or one) comes from ananad, to add, to heap. The and that, from the Anglo-Saxon verb thean, to get, assume. Lo is the imperative of look; fy, of fian, to hate; and welcome means, it is well that you are come.  In comes from the Gothic noun inna, the interior of the body; and about, from boda, the first outward boundary. Through or thorough is the Teutonic noun thuruh, meaning passage, gate, door. From is the Anglo-Saxon noun frum, beginning, source, author.  He came from (beginning) Batavia. If (formerly written gif, give, gin) is the imperative of the Anglo-Saxon verb gifan, to give.  I will remain if (give or grant that fact) he will (remain.) But comes from the Saxon verb beon-utan, to be-out.  I informed no one but (be-out, leave-out) my brother.

This brief view of the subject, is sufficient to elucidate the manner in which, according to Horne Tooke’s principles, the ten parts of speech are reduced to one.  But I am, by no means, disposed to concede, that this is the true principle of classification; nor that it is any more philosophical or rational than one which allows a more practical division and arrangement of words.  What has been generally received as “philosophical grammar,” appears to possess no stronger claims to that imposing appellation than our common, practical grammars.  Query.  Is not Mr. Murray’s octavo grammar more worthy the dignified title of a “Philosophical Grammar,” than Horne Tooke’s “Diversions of Purley,” or William S. Cardell’s treatises on language?  What constitutes a philosophical treatise, on this, or on any other subject? Wherein is there a display of philosophy in a speculative, etymological performance, which attempts to develop and explain the elements and primitive meaning of words by tracing them to their origin, superior to the philosophy employed in the development and illustration of the principles by which we are governed in applying those words to their legitimate purpose, namely, that of forming a correct and convenient medium by means of which we can communicate our thoughts?  Does philosophy consist in ransacking the mouldy records of antiquity, in order to guess at the ancient construction and signification of single words? or have such investigations, in reality, any thing to do with grammar?

Admitting that all the words of our language include, in their original signification, the import of nouns or names, and yet, it does not follow, that they now possess no other powers, and, in their combinations and connexions in sentences, are employed for no other purpose, than barely to name objects.  The fact of the case is, that words are variously combined and