No. 158, 'The Old Hunting Grounds,' is by W. Whittredge, N. A. It gives a charming insight into the mysteries of the woods. The characteristic white birches, with their reflection in the quiet pool, the dark trunk and spreading branches of the great tree in the foreground, the tender foliage, and soft, hazy gleams into the depths of the forest, afford the materials for a delightful picture, the more precious in our sight that it is so truly a representation of our native land, so thoroughly American. The broken birch canoe adds to the beauty of nature a most effective and pathetic touch, by briefly figuring the melancholy history of a fast-departing race. Gone forever are the moccasoned feet that pressed that mossy soil, and the dusky forms that flitted to and fro among the white trunks that catch and hold the light so lovingly. That broken canoe has a stranger tale to tell than any ruined arch or fallen column of the Old World: the one speaks of some empire passed away, the other of the gradual extinction of an entire type of human beings, a race of men who seem to have accomplished the work assigned them, and who die rather than abandon their native instincts and habits of thought and life. The fortunate possessor of the 'Old Hunting Grounds,' when shut up within the confined streets and dreary walls of a city, need only lift his eyes to the picture to dream dreams of the freshness and freedom of the wild woods, of the scented breeze snuffed by the browsing deer, of the rocking branches glimmering gold and green against the clear summer sky. Mr. Whittredge's picture is suggestive and harmonious as nature itself, and one could never weary of it, as one infallibly must of weaker and more conventional productions, often highly prized by frequenters of galleries.

No. 153, 'The Iron-Bound Coast of Maine,' by W. S. Haseltine, N. A., has the freshness, brightness, and mistiness of such a shore. We have heard Mr. Haseltine's rocks complained of as too yellow; but, in the absence of knowledge, are content to presume he painted them as he saw them. The action of the dashing surf in washing away the lower strata, and strewing the beach with fragments, is one token, among many, of an actual observation of facts.

No. 236, 'An Artist's Studio,' and No. 131, 'Christmas Eve,' are by J. F. Weir. Both are well conceived and executed, the latter being especially interesting. The old wall, the great bell, the moonlight, and the elves set the fancy musing over many things in heaven and earth rarely dreamed of in our philosophy.

No. 12, 'The Argument,' is one of W. H. Beard's excellent fables. The attitudes of the two bears in discussion, of the sober-minded listener leaning with crossed paws upon the tree, and of the self-sufficient old fellow with his paw upon his breast, may read to many a good lesson, especially during the coming Presidential struggle, when the charities and bienseances of life will doubtless be but too often outraged. We have been surprised and pained to see attacks upon the works of this gentleman, coming from opposite quarters, said strictures being, in our opinion, unjust and uncalled for. If behind the animal form we see proof of more than animal intellect, let us not quarrel with the addition. It is an evil mind that will go out of its way to fasten evil intentions upon the work of a man of genius. If human faults and follies so ill beseem the brute creation, should not such representation render us heartily ashamed of their existence among ourselves. Love and pity for the animal world, and a proper holding up to ridicule and scorn of the brutish propensities, too prominent, alas! in the composition of the human race, have been the lessons taught us by all the works of this artist we have thus far seen.

No. 204, 'Out All Night,' by J. H. Beard, is an excellent warning to naughty puppies to keep good hours and shun bad company.

No. 114, 'A Buckwheat Field on Thomas Cole's Farm,' and No. 143, 'The Catskills from the Village,' are by Thomas C. Farrer, a representative of a school which professes to paint precisely what it sees. To represent nature is the aim of all our best modern landscapists. Of course, no painting can give all that is in any scene, but every painter must select the means best adapted to convey the idea he has himself received. Now, in the ultra ideal school (to use a slang word which we detest) we recognize but little known to us in nature; and in the ultra matter-of-fact (pre-Raphaelite) school of this country, we find the same absence of abstract truth, together with a painful stiffness, and the want of a sense for beauty. We are not sufficiently practical artists to fathom the difficulty, but it seems to us to arise from the absence of one of the most prominent elements of beauty and interest to be found in the universe, namely, mystery. If, in the metaphysical world, with our limited means, we attempt an exhaustive explanation of any of the attributes of the Infinite Being, the result must be unsatisfactory; we will always feel that there is something beyond, which we have failed to grasp, a something which makes our best effort appear shallow and crude. Now, the material mystery of actual landscape arises from the presence of an appreciable atmosphere, softening forms, etherealizing distances, modifying color, and lending the glow of variously refracted light to every object falling under its influence. In these pictures of Mr. Farrer we fail to find any trace of atmosphere, and hence they strike us as bald, hard, cold, and unnatural.

No. 213, 'The Awe and Mystery of Death,' by Eugene Benson, is an able treatment of a repulsive subject. As we gaze, we cannot but admire the genius that has so far overcome the intrinsic difficulties of the situation; and, while congratulating the artist upon his success, must add that the Victor Hugo style of morbid horrors, however popular in some species of literature, can never, we hope, become so in the purer domain of visible fine art.

No. 246, 'Portrait,' William O. Stone, N. A., is a charming portrayal of a charming subject.

No. 283, 'A Child,' by George A. Baker, N. A., has lovely brown eyes, and a beautiful, thoughtful expression.

No. 253, 'A Portrait,' by W. H. Furness, jr., strikes us as a picture carefully disfigured. The part in the hair is singularly continued in the part between the wings of the golden butterfly ornamenting the head, the eyes are just sufficiently turned aside to give them the appearance of avoiding a direct gaze, and the tight-fitting gown is of white moire, a material of stiff texture and chaotic pattern. The shimmer of waves in sun or moonlight is beautiful because restless, but the watering of a silk is a rude attempt to fix the ever variable in form, light, and color, and hence is always unsatisfactory.

We are glad to see that the women in our community are beginning to make some serious efforts in the way of good painting. They are by nature subtile colorists, and there is surely no reason why they should not conquer form, attain to technical excellence, and be inspired by noble ideas. They must remember that excellence is attainable solely through hard study and patient assiduity, and small things must be well accomplished before great ones can be expected to succeed. With the general development of what we may call 'out-door' faculties, a taste for mere sentimental prettiness will vanish, and a healthy vigor, united to refined and acute perception, will, we hope, characterize the labors of the rising aspirants to artistic honors.

No. 91, 'The Sword and the Wreath,' by Miss A. E. Rose, is a poetical conception, beautifully elaborated. The flowers have no appearance of having been copied from wax or colored stucco, but are faithful representations of the actual, fragile, delicate texture of the lovely children of the garden. The method of presentation suggests a memory of La Farge, but Miss Rose is too talented and original ever to fall into servile imitation.

No. 132, 'On the Kaaterskill Creek,' and No. 64, 'Head of the Catskill Clove from the South Mountain,' are by Miss Edith W. Cook. The first offers some fine delineations of foliage, intermingled hemlock, and deciduous trees, and the latter is a spirited and truthful representation of a beautiful bit of Catskill scenery. The Hunter and Plattekill Mountains, Haines's Fall, the Clove Road and intervening ravines, the winding woodpath, and burnt trees, are close records of fact, set in a far-away sky and a real atmosphere.

Miss Virginia Granbery's 'Basket of Cherries' (No. 81) and 'Strawberries' (No. 73) are tempting specimens of fruit.

No. 202, 'The Seamstress,' by Miss C. W. Conant, gives proof of future excellence in the truthful pathos of its conception and the energetic rendering of the idea.

But our hour has come to an end, and we have only space left to mention the names of Bierstadt, Constant Mayer, Hennessy, May, Durand, Griswold, Suydam, Bradford, Brevoort, Cropsey, Colman, Cranch, De Haas, Hart, Homer, Hubbard, Huntington, Vedder, and White, who are all characteristically represented, and to counsel such of our readers as are fortunate enough to have the opportunity, to go and see for themselves. Americans are beginning to comprehend the full value of the arts, and to appreciate their own artists accordingly.



APHORISMS.

NO. V.

With us it may not be the actual suffering of death, as it was with our Lord; but that we may truly follow Him, and do what we can for the good of others, we must hold life, with all its endearments, subject to any call for sacrifice that may be made on us; and actually give up, from day to day, just as much of the present life, its pleasures or interests, as may be necessary, that we may render the best possible service in the kingdom of Christ. We have the privilege of daily martyrdom, to be followed by its honors and blessedness, in whatsoever circumstances we may be placed: how much of the sufferings that sometimes accompany the spirit and the act, we need not concern ourselves to inquire.



THE UNKIND WORD.

Ay—far in the feeling heart Cast the unkind word till it smiteth, Till deep in the flesh like a poisoned dart It stingeth—and ruthlessly biteth! What need that the blood In a crimson flood Flow fast from the throbbing veins— What need—if a sob Or the heart's wild throb Betoken the horrible pains?

The tears are forced from the mournful eyes As the angry word proceedeth; Little it cares for the stifled sighs, Little recks if the sad heart bleedeth;— But onward it goes While the life-blood flows Fast—fast on its terrible path; It laughs at the moan, And the low subdued groan, As it cuts so deep in its wrath.

* * * * *

But soft on its track, And calling it back, Soothing the wound it has made, A Spirit of Love Comes down from above, In heavenly beauty arrayed—

An angel of peace Who bids the tears cease, And stops the red life-blood's flow, And the poisoned dart Draws out of the heart, That dart that had torn it so, And heals o'er the skin— But look then within, There still is a scar below!



LANGUAGE A TYPE OF THE UNIVERSE.

In a preceding paper, published in the May number of THE CONTINENTAL, the possibility, the necessity, and the characteristics of a Scientific Universal Language were considered. In the present paper it is proposed to examine more at large the relations of Language to the total Universe; not merely in respect to Elements or the Alphabetic Domain of Language, and that which corresponds with it in the Universe; but in respect equally to all that rises above these foundations of the two edifices in question which are to be compared.

The term Edifice or Structure will be found to be alike applicable to each. It will be found, likewise, that both arise in parallel development through a succession of stages or stories (French, etages, ESTAGES, STAGES), and that this and other similar repetitions, in the development of the one, of all the facts and features of the development of THE OTHER, is what is meant by the Analogy of one with the other, and by the affirmation implied in the title of this article, that Language is a Type of the Universe.

We shall begin, therefore, by a general distribution of these two Domains or Spheres or Structures—for the facts of the analogy will justify the occasional use and interchange of all these terms—and shall pursue the relationship between them into so much of detail as space will allow.

What the Universe is in itself we have no other means of knowing than as it impresses itself upon our minds, modified as it may be by the reactive or reflectional element supplied by the mind itself. In preponderance, then, or primarily, the Universe is for each of us, what the totality of Impression made by the Universe is within each of us; and the Universe in that larger and generalized sense in which we speak of it as one, and not as many individual conceptions, is the mean aggregate or general average of the Impression made upon all minds, in so far as it has a general or common character.

The whole of what man individually or collectively puts forth, as the product of his mind or of all minds, is the totality of Expression, in a sense which exactly counterparts the totality of Impression. Impression is related to Nature, external to man, and acting on him. Expression has relation to Art, externalized from within man, and taken in that large sense which means all human performance whatsoever. Science is systematized knowing, and is a middle term, or stands and functionates mediatorially between Impression or Nature and Expression or Art.

Nature or the external world impresses itself upon mind, primarily, through the Senses, and predominantly stands related with the sense of Feeling, of which all the other special senses are merely modified forms or differentiations. Feeling as a sense (the sense of Touch), is allied again with Affection, the internal counterpart of the mere external sensation, as testified to etymologically by the use of the same word to express both; namely, Feeling as the synonyme of Touch, and Feeling as the synonyme of Affection. Conation, from the Latin conari, TO EXERT ONESELF, TO PUT FORTH EFFORT, is the term employed by metaphysicians to signify both Desire and Will, the last being the determination of the mind which results in action. Conation is therefore related to action, which is again Expression, and is also Art, in the large definition of the term above given.

The grand primary distribution of the Mind made by Kant, followed by Sir William Hamilton, and now concurred in by the students of the mind generally, is into: 1. FEELING; 2. KNOWING; and 3. CONATION (or Will and Desire). In accordance with this is Comte's famous epitome of the business of life: AGIR PAR AFFECTION, ET PENSER POUR AGIR; the three terms here being again, 1. Affection (or Feeling); 2. Knowledge (or Reflection); and 3. Action (or Performance).

If now, instead of distributing the Mind, we enlarge the sphere of our thinking, and distribute upon the same principle the total Universe (as if it were a mind or a mirror of the mind), for Feeling or Affection we shall put Impression or Nature; for Knowing or Reflection we shall put Science or Systematized Knowledge; and for Conation or Action we shall put Art.

The following table will exhibit the two series of distribution, that of the Universe at large, and that of the Human Mind, in their parallelism, reading the two columns from below upward:

I. Universe. II. Mind.

3. ART (or Expression). 3. CONATION (or Will and Desire). 2. SCIENCE. 2. KNOWING. 1. NATURE (or Impression). 1. FEELING (or Affection).

The point of present importance in the use of these discriminations is to make clear to the mind of the reader what perhaps is sufficiently implied in the very terms themselves, namely: that Impression and Expression are correlative to, and, in a sense, exactly reflect each other; that the totality of Impression, or the Universe which enters the mind through the senses, is repeated—with a modification, it is true, but still with traceable identity, or with a definite and unbroken relationship—in the totality of Expression, or in the Universe of Art, taken as the entirety of what man does or creates. It is by the mediation of Science or Knowledge, that one of these worlds is converted into the other. Nature or Impression is the aggregate of the Rays of Incidence falling upon a mirror; Science is the Reflecting Mirror; and Art or Human Performance is the aggregate of the Reflected Rays, whose angles can be exactly calculated by the knowledge of the angle of incidence. Science or Knowledge is not only the mirror which makes the Reflection, but it is the plane or level which is to furnish us the means of adjusting the angles; of knowing their correspondence or relation to each other; and of translating the one into the other. Science must, therefore, as it develops, be the instrument of informing us of the exact analogy between Nature and Art; and must enable us so to apply the Laws of Nature, or the Laws of God as exhibited in Nature, that they shall become a perfect canon of life and action, in all our attempted performances and constructions, whatsoever they may be; or, vice versa, it must enable us from the knowledge of the laws of our own actions to reveal the secrets of Nature, and to know, by the analogy, in what manner she acts. It will then perhaps be found that the Moral Code, as dictated by inspiration, is only the forecast, through that method, of what is destined to be more perfectly revealed to the intellect, when the veil is rent by the millennial perfection of man.

It will be perceived by the reader that the term Art is here employed in a larger than its usual sense, although the analogy in question has a special intensification when we confine the term to mean, as it ordinarily does, the choicest performances of man. The term Science has also a larger and a smaller extension. In the larger sense it means the totality of knowledge extracted from Impression or the observation of Nature, and distinguished from mere Impression or Nature on the one hand, and from Expression, Action, Performance, or Art—the reprojection of the knowledge into new forms of being—on the other hand. In the more restricted sense, Science means systematized knowledge, or, still more specifically, the Body of Principles or Laws in accordance with which knowledge becomes systematized in the mind.

The larger and the smaller Art-Performances of Humanity—first, all the Work or Product of the Creative Power of Man; and, secondly, Grand and Fine Art, as the Choice Product of that faculty—are again epitomized in LANGUAGE or SPEECH. This last is the Sense-Bearing Product of the Lips and Cooeperative Organs, put representatively for the product of the hands and of all the other instrumentalities of action.

It is in this representative sense that LANGUAGE is preeminently and distinctively denominated EXPRESSION. But, as we have seen, Expression is the Equivalent and exact Reflect of Impression; Art, of Nature; through the mediation of Science, meaning thereby the Laws of Knowing. These Laws of Knowing thus hold an exact relation to the Laws of Doing; or, in other words, Scientific Laws to Creative and Vital Laws, which last are the Laws of Administration, human and divine. As an epitome or miniature, then, the Laws of Language must be an exact reproduction of the Laws of the Universe. Language itself, in other words, must be an epitome or miniature image, in all its perfection, of the Universe at large; as the image formed upon the retina of the eye, though infinitely small in the comparison, is an exact epitome or image, inversely, of the external world presented to the vision.

Let the reader guard himself well against supposing that what is here meant is the mere commonplace truth that Language is the equivalent of our Impression of the Universe, in the fact that we can, through the medium of Language, describe, and in that sense express, what we think and feel of and about the Universe. What is here intended is something far more recondite than this superficial relation between Speech, Thought, and the World thought about. It is this—That, in the Phenomena, the Laws, and the Indications of the Structure of Language—considered as a fabric, or Word-World—there is an exact image or reproduction, in a miniature way, of the Phenomena, the Laws, and the Indications of the entire Universe; in so definite and traceable a manner as to furnish to us, when the analogy is understood, a complete model and illustration of the Science of the Universe as a whole.

If this be true, the immense importance of the discovery can hardly be over-estimated. We are furnished by means of it with a simple object, of manageable dimensions, as the subject of our direct investigations; which, when mastered, will, by reflection, and a definite law of relation and proportion, enable us to master the Plan of the Universe; and so to constitute a one Science out of the many Sciences by recognizing the Domains which they cover as parts of a larger domain, which is equivalent to the whole.

Holding fast, then, to this thought, let us proceed to the endeavor so to distribute the totality of the aspects of Language as to exhaust the subject; and, by a concurrent projection of the analogies into the larger domain of the Universe as a whole, to establish a valid scientific nexus between the minor and the major spheres of our investigation.

First recurring to the preceding table, and translating the Abstract Conceptions, NATURE, SCIENCE, and ART, into their Concrete Equivalents or Analogies, they will stand thus:

Abstract. Concrete. 3. ART. 3. HUMAN PRODUCTION. (Art Creation.) 2. SCIENCE. 2. MAN. 1. NATURE. 1. THE WORLD. (The Natural Universe.)

This is to say, that the World or the Natural Universe is put for the Natural Impression which it makes of itself on the mind of the knowing subject; that the Knowing Subject is put in the place of Knowledge; and that the Product of Activity—the Thing Created—is put for the Activity itself or the Act of Creation.

It is clear enough that this distribution is exhaustive, thus: 1. The World, including, in a sense, all things; but here contrasted with, and in that sense excluding, two of its own minor domains; 2. Man, including Spirit, and God, in so far as human (not seeking to compass or bring within our scientific classification whatsoever is divine in a sense absolutely supernatural or transcending the Universe as such); 3. The Collective or Aggregate Product of Human Activity; including, especially, as norm or sample, Grand and Fine Art, the Choice Product of Human Activity; and, in a more especial sense, Language, as the Special or Typical EXPRESSION, which exactly counterparts and represents the totality of IMPRESSION made by Primitive Nature or The World, upon Man or the Human Mind.

Nature has again, therefore, like both Science and Art, as shown above, a double significance, in the former and larger of which it includes and covers or envelops the two other departments of Being; in the latter and smaller of which it excludes them, and makes Nature, or the World, to stand over against them, as that which is to be compared with Man and the Product of the Labor of Man; and in an especial sense with that particular product called Speech. The easy transition from the minor to the larger conception of Nature or the World is what renders Language a type, not only of the Universe as distinguished from Man and the Product of his Activity, but equally a type of the Universe in that larger sense in which it embraces them both.

Hence the two terms of our comparison are: 1. LANGUAGE, as the miniature and image of the whole, with, 2. The World or Universe, in that larger sense in which it is the whole, and, as such, includes Language and all else.

Observe, in the next place, that Art, whether in the larger or in the smaller sense which we have assigned to it, is the Product of the Combination and Blending of Science with Nature (reflective knowledge with natural impression); or, speaking in the concrete, of the conjunction of man with the outside world; man as the Agent or Actor, and the World or Nature as the Object wrought upon.

In the production of Speech, the phonos or mere sound is the natural, unwrought material, which corresponds with the Reality of Nature; and the Meaning or Minding which acts on, articulates and organizes the Sound into Speech, and which measures the sound quantitatively, as in Music, is the Scientific Attribute corresponding with Knowledge. The result of these two in combination is the Art of Speech, generally, and Improvisation or Song as the Fine Art of this Lingual Domain.

But passing from the Abstract to the Concrete Domain, Unwrought Natural Sound, bearing its proportion of meaning, furnishes the great basic department of language, which, for the reason that it is basic, is usually regarded as the whole of language, namely, ORAL SPEECH, or SPEECH LANGUAGE, as distinguished from MUSIC AND SONG.

Music, on the other hand, is wrought or measured Sound, bearing also its proportion of meaning; a superior language, corresponding with Science, from its relation to measure, to numbers, to fixed laws; as Oral Speech corresponds, in its freedom and unconstraint, with Nature.

Music and Oral Language united or married to each other constitute SONG, which is then the analogue or type, or Nature's hieroglyph, in this Domain, of Art.

We say instinctively the Art of Speech; the Science of Music, and the Art of Singing. In the first instance, Art is used for Natural Performance or Nature; but the whole of speech falling within the domain of art or performance, its lowest or natural division still has some claim to the distinction of an art. The first step of this series, Nature, and the third step, Art, repeat each other by overstepping the second, which is Science, as Do is accordant with Mi, but disharmonic with Re. It is, therefore, from the instinctual perception of this harmony, that Oral Speech, the basis of Language, the true Nature-department of Language, is still denominated the Art of Speech.

Adhering, however, to the Concrete Domain, and seeking our analogies there, oral speech, a Concrete Thing, does not directly correspond with Nature, an Abstract Conception, but with The World, a concrete thing; nor does Music, a Concrete Thing, correspond with Science, an Abstract Conception, but with Man (the Mind-being, Knowledge-being, the Science-being), a concrete thing; nor, again, does Song, a Concrete Thing, correspond with Art, an Abstract Conception, but with Human Product or Doing, a concrete thing. Song is again but the lowest and simple expression for that combination of Music and Oral Expression, aided by Action, to which the Italians, full of instinct for Art, have given the name OPERA, THE WORK par excellence, the culmination of Art in Movement and Sound. This word, from the Latin, opus, operari, work, to work, connects in idea with the Greek [Greek: poiheo], and the whole with Action and Art. This last relationship accounts beautifully for the fact that the words poetry, poesy, and poet should be derived from the Greek word [Greek: poiheo], which signifies simply TO DO.

The first threefold division of Language and of The Universe, both brought into a parallelism in the Concrete—the three ascending Stories of each Edifice, so to speak, when compared with each other—appear then as shown in the table below:

Language. The Universe. 3. SONG. 3. HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT. 2. MUSIC. 2. MAN. 1. ORAL SPEECH. 1. THE WORLD.

Oral Speech is the agglomerism of Sound, conceived of as roundish or in the lump, as an undifferentiated Oneness or mass; and, when wholly unarticulated, it is the Bawl, a mere orthographical variation of Ball; that is to say, it is, to the imagination, Globe-shaped, or World-shaped. It is the concrete or massive world of Language or Speech.

Music is the Strain or the Abstractism of Sound. To strain means TO DRAW. Ab-stract is from the Latin ab, FROM, and strahere, TO DRAW. The idea is not here roundish, as in the other case, but elongate; sound made into a strain, a cord, or a string, equivalent to a line, which is the subject of measure-ment, by notes (or points) and intervals. The line, with its twoness of determination and extremity, has a relation to the number TWO, like that which the ball or globe has to the number ONE. The line is at the same time the type of The Abstract, the Domain of Science, and hence of Science, and of Knowledge, and again, in the concrete, of Man, the Knowledge-being. The ball (bawl) is at the same time the type of The Concrete (con, WITH, crescere, TO GROW; THE GROWN TOGETHER, or AGGLOMERATE-world), and hence of Nature, and again in The Concrete, of The World, as contrasted with Man.

Song is the measure of the strain and the mingle of the bawl again commingled with each other, in a composite blending of The Measured and The Free. As the Composity of that which has for its numerical type Two, with that which has for its numerical type One, the proper numerical type of Song is Three; or thus:

Language. Number. 3. Song, THREE. 2. Music, TWO. 1. Oral Speech, ONE.

These numerical analogues can only be adverted to here, and their meaning may not be very distinctly perceived. Their full exposition and that of their immense importance as principles and guides in the domain of analogy must be treated of elsewhere.

Rhythm is the measure of the strain. Music is the mingled measure of many strains. Song is the higher mingling of music with the bawl (the phonos, or the material of Oral Speech).

Measure is the analogue of Science, and hence Music is another such analogue. Men-s, MIND, and men-sura, MEASURE, are etymologically cognate words; so the English words MEAN-ing, THE MIND that is in a thing, and MEAN, the average or measure, or the dia-meter, or through-measure of a thing. Again, the concrete analogue of Science (Knowledge, Mind, The Abstract, etc.) is, as we have seen, Man. MEN-s, MAN, hu-MAN-us, are again, probably, etymologically cognate to homo, hominis, hoc men-s, as hodie is to hoc or haec dies.

The Line or Cord is the instrument of measuring, and as such is again the type of Science, as the Ball or Globe is the type of Nature; the Line, the type of strictness, straightness, stretchedness, exactness; and the lump or aggregative form, that of Freedom from Constraint, Solution, as of the water-drop, and of Absolute-ness (ab, FROM, and solvere, TO FREE). THE RELATIVE repeats THE ABSTRACT; and THE ABSOLUTE, in Philosophy, repeats THE CONCRETE. The Relative has for its type Two, or di-termination (dis or di, Two, and termini, ENDS); and the Absolute has for its type One, [Greek: to hen] of the Greeks. EXISTENCE, embodying The Absolute and The Relative; the one and the two; has for its type Three; and the all-sided aspect of Universal Being which distinguishes and yet combines these three aspects of Being, is TRI-UNITY, OR THE THREE IN ONE.

The Trinism, or third story of ascension in the constitution of things, again divides into Two Branches, the first of which accords with Duism (music, line, science, mind, man), and the second with Unism (oral speech, globe, nature, world).

In respect to Language, the division here made distributes Song (as the higher type, including all music) into two great departments; as, 1. COMPOSITION, and 2. PERFORMANCE, or the Songas a Thing, and Singing as an Act. Song as a whole is the analogue in language of the totality of Human Achievement, in the distribution of the total Universe, as shown above. The same division applied here distinguishes the permanent product of human activity, the book or the statue, from the performance of man—the action of the author or sculptor. It is the distinction of the Latins between 1. Res, and 2. Res gestae.

Dismissing for the present the higher domain of Language, which is Song, we reduce the scope of investigation to the lower and middle divisions, namely: 1. To Oral Speech, and 2. To Music; and, in the distribution of the Universe at large, to the corresponding lower and middle divisions, namely: 1. The World (Nature), and 2. Man (Mind).

Oral Speech, the Nature-department of language, separates, grammatically, into two grand Subdivisions, as follows: 1. Analysis, The Elements of Language, namely, The Alphabetic and Syllabic distribution of Language, culminating in Word-Building;—The Word in Language being THE INDIVIDUAL in that Domain; and, 2. Synthesis, Construction, the Grammatical Domain proper, including the Parts of Speech and their Syntax, or their putting together in a Structure or Lingual Construction.

The first of these is the Domain of the Elementality of Language, and corresponds with and illustrates what Kant denominates QUALITY; as the name of one of the groups of three in his table of the twelve Categories of the Understanding. This group of Quality includes 1. AFFIRMATION; 2. NEGATION; and 3. LIMITATION. By Affirmation is meant the Positive Element or Factor of Being; by Negation, the Negative Element; and by Limitation is meant the Articulation, that is to say, the jointing or joining of the Positive and Negative Elements, in a seam or ridge, which is the existential reality, arising from the positive (quasi-negative) and the negative grounds of Being.

The Positive Element or Factor of Oral Speech, the Absolute Reality or 'Affirmation' of Language, is Vocal Utterance, or, specifically, the kind of Sound called VOWEL.

The Negative Element or Factor of Oral Speech, the 'Negation' of Kant, as illustrated in the Speech Domain, is SILENCE; the Silences or Intervals of Rest which intervene between Sounds (and, by repetition, between Syllables, Words, Sentences, and the still larger divisions of Speech).

The Limitational Element of Oral Speech is CONSONANTISM, or, specifically, the Consonant Sounds, which for that reason are otherwise denominated Articulations, or jointings; as they are the breaks of the otherwise continuous vocal utterance of Vowel Sound, and, at the same time, the joinings between the fragments of Vowel Sound, namely, the Vowels, and the surrounding and intervening medium of Silence. The Consonants thus become, in a sense, the Bony Structure, or Skeleton of Speech, the most prominent part, that which furnishes the fossil remains of Language, which are investigated by the Comparative Philologists.

Sound, the Positive Element or Factor, the Affirmation, the Eternal Yea, the Absolute Reality, is the SOMETHING of Speech.

Silence, the Negative Element or Factor, the Negation, the Eternal Nay, the Absolute Unreality, is the NOTHING of Speech.

Articulate Sound, the Resultant Element, the Limitation or Articulation, the Eternal Transition, the Arriving and Departing, is the EXISTENTIAL REALITY, which comes up between and out of the Absolute Vocality (quasi-negative), and the Absolute Silence.

But the Vowel Absolute, the continuous, unbroken, unarticulated, undifferentiated, monotonous Vowel-Sound, would be precisely equivalent to Silence. This, then, illustrates the famous fundamental aphorism of the Philosophy of Hegel: SOMETHING = (equal to) NOTHING; and the seemingly absurd Hegelian affirmation that the real Something is the resultant of the conjunction of two Nothings.

What Kant denominates Quality, would be, for some uses, better denominated Elementism or Elementality, and the Domain in which this principle dominates might then be called the Elementismus of such larger Domain as may be under consideration. Thus the Elementismus (or Elementary Domain) of Language would include Sounds, or the Alphabet, Syllables, and Root-Words. These are three powers or gradations of the Roots of Language. This same domain might therefore be called the Radicismus or Root-Domain of Language. Typically, one-letter, two-letter, and three-letter roots, again, represent these three powers.

The Elementismus or Radicismus of the Universe, correspondential with that of Language, consists of the Metaphysical, the Scientific, and the Descriptive Principles of Being. The parallelism is exhibited throughout in the following table:

Language. Universe.

3d Power. ROOT-WORDS 3. DESCRIPTIVE GENERALIZATIONS. (Three-letter Syllables). (Averages). 2d Power. SYLLABLES 2. SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES. (Two-letter Syllables). (Force, Attraction, etc.) {3. ARTICULATIONS. {3. CATEGORIES. 1st Power. THE ALPHABET {2. SILENCE. 1. METAPHYSICAL PRINCIPLES. {2. NOTHING. (One-letter Syllables). {1. SOUND. {1. SOMETHING.

It results from this table that the deep Metaphysical Domain, wherein Aristotle and Kant were laboring to categorize the Universe, is the Alphabetic Domain of Universal Being; and that their profound effort was, so to speak, to discover The Alphabet of the Universe. It also appears that the Syllabarium of the Universe, and typically the open two-letter syllables of Language, as bi, be, ba, correspond as analogues with the Physical Principles which lie at the basis of the Sciences; and finally, that the completed Root-Words, typically the closed three-letter syllables, or usual monosyllabic root-words, as min, men, man, correspond with the descriptive generalizations or general averages of Natural Science, as Universe itself, Matter, Mind, Movement, etc.

These analogies need further elaboration and confirmation to render them perfectly clear and to establish them beyond cavil—such as space here does not admit of. Let us hurry on, therefore, to the Relational or Constructive Domains of Language and the Universe, where the analogies are more obvious.

The second of Kant's groups of Categories, in the order in which it is most appropriate now to consider them, he denominates RELATION. Relation is that which intervenes between the PARTS of a WHOLE.

Prepositions are especially defined in Grammar as words denoting relations. Our attention is thus turned in the Domain of Language to the Parts of Speech; and to the Syntax (putting together), or Construction of these Parts into the wholeness of Discourse. This is more specifically the Department of Grammar. Conjointly these are what may be denominated the Relationismus of Language. This is the Domain immediately above the Elementismus. In the same way the division of the human body or any other object into Parts, Limbs, Members, etc., and the recombination of these into a structural whole, arises in the scale of creation above the Domain of Elements (Ultimate, Proximate, Chemical, etc.), this last embracing only the qualitative nature of the substances entering into the structure. In the Universe at large, therefore, this Relational Domain is that in which we shall find Things, Properties, Actions, and, specifically, the Relations between such, and their Combinations into Structures and Departments, Branches, or Limbs of Being, and finally into the total Universe itself, which is the analogue of the totality of Language.

Relation has a threefold aspect: first, in respect to Space; second, in respect to Time; and third, in respect to Instance or Present Being, the conjunction of the Here and the Now.

The first of these aspects subdivides into what Kant denominates, 1. SUBSTANCE, and 2. INHERENCE.

The second of these aspects subdivides into what Kant denominates, 1. CAUSE, and 2. DEPENDENCE.

The third of these aspects of Relation Kant sums up in the term RECIPROCAL ACTION.

Commencing with the first of these three subdivisions of Relation, and making our application within the Domain of Language, it is obvious that it refers to the Substantive and Adjective region of Grammar; Substance relating to Substantives, and Inherence (or Attributes) to Adjectives; or otherwise stated, thus:

SUBSTANTIVES = THINGS (= Substance.—Kant).

ADJECTIVES = PROPERTIES (= Inherence.—Kant).

The one Thing inclusive of all minor Things is the Universe. The Universe as Thing, or the concrete domain of Being, subdivides into the world of Things proper as distinguished from the Personal world, or the Human world or Man. This first division of the substantive Universe corresponds with the first grand grammatical division of Nouns Substantive into 1. Common Nouns Substantive, and 2. Proper Nouns Substantive.

Common Nouns Substantive correspond with Things proper, not aspiring to the rank of Personality; Things put in contrast with Persons; Things in that sense in which we speak of a person derogatorily as a mere thing; hence, common or ordinary, and as a common, undistinguished herd of objects, only named and discriminated by the class-name of the class of objects to which they belong.

Proper Nouns Substantive are the individual and distinctive names of Men, Women, and Children. Hence they belong to and correspond with the domain of Personality, or to that of Man as against the world of mere Things. Some objects, lower in the scale of Being than man, are treated with that respect and consideration which ordinarily attach to Human Beings, and are then dignified by applying to them Proper Names. These are especially the Domestic Animals immediately associated with man; Mountains, Rivers, Lakes, etc. Restated, this discrimination is as follows:

1. COMMON NOUNS SUBSTANTIVE = THINGS, THE WORLD.

2. PROPER NOUNS SUBSTANTIVE = PERSONALITY, MAN.

It is to be borne in mind that, as a minor proportion of mere Things are raised to the dignity of wearing Proper Names, so, on the other hand, Men, though appropriately distinguished by prenomens and cognomens, may also sink to the character of Things, and be mentioned by class-names. Thus it is that throughout Nature one domain overlaps another domain, and all of our discriminations, though made in terms as if absolute, signify, in fact, merely the preponderance; thus, when we say, that Proper Names apply to the Human Domain, that is true in preponderance, but not absolutely or exclusively; and when we say that Common Names apply to Things below Persons, the statement is true in preponderance, but not absolutely or exclusively.

Proper Names—The Human World in Language—are, in the next place, distinguished by Gender, as that word itself is distinguished by Sex. By the principle of Overlapping, above explained, this distinction of Gender or Sex descends in a minor degree into the Thing World; in a large degree to the Animal World below man: in less degree to the Vegetable World; and in the least degree to the Mineral and Abstract World. But characteristically and predominatingly, Sex is predicated of Humanity, where it is developed in its highest perfection; and in the same degree Gender in Grammar is, in predominance, confined to the Proper Nouns Substantive. Masculine and Feminine are the only Proper Genders. Neuter Gender means of neither Gender, and includes the great mass of Common Nouns, or the Thing World, as distinguished from Personality.

Reversing the order, and resuming the above discriminations in the two domains, Language and the Universe, they are as follows:

Language. Universe.

{MASCULINE. {MALE. PROPER-NOUN-DOM{ PERSON-DOM{ {Feminine. {Female.

COMMON-NOUN-DOM. THING-DOM.

Again, in this Concrete World, the world of Persons and Things, Number reappears, and guides the next great Grammatical division of Nouns Substantive; and the ruling numbers are, again, One, Two, Three.

The Number One corresponds with the Singular Number in Grammar, and with the Individual or Single Person (or Thing) in the Universe at large. The Number Two corresponds with the Dual Number in Grammar, and with the Couple or Pair in the World of Persons (and Things); and finally the Number Three corresponds with the Plural Number in Grammar and with Society or the many among Persons (and Things); or in tabular form, thus:

1. SINGULAR NUMBER, THE NUMBER ONE (1).

2. DUAL NUMBER, THE NUMBER TWO (2).

3. PLURAL NUMBER, THE NUMBER THREE (3).

The Number Three, as the first Plural Number above the Dual, is the Head and Type of Plurality in the grammatical discrimination, and stands representatively for all Plurality.

One, Two, and Three, are the Representative Numbers and Heads of the whole Cardinal Series of Number.

First, Second, and Third are the corresponding Representatives and Heads of the Corresponding Ordinal Series of Number. These latter numerals find their representation, grammatically, in the next Grand Grammatical Distribution of the Proper Nouns Substantive, namely, PERSON, so called, or, specifically, the

1st PERSON, 2d PERSON, and 3d PERSON (of Proper Nouns).

This distribution represents properly the Rank or Degree of Persons in the Hierarchy of Personality; the Ego ranking naturally as 'Number One.' Deference or Grace teaches us afterward to defer to the personality of others, and converts our primitive notions of rank into opposites, in a way which is indicated by the honorific use of Thou in addressing the Supreme, etc.

This idea of Personal Rank, the Hierarchical Ascension of Individuality or Personality in Society, abstracted from the particular Individuals, and rendered purely official, becomes nominally a new Part of Speech, and is the whole, substantially, of what we denominate the Pronouns.

The Pronoun, as a Part of Speech, is, therefore, the Analogue, within the Lingual Domain, of The State or the Constitution, governmentally, of Human Society, the ascending and descending rank of individuals in the social organization, the Heraldic Schedule of Man.

Finally we arrive at the consideration of the Casus or Case of Nouns Substantive.

The Accidents of Life or Being, the occasional states of Men or Things, as acting or being acted upon, or simply as related to each other in Space, or otherwise, are here represented. It is this which is meant by CASE, from the Latin casus, itself from the Latin cadere, TO FALL, or to FALL OUT or HAPPEN. In the old Grammars, the Cases of the Nouns are denominated Accidents. Ac-cid-ent, is from ad, TO, and cadere (cid), TO FALL; and the same root with ob (oc), gives us OC-CAS-ion, OC-CAS-ionally, etc.

The Accidents of Being are a special kind of Inherence to the Substance of Being; the Relational kind par excellence, as distinguished from the Qualitative kind; which last is denoted by the proper Adjectives. The Oblique Case of a Noun Substantive, whether formed by an Inflexion or by a Preposition, is therefore nothing else than a special kind of Adjective, destitute of the property of Comparison, because it denotes the Accident instead of the Quality of Being, and because Accidents or Relations between Things do not vary by degrees of Intensity as Qualities do.

The above description of the Cases of Nouns applies especially to the Oblique Cases; that is to say, to all except the Nominative Case.

The Nominative Case is itself susceptible of being regarded as an Accident; but its more important office is that of the SUBJECT of the Proposition, which takes it out of the minor category of an accident, or at least subordinates this latter view of its character.

The Accidents of Being in the Universe at large are therefore the analogues of the oblique cases of Nouns Substantive in the Domain of Language; the Nominative Case representing, on the contrary, the central figure in the particular member of discourse, and that which the accidents or falls (casus) are perceived to relate to or affect.

Substantives and Adjectives were both formerly included under the term Nouns or Names; and we have still to distinguish, when they are under special consideration, as they are here, Nouns Substantive, and Nouns Adjective.

By regarding all the Oblique Cases of Nouns Substantive as a species or variety of Nouns Adjective, and so classifying them along with the Adjectives proper, the Nominative Case alone remains to represent the Substantive, in the higher and exclusive sense of the term. This is then, at the same time, The Subject. The terms employed to designate them sufficiently indicate this identity: Substantive, from sub, UNDER, and stans, STANDING; and Subject, from SUB, UNDER, and jectus, THROWN or CAST. These are, therefore, nearly etymological equivalents.

Before passing to the consideration of the Subject and the Proposition, let us finish with the Nouns Adjective, to which we have only given an incidental attention.

These are the representatives of Incidence or Attribution; and correspond to the entire adjectivity pertaining to the substantiality of the real or concrete Universe; both Substance and Incidence falling as parts of one domain within the larger domain of RELATION, which in Language is the domain of Grammar proper, including Etymology and Syntax.

It may now be shown that this Adjective World is so much a world by itself that Kant's namings for the four groups of the Categories of the Understanding, which we are here enlarging to be the Categories of All Being, are precisely the most appropriate namings for the subdivisions of the Adjective World. These are:

1. Adjectives of QUALITY. 2. Adjectives of RELATION. 3. Adjectives of QUANTITY. 4. Adjectives of MODE.

1. Adjectives of Quality are those which designate the qualities of things as good or bad, etc. They are susceptible of three Degrees of Comparison; and are, without due consideration, usually regarded by Grammarians as if they constituted the whole of the Adjective World.

2. Adjectives of Relation are, as we have seen, (chiefly) the Oblique Cases of the Noun Substantive. They admit of no Degrees of Comparison. These have not heretofore been regarded as Adjectives; but broadly and philosophically considered, they are so.

3. Adjectives of Quantity are the Numerals, which always instinctively find their way among the Adjectives in the Grammar Books, without their presence there being duly accounted for, that part of speech having been usually defined as relating exclusively to the Quality of Things. These numeral Adjectives subdivide into Ordinal Numerals and Cardinal Numerals; and, like Adjectives of Relation, they are not susceptible of being varied by the Degrees of Comparison.

4. Adjectives of Mode relate to the Conditions of Existence, as necessary and unnecessary, important and unimportant, etc. They are somewhat ambiguous as to their susceptibility to comparison. It is over this class of Adjectives that the Grammarians dispute. If a thing is necessary, then, it is said, it cannot be more necessary, or most necessary, the Positive Case being itself Absolute or Superlative. In some cases this rule is not so clear, and there is doubt whether it is proper to apply the signs of Comparison or not. We may correctly say more important and most important; and on the whole the Adjectives of Mode, or Modal Adjectives, are to be classed as capable of Comparison.

These four classes of Adjectives again classify in respect to their usual susceptibility to comparison, as follows:

Adjectives of Quality, } Adjectives of Mode } Capable of Comparison. Adjectives of Quantity, } Incapable of Comparison. Adjectives of Relation, }

The Principle of Comparison is itself hierarchical, or pertaining to gradation or rank divinely ordained; or as the mere scientist might prefer to say, naturally existent. It repeats, therefore, in an echo, or correspondentially, THE PERSON (First, Second, Third) of Nouns Substantive and Pronouns; and has relation to the Three Heads of the Ordinal Series of Number, 1st, 2d, 3d; as THE NUMBER of Nouns Substantive (Singular, Dual, and Plural) has relation to the Three Heads of the Cardinal Series of Number, 1, 2, 3.

The Qualities, the Relations, the Numerical Character, and the Modal Condition of Things, are conjointly an Adjunct World to the Real World of Persons and Things, in the Universe at Large; and taken collectively, it is that domain or aspect of the total Universe which is the scientific echo to or analogue of the Part of Speech called Adjective in the Grammar of Language. The Substantivity and the Adjectivity, taken again collectively with each other, are the totality of the Concrete Universe considered in a state of Rest. The Movement of the Universe is expressed by the verbal department of Language, and will receive our subsequent attention. It is, therefore, from within this department that our concrete analogues of the larger Abstractions of the Universe, Nature, Science, and Art, namely, The World, Man, and the Product of Man's labor, were taken. They belong to the Substantivity (Kant's Substance) of the Universe, and their qualities, relations, number, and mode of being belong to the Adjectivity of the Universe (Kant's Inherence); and these two departments of Universal Being or of the possible aspects of Universal Being are the Scientific Analogues, in the Universe at large, of Nouns Substantive and Nouns Adjective, in the Grammar Department of the total distribution of the little Universe of Language; which is the point to be here specially illustrated and insisted upon.

We pass now to the consideration of the Verb and Participle, related to Movement. The Great Noun Class of Words, including the Nominative Noun Substantive, not yet brought into action and made to functionate as Subject or Agent, together with the whole Adjective Family of Words as above defined, is without Action. These words, and correspondentially, the Things and their Attributes which they represent in the Universe at large, are static or immovable. The Universe, viewed in the light of them solely, is a Universe at rest, or, as it were, arrested in its progression through Time, and existing only in Space; for TIME has relation to MOTION, as SPACE has relation to POSITION or REST. This aspect of the Universe or of Language may therefore be appropriately denominated Statoid (or Spaceoid). The relations between the Parts of this Aspect, denoted by the Prepositions and Conjunctions, are inert or static relations, concerning predominantly Position in Space, as above, below, etc.

When the Substantive proper (the Nominative Case) passes over and becomes functionally a SUBJECT (we will consider, first, the case where the Verb is Active Transitive, and the Subject therefore an Agent), we pass from Statism to Motism; or from Rest to Movement. This is, at the same time, to pass from the Domain or Kingdom of Space to the Kingdom or Domain of Time (or Tense).

Noun-dom (in its largest extension, including Nouns Substantive and Nouns Adjective, together with their Words of Relation, Prepositions and Conjunctions) constitutes, therefore, the STATISMUS (or Domain of the Principle of Rest) within the RELATIONISMUS (or Domain of Parts and their Construction, or Syntaxis into a whole) of the larger Domain of Language, which might then be properly denominated the Linguismus of the Universe. (Every new Science has to have its new nomenclature. Let the reader not be repelled, therefore, by these innovations upon the speech usages of our Language; their great convenience, and their actual necessity even for the right discussion of the subject, furnishing their sufficient apology.)

To determine what the limits of the corresponding Domain are in the Universe at large, and its proper technical designation, it is only necessary to go back upon the analogues already indicated. We have, then, the Statismus of the Relationismus of the Universe; which is the Structural Universe, viewed in respect to the relationship between the parts and the whole, and as if arrested in Space, or, what is the same thing, abstracted from Movement in Time.

In going over to the new Domain in Language,—the Grammar of the Verb and Participle,—we pass then, technically speaking, to the MOTISMUS of the RELATIONISMUS of Language; and in going over to the corresponding Domain of the Universe at large, we pass to the MOTISMUS of the RELATIONISMUS of the Universe, in which action and the relations between actions are concerned.

Since Motion and Action involve the idea of Force or Power, for which the Greek word is dynamis, furnishing the English words Dynamic and Dynamics, our Philosophers have chosen the distinction Static and Dynamic, instead of Static and Motic, the true distinction, and have in that way obscured and disguised from themselves even the fundamental and all-important relationship of these two great Aspects of Being, with the two great negative Grounds or Containers of all Being; namely, with SPACE and with TIME respectively.

It is here, in the Domain of Movement and Time, the Motismus of Language, and especially of Grammar,—the Relationismus of Language,—that the Grand Lingual Illustration or Type of the Second Subdivision of Kant's Group of Relation occurs;—the subdivision which he should have denominated Tempic, as distinguished from the former Subdivision (of Substance and Inherence), which should then have been called Spacic.

This Tempic Sub-Group of Relation again subdivides, as already stated, into 1. CAUSE, and 2. DEPENDENCE.

The Subject of a Proposition, in the Active Voice, which is the Typical or Direct Expression of Action, is the AGENT or Actor in the performance of the given Action. To be an agent is to act; and to act is to exhibit an effect, the Cause of which resides in the Agent. Agent and Cause are thus identified. In other words, the Nominative Case, in the Active Transitive Locution, is the type and illustration of the Sub-Category, Cause, in the Group of Relation, as conceived by the great German metaphysician. His Correlative Sub-Category, Dependence, is the Action itself, resulting from the Activity of the Agent, and expressed by the Verb and its dependencies.

The Cause and Dependence of Kant, as a Sub-Group of Relation, are therefore, when translated into their typical expression in Language, simply The Nominative and The Verb; and belong to the Domain of Movement, and hence to that of Time.

It is only, however, when the Verb is Active that the Nominative is Agent or Cause. In the Passive Locution or Voice, a Conversion into Opposites occurs;—the Direct is exchanged for the Inverse Order of the Action. The Nominative then names the Object which receives, suffers, or endures the force of the Action, and the Agent is then thrown into the Category of an Accident, and expressed in an Oblique Case; thus, Charles is struck by John.

The term Subject, applied to the Nominative Case, is made, by a happy equivoque, to cover both these aspects; that in which the Nominative is Agent or Cause, and that in which it is not so. It is only in the latter instance that it is really or literally a subject, that is to say, subjected to, or made to suffer the force of the action of the Verb; but action is a reaction from such invasion or infliction of suffering or impression upon the person (or thing); and the term Subject, changing its meaning, accompanies the person nominated or named by the Nominative Case over into this new positive relation to the action. It is interesting to observe that precisely the same doubleness of meaning arises, in the same way, in respect to the word Passion, from Latin patior, to suffer. When we speak of the passion of Christ, we retain the primitive and etymological meaning of the word; but, ordinarily, passion means just the opposite; that violent reaction of the feeling side of the mind from Impression (or passion in the first sense), which is nearly allied to Rage.

Intermediate between the Active and the Passive Locutions is a compound Active and Reactive state—the action put forth by the agent, and yet terminating upon himself—which is expressed lingually by what is appropriately called in Greek the Middle Voice (Sanscrit, At mane pada), and in our modern Grammars, as the French, The Reflective Verb.

This last, the Reflective or Reciprocal Locution, is the grammatical type and illustration of Kant's third subdivision of the Group of Relation, that, namely, which he denominates RECIPROCAL ACTION.

The correspondences between Language and the Universe at large are here too obvious to require to be enlarged or insisted upon. The Active Voice in Grammar repeats the World of Direct Actions; the Passive Voice, the World of Inverse Actions; and the Middle Voice the World of Reciprocal Actions, in the Universe at large. The Nominative Case (in the first and leading of these Locutions) is the Analogue of Cause, and the Verb, of Dependence, or the Chain of Effects resulting from the Cause.

The I, the Me, the EGO, as Subject, in the domain of Philosophy, is first Subject (-ed) under Impression from the world without, and afterward becomes Cause (in Expression); and the term Subject has here, therefore, precisely the same ambiguity as in Grammar, and stands contrasted in the same way with the word Object; the Accusative Case of the old Grammarians being now called the Objective Case, and denoting that upon which the force of the (direct) action is expended.

The Middle Voice becomes, by an elision, the Neuter Verb. I walk, means, I walk myself. Neuter Verbs fall, then, into the Category of Reciprocal Action.

The Typical Neuter Verb, the Typical Verb, in fine, of all verbs, is the Substantive or Copula Verb TO BE, the Verb of Existence or Being. I am, means, I am myself, or, I keep or hold myself in being.

In strictness, the verb to be is the ONLY VERB. Every other Verb is capable of Solution into this one, accompanied by a Participle; thus, I walk, becomes, I am WALKING, etc.

By this analysis, the Verb, as such, falls back among words of Relation, or mere Connectives. It may then be classed with Prepositions and Conjunctions; its office of Connection being still peculiar, however, namely, to intervene between the Subject and the Predicate. Participles, into which all other verbs than this Copula, are so resolved, then fall back in like manner into the Class of Adjectives. The Tempic and Motic Word-Kingdom is thus carried back to its dependence upon the Spacic and Static Word-Kingdom, as basis; in the same manner as, in Nature, Time and Motion have Space and Rest for their perpetual background.

Reduced to this degree of simplicity, there are but three Parts of Speech: 1. Substantives; 2. Attributes; and 3. Words of Relation; which correspond with 1. Things; 2. Properties of Things; and 3. The Interrelationship of Things, of Properties, and of Things and their Properties, in the Universe at large.

The Adverb has not been mentioned. Analysis reduces it in every instance to an Oblique Case of the Substantive, or, what is the same thing, to a Substantive governed by a Preposition; and hence, by a second transfer, as shown above, to the class of Adjectives of Relation: thus, happily means in a happy manner; now means in the present time, etc.

In the Grammatical Motismus the Three Tenses,—for there are but three strictly, or in the first great natural Division of Time,—namely, the Past, the Present, and the Future, correspond with the Grand Three-fold Division of The Tempismus, the Universal Ongoing or Procession of Events, the Grandis Ordo Naturae; namely, the Past, the Present, and the Future, as the Three-fold Aspect of Time and of the Universe of Res Gestae, or Things Done, and Contained in Time, as distinguished from the other equal Aspect of the total Universe, namely, the Static Expansion of the Universe in Space.

Mode, which is subsequently developed in Music as a Distinct Grouping of Categories, finds here, in the domain of Relation, a subordinate development, in connection with the Verb.

Kant's Subdivision of Mode, as a group of Categories is, 1. POSSIBILITY and IMPOSSIBILITY; 2. BEING and NOT-BEING; and 3. NECESSITY and ACCIDENCE.

It is obvious that POSSIBILITY is that Category which is expressed grammatically by the Potential Mode (from potentia, POWER, POSSIBILITY); otherwise called the Conditional Mode. I should do so and so if—The Negative Form of this Mode expresses IMPOSSIBILITY: I should or could not do so and so unless, etc.

BEING and NOT-BEING, direct Assertion and Denial, find their grammatical representation in the Indicative Mode: I do or I do not; and in an Un-fin-it-ed or In-defi-nite way, as a mere naming of the idea, in The Infinitive Mode, to do, etc.

NECESSITY and ACCIDENCE are expressed in the Imperative Mode for the former and in the Subjunctive Mode for the latter. Necessary and Imperative are synonymes. To command absolutely, is to require, and The Required or The Requisite is again The Necessary.

Accidence is that which is under a condition, sub-joined, Sub-junctive; which may or may not happen, hence introduced by an if, equal to gif, give, grant, provided it so happen.

ELEMENTALITY (Kant's QUALITY of Being) reappears in this domain of Relation in Connection with the Verb: AFFIRMATION, in the Affirmative Propositions, as, I love; NEGATION, in Negative Propositions, as, I do not Love; and Limitation, wavering as between two, in the Dubitative or Questioning Forms of the Proposition, as, Do I love? Do I not love? The Celtic tongues have special modal forms to express these modifications of the Verb.

NUMBER, the remaining one of Kant's Groups of the Categories, finds also its minor representative in this domain in the Numbers, Singular, Dual, and Plural, incorporated into the Conjugation of the Verb. This leads us to the consideration of Grammatical Agreement and Government; carries us over into Syntax, Prosody, Logic, and Rhetoric; back to Lexicology, the domain of the Dictionary or mere Vocabulary in Language; and thence upward to Music, and finally again to Song, the culmination of Speech.

The subject grows upon us, and it is impossible to complete it in a single paper.

The Portions of Language which we have been considering belong to the two Departments: 1. ELEMENTISMUS (Kant's QUALITY), and 2. RELATION (Grammar more properly). The treatment of these is not fully exhausted, and must be recurred to hereafter.

The two remaining ones of Kant's Groups of the Categories of the Understanding (here extended to be the Categories of all Being) are, 3. QUANTITY, and 4. MODE. The proper domain of these two is Music. The mere mention of the musical terms Unison, Discord (duism, diversity), the Spirit of One and the Spirit of Two; and of the Major and the Minor Mode, suggest QUANTITY and MODALITY as the reigning principles in that domain. The appearance of Number and Mode in the domain of Relation (Grammar), is, as already stated, a subordinate one, and has respect to the principle of OVERLAPPING, already adverted to, by which all the domains of Nature are intricated or con-creted with each other.

QUANTITY and MODE, in their own independent and separate development, will, therefore, be the special subjects of a subsequent treatment.



APHORISMS.—NO. VI.

Mind is a thing that we partly have by nature, and partly have to create by mental discipline and exercise. Or, as Horace says:

'Ego nec studium sine divite vena, Nec rude quid prosit video ingenium.'

De Arte Poetica, 409, 410.

In English:

'What can our studies yield, where mind is weak; Or what a genius do, that's not with discipline prepared?'

Nor is it yet clear, on which, supposing a well-organized and healthy body, most will depend—upon the native endowment, or upon the labor of developing and applying the inborn power.

Distinguishing, however, between genius and talent, we may safely admit that no discipline, without 'the gift and faculty divine,' will produce the one; and hold that well-directed industry, in almost any case of a naturally sound mind, will surely develop the other. The half-made and often ill-tutored efforts of the usual processes of learning, are not to be allowed a decisive voice against the supposition that vigorous mental life might be the common portion of educated men.



AN ARMY: ITS ORGANIZATION AND MOVEMENTS.

The immense military operations of our civil war have familiarized, to a considerable extent, not only those connected with the armies, but the people generally with the systems on which military forces are organized and the methods of conducting war. Much has been learned in the past three years, and much accomplished in the improvement of tactics, internal organization, and the construction of all kinds of material. Civilians, who were well read in the history of former wars, and even professional military officers, were comparatively ignorant of all the numerous details necessarily incident to the formation and movement of armies. On account of the deficiency of practical information on these matters, the difficulties which arose at the commencement of the war, were, as it is well known, immense; but they were overcome with a celerity and energy absolutely unparalleled in the history of the world, and to-day we are able to assure ourselves with justifiable pride that in all essential particulars our armies are fully and properly organized, equipped, and provided for. We propose to exhibit in a few articles the methods by which these results have been accomplished—to present to readers generally the system of organization and the principles of operation existing in our armies—giving them such information as can be obtained only from actual thorough acquaintance with military life, or extended perusal of works on military art, as now understood among the leading civilized nations.

That such information would be desirable, we were led to believe from the surprise expressed by an intelligent friend at the definition given him of the phrase 'line of battle.' He was greatly astonished on learning that battles are fought, mostly, by lines of only two ranks in depth. The history of the 'line of battle' is of great interest, and indeed contains an exposition of the principles on which a great portion of modern warfare is founded. While the chief principles of strategy, of the movement of armies, of attack and defence, and to some extent of tactics, are the same now as in the earliest ages, the mode of arraying men for battle has undergone an entire change, attributable to the improvement in the weapons of warfare. We are not superior to the ancients so much in the science of war, as in the character of our arms. They undoubtedly fought in the manner most appropriate to the means which they possessed. The great change which has taken place in the method of battle, consists chiefly in this—that formerly men were arrayed in masses, now in lines. The Grecian phalanx was composed of 32,000 men arranged as follows: 16,000 spearmen placed in sixteen ranks of a thousand men each, forming the centre; on each wing, 4,000 light spearmen in eight ranks; 4,000 men armed with bows and slings, who performed the part of skirmishers; 4,000 cavalry. The Roman legion contained 4,500 men, of which 1,200 were light infantry or skirmishers armed with bows and slings. The main body consisted of 1,200 spearmen, who were formed into ten rectangular bodies of twelve men front by ten deep; behind them were ten other rectangles of the second line; and behind these a third line of 600 in rectangles of six men front by ten deep. To the legion was attached 300 cavalry.

In the middle ages, infantry was considered of little importance, the combat being principally among the knights and cavaliers. The introduction of gunpowder caused a change in the method of fighting, but it was effected gradually. For a long time only clumsy cannon were used, which, however, made great havoc among the formations in mass still retained. Rude arquebuses were then introduced, and improvements made from time to time; but even so late as the 17th century the ancient arms were retained in a large proportion. They did not disappear entirely until the invention of the bayonet in the 18th century. This contributed as much as the use of firearms to change the formations of battle. In the 16th century the number of ranks had been reduced from ten to six; at the end of the reign of Louis XIV. the number was four; Frederick the Great reduced it to three. With this number the wars of the French Republic and Empire were conducted, until at Leipsic, in 1813, Napoleon's army being greatly diminished, he directed the formation in two ranks, saying that the enemy being accustomed to see it in three, and not aware of the change, would be deceived in regard to its numbers. He stated also that the fire of the rear rank was dangerous to those in front, and that there was no reason for the triple formation. In this judgment military authorities have since concurred, and the two-rank formation is almost universally adopted. Russia is the only civilized power which places men in masses on the battle field. Formations in column are used when necessary to carry a particular local position, even at a great expenditure of life. But the usual mode of combat is that adopted by Napoleon. Our battles have been almost universally fought in this manner. The rebels have probably used the formation in column more frequently than the Northern troops. The non-military reader can easily perceive that formations in mass are more subject to loss from the fire of artillery and from that of small arms even at considerable distances, and are less able to deliver their own fire.

Our old regular army consisted of ten regiments of infantry, two of cavalry, two of dragoons, and one of mounted rifles, of ten companies each, and four artillery regiments of twelve companies each. Two companies each of the latter served as light artillery—the companies alternating in this service. There was also a battalion of engineers.

At the commencement of the war our force of light artillery was very inadequate, and rifled ordnance had scarcely been introduced. Our present immense force of the former has been almost entirely created since the commencement of the war; the splendid achievements in rifled artillery have been entirely accomplished within the last three years. Although it had been applied some years previously in Europe, it was not formally introduced into our service until needed to assist in suppressing the gigantic rebellion. The Ordnance Department had, however, given attention to the matter, and boards of officers were engaged in making experiments. A report had been made that 'the era of smooth-bore field artillery has passed away, and the period of the adoption of rifled cannon, for siege and garrison service, is not remote. The superiority of elongated projectiles, whether solid or hollow, with the rifle rotation, as regards economy of ammunition, extent of range, and uniformity and accuracy of effect, over the present system, is decided and unquestionable.'[A] We shall see, in discussing artillery, how far these expectations have been realized.

The regular army was increased in 1861 by the addition of nine regiments of infantry, one of cavalry, and one of artillery. The Mounted Rifles were changed into the 3d Cavalry, and the two dragoon regiments into the 1st and 2d Cavalry. The old 1st and 2d Cavalry became the 4th and 5th. All cavalry regiments have now twelve companies, and the new infantry regiments are formed on the latest French system of three battalions, of eight companies each, with a colonel, lieutenant-colonel, and three majors. Each of the 24 companies has 82 privates.

[Footnote A: Scott's Military Dictionary.]

The old regular army comprised, when full, about 18,000 officers and men. As increased, the total complement is over 43,600, including five major-generals, nine brigadier-generals, thirty-three aides-de-camp, besides the field officers of the various regiments and the company officers. In addition to these officers (but included in the aggregate above given) are the various staff departments, as follows:

Adjutant-Generals.—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 4 lieutenant-colonels, 13 majors.

Judge-Advocates.—1 colonel.

Inspector Generals.—14 colonels, 5 majors.

Signal Corps.—1 colonel, 1 lieutenant-colonel, 2 majors.

Quartermaster's Department.—1 brigadier-general, 3 colonels, 4 lieutenant-colonels, 11 majors, 48 captains, 12 military storekeepers.

Subsistence Department.—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 2 lieutenant-colonels, 8 majors, 16 captains.

Medical Department.—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 16 lieutenant-colonels, 50 majors, 5 captains, 109 first lieutenants, 6 storekeepers, 119 hospital chaplains, 70 medical cadets.

Pay Department.—1 colonel, 2 lieutenant-colonels, 25 majors.

Corps of Engineers.—1 brigadier-general, 4 colonels, 10 lieutenant-colonels, 20 majors, 30 captains, 30 first lieutenants, 10 second lieutenants. The battalion of engineers comprises a total of 805.

Ordnance Department.—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 3 lieutenant-colonels, 6 majors, 20 captains, 20 first lieutenants, 12 second lieutenants, 15 storekeepers, and a battalion of 905 men.

These figures all pertain to the regular army. A considerable number of the officers in the regiments have been appointed from civil life; but in the staff departments the officers are almost exclusively graduates from the Military Academy at West Point.

The raising of the immense volunteer force necessitated a great increase in the staff departments, and large numbers of persons from civil life have been appointed into the volunteer staff in the Adjutant-General's, Judge-Advocate's, Quartermaster's, Commissary, Medical, and Pay Departments. The ordnance duties are performed by officers detailed from the line, and engineer duties by regiments assigned for that purpose. A large number of additional aides-de-camp were also authorized, forming that branch of duty into a department. Aides-de-camp are also detailed from the line. The highest rank yet created for volunteer staff officers is that of colonel in the aides-de-camp. The heads of staff departments at corps headquarters are lieutenant-colonels, including an assistant adjutant-general, assistant inspector-general, a chief quartermaster, and chief commissary. Many regular officers hold these volunteer staff appointments, gaining in this manner additional rank during the war—still retaining their positions in the regular service; in the same manner as many regular officers are field officers in volunteer regiments.

The aggregate militia force of the United States (including seceded portions), according to the last returns, was 3,214,769. The reports of the last census increase this to about 5,600,000, which exceeds to some extent the number actually fit to bear arms. The computed proportion in Europe of the number of men who can be called into the field is about one-fifth or one-sixth of the population. If the population of the entire United States be assumed to be 23,000,000, the number of men liable, according to this computation, would be about 4,000,000, which is sufficiently approximate. The European computation of the force to be kept as a standing army is a hundredth part of the population—varied somewhat by circumstances. This would give the United States a force of 230,000. It will be seen how greatly inferior our regular force has been and still is to the computations adopted in Europe. But the United States will probably never require such a large force to be permanently organized; for we have not, like the European powers, frontiers to protect against nations with whom we may at any time be at war, nor oppressed nationalities to retain in subjugation by force. Our frontiers on Canada and Mexico have good natural defences—the first by the St. Lawrence river and lakes, and the second by the great distance to be traversed by an invading army before it could reach any important commercial position. Our vulnerability is in our extensive seacoast. The principal requirement for an army is a large framework, which can be rapidly filled by volunteers in expectation of war. With such a military constitution and a system of military education and drill in the different States, large and effective armies could be rapidly organized.

Our staff corps and regular army are insignificant, compared with those of European nations, in which the average strength of the standing armies is from 250,000 to 300,000 men on the peace footing, and 400,000 to 600,000 on the war footing, with immense magazines of equipage and material, numerous military schools, and extensive organizations in all the departments incident to an army. Our own army has hitherto been modelled to a great extent on the English system—the most aristocratic of all in Europe, and consequently the least adapted to a republic. To this is attributable much of the jealousy hitherto felt in regard to the army and all pertaining to it. We are now, however, conforming more to the French system, and from it will probably be adopted any changes that may be introduced.

The French army, since Napoleon gave it the impress of his genius, has in many characteristics been well adapted to the peculiarities of republican institutions. A soldier can rise from the ranks to the highest command, by the exhibition of valor and ability, more easily, in fact, than he can in our own army, with which political favoritism has much to do in promotions and appointments. By a recent policy of our War Department, however, vacancies have been left in the subordinate commissioned officers of the regular army, which are to be filled exclusively from the ranks. Many deserving officers in the army have been private soldiers.

No system will be effective for providing an adequate military organization that does not include thorough instruction for officers. The prevailing feeling in our country, as remarked above, has rather been to underrate the army, and to look with some jealousy on the West Point Military Academy and its graduates. The present war has effected a change in this respect. The country owes too much to the educated regular officers for the organization and conduct of the volunteer forces, to be insensible of the merits of the system which produced them. A capable civilian can undoubtedly become just as good an officer of any rank as a graduate of West Point; but it must be through a course of study similar to that there pursued. No natural ability can supply the want of the scientific training in the military, more than in any other profession. Military science is only the result of all the experience of the past, embodied in the most comprehensive and practical form. Napoleon was a profound student of military history. In his Memoirs he observes: 'Alexander made 8 campaigns, Hannibal 17 (of which 1 was in Spain, 15 in Italy, and 1 in Africa), Caesar made 15 (of which 8 were against the Gauls, and 5 against the legions of Pompey), Gustavus Adolphus 5, Turenne 18, the Prince Eugene of Savoy 18, and Frederic 11 (in Bohemia, Silesia, and upon the Elbe.) The history of these 87 campaigns, made with care, would be a complete treatise on the art of war. The principles one should follow, in both offensive and defensive war, flow from them as a source.'

To one familiar with the gradual progress in the organization of our armies, it is interesting to recur to the time when the first levies of volunteers were raised. Regiments were hurried into Washington half accoutred and indifferently armed. Officers and men were for the most part equally ignorant of the details, a knowledge of which enables a soldier to take care of himself in all circumstances. Staff officers knew nothing of the various departments and the methods of obtaining supplies. The Government had not been able to provide barrack accommodations for the immense irruption of 'Northern barbarians,' and the men were stowed like sheep in any unoccupied buildings that could be obtained. These were generally storehouses, without any cooking arrangements, so that when provisions were procured, no one knew what to do with them. Hundreds of men, who previously scarcely knew but that beef-steaks and potatoes grew already cooked and seasoned, could be seen every day sitting disconsolately on the curbstones cooking their pork on ramrods over little fires made with twigs gathered from the trees. Those who happened to be the lucky possessors of a few spare dimes, straggled off to restaurants. Washington, in those days, was only a great country-town, and not the immense city which the war has made it. The vague and laughable attempts of officers to assume military dignity and enforce discipline, with the careless insubordination of the men, furnished many amusing scenes. It was not easy for officer and man, who had gone to the same school, worked in the same shop, sung in the same choir, and belonged to the same base-ball club, to assume their new relations.

Privates would address their officer, 'I say, Bill, have you got any tobacco?' Officers would reply, 'Do you not know, sir, the proper method of addressing me?' Private would exclaim, 'Well, I guess now you're puttin' on airs, a'n't you?' Pompous colonels strutted about in a blaze of new uniforms, and even line officers then considered themselves of some consequence; while a brigadier-general was a sort of a demigod—a man to be revered as something infallible. Now-a-days old veterans care very little for even the two stars of a major-general, unless they know that the wearer has some other claims to respect than his shoulder straps.

As matters gradually became arranged, the troops were provided with tents, and encamped in the vicinity. Never was guard duty more vigilantly performed than in those camps around Washington. Every one of us came to the capital with the expectation of being immediately despatched to Virginia, and ordered to pitch into a miscellaneous fight with the rebels. Rebel guerillas and spies were supposed to be lurking in the surroundings of the capital, and 'taking notes' in all the camps. Woe betide the unsuspicious stranger who might loiter curiously around the encampments. With half a dozen bayonets at his breast he was hurried off in utter amazement to the guard house. At night the sentinels saw 'in every bush' a lurking rebel. Shots were pattering all night in every direction. Unfortunate straggling cows were frequently reduced to beeves by the bullets of the wary guardians. The colonel's horse broke loose one night, and, while browsing around, his long, flowing tail, the colonel's pride, was reduced to an ignominious 'bob' by a bullet, which neatly severed it near the root. Many was the trigger pulled at me, many the bullet sent whizzing at my head, as I returned to camp after an evening in the city. Fortunately, the person fired at was usually safe—any one within the circle of a hundred feet diameter was likely to receive the ball. One evening, about dusk, going into camp, I took a running jump over a ditch, and this rapid motion so frightened an honest German sentinel—probably a little muddled with lager—that he actually forgot to fire, and came at me in a more natural way with his musket clubbed. I escaped a broken head at the expense of a severely bruised arm. The rule for challenging, it used to be said, was to 'fire three times, and then cry 'halt!' instead of the reverse, as prescribed in the regulations.

When the order—long anticipated—for actually invading Virginia arrived, then was there excitement. Every man felt the premonition of battle, and nerved himself for conflict. As we marched down to Long Bridge, at midnight, perfect silence prevailed. Breaths were suspended, footfalls were as light as snowflakes, orders were given in hollow whispers. We placed our feet on the 'sacred soil' with more emotion than the Normans felt when landing in England, or the Pilgrims at Plymouth. This was war—the real, genuine thing. But our expectations were not realized. As the 'grand army' advanced, the scattered rebel pickets withdrew. The only fatality of the campaign was the death of the gallant but indiscreet Ellsworth. We had our first experience of lying out doors in our blankets. How vainglorious we felt over it! Many a poor fellow complained jocosely of the hardship and exposure, whom since I have seen perfectly content to obtain a few pine boughs to keep him from being submerged in an abyss of mud. Many, alas! have gone to a couch where their sleep will be no more broken by the reveille of drum and fife and bugle—in the trenches of Yorktown, in the thickets of Williamsburg, in the morasses of the Chickahominy, on the banks of the Antietam, at the foot of those fatal heights at Fredericksburg, in the wilderness of Chancellorsville, on the glorious ridge of Gettysburg. Comrades of the bivouac and the mess! ye are not forgotten in that sleep upon the fields where swept the infernal tide of battle, obliterating so much glorious life, leaving so much desolation! Even amid the roar of cannon, exulting in their might for destruction, amid the shrieking of the merciless shells, amid the blaze of the deadly musketry, memories of you occur to us. We resolve that your lives shall not have been sacrificed in vain. And in these long, dreary, monotonous days of winter, as the sleet rattles on our frail canvas covering, and the wind roars in our rude log chimneys, while the jests go around and the song arises, thoughts of the battle fields of the past cross our minds—we recall the incidents of fierce conflicts—we say, there and there fell——, no nobler fellows ever lived! A blunt and hasty epitaph, but the desultory vicissitudes of a soldier's life permit no other—we expect no other for ourselves when our turn to follow you shall come. So we break out into our favorite chorus:

'Then we'll stand by our glasses steady, And we'll drink to our ladies' eyes. Three cheers for the dead already, And huzza for the next man that dies.

Though your graves are unmarked, save by the simple broad slab from which storms have already effaced the pencilled legend, or perhaps only by the murderous fragment of iron, which lies half imbedded on the spot where you fell and where you lie, yet you live in the memory of your comrades, you live in the hearts of those who were desolated by your death, you live in that eternal record of heaven where are written the names of those who have given their lives to promote the truth and the freedom which God has guaranteed to humanity in the great charters of Nature and Revelation. For we are fighting in a holy cause. No crusade to redeem Eastern shrines from infidels, no struggle for the privilege of religious freedom, no insurrection for civil independence, has been more holy than this strife against the great curse and its abettors, who seek to make a land of freedom a land of bondage to substitute for a Union of freemen, miserable oligarchies controlled by breeders of slaves. If we die in this cause, we have lived a full life. An anomalous state of things had existed between the time of the attack on Sumter and the 'invasion' of Virginia. Although the war had in reality commenced, communication was not suspended between Washington and Alexandria. On the day following the march over the Potomac, we found the plans of intrenchments marked out by wooden forms on the spots which subsequently became Fort Corcoran, opposite Georgetown, Fort Runyon, opposite Washington, and Fort Ellsworth, in front of Alexandria. How this had so speedily been done by the engineers I did not learn until many months afterward, when one of the party who planned the works described the modus operandi. They went over to Virginia in a very rustic dress, and professed to the rebel pickets to be from 'down country,' come up to take a look at 'them durned Yankees.' So they walked around unmolested, selected the sites for the intrenchments, formed the plans in their minds, made some stealthy notes and sketches, and, returning to Washington, plotted the works on paper, gave directions to the carpenters about the frames, which were constructed; and, after the army crossed, these were put in their proper positions, tools were placed conveniently, and, soon after the crossing was made, the men commenced to work.