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among delicia Utteraria . To all we commend this volume . It may be read in an evening , and will afford matter for years of afterthought . , It is arranged in groups of Adverbs , Pronouns , and Particles ; Verbs , Adjectives , Nouns . In . the first group we have such words as which agd Mat , while and though , discriminated . Among the verbs , we find such as —• «* TO JPCZZLE , PERPLEX , EMBABRAS 8 . ¦ " ¦ We are puzzled ' when our intellectual faculties are confused , and we cannot comprehend what is proposed to us : we are « perplexed' when the feelings and will are brought into play as well as the intellect , and we are at a loss what to decide or how to act .
We are ' embarrassed' by some hindranceor difficulty which impedes our powers of thought , speech , or action . This need not necessarily be an intellectual huiderance ? it is generally either of a kind . which affects the feelings , as timidity or bashfulness , or a material obstacle which hampers us , such as an impediment in the speech , A schoolboy is * puzzled' with a difficult sum : a riddle puzzles those who try to guess it : we are ' perplexed' by the subtleties-of a casuist , or in the midst of conflicting opinions : artistic is * embarrassed' in the presence of his superiors , or a traveller when trying to speak a foreign language he knows but imperfectly . It is the characteristic of embarrassment to take away our presence of mind . "
" TO DISTINGUISH , DISCRIMINATE . "' To distinguish * is merely to mark broad and obvious differences ; 'to discriminate' is to notice minuter and more subtle differences . The generality of people can ' distinguish' colour ; but many who possess the faculty to a certain point do not readily * r > iaf » Tiininatft' hfitwppn thf > nif-AT-RhAflea _ -An-ignCTant
man can distinguish a rose from a lily : only a botanist < can discriminate between the varieties most closely allied and nearly resembling . The faculty of dis ^ tinguishing belongs to every one whose intellect is above that of a child or a brute ^ it is only those who are skilled or well informed in any particular department who can discriminate clearly . ' The great difficulties to foreigners , Scotchmen , and Irishmen , of " shall" and JL ' will , " are thus cleared up : — t ** These two verbs have undergone curious alterations . In very old English , ' shall' indicated simple futurity , and ' will' intention . ft At the time our Bible translation was made , the
language in this respect was in a state of transition ; in some cases , the two verbs were used in the old sense , while in others they were applied nearly in our modern acceptation . For instance : in 2 Kings , "We read , ' Ahab shall slay me , ' and in Galatians v ., * Walk in the spirit and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of of the flesh . ' " In both these sentences , will' would be used in modern English ; and in many others a misapprehension of the real meaning of the sacred ' writers is induced by a forgetfulness of this difference . But then , again , in John xvi . 2 , we have , ' Whosoever killeth you wilt think that he doeth God service ' : * will' is here employed exactly as it would be in
tfnodern English . " It is difficult to define intelligibly to a foreigner the modern use of these two words , though through-¦ out the whole of England no misuse of them can be observed , even among the lowest of the people . But in Ireland they are constantly reversed , and in Scot-Hand ' will' is used improperly , though ' shall' is not , "In our modern use of these verbs , we have curiously divided the persons of each . 'I Mill , you ¦ shall , he shall , ' denotes a futurity connected with rthe will of the speaker : while , ' I shall , you will , ( he will , ' implies a futurity unconnected with the ( speaker ' s resolve . For instance , we should say , ' I will go , you shall go , he shall go '—but 'I shall die , ; you will die , he will die . '
" We always say , ' I shall attain such an age next birthday ' : if ' will' were substituted , it would imply a power of voluntarily determining our age , * You shall have some , money to-morrow' implies 'I will procure it for you . ' ' You will have it , ' indicates an expectation quite independent of the speaker ' s intentions . When , however , will is emp hatic , so that one would write it underscored , or in italics , as denoting resolute determination , it has the Oame sense in all three persons ; as , for instance , — * I [ or you , or he ] will take this course whatever may be said to the contrary . ' The opposite to « will' in this is
sense , , not ' shall , ' but ' must '; as , 'I [ or you , or he ] must submit to this , however unwillingly / " There are some cases in whioh either ' shall' or will' might be used , but in whioh the meaning would be modified according to the word employed . In answering a request , 4 I w ill' indicates com-Slianoe ; 'I shall' would convey an intention of oing the thing asked , quite independentl y of any wish to gratify the asker . ' I shall go , ' indicates ¦ simple futurity—• I will go / both futurity and a determined intention . * I shall go / in a oase where we are determined , expresses therefore less than wo mean : and we sometimes use this form of understating our meaning—or what the Greeks called
Eironeia—to express very strong resolution ; . Hence the common expressions , 'I shall do no such thing , 'He wun't make me dotso / Which are often used to convey the strongest idea of determination , and , therefore , atfirstsight , appear exceptions to the rules here laid down . " . Here is a group of words in constant use : — « SILLY , FOOLISH , ABSURD , WEAK , STO TID , SIMPLE , DULL . "' Silly * is most commonly applied to words ,
writings , manners , or character ; ' foolish * to actions . We speak of a ' silly' book , a « silly' speech , a « silly manner ; but seldom of taking a « silly' step , committing & * silly' action ; in these last cases , we use the word ? foolish . ' ' Silly' very frequently , though not always , implies deficiency of intellect or feebleness of character ; * foolish / an abuse of intellect . A ' foolish * man is one who does not make use of the sense he possesses .. More of blame is implied in the word * foolish ' : more of contempt in ' silly . weak
" ' Weak' implies some moral deficiency ; a man is one who either wants sufficient firmness to maintain his principles , or wants clearness of moral sense to perceive distinctly what is right . "' Absurd , ' applied to an action , implies something laughable . An absurd person is one who commits ridiculous acts of folly . . ¦ , " ' Stupid' is used merely to express a lumpish , heavy , cloudy perception of everything , proceeding from a want of intellect . It is entirely a negative quality . "' Dull' is not quite the same ; it implies slowness , but not necessarily deficiency of intellect . A boy who is slow and dull in learning may , nevertheless , be not wanting in sense , and may be able to
oraderst 3 nm = ansnibjecirwell , when once he its difficulties . " •• Simple / when it is applied ta an act of folly , implies a want of quicksightedness—of what the French call savoir faire , springing either from natural deficiency or want Of experience . The French bonhomie and the Greek Euethes are used to signify the same thing . " We have said enough and cited enough to pique curiosity , and , with that we leave the book ; adding , that although we consider it very ingenious and of ten indisputable , there are , nevertheless , many pages we should question , were we not restricted in our space .
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PATHWAY OF THE FAWN . The Pathway of the Fawn . A Tale of the New Tear . By Mrs . T . K . Hervey . Office of the National Illustrated Library . The charmed reader of this book had better yield himself unhesitatingly to its influence , without suffering criticism to interfere , for it is a book which has an undefinable " something " we cannot resist , though we feel that it will not bear analytical criticism . The story is not probable ; the characters have an ideal turn which aids the sense of remoteness suggested by story , scene , and treatment . Yet there is a " keeping" and poetical
congruity about them which arrest attention , and act like a charm . The truth is , although written in prose , the book must be regarded somewhat in the light of a poem . The conception is poetical , the treatment poetical , the language—and that is a fault- —often rises into the rhythm of verse , as if its tendency to quit the unsymmetrical restraints of pros * were irresistible . In fact , we wish Mrs . Hervey had given way to the poetic impulse , and thrown prose aside altogether . Why not tell the story in verse , when verse would better tell the story ?
Mrs . Hervey ' s purpose—i . e ., the moral underlying her . romantic story—seems to be this : — However vicious impulses of Self may distort our actions , there lives for ever within us a godlike principle of rectification—a Conscience , which may be reached through the mysterious avenues of the affections , and one way of passing through these avenues is . by Art . Wilhelm von Fern has caused his brother ' s
death , and dispossessed the widow ' s son of the inheritance by bringing up his daughter as a boy . She ( the supposed boy ) discovers her relations , learns the truth of the whole story , and flies from home , moved by the hope of bringing her father back from the criminal path he has entered on . Her cousin , the Sculptor , teaches her his Art , and with this power she seta to work . Into her father ' s gallery she conveys the marble images of his victims : —
" The solitary man within looked drearily round . It seemed , indeed , as if each several statue were once again endued with life , as the gliding shadows if wept the pedestal's foot , crept over the plinth , flowed along the' room , noiseless as air . But the thought disturbed him no more . Imagination was dead ; life a blank . Phantoms might come and go . now . His
soul could be darkened by no sfiadow , for in it there was ho more light ! Absorbed by his reveries , he saw not the figure of 'Bertha , as , Opening the door noiselessly , she stole into the room , taking her place among the sculptures . Neither did he discern the forms of Ernst and Johanna , standing dark within the doorway . Stricken as he seemed In soul and sense , in life and reason , how the heart of his child throbbed as she gazed upon him ! Dreading a too sudden recognition , she yet longed to throw herself at his feet . Powerless to move , she became almost as rigid as the marble forms by which she was surrounded . She fixed her eyes upon his face , striving to draw from
him one encouraging look . In vam . He looked up , but only took her for another phantom —«> ne vision the more of all that had long haunted him in the dim chamber of his unrest . Seated in that antique chair , behold him once again . Back through the silent years his- visions bear him on . Gentler visions are they to-night , tender and less terrible ! Around that very chair , in days gone by , a child—a sprite—a fairy form , bright as the morn and sinless as the day— -sported beneath his eye . He sees it now as then he saw it , but it eludes his crasp . He sinks back powerless . It is gone !
His arm hangs listlessly over the chair . Suddenly he feels his fingers caught . On their enclosed palm soft kisses are pressed . Climbing inykfiee , Ughi urn ba spring upward with a bound , and rounded arms are circling his neck . Childhood ' s lips are pressed to his ; oh , breath than violets sweeter ! The rack that rides his heart moves his uneasy limbs . He rocks to and fro , and the antique chair creaks with the crazy motion . No rest—no rest ! The action renews the dream . The clinging arms relax . It is childhood's hour of sleep . The fragile form his stronger arms entwine ; the little weary head falls sideway on his neck ; the
azure eyes are veiled ue arowsy . Motherless , but not forlorn , she sleeps , upon his bosom sleeps ; and , beating time with rocking bound , he sings a low , wild nursery song , to the music of his heart and hers ! Oh , days for ever gone ! Beside an airy lute he sees her next , wearing the day down with the twilight of sweet song—some melody mournful as thedying day . He knows youth ' s passionibr the sorrowful , and smiles . Her beaming glance meets his . His smile is multiplied on her sweet cheek ; eye , mouth , * and dimpled cheek , are running o ' er with mirth . Her ringing laugh sounds like merry bells in breezeless evening hour—no sigh to steal its sweetness from the ear . Oh , music hushed 4 br aye !
He hears with sense half dead ; he sees , and yet sees hot . His retrospective spirit passes into the dim eclipse of time , and discerns not clearly the blank , cheerless now . The sun of his past days , half veiled , throws but a dreary light on all that is : but he knows that none save phantoms are around him ; he feels he is alone . Whence , then , the hand that closes round his own ? Has one of the statues left its place , and , gliding to his chair , laid its stony hand in his ? That was no marble touch—no clay-cold clasp ! Is it some trick of memory that beguiles him ' ; ? He cannot tell , for the darkness alike without and within him . A sigh ? It can be but a fiction of the brain , like all the
rest . Yet surely again there are shadows crossing to and fro , blending with the shadows of the marble , on the wall ? He draws his hand away . The phantom—if phantom it be—will not be so rebuked . He feels his fingers drawn by magic , but uot ungentle force , between the warm and throbbing veins of something too like life . He starts ! Ie it gone ? His eye swim ; he cannot see . He feels the pressure still Agony of agonies 1 His child ? She must be dead and this her presence , in the semblance of quick life come back to haunt , then spurn him . He turn aside . No respite ! The fellow-hand is clasped ; h is bound down and fettered on all sides . He strives
to rise ; a nightmare presses down his limbs . A sob , a stifled sob , a struggle of quick breath close to his ear—a voice of long ago—thrills in him ! He lifts his eyes . What form is that he sees standing erect before him , like a seraph to lead to—not bar from—Paradise ? What angel-hearted guest stands thus with muto and humble look before his face of guilt ? Is it the guardian spirit of his child , or one he knew in his life-days , that are no more ? Both ! As ho gazes on that plaoid brow , serene in holy youth , a strange dim retrospect is his . Again it is New Year's Eve , The Bwift mysterious rushing of the viewless wind is in his ear , as he heard it on that night in the hardness of his heart . The dead hush follows , and the beating pulse ! The hour is to him
as that hour . The cloud upon his brain has dimmed his sight ; the shadows of the mind mingle with the shadows before him and , around hiim—the unreal with the actual—till all is clothed in mist , as a sea-foam I Another and another deeper sob , on either side ! What dreadful doom awaits him ? Terrible avengers ! —yet they kneel ! Bread messengers of wrath!—they weep ! The spectral forms from which ' he shrinksdo they bear him on viewless wings to expiatory shadeB ? See 1 tho dreaded doom reversed ! To his heart he bears them—on his breast ! The only shriek that echoes to the roof is the shriek not of a lost , buc of ^ recovered soul . It fills the air but with one tone , one pulse of unutterable joy— 'Bertha!—Johanna !''' The outline we have given , together with the extract , will indicate pretty well tho nature of Mrs .
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), Jan. 24, 1852, page 88, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1919/page/20/
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