seeker, though in reality plentiful, they appear few and unimportant. The corresponding onomatopoeias of modern tongues, on the other hand, almost uniformly retain the strict, unmixed character possessed by all onomatopoetic words in their primitive condition, and seem to exist, accordingly, in a proportion as remarkably large as in the ancient languages the proportion of these words seems, at first sight, small. Hence, some writers have supposed that onomatopoeias are an essentially modern invention; or that they belong, at least, to the advanced periods of language rather than to its youthful stages. But this is no less erroneous than the former impression. The explanations of both circumstances lie within easy access when sought for in an inquiring spirit. In ancient times, as we have already stated, onomatopoeias were the exclusive bases or root-words of language. Consequently they were subjected to various processes of grafting and modification, by means of which their primitive forms were nearly obliterated. In modern times, on the contrary, whenever onomatopoeias have been re-constructed, there has been no occasion to modify them in the manner practised with the primeval ones, because of the amplitude to which language has since attained, and the consequent readiness with which all verbal necessities may be supplied from its established glossaries. At the present day, for instance, when a new word is wanted, instead of modifying our native onomatopoeias as the Hebrews and the Greeks did, in the earlier periods of their respective languages, we leave them in undisturbed possession of their birth-day forms, and go to some older language, such as the Latin, or else select a couple of terms from our own current vocabulary, and combine them into a third. Such is the reason, then, why modern onomatopoeias retain their original character of distinct words, while the ancient are to be found, with some few exceptions, only as the hidden roots or bases of the numerous secondary terms which grew out of them. The occurrence of such large (and still increasing) numbers of onomatopoeias as are met with in modern tongues, clearly proves the natural disposition of the mind to frame words by imitating sounds; it proves also, that in constructing language, the mind incessantly reverts to its first mode of action. 39. Among the ancient onomatopoetic names of inanimate objects which still survive in a comparatively perfect form, the most interesting is that possessed by the sea in certain languages. The Latin name of the sea is mare, which, together with the Celtic môr (still extant in the Welsh language) comes originally from a still older eastern term, the basis of which was, doubtless, the lovely murmur of the ocean, as heard on a calm summer's evening, when, standing a little way inshore, we see it dimpling beneath the golden sunlight. The murmur of the sea has charmed the human heart in all ages. Virgil many times refers to it, and Shakspere, as in those beautiful lines, 'The murmuring surge That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high.' To the primæval framers of language, therefore, nothing could be more natural than that it should suggest so elegant and appropriate a name as that of which the remnants can never wholly perish. The Shaksperean 'surge' is itself strictly onomatopoetic in origin, though derived proximately from the Latin surgere, to rise.' For surgere came in the beginning from the noise made by the tossing of the waves, to rise' being the secondary or extended meaning. Virgil himself uses the word surgere to represent the tumultuous tossing of the sea, doubtless from his perception of its earliest meaning, and deep onomatopoetic beauty. Thus, in the graphic description of the storm which overtook Æneas and his companions just after they had set sail from the forbidden Crete (Æneid iii. 196-7), 'Continuo venti volvunt mare, magnaque surgunt The word surgo is ultimately traceable, we may observe, to the Sanscrit language, though generally regarded as a contraction of surrigo. 6 Another ancient name for the sea, evidently formed from its sound when agitated by storms, is the one we find in the Latin poets in the shape of gurges. Virgil frequently uses it, especially to denote the foaming, whirlpool appearance which the sea presents on such occasions. Kindred to these expressive names are the numerous beautiful terms used by old Homer to designate what with him we still call the rushing and dashing of the waves upon the shore. One of the most striking of these is paxia, the parent word being paroo 'to dash violently.' With the prefix kara downwards,' the latter is the root also of the expressive word cataract, which in its etymology is thus strictly onomatopoetic. (oren), the name of the tree mentioned by Isaiah in his admirable piece of satire on the vanity and folly of idol-makers (xliv. 14-17) is another most interesting onomatopoeia. It refers to the sound of the wind as it sways the branches of a lofty tree, such as the fir (the tree in question), and indeed the whole tribe to which it belongs. The authorised version calls it 'ash,' but this is wrong. The Septuagint, on the other hand, translates it properly, Tírus. 40. The nature of the onomatopoetic roots to which we referred in section 38, as being so numerous in ancient languages, may be best understood from a consideration of the modern English onomatopoeias which correspond to them. We speak, for instance, of the patter of rain, the dropping of water, and the crackling of fire. A door is said to creak, and a watch to tick. To scratch, to scrape, to roll, to thump, to bounce, to pop, to rasp, to clink, to ring, all come under the same general head. Such of these words as are nearly alike in sound generally relate to specific sets or kinds of objects, every group of sounds having its own class. Thus, words in which ing and ink are the leading sounds, together with those in which ang and ank predominate, belong to the vibrations of metallic objects, the former as produced by slight collisions, the latter as produced by heavy or violent ones. In the first division come such words as ring, clink, and tinkle. The second class is illustrated when we speak of the clanking of chains. The last is an extremely ancient onomatopoeia, being one of the few which have descended to modern times unchanged. Homer uses it to denote the noise produced by the collision of soldiers' weapons and armour. In his description of Apollo at the opening of the Iliad, for instance, he says of the bow and quiver which the god carried slung across his shoulders, ekdayέav, 'they clanked.' It is from the same word that the English clangour is derived, a term which differs indeed from the Greek kλayyǹ only in its termination. The Chinese instrument called the gong is another good example. Some of the others are of equal antiquity with 'clang,' such as the word roll, but as their forms are altered, it is convenient for our present purpose to class them with the modern ones. The dead, heavy sound represented in bump, thump, and tumble, belongs, in the same manner, to blows and falls; while such as are embodied in rap, tap, clap, belong to slight and modulated concussions; and such as break and crack, to sharp and sudden fractures, as when we speak of cracking nuts. In the Scandinavian languages, the words rac and racco denote the breaking of the ice-floes. In primæval times there can be no doubt that every one of these sounds, and all of their family, would be condensed into similar words, and used not only as verbs, but for the names of the objects producing or associated with them. Sufficient of the terms formed from such primitive words remain, indeed, as already stated, to establish it beyond dispute. Immediately after being constructed, those primitive words would fulfil their original function of roots, and having done this, and for the most part lost their primitive forms in consequence, in course of time they would be re-constructed by the races of whose various languages they had been the humble but nolonger-recognized beginnings. It is in the possession of this new or second life, accordingly, that as regards their normal forms, they now almost exclusively appear. The terms 'ancient' and 'modern,' therefore, do not imply a duality of kind in onomatopoeias, but are merely conventional epithets necessary to distinguish between them, as seen on the one hand in the shape of primæval roots, and upon the other, as independent and current words. They refer merely to what may be called their first and second lifetimes. 41. Having thus shewn the nature of the onomatopoetic roots, it is unnecessary that we should here go into the minute illustration of them, especially as opportunities will frequently occur in future pages. We may mention, however, some two or three instances of the names of artificial objects which have been formed at different periods from their sounds, as none furnish better evidence that such names are the earliest and most natural. Thus the Hebrew name for a trumpet was (chasotzzah), corresponding to the English designation of the sound of that instrument,―tantararara, and to the equivalent German trarara. The Greek yiyypas (gingrina of the Romans), a kind of flute producing peculiarly melancholy tones, and the English drum, are equally expressive. A little bell the Romans called tintinnabulum from its tinkling, and their verb to ring the bell was tintinnire. But none are more striking than the Greek and Hebrew names for a bottle,—ẞòμßudios and prop (bakbuk). In both of these there is an imitation of the peculiar sound made by fluid as it flows from the narrow mouth of such vessels, and which the French so admirably designate glou-glou, the Italians gu-gu, and the English gurgle. The repetition of the syllables shewn in several of these words is a frequent feature of onomatopoeias, and perhaps confined to them. 42. If proof were wanting that there is nothing strictly hereditary or associate in the procedures we have described (seeing that all our illustrations have been drawn from the glossaries of nations more or less connected with one another), the languages of savages living in remote latitudes would readily afford it. In the dialect of the barbarous tribes dwelling on the north-west coast of North America, for example, directly that traders from England and the United States introduced certain articles previously unknown to the natives, many such names sprung up. A bell they called ting-ting, a watch tik-tik, and a gun poh, from the noise produced by its discharge. Our words 'to boil' and to laugh,' they already represented by lip-lip and he-he. This is not a solitary case. The languages of all savage nations afford numerous illustrations of precisely the same character. Nothing could prove more satisfactorily, that it is a fundamental law of the human mind to construct its first words acccording to the onomatopoetic method. 43. The differences in the spelling, and even in the entire structure of many of the words thus used by various nations, and at widelydistant epochs, to represent the same circumstances, do not in the least affect the integrity of the law which formed them. Lip-lip represents the sound of water gently boiling, quite as correctly as the English simmer, and the Greek (éois. The English word thunder, the Latin tonitrus, and the Greek Bpovrn, when philosophically compared, are equally representative of the natural phenomenon they designate; and the same may be said of the English bubble, and its beautiful Greek synonym πομφὸς. 44. As with the onomatopoetic names of animals, many of the class of words at present before us are mere derivatives of terms originally belonging to parent tongues. This (as would be naturally anticipated) is especially the case with the onomatopoeias of languages which stand in such relations as that of the English to the old Teutonic family, and of the Italian, French, and Spanish to the Latin. There are plenty, nevertheless, which are peculiar to the languages wherein they are at present found. In the French language, for instance, we find brouhaha, a confused noise; crin-crin, a bad fiddle; cliquetis, the clashing of swords; and chari-vari, any harsh, discordant noise, like that produced by the beating of kitchen utensils in the way of drums and tambourines, to hasten the swarming of bees. The words ronfler, grincer, dégringoler, agacer, cracher, écrouler, achoppement, may also be cited as good examples of onomatopoeias apparently indigenous to the French. Among the most expressive in the Italian language are sghignazzarre, sgrugnone, tonfo, and chiucchiurlaia. (To be continued.) THE DRAGON AND THE TWO BEASTS.-APOC. XIII. REVIEW. THE NUMBER AND NAMES OF THE APOCALYPTIC BEASTS, with an Explanation and Application. In two Parts. Part I. The Number and Names by DAVID THOM, PH. D., A.M., Heidelberg, Minister of Bold-street Chapel, Liverpool. pp. 398. The Apocalypse has in every age been most anxiously studied. Innumerable attempts have been made to decipher its wonderful imagery and predictions. Hitherto, however, these attempts have proved abortive and useless. Time, and the events developed in its progress, have nullified the conclusions to which the learned of successive ages have come in respect to the nature and import of the Apocalyptic scenery and |