The question concerning the origin and nature of the so-called impersonals is one of great interest to the philosopher as well as to the philologian; for it is here where logic and grammar meet to solve a problem that belongs to both of these sciences. The impersonals and the sentences formed by them, seem to present an exception, if not a contradiction, not only to the syntactical rule that every sentence should consist of a subject and a predicate, but also to the law of logic, according to which a judgment is composed of two members. A linguistic investigation of this problem can, therefore, not be made without seeking aid from logic and psychology, and the results of such an inquiry may help to throw light on the relation of grammar to logic, and on the psychological basis of language. We could, of course, also proceed exclusively according to the historical method by inquiring after the origin of the impersonals in general as well as in particular cases. But such an investigation, too, would have had to be assisted by psychological and logical considerations without which it would scarcely rise above a mere collection of material Before we attempt, however, an explanation of this apparently irrational linguistic phenomenon we may do well to cast a glance at the history of the various attempts made in the direction of a solution of the problem.

The subject of the present paper was chosen some time ago. As to why a preference was shown for this and not for something touching on the better known, more widely appreciated French and German, would lead me to answer with as much justice, but perhaps the same amount of human nature, as that other enlightened citizen of another free country: “I am tired of hearing Aristides called the Just”—weary of learning that in spite of Volapük, the revised English e tutti quanti, French is still the language of the world, Parisian the language of the Gods; worn out by the constant refrain, that German is the “Open-Sesame” to all questions, physical, metaphysical, theological, psychical. This feeling is legitimate not only with me, as Montaigne says, “simply because it is it and I am I” but from a wider point of view, including all who sympathize with struggling humanity, and the above-named title suggests a question replete with interest for its historical importance as well as its literary claims and one that cannot fail to be attractive; for, what was Italy's literary position at the beginning of this century, when England, Germany, France, even Spain and America were sending into the arena champion after champion who recoiled before no question the human brain can propound ? What could be expected of a country overrun by foreign troops, split up into petty states, down-trodden and oppressed, without authority in the councils of Europe, without commerce, without colonies ? Could it ever repeat its superb record, still retain the ancient stamp and not belie Leopardi's proud claim, “Ancor per forza italian si noma, quanto ha più grande la mortal natura?”

In a dissertation on “The Anglo-Saxon Metaphor,” Professor Gummere has shown conclusively that while the metaphor, “the corner-stone of all poetical style,” is a figure native to our literature, the simile had no existence in Old English poetry, until it was brought in through the influence of the Bible and of sacred Latin poetry. He also refutes the position taken by Professor Heinzel in his essay “Ueber den Stil der altger-manischen Poesie,” that the simile existed in Old English poetry previous to the introduction of Christianity, but was given up as a concession to a foreign culture; showing that, on the contrary, only a few sporadic cases of the simile occur before the sacred writings were made known to our ancestors, and that the development of that figure was distinctly hastened by the influence of the church.

Our knowledge of the phonology of Old English, and more especially of Old English vowels, is as yet comparatively limited. Nor can this afford much occasion for surprise, when we consider how short a time has elapsed since the initial steps were taken in what could justly be considered a scientific treatment of the subject. The phonology of Old English therefore offers a broad field for investigation, and it has been the purpose of the author of this monograph to cover some portion, however small, of the unexplored territory.

In a paper read a year ago before this body I endeavored to sketch the main features of the Anglo-Saxon element in the pronunciation of Charleston, reserving for some future occasion the Huguenot, German, and negro influences upon the same. In the present paper, I purpose investigating the influence which the Huguenots may have had upon the English sounds; for it is evident that such a large foreign element as that of the Huguenots of Charleston, could not have been incorporated into the body politic of the State in its very infancy without exerting a considerable influence upon the manners and customs, the politics and legislation, the grammar and language, of the whole community.—But a short sketch of the Huguenot refugees in South Carolina, of their first settlements and incorporation into the state, and the gradual disappearance of the French language will, however, be necessary in order to show clearly the conditions under which the two languages met and struggled for the mastery. The conflict resulted in the supremacy of the English and the suppression of the French.