to honour the sacred words which appeared for ever banished from the teaching of philosophy?" M. Renan declares that the great French philosopher, unlike the recluse Descartes, Leibnitz, and Spinoza, has identified himself with the age in which he lives. On the other hand he admits, that Cousin, with his love for a clear and classic style, has sometimes fallen into the error of preferring a lucid error to an obscure truth. We leave this volume without touching upon one of the longest essays contained in it-that on De Lamennais. We hope, before long, to devote an entire article to the life of this great though erring

man.

The Essai de l'Origine du Langage contains much thought in a few words. In his second chapter M. Renan combats the notion as anthropomorphic, that a voice from heaven dictated to Adam names of things: he holds that the revelation of language signifies the spontaneous play of the faculties bestowed by God; in other words, that God has given man all that is necessary for inventing language-the capacity of language, in short, but has not revealed individual words. In the same way we find the capacity of seeing is divinely bestowed, but no direct interposition of the Creator is needed in each separate act of vision. It is noticeable that in the oldest languages words commonly have a physical origin; thus, Anger was expressed by quickness of breathing, by heat, by groaning or foaming; Despair was represented by words which signified internal melting, dissolving of the hearts and veins; Pride by elevation of the head; Patience by length, &c. We must not, however, expect to trace this onomatopaia in all cases; the Ancients, living out of doors, noticed so many more phenomena in nature than we discover who are brought up in cities. For this reason languages, otherwise poor, like the Arabian, are very rich in synonyms for external objects; in the Arabian itself we find 500 words to express lion; 200 to denote serpent; 1000 for sword; and the incredible number of 5744 words to signify camel. This faculty of interpretation, the power of discriminating delicate relationships, was far greater in primeval times than in our own. No longer having need of inventing language, our powers of observation are not so frequently called into

exercise, just in the same way as the grown man sees far less of surrounding objects than the child whose nomenclature is limited. Caprice has had no part in the formation of language; the cause may have been forgotten while the effect remains; the analogies are often too subtle for permanent tradition; and in many cases local history, or even domestic incidents, may have given rise to forms of expression that now seem to us purely arbitrary. This cause is clearly seen in operation whenever an invading army has encamped in a locality; within a few days every feature of the country has been learnt, and every point and pass, every peak and valley has received a name full of meaning to those who gave it, but utterly meaningless to a future generation. The antithesis between ancient and modern languages is exhibited in many interesting particulars. The ancients would express twenty ideas in one word, and varieties of relationship were denoted by varieties of inflection, as in the Chinese; the moderns use additional words, and the most highly developed language is that which adds prepositions to the noun and auxiliaries to the verb, instead of suffixing terminal syllables according to the laws of "case" and "mood." In olden times men spoke just as they pleased, and the same object was denoted by different words, often similar in root, though dissimilar in termination; these the grammarian has in despair grouped together into a class, which, something like the botanist's composita, is known as irregular; and thus he propounds the fiction that a word like yuvaixos is derived from yun. γυνη. Climate has had an immense influence upon language: the out-of-door Eastern shepherd, who was the worshipper of nature, neither invented nor required terms for expressing the abstract ideas of the modern German philosopher. Aristotle and Kant could not have written in the Semitic languages, nor could the book of Job have been written in Greek or German The Semites had no idea of subordinating one part of a sentence to another: they juxtapose words, but do not cause them to succeed. Eloquence with them was only a string of images; oratory was unknown.

γυναικός

After elaborating the contrast with great force, M. Renan goes on to say, that in one sense all languages and races spring

from one source-i. e., man is fundamentally the same in all parts of the world; but language has not strictly one single origin. It was produced at several points at once; these points have, perhaps, nearly approached, and the appearances have been nearly simultaneous, but certainly they were distinct, and the principle of the old school, that all languages are dialects of only one, must be abandoned for ever. Difference of language, however, does not involve difference of race. It is possible that a single race divided itself at the beginning into different families, each of whom formed its own language distinct and apart. Certainly there are many languages which have no connection with each other; the Greek may be derived from the Sanskrit, however little apparent similarity there may be; but there is no possibility of tracing the Indo-germanic languages to the Semitic.

If any future proof were wanted of the progress that has been made in the right direction by the modern French essayist, we need only point to another great achievement of that writer, whom we have, throughout these remarks, considered as the type of his class. M. Renan's translation of the book of Job is undoubtedly one of the most valuable contributions to biblical literature which the century has produced. It is at once bold and reverential; it proceeds on the true inductive plan of finding out the real meaning of a language often obscure; and thus, though sometimes wounding narrow prejudices, and overturning unfounded suppositions, brings to light beauties never before revealed to the English reader. Here, as in all cases, truth is better than fiction; the words of the inspired penman better than the interpretations of not very wise translators. This traduction is the highest testimony we can have, that the best of all books is valued by our neighbours in a way that it has not been for centuries; in a way that leads the foremost minds of France to devote years of living study to its sacred pages.

We may boldly say, so long as France possesses writers so wise and so independent as M. Ernest Renan, there is no fear that even an oppressive despotism will injure her in any vital part. Napoleon may forbid the press to discuss contemporaneous politics; but there are other matters of enduring impor

tance which France, more happy than Austria, and until lately Italy, is at full liberty to examine. Political restrictions may be irksome, and even hurtful; but, so long as religious freedom is maintained, they are not fatal.

History of the United Netherlands

from the Death of William the Silent to the Synod of Dort. With a With a full View of the English-Dutch Struggle against Spain, and of the Origin and Destruction of the Spanish Armada. By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., Author of The Rise of the Dutch Republic. London: Murray.

ONE

NE of the greatest evils which accompanies that unquestionable good-namely, the increase of general reading, is this: that it, to a great extent, places the award of literary merit in the hands of an inferior class. Do what we will, it is impossible to evade this result. We can neither keep the general reader off the judgment-seat altogether, nor yet qualify him for the post. Like the House of Commons, he is master of the money-bag, and there are few writers who stand above the necessity of pleasing him; fewer still, perhaps, whose vanity would permit them to neglect him, even if their poverty consented. Hence it is, that what we call elegance of taste is becoming daily a less powerful factor in the determination of literary questions. The general public cannot afford to spend that amount of time upon their education which is necessary to the formation of taste; yet they, as we have said, are our supreme literary tribunal. While even the minority of educated men, who might to some extent qualify the ill results of this literary empiricism, are themselves beginning to pay less attention to purely intellectual culture, and to abandon their rightful control over the development of our national literature.

On no other hypothesis is it intelligible, that Mr. Motley's "History of the Netherlands" should have been allowed to take

the place which it occupies, without provoking a single protest against the vices of style and method with which, unhappily, it abounds. The public appetite for what is new, odd, grotesque, or otherwise striking, is, we presume, sufficient to overpower the feebler perceptions of those to whom grace, symmetry, and dignity are still preferable qualities. We have no doubt of Mr. Motley's general ability; we admire the breadth of his views, and the curiosity of his research; but we regret, all the more on that account, that he should have added another to the list of great writers, who, yielding to the temptation of hearing themselves described as graphic, forcible, and picturesque, have only succeeded in becoming uncouth, affected, or bombastic; and have sacrificed simplicity of style without obtaining in return either strength or brilliancy.

We are far from asserting that the influence of either Macaulay or Carlyle upon historical composition has been wholly bad. On the contrary, they have given to the historical reader what may fairly be called a new sense. They have taught him to appreciate the dramatic element of history more fully than he ever did before; and, in doing so, have conferred on him a benefit for which it is impossible he should be too grateful. But both have sacrificed, to the attainment of this object, qualities which no kind of composition can spare so ill as historical. Purity of style, chastity of diction, and moral weight, have been lost by Lord Macaulay; while of Mr. Carlyle's deficiencies the name is legion. Respect for his readers and for his native language, the subordination of parts and uniformity of texture, have alike been thrown away for the sake of extravagant effects. The dramatic excellence of both is purchased, therefore, at a dear price. But what are we to say about the writer who pays the price, and yet does not get the article?

Such, we are sorry to assert, is the case with Mr. Motley. We are very well aware that we have no right to charge him with a deliberate imitation of any writer; and therefore we will only say, that he has in many instances sought to arrest our attention by the same kind of originality as that generally associated in the public mind with the name of Mr. Carlyle. More especially is it Mr. Carlyle's "Life of Frederick the Great," of which we are