and this is strikingly true of the English nation, which is 'Saxon and Norman and Dane,' as Tennyson wrote, and Celtic as well. Each component part of the population contributes its proportion of words, - small or large, but always characteristic, and distinct in many particulars from the contributions of all the rest. Then, too, all cultivated languages have borrowed much from outside nations with whom they have come in contact in war or trade or literature. Our own language, as we shall see, has enriched itself in this way from every quarter of the globe.

The varied materials thus brought together are constantly subjected to what may be called mechanical processes of growth.1 Every language has its machinery of prefixes and suffixes and compounds, by means of which a single word may become the centre of a considerable group of related terms: as, true, tru-th, tru-ly, un-true, un-tru-ly, tru-th-ful, tru-th-ful-ness, etc.

But these causes are not sufficient to explain the richness and complexity of our speech. Such a result was achieved only when this great mass of variously derived material had been subjected for centuries to the language-making instinct; that is, to the poetic faculty of man. The dictum that 'all language is poetry,' then, if properly understood, goes far toward answering the question with which we are concerned.

The essentially poetical or figurative character of language may easily be seen by comparing a number of passages from the poets with ordinary prosaic expressions. When Wordsworth writes, in Laodamia,

The gods approve,

The depth, and not the tumult of the soul,

1 These processes will be studied in Chapters XIII, XIV.

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the imaginative power of his phrasing at once appeals to us. If, however, we compare such common expressions as He was deeply moved,' profoundly affected,' from the bottom of my heart,' we recognize the same figure of speech. In other words, the poetical history of Wordsworth's line goes back to that unknown time when some primitive poet, without knowing that he was talking poetry, first applied to the emotions words which in their literal sense were only applicable to the physical conception of depth. As time has passed, the primitive metaphor has grown so familiar that it has ceased to be a metaphor. It has become merely an ordinary meaning of a group of common words. The modern poet, perceiving the imaginative significance of this usage, elaborated the figure it embodied, phrased it anew with conscious literary art, and thus, in an instant, restored it to its full poetic rights. Similarly, we may compare with the tumult of the soul,' such prose expressions as his mind was disturbed,' 'his agitation was painful to witness,' the violence of his emotion,'-each of which, though no longer felt as figurative, embodies a metaphor precisely similar to Wordsworth's. We are not at this moment concerned with the ethical or philosophical contents of Wordsworth's line, for these might have been stated, with perfect accuracy, in the plainest terms, but merely with the poetical language in which he clothed his thought.

When Banquo says to Macbeth that the witches' salutation might yet enkindle him unto the crown,' we perceive

1 Disturb is to drive asunder in disorder,' from L. dis-, ' apart,' and turba, disorder,' a riotous crowd.' Agitation comes from L. agito, 'to drive to and fro.' Violence is from vis, force.' 6 Emotion is the

' act of moving (one) away,' 'disturbance (of mind).'

that enkindle is used metaphorically. So, also, when Macbeth declares

'I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent.'

But we feel the figure less vividly in such a phrase as 'fired with ambition,' and in the terms instigation and incentive we are not conscious of any metaphor whatever. Yet instigation comes from a root which means 'to goad,' and incentive means literally that which sets the tune' (from L. in and canere, to sing '); so that both these words were, in their first application to motives' or 'promptings,' quite as poetical as either enkindle or spur.

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The ordinary processes by which words change their meanings are, then, essentially the same as the devices of poetry; or, to express the fact more accurately, the figurative language of poetry differs from the speech of common life mainly in employing fresher figures, or in revivifying those which have lost their freshness from age and constant use.

Language is fossil poetry which is constantly being worked over for the uses of speech. Our commonest words are worn-out metaphors.

Thus, depend is literally to hang from' from' (L. dependo); egregious means selected from the [common] herd' (L. e, ‘from,' and grex, gregis, ‘herd'); spoil means 'to strip,' i.e. to strip off the armor, etc., of a slain or defeated enemy'; front means 'forehead' (L. frons, frontis); to fret is originally to eat up,' 'to devour' (A.S. fretan, for-, 'away,' and etan, 'eat'), — compare 'gnawing anxiety'; precocious means 'too early ripe' (L. praecox, from prae-, 'before,' and coquo, 'to cook,' 'to ripen'); to thrill is literally 'to bore,' 'to pierce,'

and is related to drill (the same word is seen in nostril, formerly nosethril); sullen means at first 'solitary' and comes (through the French) from L solus, 'alone' (whence our adjective sole).

Such illustrations might be multiplied indefinitely. Indeed, almost every word that we shall have occasion to study will serve as an example, for the processes that we are considering go on incessantly so long as a language is alive. We shall find that there is no device which we are accustomed to call poetical, no similitude so slight, no metaphor so strained or so commonplace, that language has not seized upon it to make new forms of expression as the needs of advancing thought required them. Even when the resultant words appear intensely prosaic, the processes that created them are identical with those of artistic poetry.

This important truth may be further illustrated in the growth of words from a single root.

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The Indo-European family of languages (to which belong Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, English, and many other tongues) had a simple linguistic form (a 'root') PET, which signified rapid motion across the field of vision.'1 This root is clearly seen in the Latin verb peto. Since such motion is produced either by falling or by flying, words with these meanings have been formed from the root PET in various languages of our family.2 But such motion may include also the idea of intentional direction.' Hence other words from the same root have acquired the sense of aim,' and, by the transference from actual to figurative aim, the meanings (originally metaphorical) of 'seek' and 'ask.' All three senses, 'aim,'

1 For the nature of roots and stems see Chapter XIII.
2 Thus, Gr. πίπτω, πιτνέω, ‘I fall'; πέτομαι, ‘I fy.

'seek,' and 'ask,' are found in the Latin verb peto. Thus from this one root PET, we have, by various differentiations of meaning, such words 1 as the following:

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Latin penna, 'a means of flying,' 'a wing,' 'a feather,' whence, through the French, the English pen, originally applied to a quill used for writing, but now extended to other devices (steel pen, gold pen, stylographic pen, etc.). Greek πτwσis (ptôsis), ‘a falling,' — then, figuratively, ‘a case' in grammar (since the genitive, dative, and other so-called 'oblique' cases were conceived as falling away from the nominative, which was fancifully called the 'upright case ').

im-petus, ‘a force of forward movement,' — first literal, then figurative. ap-petite, 'a craving' (of body or mind).

re-peat, 'to go back to get something,' 'to take up a thing a second time.'

petition, 'a seeking,' 'a request.'

com-petition, 'a seeking together,' then, especially, 'rivalry' (in modern times applied especially to commercial rivalry).

petulant, 'butting' (as goats do), 'attacking,' — then figuratively, for 'ill-humored,' 'irritable.'

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Another root, PU, meant clean,' and thence came the Latin adjectives putus, 'clean,' and purus, clear.' From putus arose a verb puto, 'to clean.' In a vine-bearing country, cleaning is particularly 'pruning,' and from that idea, specially applied in surgery, we get amputation. In mercantile language 'to clean up accounts' (putare rationes) became a common expression for reckoning,' and finally accounts' (rationes) was dropped, and puto was used for 'reckon' in general (as in computation). From 'reckon' we pass easily to 'think,' 2 and this becomes the

1 These words are built up by the mechanical means of word-formations developed in the various languages. Such formative mechanics will be treated later (see Chapters XIII, XIV).

2 Compare the provincial use of I reckon for 'I think,' in both England and America.