We have already alluded to an objection that is sometimes made against a purer standard of English. In the olden time our mother tongue was slandered as barbarous, and Sir Thomas More beat down the slander by calling it "all a fantasye," and continuing to write in it. It is now also darkly hinted that the pure English part of the language is, when weighed with its other half, wanting not a little in beauty. But the beauty of a language (we take it) is in having its sounds musical, and its words a speaking likeness of thought. For the latter, it will not be denied that our own language must ever be to us more expressive, more full of word painting, than any foreign one, and that, therefore, Saxon must so far forth be more beautiful than French, or Latin, or Greek; and as to the former, our greatest writers have always awarded to Saxon the praise of melody. We have already mentioned Robert Hall, and in the same strain George Chapman bursts forth. The verses are well known, but they will bear a repetition:- "And for our tong that still is so empayred And he did prove it, the whole volume is a living voucher. Most objections are like cats; they are very treacherous, always alight on their legs, see in the dark, and have nine lives; do what you like they come to life again, and it is almost sheer waste of time to attempt getting the better of them. Yet they must Yet they must be overthrown; and it now behooves us to sift the one only reason given for that on hand : Saxon, it is said, is wanting in beauty, because those who write it can only write in monosyllables. All, however, who chime herewith have to be told, that the guilt lies neither on these luckless wights, nor on their language, but with the gainsayers themselves, who have forgotten how to handle the Saxon roots, and how to graft one on to another, and who, if any else should try his hand at it, look on with an evil eye, and cry down the attempt as an outrageous inroad. We are fully aware that there is a growing taste for old English words, that people employ them daily more and more, and that this taste will soon be the ruling one; yet, on the other hand, more than one literary journal could be named that has whined at the none but these monosyllables in the Saxon ; there are many of two, many of three syllables, and many much longer, brotherhood, wickedness, onlybegotten, unfathomable, heavenlymindedness; and whoever chooses may form ten thousand more, as long-winded, as high-sounding, and perhaps also as unutterable as any of the full-mouthed classic words. Furthermore, many words (English is full of them) that seem two monosyllables, might almost be called dissyllables, set up, set on, shut out, shut in, and so on. . It will be seen that when we use such we have to add a second preposition, so that the first belongs to the verb alone, and is properly inseparable from it. Of course we very easily see the jointing of these words, and therefore take them for two, dubbing each a monosyllable: one might as well break up such words never-the-less, fare-well, cast-a-way, into their several parts, and then rate them for being so small, or when a gun or flute is taken to pieces, sneer at their littleness, or quarrel with a cluster of currants because each of the berries is so insignificant. Formerly when armies engaged in battle they were drawn up in one long line, fighting from flank to flank but a great general broke up this heavy mass into several files, so that he could bend his front at will, bring any troops he chose into action, and, even after the first onslaught, change the whole order of the field; and though such a broken line might not have pleased an old soldier's eye, as having a look of weakness about it, still it carried the day, and is every where now the arrangement. There will thus be an advantage, the advantage of suppleness, in having the parts of a word to a certain degree kept by themselves; this, indeed, is the way with all languages as they become more refined; and so far are monosyllabic languages from being lame or ungainly, that such are the sweetest and gracefullest, as those of Asia; and the most rough and untamed (those of North America) abound in huge unkempt words,yard longtailed,* like fiends. Those who have learned geography from Ewing will remember that by word of schoolboys, the greeting given by the Mexicans to their priests-Notlazomahuizleopixcatatzin. It may be added, that in the same address from which we have already quoted some verses of Chapman's, he runs a tilt in behalf of the English monosyl *The reader must excuse this word. It was the lables, making a lounge by the way at the lengthiness of French and Italian. This then is the only reason that has ever been given why Saxon should be deemed unmeet for the stately tread of lofty discourse. The abettors of such a prejudice think they write the more nobly the more they lop off the idioms from the language; their idea of good writing arises in the shape of some tall palm-tree, without a sprig of green on its huge stalk, and but a little tuft of leafiness to finish with. Those who admire our old English have quite another standard; they behold England's oak, with its hundred hands outspread; they love its burly twistings, and knots, and jagged boughs; they are taken with the unruly whims, and wreathen smiles, and all the merry waywardness of root and stem, and branch and twig and leaf; and they trustfully lean on the iron strength of the whole. There is no language wealthier in words, none so wealthy in sounds. The only unpleasant sound in the language, the same as in the Ionic, the sweetest of the Greek dialects, is the hissing already alluded to; (and they who lisp have therefore some excuse for their foppery, like the Friar in the Canterbury Tales, who did so People are so fond of talking big, and they find it so much easier to write Latinthan to write Saxon-English, that though the right may be known and acknowledged they will, perhaps, go on doing the wrong shielding themselves with that everlasting bull of Pope's-whatever is is right. On the strength of this, every one, will or nill, must fall in with the order of the day, good or bad. To many this is no hardship; they yield they know not what-they know not why. If things be sound at bottom, this is right also, because it keeps alive what is good, and screens us from endless change: but what will be said of it, if it be the means of preserving what is bad, if it keep alive a practice that, we have shown, should be done away with? Let us remember the importance of making our tongue as thorough as may be, and of so handing it down to aftertimes. A language is not ours to use as we list; it belongs to all times, and for the present we are entrusted with its keeping. Let it be known also, that English bias fair one day to become the language of the civilized world, and that blunders made now, or erewhile, cannot be amended then. This is not saying too much. It speeds from land to land, from sea to sea; they talk it in India and in America, the furthest East and the utmost West; at Gibraltar too, and at Capetown, the rounding points of Europe and Africa ; "And who in time knows whither we may vent This gain of our best glory shall be sent, "To make his English swete upon his tongue.") As at present written, however, there is that dearth of scientific words which we have not attempted to conceal. Were this filled up it might cope with and outdo the German; we might make it as full and fruitful, with this over and above, that the Saxon has been ground smooth by time, whereas the German is rough and coarse; the one melting in the mouth, the other sticking in the throat. The great fault is, we repeat, that when our language rises above the material world, it has no longer a seed within it, it becomes rugged and offensive both to the eye and to the ear, and is only intelligible by means of a foreign language. The truths of science, instead of being couched in the Queen's English for all the Queen's lieges, are thus veiled and beclouded in a jargon, which is neither Greek nor Latin, but a medley of both, with the gatherings of twenty more. When one thinks indeed of the fortunes of the language, and how its scientific half has been scraped to-able feature of the present times. Some fish gether, one cannot help wondering whether its high name and seeming power can, in very truth, be owing to its own great strength, or not rather to the mighty men who wielded The only language which can now pretend to complete with it in this walk, are the German and the French, and English is by nature more adapted than either for becoming the speech of vast multitudes, being more simple than the one, more expressive than the other, and more musical than either. Again, turning to the literature of this country, we may there see another reason for arriving at a similar conclusion. The very general expectation of a golden age is a remark for it in political changes, but all whose opinion is worth having, look for it in the world's becoming more Christain, in the spread of the Church, and thus also in the spread both of SIR ROBERT PEEL AS AN ORATOR.-Sir | terials of which his speeches were formed, Robert Peel's speeches were, like himself, the winning art of the speaker was the more practical. Their eloquence consisted in their to be admired. Let us add, that when the persuasiveness, in the skill with which the ordinary necessities of debate did not comarguments were evolved, and in the illustra- pel Sir Robert Peel to descend to the level tions, generally familiar and tangible, "to of the average of his hearers, he could be as the general." His statements of his case lofty and philosophical as the most elaborate were singularly lucid-built up laboriously, orators. His personal vindications at great and constructed with precision, so as to make crises of his life were characterized by a them clear to the least ready capacity. striking dignity, which uniformly commanded During the latter years of his career he had respect from the House of Commons. Such as it were, to instruct the public in principles a combination of qualities of wisdom, the and details, more especially on commercial fruit of long experience of caution, the conquestions; and, of course, there remains sequence, not of timidity but of prudencemuch on record which had only a temporary of boldness, tempered by sagacity-of inforand fleeting interest. Moreover, to impress mation, gleaned through a long and laborihis purpose on his hearers, he would freous public life of high probity and sensitive quently repeat his arguments; which, though honor-of statesmanlike wisdom, not disdaineffective in the delivery, was tedious to pe- ing popular influence and sympathy-of eloruse. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, quence spontaneously springing from the peSir Robert Peel, from the singular fascina- culiar wants of his position, and intuitively tion of his manner, and the pains he took to adapted to the occasions of its exercise-such adapt himself to the various capacities he had a rare union of many requisites for a statesto address, was one of the most persuasive man and minister in a popular government and influential speakers of his time. In fact will not soon be seen again in any individual. his was the eloquence adapted to a popular Nowhere will his loss be more deplored than assembly, which was to be assailed, not mere- in that House of Commons where he was ly through the passions or the imagination, accustomed to rule, by the power of his perbut through prejudices, habits of thought, suasive eloquence, with almost absolute sway. interests not always of the highest order, as-Morning Chronicle. well as through reason. Looking at the ma From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal LEIGH HUNT'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.* If these volumes gave the personal as well as literary life of the author, he would rank as a second Boswell-only with not so great a man for the hero. He would be his own Boswell. He is proud of L. H., even of his little peculiarities, not to say failings. He takes the liberty of differing sometimes with him in opinion-but not rudely. Circumstances have changed. If L. H. had written now, he might have modified his expressions in some degree: but, after all, they were right at the time. In fact, he toadies himself a little-that cannot be denied ; but over the whole is spread so genuine an air of bonhommie that the reader's attempts to demur are fruitless. Where he does not coincide, he at least acquiesces; he grows kindlier and couthier as he and his author go on together; and at last he fairly slips his arm into his, calls him L. H. to his face without the Mister, and slides into his humor as men do into that of genial companion over t'other bottle. marked thread of narrative to hold on by as you go through the volumes, there is interest and amusement in every page taken separately, and a pleasanter table-book, therefore, could not readily be found. From his father, a Barbadian, who was always going to be made a bishop but never was, Mr. Hunt received for his sole inheritance-and a rich one it was-a happy temperament, which his mother in vain endeavored to qualify. "I may call myself," says he, "in every sense of the word, etymological not excepted, a son of mirth and melancholy; for my father's Christian name (as old students of onomancy would have heard with serious faces) was Isaac, which is Hebrew for "laughter;" and my mother's was Mary, which comes from a word in the same language, signifying "bitterness." And, indeed, as I do not remember to have ever seen my mother smile, except in sorrowful tenderness, so my father's shouts of laughter are now ringing in my ears. Not at any expense to The personal history, we repeat, is omit- her gravity, for he loved her, and thought ted, for we are neither to be talked nor title- her an angel on earth, but because his anipaged out of our senses. All we learn from mal spirits were invincible. I inherit from the book is, that he was born at Southgate of my mother a tendency to jaundice, which at such and such parents on the 19th of Octo- times has made me melancholy enough. I ber 1784, and that in due time he quaffed doubt, indeed, whether I have passed a day Helicon and sky-blue at Christ's Hospital. during half my life without reflections, the After that we find him commencing certain first germs of which are traceable to sufferpublications-then we discover that he is ings which this tendency once cost me. My married-then we accompany him on a plea- prevailing temperament, nevertheless, is my sure ramble to Italy with his wife and seven father's; and it has not only enabled me to children-then we are all at home again- turn those reflections into sources of tranand, finally, we are happy to learn that he quility and exaltation, but helped my love of has received a pension from government. my mother's memory to take a sort of pride But in lieu of personal and family details we in the infirmity which she bequeathed me." have scenes, portraits, characters, opinions, This father, it appears, was somewhat wild and quotations from his own works without for a clergyman; but he was fond of sermons number. This injures the book as a whole, nevertheless, and of reading the Bible, and and may make some people even suppose it above all, he was what his son called someto be tedious in its discursiveness; but in body else, " very generous and handsomepoint of fact, although it wants a sufficiently-minded-a genuine human being." The impressions made in youth upon a gets along, and looks back with disgust upon ven. age Christ's Hospital was of course not all sunshine, otherwise the sunshine would not have been prized. It had even a horror of its own, and as this was of an original kind, we introduce it to our readers by its name of the Fazzer. somebody else—an anomaly, a duality, Smith and sorcery united. My friend Charles Ollier should have written a book about him. He was our Old Man of the Mountain, and yet a common boy." The chief luxury was spending money when there was any to spend. Hunt's parents were both as 66 generous as daylight"| (he forgets the assessed tax!)" but they could not give what they had not;" so the task of teaching him the use of money was reserved for his rich aunt, who presented him sometimes with a half-guinea. The first that came was a poser. What to do with so vast a sum? He held a consultation with his companions, and "one shilling was devoted to pears, another to apples, another to cakes, and so on, all to be bought immediately, as they were; till coming to the sixpence, and being struck with a recollection that I ought to do something useful with that, I bought six-penn'orth of shoe-strings." At length the time came when it was necessary to make his entrance into the world; and after going bare-headed for eight years, except on the rare occasion when he stuck his little crumpet of a cap on its few inches of pericranium, he was made to assume that strange uncomfortable absurdity—a hat. 66 'I then cared as little for the rains as I did for anything else. I had now a vague sense of worldly trouble, and of a great and serious change in my condition; besides which, I had to quit my old cloisters, and my playmates, and long habits of all sorts; so that, what was a very happy moment to schoolboys in general, was to me one of the most painful of my life. I surprised my school-fellows and the master with the melancholy of my tears. I took leave of my books, of my friends, of my seat in the grammar-school, of my good-hearted nurse and her daughter, of my bed, of the cloisters, and of the very pump out of which I had taken so many delicious draughts, as if I should never see them again, though I meant to come every day. The fatal hat was put on; my father was come to fetch me. "The Fazzer was known to be nothing more than one of the boys themselves. In fact, he consisted of one of the most impudent of the bigger ones; but as it was his custom to disguise his face, and as this aggravated the terror which made the little boys hide their own faces, his participation of our common human nature only increased the supernatural fearfulness of his pretensions. His office as Fazzer consisted in being audacious, unknown, and frightening the boys at night; sometimes by pulling them out of their beds; sometimes by simply fazzing their hair (fazzing' meant pulling or vexing, like a goblin;) sometimes (which was horriblest of all) by quietly giving us to understand, in some way or other, that the Fazzer was out-that is to say, out of his own bed; and then being seen (by those who dared to look) sitting, or otherwise making his appear- But he carried his youth with him, and ance, in his white shirt, motionless and dumb. | his predisposition to be happy, and to love We, hand in hand, with strange new steps and slow, Through Holborn took our meditative way." |