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gone to be cured; but to protect the rising generation from like evils, which, let us add, have had no little to do in originating this dire rebellion, we would implore all, who are in positions of influence, to endeavor promptly to render the education of our youth of both sexes, henceforth, less showy and more sound; and, as a main means thereto, to give a high and prominent place to the study of PHILOLOGY andwe must add-of EUCLID.

Let us now pass on to view some of what we define as the "pleasures" of philology, in doing which we shall of course confine ourselves to our own language, and shall make free use of the works at the head of our article. And, first, it will be easy to show how much of beauty and of poetry may be embodied in a single word, but which, without the light of philology, would remain hidden from our gaze. "As the sun can image itself alike in the tiny dewdrop and in the mighty ocean, and as perfectly in the one as in the other, so the spirit of poetry can dwell in, and glorify alike, a word and an Iliad." Popular language especially abounds in it-in words used in an imaginative sense, words indicating not the reality, but the resemblance. Thus at Naples the fishermen commonly call the lesser storm-waves "pecore," or sheep, the larger "cavalloni," or horses; an image, whose truth is readily recognized by every one who has ever watched the billows rolling in their measured and alternate order upon the shores of that lovely bay. A good illustration of this poetry in words is given by one of the writers before us, though we can only present the substance of his remarks, in the word "tribulation." All know the general meaning of this word, "sorrow, affliction, anguish," but how it comes to mean this is less generally known. It is derived from the Latin word "tribulum," meaning the threshing instrument with which the Roman husbandmen separated the corn from the husks; and the primary meaning of "tribulatio" was the act of this separation. One of the Latin Fathers appropriated the word and image for the setting forth of a higher truth; and, since sorrow, distress and adversity were the means appointed for separating all that was light and trivial and poor in man, from the solid and the true—their chaff from their wheat-therefore he called these sorrows and trials "tribulations"-" threshings," that is, of the inner spiritual man, without which there could be no fitting him for the heavenly garner. As a proof that a single

word often not only contains poetry, but a whole concentrated poem in itself, may be quoted a beautiful composition by George Wither, which will be found to be throughout simply an expanding of the image and idea conveyed by this word "tribulation":

"Till from the straw the flail the corn doth beat,
Until the chaff be purged from the wheat,
Yea, till the mill the grains in pieces tear,
The richness of the flour will scarce appear.
So, till men's persons great afflictions touch,
If worth be found, their worth is not so much,
Because, like wheat in straw, they have not yet
That value which in threshing they may get.
For till the bruising flails of God's corrections
Have threshèd out of us our vain affections;
Till those corruptions, which do misbecome us,
Are by thy sacred Spirit winnowed from us;
Until from us the straw of worldly treasures,
Till all the dusty chaff of empty pleasures,
Yea, till His flail upon us He doth lay,
To thresh the husk of this our flesh away,
And leave the soul uncovered; nay, yet more,
Till God shall make our spirit very poor,
We shall not up to highest wealth aspire,
But then we shall, and that is my desire."

Coleridge has well observed that, "In order to get at the full meaning of a word, we should present to our mind the full visual image that forms its primary meaning." The striking truth and wisdom of this remark are aptly illustrated by the example just quoted, and we add, it is only by the study of philology that we can possibly follow out Coleridge's advice. Instances of this embodiment of poetry in words are of frequent occurrence in geographical names, as, for example, in many of the Indian names of places in this country, some of which breathe the very spirit of a beautiful, though simple, poetry; thus, take Florida-do we not acquire some other ideas respecting it, when we learn that it was originally so named by the Spanish adventurers, because it presented to their delighted eyes a rich and gorgeous prospect of a flower-bedecked garden, and so they named it the "Flower-land"? A like circumstance to that from which, as we learn from Fazio del Uberti, lovely Florence-destined in after ages to be the garden-birthplace of such flowers of song and art and science and enterprising intellect as Dante and Petrarch, and Boccaccio, Guic

ciardini, Galileo, and Michael Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Cellini, and Amerigo Vespucci-derived its name.

"Poichè era posta in un prato fiori,

Le donno il nome bello, onde s'ingloria."

There is a graphic poetry in the descriptive.name of the peninsula of Greece-" Morea"-the mulberry leaf, which, notwithstanding Fallmerayer's attempt to substitute a Slavonic root, is the true derivation; and in "Trinacria," "The Triangular Land," the classic name of Sicily, and in Dominica," as discovered on the Lord's Day, and in “Natal," from Natalis, because discovered on the "Natalis dies " of our Saviour-Christmas day.

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The poetry in the names of flowers has been so marked and abundant as to attract the attention of all persons of susceptibility and cultivated taste, nor can probably any better or more simple example be adduced than the name of the "daisy" that lovely and yet most modest little English flower, which has been the subject of the poet's song since English poetry has had an existence. The day's-eye was the original meaning of the name, as we learn from Chaucer:

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"That well by reason it men callen may

The daisie, or else the eye of day."

To the sun in the heavens, as Trench observes, this name, eye of day," was naturally first given; and those who transferred the title to our little field-flower meant, no doubt, to liken its inner yellow disc or shield to the great golden orb of the sun, and the white florets, which encircle this disc, to the rays which the sun spreads on all sides round him. What imagination was here, to suggest a comparison such as this, binding together, as this does, the smallest and the greatest! What a travelling of the poet's eye, with the power which is the privilege of that eye, from earth to heaven and from heaven to earth, and uniting both!

If we range every other department of nature and art, we shall not fail to find numerous instances of this wordembodied poetry. Thus, in natural history, the name of the camelopard, and the historical account we have of its having been given, not by the slow and artificial invention of the scientific naturalist, but by the spontaneous outburst of the Roman people's voice, when first, in the shows exhibited by Julius Cæsar, they beheld the graceful and stately giraffe,

combining, though with far greater grace, something of the height and proportions of the camel with the spotted skin of the pard; in Horace's words:

"Diversum confusa genus panthera camelo."

In mineralogy, the "topaz” may be adduced, taking its name, as Pliny tells us, from the verb τoлα2еiv, “to conjecture," because men were only able to conjecture the position of the cloud-concealed island from which it was brought; and the carbunculus-" the little live coal "-how expressive a name of the fiery red color of that precious stone to which it was applied!

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But, not to multiply examples, we may rest assured that the better acquainted we become with philology, the more readily shall we discover rich stores of gems of word-embodied poetry in every field of science, art, and nature. Have we not said, in however desultory a manner, more than enough prove that the study of philology is absolutely essential to an intelligent appreciation of all that is best and most beautiful in our language and literature; and that its cultivation is, in fact, a condition of true and sound æsthetic culture? Now, let us see whether it is not a valuable preserver and protector of moral truths and historic facts. A large portion of the last of the works in our heading is devoted to the former of these points, of the purport of which we shall, to some extent, avail ourselves. One of the first things that strikes any one who glances thoughtfully down the columns of a dictionary, is the large and various number of words he meets, indicative of human sin and human suffering. We are not about to enter into any of the theological inferences to be drawn from this. It is enough to say that, knowing what we do of human life, we know it must be so. And the great moral which these mighty word-facts should impress upon every observer of them is, not to be driven down into a deeper despair for himself and humanity, as though there were no help in God or man, but to remember that the former has been promised, in His own word—the word of Him who is the Truth-but that He expects man to do his part also, and that therefore the recalling of these unhappy facts, in the lessons of philology, should only be a fresh incentive to each to do his duty, and to endeavor, pro virili parte-"like a MAN”to alleviate these sins and sorrows of his fellow men, his

spirit being that of one of the most touching strains we remember:

"If I were a voice, a consoling voice,

I'd fly on the wings of air:

The homes of sorrow and guilt I'd seek,
And calm and truthful words I'd speak,
To save them from despair.

I would fly, I would fly o'er the crowded town,
And drop, like the happy sunlight, down

Into the hearts of suffering men,

And teach them to look up again!"

If men, or the majority of men, could only be brought to act in the true Christian spirit of these lines, and, especially, of the last, the "Worcester," or the "Webster," that should be published a hundred years hence would contain a vastly diminished number of these sin-and-sorrow words, or, at least, would have them marked as antiquated. The deterioration of words, though in a certain sense connected with the preceding point, is also interesting in a purely philological point of view. For example, the word "knave," which is with us a term of strong opprobrium, formerly only meant boy, or lad, and is, indeed, still the German knabe, but has gradually descended in meaning, first to servant-man, and so down to its present signification. Horne Tooke, indeed, derives this word from ne-haban, third person singular of the A. S. nabban, meaning "one who hath nothing," i. e., neither good nor bad qualities; but we dissent from his view. "Varlet," again (pace H. Tooke), originally meant only a serving-man, for his theory is by no means proved by the passage in Douglas, quoted by him :

"The bissy knapis and Verlotis of his stabil

About them stood."-
"—Douglas, b. xii., p. 409.

as any scholar, who compares the context, will easily perceive. In fact, we may here once for all remark that though "The Diversions of Purley" is a most interesting book, marked by great ingenuity, and which exercised a most healthy, stimulating influence on the study of English etymology at the time, it abounds in theories and etymologies which, however ingenious, will by no means stand the test of a stricter and truer philology; and yet every student of English ought to read the book, after he has become well grounded in the principles of the science. Once more: "officious," a word that now conveys so disagreeable an idea-for most

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