Part 5

'Dickens, Charles, the most popular writer of his time, was born in February 1812, at Landport, Portsmouth. His father, the late Mr John Dickens, in the earlier part of his life, enjoyed a post in the Navy Pay Department, the duties of which required that he should reside from time to time in different seaports: now at Plymouth, now at Portsmouth, and then at Sheerness. "In the glorious days" of the war with France, these towns were full of life, bustle, and character; and the father of "Boz" was at times fond of dilating upon the strange scenes he had witnessed. One of his stories described a sitting-room he once enjoyed at Blue-town, Sheerness, abutting on the theatre. Of an evening, he used to sit in this room, and could hear what was passing on the stage, and join in the chorus of _God save the King_, and _Britannia rules the Waves_--then the favourite songs of Englishmen. The war being at an end, amongst those who left the public service with a pension was the father of our novelist. Coming to London, he subsequently found lucrative employment for his talents on the press as a reporter of parliamentary debates. Charles Dickens may, therefore, be said to have been in his youth familiarised with "copy;" and when his father, with parental anxiety for his future career, took the preliminary steps for making his son an attorney, the dreariness of the proposed occupation fell so heavily upon the mind of the future author, that he induced his father to permit him to resign the law, and join the parliamentary corps of a daily newspaper. His first engagement was on the _True Sun_, an ultra-liberal paper, then carrying on a fierce struggle for existence, from the staff of which he afterwards passed into the reporting ranks of the _Morning Chronicle_. On that paper, he obtained reputation as a first-rate man--his reports being exceedingly rapid, and no less correct. In the columns of the _Chronicle_ he soon gave proofs of other talents than those of a reporter; for in the evening edition of that journal appeared the _Sketches of English Life and Character_, afterwards collected to form the two well-known volumes of _Sketches by Boz_, published respectively in 1836 and 1837. These at once attracted considerable notice, and obtained great success; and the publisher of the collected edition, anxious to make the most of the prize which had fallen to his lot, gladly came to an arrangement with Mr Dickens and Seymour, the comic draughtsman--the one to write, and the other to illustrate a book which should exhibit the adventures of a party of Cockney sportsmen. Hence the appearance of _Pickwick_, a book which made its author's reputation and the publishers' fortune. After the work had commenced, poor Seymour committed suicide, and Mr Hablot K. Browne was selected to continue the illustrations, which he did under the signature of "Phiz." Meanwhile, Mr Dickens had courted and married the daughter of Mr George Hogarth, then, and now, a musical writer; a man of considerable attainments, and who, in his earlier days, whilst a writer to the Signet in Edinburgh, enjoyed the intimate friendship of Sir Walter Scott, Jeffrey, and the other literary notables at that day adorning the Modern Athens. The great success of _Pickwick_ brought down upon its author demands from all sides for another work, and "Boz" agreed to write _Nicholas Nickleby_, to be published in monthly parts. In the prefatory notices, which give additional value to the cheap and elegant reprint of the works of Dickens, we are indulged with slight glimpses of his own recollections, personal and literary.' It is unnecessary to note the titles of Mr Dickens's subsequent works, all of which have justly obtained popularity. He has latterly entered on a path not dissimilar to our own, and in this he has our very best wishes. The cause of social melioration needs a union of hearts and hands.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Bogue, London: 1852.

ARCHBISHOP WHATELY'S BOOK OF SYNONYMS.

Accuracy of language is one of the things which, in ordinary speech and writing, is but indifferently observed. The reason, perhaps, is to be sought, not in any general indifference to correctness or precision, but rather in the want of some recognised authority, some specific rules or principles, to which the use of words apparently synonymous, yet of slightly different signification, might be distinctly and easily referred. It is in regard to the finer shades of meaning, the subtler touches of expression, the application of words and phrases where the strictest exactness and perspicuity are required, that an ordinary English style is apt to become loose and shadowy; and it is precisely here that we are entitled to expect the severest, chastest form of utterance. Coleridge used to complain of a general confounding of the word 'notion' with 'idea,' and was often at great pains to point out the distinction between the two, as also between many other words similarly misused. Archdeacon Hare, too, has remarked upon the common misapplication of such words as 'education' for 'instruction,' 'government' for 'administration,' 'the church' for 'the priesthood' or 'ministry;' and indeed holds that such a confounding of terms leads to serious practical misunderstandings and confusions.[3] Any one, upon reflection, will perceive that in the common use of these and numberless other words, there is often a signal lack of clearness and precision, and will hardly fail to notice that the error proceeds from a want of due attention to the nice and peculiar meanings of words which are vaguely presumed to have the same signification.

As a help to those who may wish to attain a somewhat more than common correctness of style and language, Archbishop Whately has recently published a small work on _English Synonyms_;[4] and the rapidity with which the first edition has been disposed of leads us to infer that the public is to some extent prepared to take an interest in the subject. The second edition, 'revised and enlarged,' is now before us, and it is thought that a brief glance at its contents may not be unacceptable to some of our present readers.

The word 'synonym,' as the archbishop observes, is, in strict reality, a misnomer. 'Literally, it implies an exact coincidence of meaning in two or more words, in which case there would be no room for discussion; but it is generally applied to words which would be more correctly termed pseudo-synonyms--that is, words having a shade of difference, yet with a sufficient resemblance of meaning to make them liable to be confounded. And it is in the number and variety of these that, as the Abbé Girard well remarks, the richness of a language consists. To have two or more words with exactly the same sense, is no proof of copiousness, but simply an inconvenience. A house would not be called well furnished from its having a larger number of chairs and tables of one kind than were needed, but from its having a separate article for each distinct use. The more power we have of discriminating the nicer shades of meaning, the greater facility we possess of giving force and precision to our expressions. Our own language possesses great advantages in this respect; for being partly derived from the Teutonic, and partly from the Latin, we have a large number of duplicates from the two sources, which are, for the most part, though not universally, slightly varied in their meaning.

'These slight variations of meaning,' he proceeds, add to the copiousness of the English language, by affording words of more or less familiarity, and of greater and less force. This may easily be understood, if we consider that the branch of the Teutonic, spoken in England during the Anglo-Saxon period, never became extinct, but that three-fourths of the English language at present consist of words altered or derived from that ancient dialect; that these words usually express the most familiar ideas--such as _man_, _house_, _land_, &c.; and that the French terms gradually introduced, being those of a more highly civilised people, were adapted to express the more refined ideas. This is true even of physical objects; thus, for instance, most of the names of the animals used for food are still Teutonic--such as _ox_, _sheep_, _swine_, &c. The Anglo-Saxons, like the modern Germans, had no objection to say _ox-flesh_, _sheep-flesh_, _swine's-flesh_; but the Norman conquerors, introducing a more refined cookery, introduced with it French words for the flesh of the animal; hence we have _beef_, _mutton_, _pork_, &c.'

It has not been the author's design to notice _all_ the synonyms in the language--that, as he remarks, would be an almost endless undertaking; 'but merely, after excluding technical terms, and words which do exactly coincide, to select a few of those groups of words which are in most frequent use, and are most liable to be confounded.' His purpose, perhaps, will be more distinctly shewn, if we add a few more sentences from the preface.

'Many persons,' says he, 'imagine that two words must either coincide precisely in their meaning, so as to be, in the primary and strict sense of the word, "synonymous," or else stand for two (more or less) distinct _things_. Indeed, it would often be regarded as almost a truism to assert this; but those who maintain such an opinion overlook the fact, that two words, without exactly coinciding in sense, may nevertheless relate to one and the same thing, regarded in _two different points of view_. An illustration of this is afforded in the relation which exists between the words, "inference" and "proof." Whoever justly infers, proves; and whoever proves, infers; but the word "inference" leads the mind from the premises which have been assumed, to the conclusion which follows from them; while the word "proof" follows a reverse process, and leads the mind from the conclusion to the premises. We say: "What do you infer _from_ this?" and "How do you _prove_ that?"[5] Another illustration may be quoted in the synonyms, "expense" and "cost." The same article may be expensive and costly; but we speak of _expense_ in reference to the means of the purchaser; of _cost_, in reference to the actual value of the article.'

This work does not profess to deal much with _etymologies_; the author thinking that any very strict attention to the _derivation_ of words, in connection with synonyms, would only tend to confuse the subject. The history of the origin and growth of words must undoubtedly throw light upon their meanings; but he, nevertheless, holds the two questions to be completely distinct and separable; and thinks that, in an inquiry into the _actual_ and _present_ meaning of a word, the consideration of what it originally meant may frequently lead us into error. A few suggestive remarks are given upon this matter.

'Our question is, not what _ought_ to be, or formerly was, the meaning of a word, but what it _now_ is; nor can we be completely guided by quotations from Shakspeare or Milton, or even from Addison or Johnson. Language has undergone such changes, even within the last sixty or seventy years, that many words, at that time considered pure, are now obsolete; while others--of which the word "mob" is a specimen--formerly slang, are now used by our best writers, and received, like pardoned outlaws, into the body of respectable citizens.' The standard, accordingly, to which the author refers in the work before us, is the sense in which a word is used by the purest writers and most correct speakers of our own days.

The synonyms are arranged or classed according to the parts of speech to which they belong--namely, into particles, nouns, adjectives, and verbs. The uses of all the words are well defined, and sufficiently illustrated by examples; a table of contents and a complete index are also added, rendering reference to any word as easy as looking for it in a dictionary. The table of contents, indeed, will be found to serve most of the purposes of a vocabulary of synonyms: a glance at it will frequently give you all the words of similar signification to the particular one for which you may happen to require an equivalent. From the part of the book relating to _verbs_, we take the following; the words under notice being, _To teach, instruct, inform, educate_:--

'Of these words, the first two are often used synonymously, but they have also a distinct meaning. "Teaching," strictly speaking, when distinguished from instruction, is applied to the practice of an art or branch of knowledge: instruction, to the theory. A child is, correctly speaking, _instructed_ in the grammar of a language, and _taught_ to speak the language. Thus, teaching may be merely mechanical; while "instruction" implies a degree of understanding in the pupil, as well as in the master. A child who has been _taught_ to learn lessons by rote, without understanding them, will find difficulty in comprehending _instruction_ in the principles of what he has learned: hence, we speak of _teaching_ a brute, but never of _instructing_ it.

'_Information_,[6] again, is distinguished from instruction, in relation to the truths conveyed by it. Matters of fact, made known to one who could not have known them before, are called information: instruction elicits new truths out of subject-matter _already_ existing in the mind--(see Whately's _Logic_, book iv. § 1.)

'A traveller gives us information respecting foreign countries; a metaphysician instructs us in the principles of moral science--principles drawn from facts already known to us. The two processes may take place at the same time: a child in learning a lesson receives both information and instruction: he is taught things he never knew before, and also taught to apply and make use of what he does know already. In fact, pure mathematics is the only branch of instruction which includes no information, as the propositions are all based on principles previously assumed. In short, a person who is informed, _knows_ something he did not before; one who is instructed, _understands_ something he did not before; one who is taught, can _do_ something he could not do before.

'Education is more comprehensive than any of the other words before us. It includes the _whole course_ of moral and intellectual teaching. One who gives occasional lessons is not said to _educate_. To _educate_ (agreeably to its derivation, from "e-duco," not "in-duco"), includes the _drawing out_ of the faculties, so as to teach the pupil how to teach him_self_; which is one of the most valuable of arts.

'Moral training, considered _by itself_, is called "teaching;" this constitutes no exception to the rule laid down, as its object is to enable us, not to _know_, but to _do_ what is right.'--(P. 32-34.)

'Few words, perhaps, are more apt to be misapplied than the string of adjectives treated of in the section next quoted--namely, _benevolent, beneficent, charitable, munificent, liberal, bountiful, philanthropic_.

'Benevolent and beneficent, together with their conjugates, have curiously diverged from their original meaning. Etymologically, "benevolent" implied merely _wishing_ well to others, and "beneficent" _doing_ well; _now_, "benevolent" includes both kinds of feelings and actions, and "beneficent" is restricted to acts of kindness on a great scale, and generally performed by some one of exalted station and character: hence, we speak of the "beneficence" rather than the "benevolence" of the Creator. It may perhaps be said to follow from this, that "benevolent" draws our attention more to the character of the agent; "beneficent," to that of the act performed--retaining, so far, a tinge of their etymology.

'"Charitable" (when not used in reference to a mild and candid judgment of others) seems to be restricted to one kind of benevolence--that which consists in alms-giving.

'"Munificent" resembles "beneficent," in referring always to favours on a large scale, and conferred by superiors; but there is this important difference, that "beneficent" always implies some real and essential good done, while "munificent," as its derivation implies, may be applied equally to any _gift_, whether really useful or not. One who makes a present of jewellery or pictures to a friend, is munificent, but would not be called "beneficent." If he raised a distressed family from starvation, the word "beneficent" would be more appropriate. But one who gives largely to the public, or to some institution, is called munificent. It seems to convey the idea of splendour. No one can be called munificent who does not give on a large scale.

'Any one who is ready to give _freely_, as the etymology implies, on whatever scale, is "liberal." "Bountiful," again, is stronger than "liberal," and implies giving in abundance; it also differs from "liberal" in being restricted to _giving_; while "liberal" is applied to an easy style of expenditure in general; to the reverse, in short, of "stingy," or "miserly." Many people live in a _liberal_ style, who are very far from being "bountiful." Bountiful always seems to imply, giving out of an ample store.

'"Philanthropic," as its etymology indicates, implies benevolence solely in reference to the _human race_, and always to masses, not to individuals. One who devises some plan to benefit numbers, is called "philanthropic;" but we should not talk of "philanthropically giving a loaf to a hungry child."'--(P. 83-85.)

As space is beginning to press, our last extract must be short: it relates to words often enough employed indiscriminately--_imagination, conception, fancy_. '"Imagination" and "fancy" are frequently confounded together, but are, nevertheless, very distinct in their signification. In the first place, "imagination" implies more of a _creative_ power than "fancy;" it requires a greater combination of various powers, and is therefore a higher exercise of genius. "Fancy," on the other hand, is more an employment of ingenuity and taste, though it also requires inventive power. Secondly, "imagination" implies a longer flight; "fancy," rather a succession of short efforts: the one is a steady blaze; the other, a series of sparkles. An epic poem would require an exercise of the first; a ballad, or other lighter production, of the last: hence, we may see that the difference between the two is, in some measure, one of subject-matter; for the same power which we call "fancy" when employed in a melody of Moore, would be called "imagination" in the works of Dante or Milton. In short, the efforts of "fancy" bear the same relation to those of "imagination" that the carving and polishing of a gem or seal does to sculpture.

'In the third place, _wit_ may come into works of "fancy," and could not be admitted into the province of "imagination." The same with what are called _conceits_.

'"Conception" has something in common with imagination, but it implies more decidedly a creative power, and is referred to something tangible and real; whereas, in efforts of fancy and imagination, there is always a consciousness of unreality. The province of "conception" is that which has a real existence: hence, the productions of painters, sculptors, and musicians, are called "conceptions." "Conception" also denotes something framed and originated in our _own_ mind; whereas the imagination or fancy may be acted on merely from without. The poet or writer of fiction exercises his own conceptions, but awakens the imagination of his readers.'

These quotations will give as general a notion of the work as can be conveyed by a few extracts. To those among our readers who may be in quest of such a book, we can decidedly recommend it as one that is certain to be useful. It is by far the best of the kind that we have ever happened to meet with; and we think that if it were universally studied and consulted, the result would be a great improvement of expression, both in common speech and literature.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] See _Guesses at Truth_. First series.

[4] _A Selection of English Synonyms_. Second Edition. Parker, London: 1852.

[5] See Whately's _Logic_, book iv., chap. 3, § 1, in which the above is illustrated by the difference between the road from London to York and the road from York to London.

[6] The nouns are used here instead of the verbs for convenience sake, as they precisely correspond.

'CHAPTER ON CATS.'

In No. 419 of this Journal, an article with the above heading mentions among the exports from New York to New Granada 100 _cats_. Wherever our contributor may have picked up his intelligence, the original source is the _New York Herald_; but, unluckily, a paper of a more practical character--if we may judge from its title--_The Dry-Goods Reporter_, gives the custom-house entry in full, in which the change of a single vowel makes a prodigious difference. The entry is this: '100 _cots_--125 dollars--to Granada.'

A MARINER'S WIFE.

'Ah me, my dream!' pale Helen cried, With hectic cheeks aglow: 'Why wake me? Hide that cruel beam! I'll not win such another dream On this side heaven, I know.

'I almost feel the leaping waves, The wet spray on my hair, The salt breeze singing in the sail, The kind arms, strong as iron-mail, That held me safely there.

'I'll tell thee:--On some shore I stood, Or sea, or inland bay, Or river broad, I know not--save There seemed no boundary to the wave That chafed and moaned alway.

'The shore was lone--the wave was lone-- The horizon lone; no sail Broke the dim line 'twixt sea and sky, Till slowly, slowly one came by, Half ghostlike, gray and pale.

'It was a very little boat, Had neither oars nor crew; But as it shoreward bounded fast, One form seemed leaning by the mast-- And Norman's face I knew!

'He never looked nor smiled at me, Though I stood there alone; His brow was very grave and high, Lit with a glory from the sky-- The wild bark bounded on.

'I shrieked: "Oh, take me--take me, love! The night is falling dread."-- "My boat may come no nearer shore; And, hark! how mad the billows roar! Art thou afraid?" he said.

'"Afraid! with thee?"--"The wind sweeps fierce The foamy rocks among; A perilous voyage waiteth me."-- "Then, then, indeed, I go with thee," I cried, and forward sprung.

'All drenched with brine, all pale with fear-- Ah no, not fear; 'twas bliss!-- I felt the strong arms draw me in: If after death to heaven I win, 'Twill be such joy as this!

'No kiss, no smile, but aye that clasp-- Tender, and close, and brave; While, like a tortured thing, upleapt The boat, and o'er her deck there swept Wave thundering after wave.

'I looked not to the stormy deep, Nor to the angry sky; Whether for life or death we wrought, My whole world dwindled to one thought-- _Where he is, there am I_!

'On--on--through leaping waves, slow calmed, With salt spray on our hair, And breezes singing in the sail, Before a safe and pleasant gale, The boat went bounding fair:

'But whether to a shore we came, Or seaward sailed away, Alas! to me is all unknown: O happy dream, too quickly flown! O cruel, cruel day!'

Pale Helen lived--or died: dull time O'er all that history rolls; Sailed they or sunk they on life's waves?-- I only know earth holds two graves, And heaven two blessed souls.

REMITTANCES TO AND FROM EMIGRANTS.