ar. We must compare it with a different sensation: now their relation cannot be expressed in our mind, unless by an artificial sign, since it is not a direct sensation."* CONDILLAC, who is here quoted with so much approbation, began to write in 1749. He pretended to found his doctrine on the principles of LOCKE; and we presume it has at last received its final perfection from the hands of M. DESTUTT-TRACY, the noble editor of CABANIS.

It is hardly possible to expose the absurdity of such statements, without descending from the gravity of a serious disquisition. We shall simply analyse the extract which we have just made, applying to its principles (if principles they may be called) a few obvious exemplifications: and, if the result should appear to border too much on the ridiculous, we trust that the imputation of folly will rest with the original authors of a system so perfectly incoherent.

1. "We cannot distinguish our sensations but by attaching to them signs, which represent and characterise them." We might first ask what is a sign? Is it a sensation, or somewhat else? If a sensation, is it direct, or indirect? How do we distinguish one sign from another? What part do signs perform in our mental operations?-and many other such questions; but passing over these difficulties, we will come to our author's own reasoning; and from the principle which he here lays down, it must follow, that if a native of Scotland should see a brook (which in that country is called a burn), and should also feel a burn occasioned by touching any heated substance, he would not be able to distinguish these sensations, because he would have attached to them the same sign; neither could be distinguish them if he even attached to them different signs, e. g. rivus and ustio, unless each sign accurately represented the thing signified; so that the one sign should reproduce in him the sight of flowing water, and the other the touch of a heated body.

2. "This is what made Condillac say, that we cannot think at all without the help of language." If Condillac reasoned from such premises, it is no wonder that he came to such a conclusion.

3. Without signs there exists neither thought, nor perhaps even, to speak properly, true sensation." Signs we have before been told, are things characterising or representing sensations. We now learn that it is on the contrary, the sensations which represent or characterise the signs. We are taught that the portrait is the original, and the man the copy, that without the portrait there would be no man. Some doubt is expressed, whether we might not receive some sort of sensation from striking our heads against a post; but it is argued that this would not be a true sensation, that we should not really feel the blow, unless we actually cried "post," or read the word "post," which would naturally explain to us the sort of blow we had experienced.

"Ou ne distingue les sensations qu'en leur attachant des signes, qui les representent & les caractérisent."-Voilà ce qui fait dire à CONDILLAC qu'on ne pense point sans le secours des langues-Je le répète, sans signes il n'existe ni pensée, ni peut être même, à proprement parler, de véritable sensation-Pour distinguer une sensa

tion il faut la comparer avec une sensation différente: or leur rapport ne peut être exprimé dans notre esprit que par un signe artificiel, puisque ce n'est pas une sensation directe."-CABANIS. Rapports du Physique & du Moral de l'Homme, vol. i. p. 72.

tion.

4. "In order to distinguish a sensation, we must Introduccompare it with another sensation." Here is a new tory Secrule to know whether we are alive, and in our senses, or not. If we chance to break our shins, we must not be too hasty in crediting the evidence of that part of our body; we must compare the sensation with some other, as for instance, with that of drinking a glass of champagne, and if we find that they differ, why then we may be assured that they are not the same.

5. Now, their relation cannot be expressed in our mind, unless by an artificial sign; since it is not a direct sensation." What is meant by a sensation being expressed in the mind, it is not very easy to discover; but the author seems to intimate that a direct sensation may be so expressed, and that it therein differs from the relation between two sensations, which relation he says is not a direct sensation. We presume, that he would rank breaking his shins, or drinking champagne, in the class of direct sensations; these, therefore, may be expressed in the mind, without an artificial sign; and consequently they are not true sensations; for (by proposition 3d), without signs there exists no true sensation; neither can we think at all about them, because (by the same proposition) without signs there is no thought. It is probably meant to be understood that all sensations are direct or indirect. We have seen how the qualities of the former class are explained. Let us next consider what happens with respect to the latter. Some sort of relation probably exists between drinking champagne and breaking the shins, but that relation we are told, cannot be expressed in the mind without an artificial sign. Now as we have never heard of any word or even hieroglyphic to express the particular relation that exists between drinking champagne and breaking the shin, it follows, that no such relation can be expressed in the mind; and consequently (by proposition 4) the separate sensations of breaking the shin and of drinking champagne cannot be distinguished.

It is obvious, that if these ridiculous propositions had been stated plainly and simply, they would never have encountered serious discussion. They have, however, been enveloped in the mystical jargon of the modern ideologists; they have assumed the imposing name of metaphysics; and hence the ignorant multitude have concluded, that there is something in them of profound wisdom.

errors.

Two chief causes may be asssigned for the errors of Causes of these modern grammarians: first, their rejection of modern that philosophy of the mind, on which, as we conceive, the philosophy of language depends; and secondly, their confounding historical fact with philosophical principle. The almost unintelligible use of the word sensation, in the passages above quoted, and the vague and contradictory meanings, applied by these writers to the word idea, sufficiently demonstrate their inattention to the genuine workings of the human mind. In tracing the history of words, they have sometimes shown great ingenuity; but they have erroneously concluded, that because a particular word was once a noun or a verb, it always continues such; forgetting that the identity of the word depends only on its sound, whilst the distinction of the parts of speech relates solely to their signification; and consequently, that the one is a question of the matter of language, the other, of its form; or perhaps being unable to

Grammar. comprehend the ancient philosophical distinction between matter and form, and therefore, concluding that that distinction was frivolous and unmeaning. Thus Mr. Tooke conceiving that our present adverb, preposition, and conjunction, since, was anciently the participle, seen, or seeing, concludes that it has still the same signification. He happens to be mistaken in his fact; for the word since' has nothing to do with the verb to see; but if he had been correct in this, as he really is in many of his etymologies, the inference from it would have been no less illogical. There is no reason, in the nature of language, why one word should not successively fill the office of every part of speech; and, in particular, nothing is more common than for the same word to be both a noun and a verb. Mr. Tooke, therefore, to be consistent, should not have said that "there are only two sorts of words which are necessary for the communication of our thoughts," viz. "nouns and verbs;" but that there is only one sort; which would have been saying in effect there is no such science as Grammar in the world.

Ancient grammariaus.

Reason.

The ancient grammarians, who treated of the Greck and Roman languages, as well as those who in the middle ages cultivated the Arabic and its kindred dialects, and those whose disquisitions on Indian Philology have been laid open to us by recent discoveries, all agree in founding the science of Grammar, on that of the mental operations. Nothing but extreme vanity can lead us to suppose, that all the great men, who have ever considered this subject before ourselves, have been involved in a more than Boeotian mist of ignorance; and that we alone can dispel the cloud by a single "electric flash." The more modest and rational student will confess, with the amiable author of Hermes, that there is one TRUTH, like one Sun, which has enlightened human intelligence through every age, and saved it from the darkness both of sophistry and error." It may be safely adopted as a general observation, that the man who tells you the whole world was ignorant of any particular subject until he arose to set them right, is himself egregiously in the wrong. The study of Grammar, indeed, like all other studies, is susceptible of gradual improvement; but if we admit that the ancients had a tolerable insight into the powers and operations of the human mind, we must acknowledge that they could not be entirely ignorant of the modes in which those powers and operations were manifested by language. An individual writer may have taken a limited view of the subject; but that view could not be wholly erroneous, if he was adequately versed in the philosophy of the human mind.

It would seem, that some ancient writers considered language merely as representing the operations of the reasoning faculty; and they were enabled thus to analyse and explain a great part of its construction. In this system, which was perhaps the most ancient the syllogism was considered as the basis of Grammar; logical writers were its chief authorities; its rules were thought applicable only to the graver compositions, such as laws, books of civil institution, history, and treatises of the useful arts and sciences: the more

Since is derived from the Anglo Saxon word sithe, which is the same as the German seit and English tide, signifying time; consequently since is, literally, from that lime

animated compositions of rhetoric and poetry, and the Introduc common discourses of daily life, were considered as a tory Seckind of barbarous confusion, beyond the pale of grammatical law.

tion.

But man could not forget, that he was a creature of Passion. passion, as well as of reason; and seeing that the former was as capable of being reduced to rule as the latter, that it was equally clear in its principles, and equally certain in its operation, he could not but admit its influence on the rules of speech. The syllogism had supplied the two sorts of words, which Mr. Tooke says are alone "necessary for the communication of our thoughts," but in matters of passion the animated interjection is quite as necessary as the simple name of a thing or attribute; and in like manner the imperative is a verbal form of no less importance, than that which merely indicates, or asserts existence.

Again, the mind, whilst it steadily contemplates Modifica certain objects, passes rapidly and almost unconsciously tion and over those various relations which serve to modify and connection. connect those objects with other existences. These vague and hasty glances of the mind, these slight and subordinate hints, as it were, give occasion to correspondent distinctions in language. Hence arise whole classes of words called adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions, &c.; and thus have grammarians settled the Parts of Speech, which we shall hereafter consider more at large.

derns

Thus far the ancients went, and for the most part Ancients went right, in their view of language. Recent authors and mohave rashly called in question the utility of these compared. learned labours. It is not to be denied, that the many new sources of information opened to us in modern times, the numerous dialects, barbarous and polished, which we have the means of studying, the progress of the same language through many successive ages, which we are enabled historically to trace, and in short, the extended sphere of our experimental investigations, in language, may have served to correct some errors and oversights even in our scientific views of Universal Grammar. Let no man ever presume to suppose that his reasoning powers may not be sharpened, his judgment rendered clearer, or his taste more refined by the lessons of experience. The moment that we think there is nothing more to be learned, we give a decisive proof of ignorance. As the moderns however fail most in the philosophy of language, the ancients failed most in its history. They are rarely to be relied on as etymologists: whilst the moderns who have enjoyed so much better opportunities of cultivating this branch of the science, have obtained in it a decided superiority. They have discovered that most of those auxiliary words, which are employed in aiding the construction of nouns and verbs were once nouns and verbs themselves; and that those which appear now void of signification were formerly significant. These observations have in certain instances been extended, with some plausibility, even to the syllables, which are used for purposes of inflection. Considerable ingenuity has been displayed in this sort of investigation by DES BROSSES, COUR DE GEBELIN, TOOKE, and others; and when we come to consider this part of our subject, we shall certainly find them better guides than the ancients, who appear to have treated it with no very reasonable neglect.

It seems to follow from what has here been said,

Ganer, that in order to study Grammar, as a Science, a general survey of the mental faculties should be premised or presumed. These will lead us first to a detailed consideration of the parts of speech, both in regard to their separate properties, and also to their syntax or union. Strictly speaking, the pure science of Grammar ends here; for, as Vossius has observed, science is conversant with things eternal and invariable; whereas Grammar, as generally understood, has no immoveable and unvarying essence, but relates to the matter of language, rather than to its form; and hence (as that writer contends) it ought rather to be called an art than a science. We, however, cannot overlook the circumstance that language, as it grows up with man, and forms, as it were, the main instrument of thought, is necessarily so much interwoven with the operations of his mind, that neither can the art be well comprehended without a knowledge of the science, nor can the science be easily developed and rendered fully intelligible without reference to the art. By the form of language, as we have already stated, we mean its signification; by the matter of language we mean the sound of words in speech, the movement of the body in gesture, and in general the physical and external means emploved to effect a communication of the mind. The matter of speech may be considered, generally, as regarding the physical properties common to all language, or particularly with reference to the construction of one or more languages. In the former point of view it is commonly deemed a part of Universal Grammar, and will therefore form the second part of our grammatical essay. In the third part, we shall endeavour to confirm, and illustrate all our general positions, by reference to various spoken languages, ancient and modern and in the fourth, we shall consider in what manner the invention and practice of written language has affected the science of Grammar. To these we may properly add a fifth part, considering language as a source of pleasure in itself, independently of its signification.

Preliminary view of the human mind, with reference to the science of Grammar.

In the mind of man the consciousness of simple existence is the source and necessary condition of all other powers; as in language, the expression of that consciousness by the verb to be, is at the root of all other expression.

But we are conscious of different states of existence, in some of which we act, and in others we are acted upon and thus in language, a verb is a word which signifies to do, or to suffer, as well as to be. No language, indeed, ever was, or ever could be, formed without such verbs; but the case is different with regard to theories of language, and systems of Grammar. These may be, and have been constructed, on the hypothesis, that the mind of man is a mere passive recipient of mechanical impressions; a something which may be impelled like a foot-ball, but which cannot give to itself, or to any thing else, the slightest impulse. On such a question as this, the only appeal lies to the common sense and daily experience of mankind; and the result of that experience is clearly attested by all languages, living and dead -a species of evidence which is the less to be resisted, because it is not the result of any systematic arrangement whatever.

Every language in the world has grown up from the Introducnecessities of those who have used it, and not from tory Secintention; from accident, and not from theory; and tion. yet there is among them an universal agreement in their fundamental principles: those principles, then, Feeling. are indisputably founded on the common constitution of the human mind.

The mind is undoubtedly passive in some respects. If I open my eye to the light, I cannot choose but see; if a sound strikes my ear, I cannot help hearing. These, and many like states of existence, derived from the bodily organs, are called sensations; there are other states, in which we are more or less passive, derived from the mind, and commonly called emotions. When we come to analyse these latter, we shall easily discover that we are not so entirely passive in their reception, as is often supposed: nevertheless, as we in both cases "suffer," that is to say, are acted upon by external causes, we may not improperly include sensation and emotion as modes of the passive principle, under the common name of feeling. The states of sensation, which are agreeable to our nature, we properly call pleasure, those of an opposite kind we call pain; and the same names are naturally transferred to those emotions of the mind which seem analogous to the respective sensations of the body. Thus the feeling of guilt is called painful, and that of joy pleasant. The pleasurable sensations and emotions, and their real or supposed causes, are all called by the common name of good, and their opposites by that of evil. The expression of feeling is what constitutes in language the passive verb.

As we have called the passive principle, feeling; Will. so we call the active principle will, or volition. It is this principle which may truly be called the life of the human mind; it is this which forms and fashions the mind; it is this which impels and governs the man. The conscious being, in his active state, has a power: he says, I do this or that: and hence arises the active verb. Hence also arises the pronoun: for the very idea of an act involves the idea of a cause; and it has been clearly enough shown by different writers, that if the idea of a cause did not exist within the mind, it could never be suggested from without.

conse

The will, in its growth, becomes a moral energy, that is, it impels us to good, as good, and quently to the greater good rather than to the less. To choose the greater good is to do right, to choose the less good is to do wrong. Let philosophers argue, as they please, on liberty and necessity; let them reconcile, as they can, those high doctrines

Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate, Fix'd Fate, Free Will, Foreknowledge absolute; still the individual, from the first dawnings of reason, distinguishes right from wrong, and knows that he is a cause of the one, or of the other; and feels that the power which he exercises as a cause, is a talent for which he is responsible. Thus is formed Conscience, the light and guide of life. We have not now to discuss at length the nature and effects of this precious faculty: other and fitter occasions may be found for that investigation; but we cannot avoid noticing, that as the ideas of right and wrong are seated not merely in the mind, but in the first and elementary rudiments of the mind, it is a dangerous and fatal error to repre

La

Neither will nor feeling have in themselves any limit. The stream of conscious being is, in itself, continuous; it exists alike amid the roar of cannon, and in the soft breathing of the vernal air: in the deep, protracted, meditation of a NEWTON, and in the brief glimpse that is caught of

tion.

The snow that falls upon the river,

A moment white, then lost for ever. What is it, then, that reduces the chaos of will and feeling first into distinguishable elements, and then into individual masses? It is the forming and shaping power within us. It is the divine faculty," looking before and after," to which in its perfection, we give the name of Reason. Reason, holds, as it were, the balance between the passive and active powers of the mind. It is fed and nourished by the impressions of the one: it grows and moves by the energy of the other. It has several stages or degrees, of which the first is ConcepConception. By conception, we mean that faculty which enables the mind to apprehend one portion of existence, separately from all others. In other words, the first act, or exercise of the reasoning power is to conceive one object, or thing, as one. Hence arises in language the noun; for "the noun is the name of a thing." Here it is, that almost all the modern writers on Grammar have erred. They seem to have considered no such power in the mind to be necessary, and no such act to be performed. They seem to have supposed that things, or objects, affected the mind as such, by their own power; and that the mind was quite passive in this respect. When we come to examine this fundamental part of their system, we find the greatest possible confusion of terms. According to one, the first elements of thought are ideas, another calls them objects, a third sensations, and so forth. If you ask what is meant by these respective terms, you are still more bewildered. "An idea," says one, "is that which the mind is applied about whilst thinking." A most vague and insignificant expression, then, it must surely be; and yet it has been justly observed, that "vague and insignificant forms of speech and abuse of language have so long passed for mysteries of science; and hard and misapplied words, with little or no meaning, have by prescription such a right to be mistaken for deep learning and height of speculation, that it will not be easy to persuade either those who speak or those who hear them, that they are but the covers of ignorance and hinderance of true knowledge." All this is eminently true of the abuse and misapplication of the word idea, which had a perfectly distinct and specific meaning, until it was in an evil hour made to stand for whatsoever is the object of the understanding when a man thinks," or "whatever is meant by phantasm, notion, species, or whatever it is which the mind can be employed about in thinking”—from that moment the word idea became so extremely convenient to persons, who did not much like the trouble of thinking, it served as such a maid of all work, in the family of Lady ALMA, the mind, that nothing was either too high or too low for it. "Seneca was not too heavy, nor Plautus too light;" and persons, who, in the com

mon phrase, "never had two ideas in their lives," Introducwould give you "their ideas" on politics or the wea- tory Secther, on the flavour of venison, or the right of univer- tion. sal suffrage, with equal facility and fluency.

Some of these ideas, it has been said, are simple, and some complex. In the former the mind is passive, in the latter there is an act of the mind combining several simple ideas into one complex one; but this distinction has been altogether denied, in more recent times; and we have been told, that "it is as improper to speak of a complex idea, as it would be to call a constellation a complex star." But be these ideas simple, or complex; be they ideas of sensation, or ideas of reflection; ideas of mode, of substance, or of relation, the great difficulty is to understand in every case, how each idea exists as one; how it is bounded, limited, and set out in the mind; and this, we say, cannot be done in any case without an act of the mind, an exercise of the peculiar faculty which we call conception.

What one set of writers say of ideas, another set say of objects. "An object in general," says Condillac, "is whatever is presented to the senses, or to the mind." Happy definition! But still the question returns: what constitutes one object? What is meant by one presentation? Is it the sensation, or thought, which takes place in a minute, in a second, or in any other portion of time? Is it the impression made on one sense, or on one part of the organ of that sense? Is it the sensation of warmth, for instance, experienced by the whole body; or that of light experienced by the eye? Is it the impression made on the retina by a house, by the door of the house, by the pannel of the door, or the pane of the window? Is it the altitude of the building, or the colour of the brick? These questions are endless, and perfectly insoluble, if that which makes an object one thing to the mind be not an act of the mind itself; but if it be an act of the mind, then it follows, that with regard to the very first materials of our knowledge, the mind is not passive, but exercises some peculiar faculty; which faculty we call conception.

Mons. Condillac, indeed, admits, that objects are not distinguished but by remarking some one or other of them particularly; and this particular remarking he calls attention; from whence it may perhaps be concluded, that the difference between him and us is a mere difference of words; and that he means, by attention, nothing more nor less than what we mean by conception. This, however, is an error; for attention, according to him, is a simple faculty, acting only in one mode, and acting necessarily, from an external cause. Thus he states, that the cause of attention to sensible objects, is an accidental direction of the organs; manifestly, therefore, according to him, the mind is no less passive in attention than in sensation.

We say, on the contrary, that in conception the mind acts. The word " to conceive," in its origin, affords an easy explanation of the mode of action. This word, which is derived from con and capio, expresses the action by which we take up together a portion of our sensations, as it were water, in some vessel adapted to contain a certain quantity; for we have before observed, that sensation is in itself continuous, as an ocean, without shore, or soundings: it does not divide itself into separate portions, but is divided by the proper faculty

of the mind. The faculty of conception, like all other faculties, operates by certain laws, in a certain direction, and in a certain manner, for such is its constitution. It cannot enable us to view things temporal under the form of eternity, to conceive that a certain time occupies a certain space; or that an emotion belongs to the class of sensations; that jealousy, for instance, is red, or green, or blue, or smooth, or rough, or square, or triangular. These laws, which regulate the power of conceiving thoughts, it will be necessary for a while to

consider.

The first law that we shall notice, is that of extension. We are so constituted, that we cannot conceive certain objects otherwise than as occupying space. The faculty of conceiving them, therefore, presupposes in the mind a sense of space; but this sense has again its necessary laws or modes of operation. In other words, we cannot conceive space but as extending in length and breadth and thickness, and bounded by points and lines, and surfaces. It is by applying these laws to certain objects that we conceive them to be more or less extended, and to possess different shapes and forms. To say that we get the idea of space by the sense of sight or touch, is to confound our notions of sense, which imply an existence in space; it is to reverse the order of knowledge; for if the mind were originally unfurnished with a peculiar faculty, enabling, and indeed compelling it to refer the sensations of sight and touch to some part of space, it could no more acquire an idea of space from those sensations, than from the emotions of gratitude or fear. This peculiar faculty, applied to the sensations of sight and touch, of hearing, taste, and smell, enables us to conceive our own bodily existence, and that of the external world. According as we apply it more or less comprehensively, we conceive the existence of objects larger or more minute: and according as we exercise it with more or less care and attention, the external forms and disposition of objects appear to us more or less accurately defined. It is not, therefore, the external object which necessarily gives shape and form to the conception; but the conception, which by its own act embraces a given portion of space, and thus gives shape and form to the external object.

Similar observations may be made on the law of duration, or time. To say that time is a complex idea gathered from reflexion on the train of other ideas, is to forget that the very notion of a train is that of a succession in time, and therefore presupposes what it is adduced to prove. There is nothing complex in the nature of time or duration, but it is a form under which we are necessarily forced to contemplate all things external to us, and some things within ourselves. It is a law of our nature, and so far as regards its peculiar objects, is inseparable from the human mind. But again, it is not the lapse of any particular portion of time which necessarily limits the duration of any object of our thoughts, for we can as easily think and speak of a century as of a second: it is the mind which conceives, as one object, the life of a man, or the gleam of the lightning, a long year of toil, or a brief moment of delight.

These then are the laws of simple conception. What ever occupies a certain portion of time, or of space, or of both, we consider as one thing, or one thought; but things of thoughts succeed each other incessantly,

66

and by dividing sensation into units, we have done no Introduemore than to divide the ocean into drops, or the sand tory Secinto grains. A further law of conception succeeds. tion. This faculty takes a more complex form. We distinguish conceptions by their number; and hence, in all languages, the noun has a plural number as well as a singular, in signification, and generally in form. But as the plural is derived from the singular, so the power of conceiving many depends on the power of conceiving one. It has been justly observed by Mr. Locke, that "there is no idea more simple than that of unity, or one."-" Every object our senses are employed about," says he, every idea in our understandings, every thought in our minds brings this idea along with it." Now since this is the case, since no object, no idea, no thought, ever is conceived in our minds without this impression of unity, why should we imagine that any can be so conceived? And if it cannot be conceived without such impression, then must we consider the power by which that impression is produced as essential to the conception. Before we can speak or think of any thing, we must first conceive it to be one. This one may be finite or infinite; that is, our conception may be perfect or imperfect-but still, in order to become an element of reason, it must exist, as one, in the mind. Even the conception of many exists in the mind as that of one multitude; and if that multitude be divided into distinct parts, so as to be numerically reckoned, the number, whatever it may be, is still contemplated as one number. Simple conception indeed could never have advanced us beyond the notion of an unit or integer; it is by the aid of the other reasoning faculties, which we shall hereafter notice, that we are enabled to form the complex conceptions of number, and so to build up the whole science of Arithmetic.

Conceptions succeed each other indifferently, whe- Identity. ther they are like or unlike; but the mind can only number them by classing them, and can only class them by their similarity; which similarity, when complete, is in the contemplation of the mind Identity. Much has been said of the source from whence we derive the notion of our own personal identity. Surely if any thing is essential, not only to reason, but to feeling, to will, and even to consciousness, it is this notion. When Descartes invented his famous reasoning, Cogito, ergo sum, he clearly assumed his personal identity: and it is utterly impossible for a human being to reason or think at all, without such an assumption. Even in madness, though the actual identity is often confounded, though a man may fancy himself to be Alexander the Great, or even to be the Almighty, he has before his mind an imaginary identity: he thinks and acts as one being, and not as two: and again, in dreams, when we sometimes see ourselves dead, or alive, yet the self which we contemplate is a mere imaginary personage, with whom we have a strong sympathy, as we have with the hero of a romance. The contemplator always seems to think and act as á separate individual, and never loses the deep sense of identity.

We are next to enquire into the different kinds of Kinds of conception thus formed; and we shall find that the conception. ancients were right in dividing them into two, namely substance and attribute; whence arise in language the substantive and adjective. It must be remembered