| but why not "do a mistake," or "make a wrong?" The same gentleman, from some notes previously prepared, presented several other queries, that made by Smith; that a good "hat" is furnished by Brown; that Robinson "builds" a fine "suit." Such things are inexcusable, and merit the remark of Mr. Webster, who in his Diction-only one more of which is remembered; nameary says, in respect to the use of "guess" for "suppose," "such use is a gross vulgarism.” In contrasting our methods of speech with the English, the affix "er" demands some notice. This word, or affix, Mr. Webster informs us, comes from the Latin "or," meaning an "agent," and, if so, there is good ground for the American custom of applying it indiscriminately to persons or things; but I am inclined to doubt the correctness of this derivation, and think "er" is more nearly the Germanic personal substantive "herre," or "herr." In proof of this, I will point to the use of the term in England, where it is not applied to tools or implements, but to persons only. The affix is almost indispensable in speech, and it is a pity that we have not adopted the Latin "or" for inanimate agents, such as machines and implements -"grater," "mower," "scraper," and so onkeeping the Germanic personal substantive "er" for persons, as "baker," "reaper," "shoemaker." This would have avoided confusion, and our present use of the two terms, which is extremely irregular. For example, in iron works a certain machine for planing is commonly spoken of as a "planer," while another for drilling holes is not called a "driller," nor one for turning a "turner." On some of the railway cars may be noticed a plate bearing an inscription to inform the reader that some one's "buffer," "coupler," and "platform" are patented. In common speech, and for technical use, these names might perhaps pass unchallenged, but mounted on a plate for the public to read, they can be relegated to the class to which Mr. Webster's "gross vulgarisms" belong. Another suggestion may be made in respect to the words "use" and "employ." These are synonymous in ordinary speech, or, as we may say, "use" has taken the place of "employ," although the true sense of the terms points to the difference that what is "used" is consumed, as food, gas, fuel, and so on, while "employed" indicates a use without consumption. For example, we "use" soap and "employ" a brush. A foreign gentleman, while attempting to learn English, once asked a question the simplicity of which, at first, caused him to be laughed at. He inquired, "When shall I say 'make,' or 'do,' in speaking English?" Several who were present each engaged to furnish an infallible rule, but the query was not solved. We say "make" a journey, not "do" a journey; but why? We "make" a mistake, or "do" a wrong, ly, "When should one say, 'illegal,' ‘illicit,' ‘illegitimate,' or 'unlawful?"" Our divisions of these terms among classes of acts, or circumstances, is most confusing to one learning the language, and so far as I know lacks the warrant of any rule except common use. Mention was made in a previous place of a lack, sometimes, of terms in English expression. Such a want is the sole warrant for the introduction of foreign words in our literature, and this custom must be ascribed to the absence of synonyms or to pedantry—the latter generally, for that great master of English words, Thomas Carlyle, manages to do without foreign interpolations, when "he wants to." This I mention, because no one has ever wielded our language with such audacity, or forced ideas, as he has done, by a verbiage that claims our equal interest with the subjects treated. Two words only I will mention as wanting synonyms in English; there may be many more-scores, perhaps, but these will do as examples. "Ennui," in French, will, no doubt, at some future day, do duty in our tongue for a personal condition which it takes several English words to describe. The other is a very important word from the Swedish language, "lagorn," meaning, as near as we can translate it, and imperfectly at that, "Just right," or "Just enough." Its frequent use in Scandinavian speech proves the value of the word. "Either and neither," which are, in this country, pronounced with the two vowels as e long, e-ther and ne-ther, are, in England, called i-ther and ni-ther, the second vowel long. In respect to this, we read in Webster's Dictionary, that "analogy, as well as the best use, favors the first pronunciation;" a statement that may well be called into doubt. So far as analogy, we can do no better, certainly, than to compare with the German, in which an inflexible rule would make the second vowel long, and give us the English pronunciation. It is, moreover, more "congenial," if that term will apply; comes more natural, when once learned, and is adopted almost insensibly by persons who go to reside where this pronunciation is employed. As to use, Mr. Webster is certainly wrong, because the whole tendency and change is to i long-ni-ther and i-ther—while common use is, at least, equally divided among Englishspeaking people. In Great Britain there are many dialectsEnglish, Irish, Scotch, and Welsh, as principal. There are also the Yorkshire, Lancashire, Cam brian, and half a dozen others of more or less distinction. On the east coast, in places, Scandinavian terms are used to such an extent that a Swede, Dane, or Norwegian, who is ignorant of English, can, in many cases, understand the "drift" of a plain conversation. The Lancashire and Yorkshire dialects, which have been named as minor ones, have each large dictionaries; and a person, after living for years in London, Dublin, or Edinburgh, will be, for a time, confounded in parts of Yorkshire or Lancashire (Lancaster). These discrepancies, with the exception of pronunciation, do not exist among the educated classes; and the written language, except in a few names of things, is quite the same in all parts of the kingdom. These things I mention preparatory to a few remarks upon London pronunciation, which is generally conceded to be the most correct. English is certainly well spoken in London. Terminal syllables are more distinctly sounded, and the letter "r," the American shibboleth, is not formed in the throat, but with the tongue. In the "Cockney tongue," as it is called, there are some faults and variations from the acknowledged standard, even among educated people, which there is no parallel for in this country. I will mention two of them. The Italian sound | of a, as in "bar, father, bank," is seldom heard. Instead, there is a sound not known in this country, and corresponding almost with the œ, or ä, in German; also, near the same as e short. Bank, for example, is Bänk, or Benk. Hat is | pronounced hät, or het. While a long, as in mate, is sounded more like long i, or ai, perhaps; mate or gate is called mite and gite, or maite and gaite. The sound can not be fairly indicated by spelling, and must be heard to be understood. The second case is that of o long, as in "boat," "home," and so on. The American sound of o long, or, indeed, any sound of o long, whether in the Germanic or Latin languages, is beyond a Cockney's powers, and becomes nearly, but not quite, the Yankee "aou," as baout, haouse. This, like the sound of a long, can not be spelled, and is almost impossible for an American to imitate. The Southern negro pronounciation resembles it. This essay is not presented as coming from a philologist, grammarian, or critic, even. The deductions ventured upon are drawn from personal observance. Perhaps something has been added to a subject which, unlike all others, is to be dealt with in a popular way only, if reform or change is to be expected. J. RICHARDS. AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF COUNT MORNY. [TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.] The Crimean war was at an end. The Emperor Alexander was about to celebrate his coronation, and to place upon his youthful forehead the crown of Peter the Great, which, in descending from the proud head of the Emperor Nicolaus, had lost some of its bright jewels. The Emperor Napoleon III. stood at the zenith of his power, and, as it was always his policy to afterward make friends of those whom he had beaten-a policy which he later applied, at Villafranca, to the Emperor Francis Joseph, with peculiar success-Napoleon did his utmost to prove his kind feelings to the new Russian autocrat by sending a brilliant embassy to attend the coronation. He had appointed the clever Count Morny, the son of Queen Hortense and Count Flahault, his embassador to Russia; and without doubt there was no one more suitable for the mission-for Count Morny understood, like the grandseigneurs of the ancien régime, how to combine perfect elegance with the most lavish profusion; and this the Emperor's munificence enabled him to do. The Count was perhaps the most suitable person to insinuate himself into the favor of the young Emperor of Russia, and to impart to him the conviction that Napoleon was his best friend, and that Russia, forsaken by the Holy Alliance, could find no truer and better ally than Napoleon of France. When Count Morny received his appointment the most particular instructions were given him concerning his demeanor at the Court of St. Petersburg. Napoleon communicated to to him all the reports of his secret agents, so that the Count had before him the principal personages of the Russian court as if in a camera obscura, and was as accurately informed concerning the scene of his future activity as if he had lived there for years. His carriages and his servants were ready, and he was instructed to depart the next morning. When Count Morny left the Emperor, he entered his coupé, which was without coat of arms or livery, and drove rapidly along the Champs Elysées to the Barrière de l'Etoile, at which point he turned into the gateway of a charming hotel, built in a highly aristocratic style. Without uttering a word, he crossed the entrance-hall, passed the low-bowing servants, and entered a richly and elegantly furnished parlor, in which was a lady, who rose from her Ichair as he entered. In the dim lamplight which pervaded the room, this lady, who wore a simple dress of dark silk, made an almost youthful impression. Her face was fine and regular; her figure still full and graceful. Only the sharp lines around the mouth and eyes gave her a somewhat hard and severe expression, and showed that youth lay far behind her. Indeed, the Countess Lehon was certainly fifty years old, although she well understood how to destroy the traces of time in her appearance. People told of her-and perhaps they had ample ground for it-that in her early youth she had had particularly intimate relations with the Duke of Orleans, King Louis Philippe's son. Afterward, she had been the intimate friend and confidant of Count Morny; and the young Count Lehon, her`son, who at that time was twenty and some odd years old, showed in his appearance a certain resemblance to the Emperor Napoleon's half-brother, who had just been appointed embassador to St. Petersburg. "I come to take leave, my dear," said Count Morny, with chivalric politeness, kissing the hand of the Countess, "and to chat for a few moments with you, here at the most attractive center of charming Paris, before my departure to the country of the Muscovite barbarians.” "And Charles," asked the Countess, "my son; he will go with you?" "The Emperor has refused it to me,” replied Morny, shrugging his shoulders. "Prince Murat is to fill the place among my cavaliers which I had designed for Charles. The Emperor hopes to add, through this, more brilliancy to the embassy. It was impossible to influence him otherwise." A bitter smile played for an instant around the lips of the Countess. "Could not Charles," asked she, "have still found a place by the side of Prince Murat, if you had earnestly demanded it from the Emperor?" "I tell you it was impossible,” replied the Count. "You know that the Emperor is sometimes obstinate in trifling things; perhaps he fears the slanders of the Russian court circles, if Charles should appear there in my suite." "I regret it," said the Countess. "He would have written to me-would have informed me of everything. You yourself," she added, with a touch of light mockery, "will perhaps not find time." "Certainly I shall, my dear,” replied the Count. "Although you must expect no long reports from me, I shall always find time, however busy I may be, to convince you of my unchangeable friendship. Yet a separation like that which is about to take place requires some precautions. You will be, when I am not here, without any direct protection, and you know that the Emperor has already several times made allusion to the papers which refer to the coup d'état and the time before it, and which are in your hands." "They are well kept," answered the Countess, a peculiar flash sparkling from her eyes. "All your letters are preserved as my dearest possessions among them, also, that in which you promise, as soon as circumstances admit, to give me your hand.” "That moment will soon arrive," replied Morny, with an expression of sincerest cordiality, "in which I can fulfill that promise, and give myself the highest happiness. The times till now have been so much disquieted, everything is not yet sufficiently consolidated, my own position is not yet firm enough, to think of a marriage. Lately the Emperor has several times hinted that it might be time for me now to establish my own house, and to introduce into it a lady who understands how to do the honors of a representative person. We shall speak again of this as soon as my mission is finished. Yet," he then continued, "would it not be better to destroy those papers before my departure, or, if we wish to preserve them for possible future events, which might, perhaps, be very well, would they not be safer in my hands than in yours?" "They are perfectly safe with me," replied the Countess, firmly and severely, in a tone that convinced Morny that all further words on this subject would be in vain. He changed the conversation. They chatted for an hour about this and that, and then he took leave with the cordiality of an old friend, in which a little of the lover's fervor seemed still to flame. The brilliant festivities at St. Petersburg and Moscow began. The papers filled their columns with the descriptions of the magnificent displays at the coronation ceremonies at Moscow, where the Emperor Alexander had gone, accompanied by all the great lords of his empire and the embassadors of all the European powers. Count Morny outshone every one, through the richness and splendor of his carriages, his horses, and his servants. The taste and profuse luxury of his balls and assemblies were unequaled. He was the hero of the day. The highest circles of Russian society, follow He signed and put the whole in an envelope, to which he attached the great seal of the embassy, and wrote the address, "To His Majesty the Emperor." Then he called for his secretary, and ordered that a courier should immediately go to Paris to deliver this letter directly into the hands of his Majesty. Having done this, he went into the small dining-hall, where, every night at a late hour, the gentlemen of his suite were usually assembled to conclude the day with an informal supper, at which they communicated to each other their adventures in the field of diplomacy and gallantry. Count Morny was as cheerful as ever. His sparkling wit animated the conversation till far into the night, and nobody around him perceived the disquieting grief which troubled his heart. ing the example of the Emperor, bestowed upon him the most marked attentions. One day the papers spread the rumor that the French Coronation Embassador was going to marry a young lady from one of the first Russian princely families. When the Countess Lehon read this news, the paper dropped from her hand, wild anger flamed in her eyes; for some hours she remained locked in her boudoir. Afterward she showed herself in her splendid carriage in the Bois de Boulogne, smilingly returning the greetings of her acquaintances, and seeming not to perceive that these greetings were accompanied by ironical and inquisitive glances. The rumor mentioned in the papers was indeed true. Count Morny had understood not only how to outshine by his splendor the diplomacy of all Europe, and to convince the Emperor Alexander, as well as his ministers, of the sincerity of the friendship of Napoleon III., but the captivating charm of his person had won the heart of a beautiful Russian princess, whose inheritance counted into the millions; and the marriage, the celebration of which would also externally seal the new bond of friendship between Russia and France, was already sanctioned by Alexander II. and the Emperor Napoleon. Count Morny returned one evening from a magnificent festival at the Winter Palace, where the gracious distinction of the Emperor and the radianted nose-a man who did not admit the existglances of his betrothed, the beautiful Princess Sophy Trubetzkoi, had gratified his pride and filled him with happiness. On his table lay the letters from Paris. He indifferently threw aside some of them, to put in order the political dispatches for his secretary, when he suddenly stopped at the sight of a little envelope with an elegant seal, and opened it quickly. It contained only a few lines, in the hand of the Countess Lehon. These ran: The Emperor Napoleon had received the dispatch of his embassador at St. Petersburg. The courier had brought it in his traveling-coat from the station, and delivered it with his own hand. After reading this dispatch the Emperor did not send for his Minister of Foreign Affairs, but for M. Pietri, his Police-Prefect. Soon afterward the Chief entered the Cabinet. Napoleon gave him the paper, and asked: "What is there to be done?" M. Pietri, a man with the countenance of a hawk, with a broad, bold forehead, and crook ence of impossibilities-shrugged his shoulders, paused for a moment in reflection, and then said: "That will be hard. The Countess Lehon is very smart and cautious. She will deny the possession of anything, and if one does not know exactly where she keeps those papers, forcible measures will be of no help, but only aggravate the scandal." "No," exclaimed the Emperor, forbiddingly, "no force. And yet we must have these papers. It would be a European scandal, and Morny, who is in so many near relations to me, and whom I want, would be undone." While the Emperor walked musingly up and down, and Pietri stood in meditation over the paper, the valet de chambre of his Majesty came in. "A note to the Prefect," said he. "His secretary has brought it here because he thinks that the affair is of the highest importance and requires haste." The Emperor made an affirmative sign, and while the valet de chambre withdrew, Pietri opened the letter, closed with the seal of the Police Prefecture. "What is it?" asked Napoleon. Pietri gave the Emperor the sheet. He read: "M. PREFECT:-A true friend of the Empire considers it his duty to communicate to you that the Countess Lehon, on the tidings of the marriage of the Count Morny, has delivered all the papers to Orleans which the Count had left behind in Paris." "It is too late," cried the Emperor, badly frightened, turning pale, and supporting himself by the back of a chair. "This is a stratagem, sire," said Pietri, with a confident mien, after having reflected for a few instants. "The Countess Lehon wishes to give another direction to the search, and prevent measures from our side. If she had really given those papers to Orleans, she would not have written to the Count. She will not let the papers go out of her hands until she has either prevented the marriage or the wedding is performed." "You believe so?" cried Napoleon. "I am sure of it," replied Pietri. "Will your Majesty give me full power to treat this affair entirely in my own way?" "Go," said the Emperor, "and act quickly. Yet, if it is possible, avoid any sensation." "Your Majesty may be tranquil," replied Pietri. “I think I am sure of my point." He hastened away. After half an hour, he drove to the hotel of the Countess Lehon, and while he was being announced to the lady of the house, six gentlemen, dressed in elegant style, entered the court, one after another, through the porte-cochère. The Countess received the Prefect with the most amiable smile. "What brings the very busy Chief of the Police to a lady who is almost forgotten by the world?" asked she. "An earnest matter, madame," answered M. Pietri, without any ceremony. "You have written this letter to Count Morny; you will comprehend that the Emperor cannot allow the carrying out of your threats; and I request · you to immediately deliver to me the papers of which you have spoken." these papers, which I ask of you in the name of the Emperor, I must for the present make you a prisoner in your house; although, as a matter of course, as long as it is possible, you will be treated with all that regard which your position may require." "Those papers, sir, are in the hands of sure friends," replied the Countess Lehon, with an expression of haughty security. "As for the rest, do what you can, and can account for." M. Pietri opened the door and gave a sign. One of the gentlemen who had followed him into the hotel came in. "You will," said the Police Prefect, "not quit the room of the Countess; and take care that she neither removes nor speaks with anybody except in your presence." The police officer bowed. The Countess, as she looked at the two, mockingly, played with the tips of her slender fingers. "I shall appear again after three hours," said M. Pietri, "in order to ask whether you have changed your mind, madame, and whether you have anything to say to me. If so, you can tell it to this gentleman, and he will communicate it to me." He courteously bowed, as if an act of politeness had been spoken of, and went away. Out of doors he gave the rest of the officers the order to allow nobody to enter the hotel or to leave it. Then he asked after the young Count Charles Lehon. His valet de chambre-who had come, anxiously, into the ante-chamber of the Countess-led him to the apartments inhabited by the Count, who, however, already in the corridor, was hastening toward him, full of trouble and excitement. Count Lehon-who, as we remarked, might at that time have been about five or six and twenty years old-showed in his elegant, pliant figure, and in his features, an unmistakable likeness to Count Morny. A certain childlike The Countess sneeringly leaned back in her timidity was still visible in his face, and the easy chair. "That is a peculiar demand, sir,” she said; "and to justify so peremptory a tone, one must possess more power than the Emperor, and more than all your police. I could answer you, that I possess no papers at all, that this was a mystification, but you would not believe me; therefore I tell you that I indeed am in possession of documents which are highly compromising to Count Morny, and to others, and which would at any rate prevent his Russian marriage, which is faithless and perfidious." "It is not for me to meddle with Count Morny's conscience, madame," answered M. Pietri, coldly; "and if you refuse to deliver up glance of his eyes was gentle, thoughtful, and dreamy; his nature was just as delicate, sensitive, and susceptible as the Count's was cold, sharp, and impenetrable. "For God's sake, sir !" exclaimed he, "what is going on here? You occupy the hotel. What has happened? What have you against us? Does the Emperor not know how much I am devoted to him, how much I am prepared to do for him for him who has freed France from the revolution, and made her again great in Europe?" "The Emperor knows your sentiments," said Pietri, earnestly; "and just for that reason, Count, he has given me the order to lead you |