afternoon with sundry abstruse speculations, and putting them off to the following week for a satisfaction of their doubts; but why should he treat posterity in the same scurvy manner, or leave the world without quitting scores with it?  I question whether Mr. Tooke was himself in possession of his pretended nostrum, and whether, after trying hard at a definition of the verb as a distinct part of speech, as a terrier-dog mumbles a hedge-hog, he did not find it too much for him, and leave it to its fate.  It is also a pity that Mr. Tooke spun out his great work with prolix and dogmatical dissertations on irrelevant matters; and after denying the old metaphysical theories of language, should attempt to found a metaphysical theory of his own on the nature and mechanism of language.  The nature of words, he contended (it was the basis of his whole system) had no connection with the nature of things or the objects of thought; yet he afterwards strove to limit the nature of things and of the human mind by the technical structure of language.  Thus he endeavours to shew that there are no abstract ideas, by enumerating two thousand instances of words, expressing abstract ideas, that are the past participles of certain verbs.  It is difficult to know what he means by this.  On the other hand, he maintains that “a complex idea is as great an absurdity as a complex star,” and that words only are complex.  He also makes out a triumphant list of metaphysical and moral non-entities, proved to be so on the pure principle that the names of these non-entities are participles, not nouns, or names of things.  That is strange in so close a reasoner and in one who maintained that all language was a masquerade of words, and that the class to which they grammatically belonged had nothing to do with the class of ideas they represented.

It is now above twenty years since the two quarto volumes of the Diversions of Purley were published, and fifty since the same theory was promulgated in the celebrated Letter to Dunning.  Yet it is a curious example of the Spirit of the Age that Mr. Lindley Murray’s Grammar (a work out of which Mr. C——­ helps himself to English, and Mr. M——­ to style[B]) has proceeded to the thirtieth edition in complete defiance of all the facts and arguments there laid down.  He defines a noun to be the name of a thing.  Is quackery a thing, i.e. a substance?  He defines a verb to be a word signifying to be, to do, or to suffer.  Are being, action, suffering verbs?  He defines an adjective to be the name of a quality.  Are not wooden, golden, substantial adjectives?  He maintains that there are six cases in English nouns [C], that is, six various terminations without any change of termination at all, and that English verbs have all the moods, tenses, and persons that the Latin ones have.  This is an extraordinary stretch of blindness and obstinacy.  He very formally translates the Latin Grammar into English (as so many