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with a precision, that left no room for misunderstanding. Plato says, that this language was that, in which the gods were accustomed to speak. In respect to names, I cannot but think, that a good name is a good The Romans well knew the value of association: their generals, therefore, seldom failed to give, as a watchword to their armies, some word, significative of success; as Liberty, Felicity, Venus, Fortune, Wisdom, Courage, and Victory. It were well, if parents were to permit their children to select their own names; and that they might be led to choose after men, who had been eminent in the sphere, in which themselves are destined to move. Thus he, who has a military or a naval inclination, might adopt the names of Marlborough or Raleigh, Wellington or Nelson. Those, selecting the church, Fenelon, Huet, Sherlock, or Tillotson; while medical inclinations would point to Galen, Boerhaave, Hunter, Sydenham, or Harvey. The very adoption of these names might lead to an excellence, even superior to that, which adorned those illustrious characters themselves.

After a similar manner, the names of good men and women, might be given to trees, as well as stars; to flowers, to rivers, and rivulets; to springs and fountains; and indeed every object, which is common to all, should be dignified with the names of those, who have been benefactors to their neighbourhoods.

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II.

But if men have derived many of their names from the smaller creations of nature, they have returned the obligation, and given to plants, rivers, mountains, and

to the Camry in to. Atansfield. Bushe Dhelster Clay, Mist Brougham.

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forests, the names of the greatest and wisest of their kings and statesmen. At the same time it is proper to remark, that the first symbols of writing were adopted from trees, plants, fishes, and shells; as the Egyptian, Ethiopian, and Mexican hieroglyphics, and Chinese manuscripts amply testify.

Rill, valley, ocean, lake, and harbour, are from the Latin: river, cascade, vale, rock, forest, and fountain, are from the French: lawn from the Danish: dale from the Gothic: garden from the Welsh: glen from the Erse: alcove from the Spanish; and cataract from the Greek. While dingle, hill, field, meadow, orchard, stream, flood, sea, spring, bower and wood are from the Saxon. Of trees, poplar, peach, osier, cherry, pear, jasmine, and lilac, are French: arbute, cedar, juniper, vine, sallow, laurel, myrtle, rose, pine, alder, acacia, larch, and cypress, are from the Latin. The oak, ash, elm, beech, apple, plum, elder, bramble, nut, birch, box, broom, honeysuckle, chesnut, walnut, holly, yew, mulberry, aspen, lime, and ivy, are from the Saxon. Thorn from the Gothic: horn-beam from the Dutch: willow and fir, from the Welsh: while the general name of tree is derived from the Danish.

Of those artificial objects, which contribute to embellish scenery, such as bridge, house, cottage and church, most of them are from the Saxon. Of the colours, which contribute to adorn all these objects, blue, red, white, and yellow, are Saxon; purple, French; indigo, Latin; and green, German. And it is curious to observe with what care the fathers of our language selected from the various tongues, when we perceive, that,

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of the synonymies of these objects combined, scenery and prospect we trace to the Latin; landscape to the Dutch; and view to the French.

It would have been natural to have supposed, that the above subjects, which form the component parts of landscape, derived their appellations from one primary root; since they are all primitives, and most of them natural products, if we may so express ourselves, of the soil. And yet, though our organs of sensation are from one etymological source, we borrow the names of almost every object in landscape from discordant tongues. In fact our language is a curious compound! It is an olio of Greek and Latin, of Saxon, French, and Dutch ingredients. With this admixture, it would be impossible to reduce etymology to any regular system: yet we may remark, generally, that our scientific words are from the Greek; our terms of art from the French, Latin and Italian; while most of our domestic words,-words expressive of objects, which daily attract our attention, -are from the Saxon. Our derivatives are, of course, deduced from primitives; while our primitives are derived from other languages, much after the following scale of obligation.-Mathematical accuracy, in a case of this sort, is not to be fairly expected; particularly as etymologists are so frequently at war with each other. It ought, however, to be observed, that the obligations, here stated, are far, very far, from being overcharged.

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Or all objects in nature, none strikes the soul with so much wonder, awe, and melancholy, as the ocean. the eye of taste weeps grateful tears at the representation of a well-written tragedy, and thrills in every nerve, when listening to the concertos of Pleyel, Haydn, and Mozart; so, when gazing on the transparent azure of autumnal skies, or when reclined upon a rock, which overlooks that element, which has the alternate power of striking us with awe, and of lulling us into mental slumber, our feelings, in some measure, partake of that ambrosial character, which so highly distinguishes those beings, who, having laboured to reform and enlighten mankind, rest from their toils, in order to chasten the severity of judgment, with the tintings of a brilliant fancy.

There is a beautiful passage in Goethe's ballad of the

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Fisherman; where he describes the pleasure, which is derived from gazing on the sea; a passage reminding the reader of that scene in Asia, where a plaintive harmony is heard in the air, arising from the murmur of the ocean, beating beneath an atmosphere of unwonted purity. Quintus Curtius1 gives an account of the awe and apprehension of Alexander's soldiers, when they saw the sea, near the opening of the Indus. They were surprised and alarmed, when they observed the tide rise so high as thirty feet: they, who had only been accustomed to the tranquil waters of the Mediterranean! Florus 2 describes the effect, which the sea, and the sun, sinking into it, had upon the minds of the soldiers of Decimus Brutus and we are told, that the effect is the same, only different in degree, with the most uninformed, as with the most accomplished minds. In the former, it is the rude simplicity of nature; in the latter, the natural impulse is chastened and improved by a cultivated imagination. When the Bedouin Arabs arrive at any of the Syrian ports, they never fail to express their rapture and astonishment, at beholding the sea for the first time; and with all the eagerness of admiration, they inquire, what that "desert of water," means.

II.

The ocean, which Sophocles considered the finest and most beautiful object in nature, fills every contemplative

Lib. ix. 29.

* Lib. ii. c. xvii. Elian, on the other hand, relates a curious instance of the little veneration, which the Celtæ entertained for the sea. Var. Hist. xii. 23.

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