liar kind. The verb-noun does not, indeed, assume its special verbal character till it is placed under certain relations of person, time, mode; it is then said to be finite, while in its substantive character it is called infinitive. In reality, however, the verb is always fundamentally substantive, the limitations under which it is placed being adjective to it. In English, and other analytical languages, these limitations are mostly indicated by separate words, which words, therefore, when the analysis of grammatical relations is carried to its ultimate point, may be conceived as adjective to the verb in its substantive character.

Again, the adjective is only the noun with a special function; it is the name of the particular accident of place, time or quality applied by way of limitation to the name of the substance; and the adjective-noun only then individuates itself as an adjective when it assumes certain endings or undergoes certain radical changes indicative of its adjective use.

The adverb is only the adjective used adjectively to a verb or another adjective, and is thus the noun at a second remove. In the speech of the uneducated, which often points back to the earlier stages of dialectic development, no grammatical peculiarity is more noticeable than the adverbial use of the adjective-a usage which was originally the regular one. The individuation of the adverb, as such, remained as a more advanced step in the refinement of speech.

As to pronouns, prepositions, and conjunctions, these lesser parts of speech either once were or still are adjective or adverbial in their use, and are all traceable with more or less readiness to verbal roots-to the noun, the name-word. Thus, all words, under whatever grammatical nomenclature they may fall, are philosophically identical in their nature-they are names. Comparative philology has also shown that all those suffixes which give special significance to words, or assign them special functions or relations, are traceable, directly or indirectly, to verbal roots. Language, then, is simply a collection of names.

Whether the noun distinctively as such, that is, as the name of concrete objects (objective noun, it may be called), or the

noun as the name of acts, of being, or states of being (which may be called the subjective noun) shall be considered prior in the order of development, is a point of philosophic interest, but one which we shall not pause to discuss. It may, however, be remarked that in language in its present state there are no nouns of objective meaning which have not leafed out, so to speak, from a verbal germ; the included verb may not always be known, but the analogy of similar formations will often point to its existence, and even perhaps reveal its form.

This fundamental identity in the parts of speech gives the clue to the most primitive modes by which words receive an extension of meaning. The same stock-word may branch out into a distinctively verbal, a substantive, an adjective, or an adverbial use, and individuate itself in each of these uses. But to this identity in the parts of speech is also due their reconvertibility-another important ground in the extension of the meaning of words. The skilful, practical botanist, taking advantage of the laws of plant-development, can transmute the various organs of the flower, one into another, the petal becoming stamen, the stamen petal. The genius of language does the like daily in its own sphere, verbs being made nouns or adjectives, nouns and adjectives becoming verbs, or assuming the functions the one of the other. The word round serves as a familiar illustration: "Round as an apple." "The round of the sky," "Our little life is rounded with a sleep," "The miller's wheel goes round and round," "Run round the corner." These phrases show the same word as an adjective, a noun, a verb, an adverb and a preposition. In actual usage there are, of course, limitations to this convertibility of the parts of speech, the custom of language restricting certain words to special functions. As a rule it may be said that no word can go back from its use as an adverb, preposition, pronoun or conjunction to its earlier uses as a noun, verb or adjective.

This evolution of the parts of speech from a common root is an induction from the facts of comparative grammar. We have now to point out the psychological basis upon which it rests as its ground of possibility. This basis consists in the

identity of the conditions of thought which underlie the parts of speech.

The verb, as such, is founded upon a fundamental recognition of force. The noun gives expression to a fundamental recognition of substance. The identity of the noun and the verb is based upon the identity of force and substance, force being conceivable only under the condition of substance, that is, as cause, and substance under the condition of force, that is, as effect. The adjective (including the adverb) is the recognition of the necessary limitations of force and substance in their identity; on the side of substance it represents quality, individuality, locality; on the side of force it represents degree, manner, time.

But to this principle of identity is due not only that grammatical extension of meaning which words undergo, but also those ramifications of word-meanings which may be classed under metaphor, applying this word not simply to the extraordinary or poetical uses of words, but to their ordinary acceptations.

Metaphorical extensions of word-meanings necessarily fall into the following classes: 1. Those resting upon the identity of force and substance, in consequence of which identity the name of a special force, an act, a process, may be transferred to the thing which especially manifests it, or through which it works; the cause to the effect; the act to the instrument, or the agent. Or the name of thing may be transferred to the force; the effect to the cause; the instrument or agent to the

act.

2. Those resting upon the identity of force and its limitations, in consequence of which identity the name of a special force may be given to a peculiar quality or phenomenal condition which is frequently and conspicuously found in connection with it. Or the quality or phenomenal condition may give name to the force.

3. Those resting upon the identity of substance and its limitations, in consequence of which identity the name of a thing may be transferred to the quality or property by which it is most prominently characterized; the name of the whole

to its most characteristic part. Or the name of the quality, property, or characteristic use may be transferred to the thing; the part to the whole. But there is still another important head under which metaphorical extensions of word-meanings may fall, that namely of

4. Analogy, which consists in an identity of relations. This is one of the most fertile sources of the development and enrichment of language. Take a single example. The primary meaning of the Latin legere is to pick up by hand, but when letters or other ideographic signs come into use, an analogy is discovered between the act of picking up and gathering by hand and that of picking up and gathering by the eye, the act is the same, only the instrument and the material differ; hence the word used in the one case, applies also in the other, and legere thus gets its metaphorical meaning, to read.

Thus far, however, we have pointed out no principle governing the development of words, which reaches beyond the plane of the senses, no principle which of itself supplies a psychological basis for the naming of supersensuous objects, such as truth, virtue, honor, thought.

Words have their beginning in sensuous perceptions; they are primarily the names of those things only of which the senses take cognizance. But if language did no more than this, it would as a means of communication fall miserably short of the needs of man, who would then have no names for those abstract ideas which give to human intercourse its intellectual and spiritual character. In order, then, to incorporate these in speech, it is necessary to draw from the fields of sense and to give to words which in themselves have only a natural significance a meaning which is supernatural. By virtue of what organizing principle is this accomplished?

How it is that man has supersensuous notions which are denied to other animals, is a metaphysical inquiry with which we have nothing to do, and we shall therefore content ourselves with saying, that by the constitution of his mind man can think or, in other words, conceive abstractly only through the intermediation of form. Without form all thought is void, an

indistinguishable blank. Now at the foundation of form is the intuition of space, to the necessary conditions of which all our simplest and most primitive conceptions immediately conform. Hence we image unity as a point in space, multiplicity by the repetition of points, totality by the circle or the sphere, the finite by bounded space, the infinite by the negation of bounds. In all our fundamental intellections we think geometrically, in mathematical forms, and so indissolubly is thought wedded to these forms, that very few recognize the truth that these are mere images of a transcendent reality.

But coeval with the intuition of space, and implied in the act of its cognition, is the intuition of time, and when to the contemporaneous cognition of space and time sensation supplies a third element, without which the two former are impossible, we reach the conception of motion. Hence we figure to ourselves the conceptions of succession, expansion, contraction, separation; which conceptions include the simultaneous cognition of space, time and motion. These three indissoluble elements thus form the mould in which all thought is cast. Nevertheless, before names can be given to supersensuous objects of thought, return must be made to the senses, and images must be drawn from the concrete, from the actual processes of nature. Thus to pure thought, to abstract ideas, two sets of images serve as the vehicle, or rather the body; first, those abstract images involved in our intuitions of space and time; second, those concrete images presented by the senses. In the genesis of mind these two sets of images are contemporaneous in origin; they are the two sides of the same images, and are mutually dependent, the one sensuous, the other intuitional. But from the sensuous side all nomenclature must necessarily be drawn. All words which give names. to objects of intellectual conception, indicate primarily objects or processes which the senses take cognizance of, and they are capable of transference to the higher supersensuous plane only, because these concrete objects or processes are fitted to serve as images of the purely intellectual objects.

It is evident that the extension of meaning which words derive from this source must be distinguished from those