Grammar” (1871). Galliani’s “Dictionnaire télégraphique, économique, et secret” contains 15,576 groups of only three letters, each of which expresses a word or a whole sentence.

[132] “Lectures on the Science of Religion,” pp. 161, 154.

[133] Bréal: “La Langue Indo-Européenne,” in his “Mélanges de Philologie Comparée” (1878).

[134] “History of the European Languages,” pp. 31, 32. The following are the significations assigned to these nine rudiments of speech:—

“I. To strike or move with swift, equable, penetrating or sharp effect was AG! AG!

If the motion was less sudden, but of the same species, WAG.

If made with force and a great effort, HWAG.

These are varieties of one word, originally used to mark the motion
of fire, water, wind, darts.

“II. To strike with a quick, vigorous, impelling force, BAG or BWAG, of which FAG and PAG are softer varieties.

“III. To strike with a harsh, violent, strong blow, DWAG, of which THWAG and TWAG are varieties.

“IV. To move or strike with a quick, tottering, unequal impulse, GWAG or CWAG.

“V. To strike with a pliant slap, LAG and HLAG.

“VI. To press by strong force or impulse so as to condense, bruise, or compel, MAG.

“VII. To strike with a crushing, destroying power, NAG and HNAG.

“VIII. To strike with a strong, rude, sharp, penetrating power, RAG or HRAG.

“IX. To move with a weighty strong impulse, SWAG.”

[135] _Cfer._ Wullschlaegel: “Kurzgefasste Neger-Englische Grammatik” (1854), and “Deutsch-Neger-Englisches Wörterbuch, nebst einem Anhang Neger-Englische Sprüchwörter enthaltend” (1856).

[136] Helmholtz: “Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen,” 3rd edition (1870).

[137] Speaking accurately a musical note is a tone only in so far as its quality or timbre is taken account of.

[138] The fact can easily be tested by Captain Galton’s whistle. According to some authorities, however, it requires less than eight and more than 24,000 vibrations per second, to produce no effect upon the auditory nerve.

[139] “Lectures,” ii. 8th edition (1875), p. 111.

[140] Helmholtz: “Die Lehre,” &c., p. 143.

[141] Serpents have no voice in the proper sense of the word, as they have no vocal chords; the hissing sounds they produce being caused by a mere forcible breathing through a soft glottis.

[142] That is, “U-shaped bone.”

[143] Of course, if an opening is made in the trachea, voice is impossible unless it is closed, and division or injury of the laryngeal nerves will equally destroy voice by paralyzing the muscles of the vocal chords.

[144] In men the average length is about eleven lines.

[145] Faidherbe: “Essai sur la Langue Poul,” in the “Revue de Linguistique,” January and April, 1875.

[146] Bleek: “A brief Account of Bushman Folklore, and other Texts,” p. 6. “A most curious feature in Bushman folklore is formed by the speeches of various animals, recited in modes of pronouncing Bushman, said to be peculiar to the animals in whose mouths they are placed. It is a remarkable attempt to imitate the shape or position of the mouth of the kind of animal to be represented. Among the Bushman sounds which are hereby affected, and often entirely commuted, are principally the clicks. These are either converted into other consonants, as into labials (in the language of the Tortoise), or into palatals and compound dentals and sibilants (as in the language of the Ichneumon), or into clicks otherwise unknown in Bushman (as far as our present experience goes), as in the language of the Jackal, who is introduced as making use of a strange labial click, which bears to the ordinary labial click a relation in sound similar to that which the palatal click bears to the cerebral click. Again, the Moon—and it seems also the Hare and the Anteater—substitute a most unpronounceable click in place of all others, excepting the lip click. Another animal, the Blue Crane, differs in its speech from the ordinary Bushman, mainly by the insertion of a _tt_ at the end of the first syllable of almost every word.”

[147] “Lectures,” ii. p. 141 (8th edition).

[148] Max Müller: “A Sanskrit Grammar for Beginners,” 2nd edition, p. 23, _note_. See Mr. Ellis’s examination of the “Rules of the Indian Phonologists,” as given by Whitney (“Atharva-Vêda Prâtiçâkhya”), in “Early English Pronunciation,” pt. 4, pp. 1336-1338.

[149] See Sievers: “Grundzüge d. Lautphysiologie” (1876), p. 19. This explanation of the causes of this difference between the two kinds of voice (true and falsetto) is due to the observations of Garcia. Various theories had previously been put forward to account for it. J. Müller thought that in producing chest notes, the whole breadth of the vocal chords vibrated, only their thin inner margins in producing falsetto notes. Mayo and Magendie held that the falsetto notes are produced by the vibrations of only one-half the length of the vocal chords, when the glottis is partially closed; G. Weber that they are due to the vibration of the chords in segments, separated by nodal points, so that harmonics of the fundamental note are formed. Pétrequin and Diday maintained that they are produced by the vibration of the air itself in the glottis, without any movement on the part of the vocal chords, while Wheatstone thought that they are formed by the division of the air in the trachea into harmonic lengths, the tone produced by the vocal chords being thus reciprocated, since, besides vibrating by reciprocation with a sonorous body, the vibrations of which are isochronous with its own, a column of air may also vibrate by reciprocation in its several lengths, the number of its vibrations being in this case a multiple of those of the sonorous body.

[150] “Lectures,” ii. p. 128 (8th edition).

[151] Bindseil: “Abhandlungen zur allgemeinen vergleichenden Sprachlehre,” p. 212 (1838), quoted by Max Müller: “Lectures,” ii. p. 136.

[152] For the difference between these two sounds, see Sweet: “Handbook of Phonetics,” § 14, p. 9.

[153] “Grundzüge d. Lautphysiologie,” p. 46 (1876).

[154] “Lectures,” ii. p. 133.

[155] “Grundzüge d. Physiologie u. Systematik d. Sprachlaute,” p. 16 (1856).

[156] “Wiener Sitzungsberichte,” lii. 2, pp. 623 sq.

[157] “Grundzüge der Lautphysiologie,” p. 88 (1876).

[158] Sievers, _loc. cit._ p. 50.

[159] Haldeman in the “Proceedings of the American Oriental Society,” 1874, p. xlv. According to Professor Rhys the Welsh _ll_ has resulted from the meeting of two _l_’s, each sounded independently up to the ninth century. Like the Welsh pronunciation of _dd_, the pronunciation of _ll_ may have been originally borrowed from English.

[160] Mr. Sweet has proved that the pronunciation of these two Anglo-Saxon letters was originally the same, but it would be convenient to use them to distinguish the different sounds of the modern English _th_.

[161] Hübschmann: “Z. d. D. M. G.” xxx. pp. 53, 57.

[162] That is, the guttural sonant in question.

[163] As in _nach_.

[164] This is the guttural sonant in question.

[165] “Die Kerenzer Mundart,” p. 5.

[166] Bleek: “Comparative Grammar of South African Languages,” pp. 12-15. The lateral click is sounded by the Kafirs, as by Europeans, by placing the tongue against the side-teeth, and then withdrawing it, whereas the Nama Hottentots produce it as far back as possible, covering the whole of the palate with the tongue. The palatal click of the Hottentots, which is very difficult to imitate, seems to be found in one or two Kafir words. The clicks, it must be noted, only occur in the Kafir dialects adjoining the Hottentots, and the Kafir clicks “are only found in the place of other consonants, and are used like consonants at the beginning of syllables, whilst in Hottentot a guttural explosive consonant (_k_, _kh_, or _g_), the faucal spirant _h_ and the nasal _n_, can be immediately preceded by a click, and form together with it the initial element of the syllables.”

[167] See above, p. 243. The compound dental click is produced, according to Wuras, by pressing the air through the upper and lower teeth, which stand slightly apart. Dr. Bleek says that “the Bushman word for ‘to sleep’ seems to be _ǀphkoĩnyé_, beginning with a combination of dental click, aspirated labial and guttural tenuis in which three letters are sounded together.”

[168] Ellis: “Early Engl. Pron.” p. 1349.

[169] Professor Mahaffy notices that “old women among us express pity by a regular palatal click.”

[170] Sievers holds that our _th_ (as in _the_) is sometimes “reduced” to a glide (“Grundzüge,” p. 91).

[171] “The Japanese _ṛ_,” says Mr. Sweet, “seems to be formed by first bringing the tip of the tongue against the gums without any emission of breath, and then passing on to an untrilled _r_, allowing voiced breath to pass at the moment of removing the tongue.” The sound has been mistaken for _r_, _l_, or even _d_, and as it is substituted for all foreign _l_’s and _r_’s, the Japanese tendency to change _l_ into _r_ has been contrasted with the Chinese tendency to change _r_ into _l_. It is possible that the Old Egyptian possessed the same curious sound.

[172] The compound tone in Swedish, according to Mr. Sweet, “only occurs in words of more than one syllable,” and “consists of a falling tone on the first (the accented syllable), followed by a high tone on the next. The high tone seems to be reached by a jump rather than by a glide. The compound is, therefore, a compound rise distributed over two syllables.” The other Swedish accent, the simple tone, is the negative of the compound one, and answers to the “glottal catch” or _stöd tone_ of Danish.

[173] See Wackernagel in Kuhn’s “Zeitschrift,” 23 (1877).

[174] See Sayce in “Journal of Royal Asiatic Society,” x. 2 (1878), pp. 251, 252.

[175] Sweet: “Handbook,” p. 35.

[176] “Kerenzer Mundart,” pp. 142 sq.

[177] Sweet: “Handbook,” pp. 59, 60.

[178] In many instances, however, _guṇa_ and _vṛiddhi_ seem to be due to the presence of the vowel _a_ in the following syllable, which has been anticipated, as in the case of the German _umlaut_ or the Greek epenthesis (as in λόγοις for the locative λόγο-σι, and then, by false analogy, λόγοισι).

[179] The existence of these velar gutturals was first pointed out by Ascoli, and since by Fick and Havet.

[180] Diez: “Grammatik d. romanisch. Spr.” (2nd edition), i. 248, 254.

[181] “Comparative Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon Language” (1870), p. 28.

[182] See Robin and Verdeil: “Chimie anatomique,” ii. p. 44.

[183] Appendix to Greenwell’s “British Barrows” (1877), p. 645.

[184] Daa: “On the Languages of the Northern Tribes of the Old and New Continents,” in the “Transactions of the Philological Society” (1856), p. 256.

[185] “Sir George Grey’s Library,” i. p. 167; and A. Kaufmann: “Das Gebiet des weissen Flusses und dessen Bewohner” (1861), quoted by Max Müller: “Lectures,” 8th edition, ii. p. 178.

[186] See, however, Ascoli’s ingenious attempt to remove the phonological difficulties in his “Studj Critici,” ii. (1877), pp. 386-396.

[187] For a recent English examination of the subject see Douse: “Grimm’s Law: a Study” (1876), and Rhŷs’s review in the “Academy,” Jan. 12, 1878; also Murray and Nicol in the “Academy,” Feb. 23, March 2 and 16, 1878.

[188] The table of consonants is taken from Rhŷs: “Lectures on Welsh Philology,” p. 17.

[189] Before υ.

[190] In the middle of a word, _e.g._ _ruber_ (ἐρυθρός).

[191] _P_ did not exist in the early Keltic languages; hence proper names like _Menapia_ must be treated as non-Aryan, or at all events as non-Keltic.

[192] Pratt: “Grammar and Dictionary of the Samoan Language” (edited by Whitmee), p. 1, 1878.

[193] To Brugman belongs the credit of first demonstrating the existence of these three distinct vowel-sounds in the Parent-Aryan (Kuhn’s “Zeitschrift,” 1877). Brugman has been criticized by Collitz in Bezzenberger’s “Beiträge zur Kunde der indogermanischen Sprachen,” ii. 4 (1878), who maintains that the three primitive sounds were really _ĕ_, _ŏ_, _ă_, and not the indeterminate _a_¹, _a_², _a_³. On the other hand, an able article by De Saussure in the “Mémoires de la Société de Linguistique de Paris,” iii. 5 (1878), accepts Brugman’s nomenclature, while criticizing and modifying some of his conclusions. His _a_, Brugman’s _a_¹, became _e_ in West Aryan, and is never weakened into _i_ or _u_ in Sanskrit. His _a_² (also Brugman’s) is the West Aryan _o_², and in Sanskrit is lengthened in an open syllable (_e.g._ _jajâna_ = γέγονε). In Latin _ŏ_ often became _ĕ_, as in _genu_ (Greek γόνυ, Sansk. _jânu_). Different from this _o_² is another _o_¹, standing in the same relation to a that _o_² does in Latin to _e_, and answering to a Sanskrit _i_ or _î_. Besides this short _o_¹ is also a long _ō_, which appears also as _ā_, and corresponds with Sansk. _â_. De Saussure further points out that velar _k_ in Sanskrit is palatalized (becomes _ch_) when followed by _a_ (= _ĕ_) and _a_² (= _ŏ_).

[194] “Lectures,” ii. pp. 184 _sq._ (8th edition).

[195] “The Polynesian,” October, 1862.

[196] Agnel: “Observations sur la Prononciation et le Langage rustique des environs de Paris,” pp. 11, 28; Terrien Poncel: “Du Langage,” p. 49.

[197] “Sir George Grey’s Library,” i. p. 135. Professor Mahaffy informs us of a child of three years of age who invariably substitutes _n_ for _l_, and cannot be made to feel the difference between them.

[198] Sievers: “Lautphysiologie,” p. 127.

[199] Kuhn’s “Zeitschrift,” xxiii. pp. 97-130 (1877).

[200] The termination of the participles of German weak verbs, such as the Goth. _tami-da_ (“domitus”), answers to the Vedic _dami-tás_ (like the Greek κλυτός) where the accent is oxytone. Verner sums up his conclusions as follows: (1) The original accentuation was preserved in Teutonic even after the introduction of those changes of sound characteristic of the Teutonic branch of the Aryan family; (2) the accent, however, was no longer purely tonic, it had become also an accent of stress; (3) the exceptional representation of an Aryan _k_, _t_, and _p_ at the beginning of a syllable by a Teutonic _g_, _d_, _b_ is due to the original accentuation of the words in which it occurs; and (4) this is also the case with _z_ or _r_ in the place of _s_.

[201] Sanskrit _jîv_, Latin _vivo_ (_vixi_), English _quick_, presupposing an original reduplicated _qwi-gwi_.

[202] “Lautphysiologie,” p. 137.

[203] “Jenaer Literaturzeitung” (1874), p. 767; quoted by Sievers.

[204] “Zur Geschichte des indogermanischen Vocalismus,” ii.