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All the ideas consciously or unconsciously present in the human mind are directly or indirectly connected with one another. No thought, no conception, is so independent of all others as not to suggest some other idea or ideas in some way cognate or related. Thus, for instance, if we think of the action of walking, it is physically impossible not to call to mind, with more or less distinctness, the idea of a person who walks. And again, the idea of walking is likely also to evoke the idea of some of the varieties of that action, which we commonly indicate by such words as (to) go, run, step, stalk, stroll, stride, etc.

Thus it is clear that our ideas associate themselves into groups; and, as a natural result of this, the words which we employ to express these ideas come similarly to associate themselves in our minds.

Words, then, which express related ideas, form themselves into groups. Another source, though not equally prolific, of such association, is similarity in sound. Thus the word book may remind us of brook, as it in fact reminded Shakespeare; the word alarms, of ‘to arms!’ the word hag, of rag or tag; the word blue may remind us of few. Such groupings are, however, but very loose and ineffectual, unless a more or less close association (based on reality or fancy) co-operates in order to make them strong and suggestive. This may be seen by taking as examples the associations existing between brook and book, blue and few, on the one hand, and those existing between alarms and ‘to arms!’ and hag, tag, and rag, on the other. There is no similarity of meaning, no similarity of contents between the words book and brook; the association, therefore, in this case is a very loose one, looser than that existing between foot and boot, for instance. On the other hand, the connection between the ideas of alarms and ‘to arms!’ is more obvious: a sudden surprise, as in the case of an attack by an unexpected enemy, might often be connected with the idea of a call ‘to arms!’ Similarly, hag and rag are ideas which often present themselves to our mind in connection with one another, and consequently the association between these two words is stronger than that, for instance, existing between hag and flag.

Correlation in the ideas, coupled with correlation of their contents, especially if accompanied by similarity of sound, makes the association most inevitable; and the closer the correlation, or the greater the similarity, the stronger will be the tie which binds the members of the group.

It is necessary to the more exact classification of these groups, that we should first obtain a clear conception of the difference between what we may call the material contents of a word, on the one hand, and the formal or modal contents, on the other.

For this purpose, let us look at the two words father (singular) and fathers (plural). Both these words indicate a person or persons who stand in a certain and well-defined blood-relationship to some other person or persons. This meaning, common to both, we call their material contents. But the one form is used to indicate one such individual; the other, to indicate any number more than one. This, the unity or singularity of the one, the plurality of the other, makes up the formal or modal contents of each. This modal part of the contents, in most of the languages of the Indo-European stock, is left without separate expression in the singular: in the plural, however, it is generally expressed or indicated by some change in form; this change being, in most cases, made by the addition of some termination—in the example we have chosen, by the addition of s.

Before passing to another example, it is well to point out that the modal contents of a so-called “singular-form” by no means invariably imply unity; nor, again, is the plural always, as in the case cited, formed from the singular. In such a sentence as A father loves his child, the idea expressed relates, or may relate, to more than a single father; in fact, it may be taken as a statement made correctly or incorrectly of all fathers universally; and, with regard to the second point mentioned, Welsh, among other languages, has many words in which the plural is expressed by the shorter collective form, and the single individual is indicated by a derivative, e.g. adar, birds; aderyn, a bird: plant, children; plentyn, a child: gwair, hay; gweiryn, a blade of hay, etc.20

We can now come back to our point, and fix our attention on two such words as (I) speak and speech.

Both these words evoke the thought of some well-known and familiar activity called into play by our vocal organs. This constitutes the material contents of both alike. The former, however, conveys the idea that the action is being performed at the time the word is uttered; the other is the name of the result or product of that action. This, the modal part of their contents, is left unexpressed; or, to speak more accurately, we cannot divide the words so as to be able to say that one part serves to express the material contents, and another the modal,—a division which we could make in the case of fathers, and which we might make in, e.g., speak, speaking; speech, speeches; book, books, booklet; etc.

It will now be clear that, among associations based on correlation or on similarity of IDEA, this similarity may exist between the material contents of the words grouped together, or between their modal contents. We therefore are now in a position to distinguish between MATTER-GROUPS and MODAL-GROUPS.

To sum up, there exist association-groups based on— 1. Similarity in sound only. 2. ” ” meaning only. 3. ” ” both sound and meaning. These two latter classes (nos. 2 and 3) are subdivided, as to the part of the meaning in which they agree, into (a) matter-groups and (b) modal-groups.

Instances of all these are numerous, and will readily suggest themselves; a few may suffice to illustrate further what has already been said.

If we were to set down in a vertical column the complete conjugation of some verb—say, of to walk,—and, parallel to this, with equal completeness and in the same order, the conjugation of the verbs to write, to go, and to be, we should then have in our vertical columns four matter-groups. Taken horizontally, the separate tenses would form so many modal-groups, each divisible into smaller groups of singulars as against plurals, or of first persons as against second and third persons, etc. We should then, at the same time, have illustrated the fact that in many cases similarity of contents is accompanied by, or perhaps we should say expressed by, similarity in sound, and that it often happens that similar change of modal contents is accompanied by similar change in form or in termination.

Now, this fact, though far from holding good in all cases, is of the greatest possible importance for the development of language.

In order to realise this, let us for a moment suppose a language in which no such ‘regularity’ held good: in which ‘I love’ was expressed by amo; ‘thou lovest’ by petit; ‘he loves’ by audivimus; and that thus for every thought, every shade of meaning, every modal variation of material contents, there existed a new word in no way related to the others which indicate associated ideas. The language would in this case be more difficult of acquirement for those born in the country where it was indigenous than Chinese writing and reading is to the Chinese, and would almost defy the efforts of a foreigner to master it. Like the Chinese, the natives would only by dint of long-continued study be in a position to collect a scanty vocabulary, which, in the case of the foreigner, would prove more scanty still. The picture here given of such a language is, indeed, nowhere fully realised; but some languages of savage tribes, in certain of their features, approximate to the condition we have sketched. Thus, for instance, in Viti, the number AND the object numbered are expressed together in a single word, varying for each number in each word; thus, buru signifies ten cocoa-nuts, koro a hundred cocoa-nuts; whilst sclavo signifies a thousand cocoa-nuts.21

Strange and far-fetched as this method of forming language may seem to us, and indeed is, it is after all merely a much exaggerated example of what we find in all modern languages, and, e.g., in English, which, side by side with the normal terminations to indicate gender, as in lion, lioness, preserves such pairs as bull, cow; stag, hind; cock, hen; etc.

Now, why should a language constructed on such principles be so difficult to master as we have assumed it to be? Or, to put the case differently, why should a ‘regular’ language be more easily acquired than an irregular one? To discuss this may seem superfluous; but just as, in Algebra, some of the most important theorems are deduced from a thorough discussion of the principles of simple addition, so it will aid us in language to have a clear grasp of this point, to possess a full comprehension of the meaning of Analogy and its influence.

In our hypothetical language, every word would have to be acquired by a new and unaided effort of memory. In actually existing languages, this is not the case. Whether by precept or by observation, consciously or unconsciously, whether in the process of acquiring our own language in childhood, or in our study of a foreign tongue, we associate not only words but also parts of words with one another and with parts of material or modal contents of our thoughts. A child that learns to call a single book book, and more than one, books, and to proceed similarly in a large number of cases, comes unconsciously to connect the s, written or spoken, with the idea ‘many of them.’ The child attaches regularly this sound or its symbol s to any word whose plural it needs to express; and (perfectly correctly as far as the logic of its case is concerned) says one foot and two foots, after the model of one boot, two boots. The child does not know that the form foots is contrary to established usage, while the form boots is in harmony with it; a series of corrections on the part of those who know the established usages will gradually imprint on its memory the usual form; but until this correction has occurred sufficiently often, the form foots will recur in the child’s vocabulary. The sound or symbol s, or rather the habit of adding such a sibilant to a word or words which state something about more than one object, in order to denote plurality, leads sometimes to its being used in cases where ‘correct’ grammar omits it. A child will form words by a simple process of analogy, which seem curious enough to us, but are really quite simple and natural formations. Thus, e.g. a little one spoke of two-gas-lits, on seeing two gas-jets lit one after another; and—to add a parallel instance of another frequent termination—another child, when urged to ‘come on,’ replied, ‘I cannot come quickerly.’

Such formations have been represented as the result of a kind of problem in linguistic proportion, somewhat like this:—

Given the knowledge of the formation soon, sooner; large, larger; etc., what is the value of x in the equation:—

Soon: sooner: :quick: x? Answer, quicker.

Next, given the knowledge of large, largely; nice, nicely; etc., what then is the value of x which satisfies:—

Large: largely: :quick: x? Answer, quickly.

When combined, these two problems yield a compound proportion sum, thus:—

Large: larger } Large: largely } : : quick: x.

To this, the answer would be quickli-er or quick-er-ly, and logically either answer is perfectly correct; they only differ in the practically all-important, but logically totally indifferent accident that the one happens to be usual, while the other is opposed to the normal usage.

In order to fully realise how readily such forms, whether ‘correct’ or ‘incorrect,’ may be coined, we must likewise bear in mind that for the apprehension of a child our divisions of sentences into words do not exist at all. The sentences which a child learns to understand are, at all events in the first instance, to its conception one and undivided, nay, apparently indivisible aggregates of sound, conveying somehow or another a certain notion. The infant answers to such a catena of sounds as go-to-papa, or don’t-do-that, and run-away, long before it has the faintest conception of the meaning of such sentences as, e.g., go that way. It is only the incessant variations of the surroundings of a word, while that combination of sounds itself remains unaltered, which, by a very gradual process, brings to our consciousness the fact that the whole sentence is made up of separate elements, and enables us to distinguish the word as an unit of expression. This process, however, of the discovery of such units comes about unconsciously and tentatively; whilst by all children and many adult speakers the extent of meaning attached to such units is very vaguely appreciated.

There is, therefore, in the linguistic history of each speaker, a period in which such a sound-group as, e.g., noisier, seems to consist as much or as little of two words as the group more noisy, etc. The question then presents itself, why, at a later period, we distinguish two words in the latter group, while we continue to regard the former group as one? The answer to this is found in the fact that both the sounds, noisy and more, are found to occur frequently alone or amid totally different surroundings; they occur, however, consistently maintaining the same meaning; whilst of noisier, the first part only is used alone, and the sound represented by er—whilst employed with many other words to express a similar variation of idea—can never, like more, serve independently to indicate that variation, unaccompanied by the sound which expresses the thought which it is desired to vary. And the same remarks hold good for other cases.

It would, no doubt, be going too far to assert that the usual division of words in our written language is wholly fanciful and unnatural. But it is nevertheless true that the division is not made in speaking, nor is it always equally present in our consciousness while we are uttering our thoughts. The less educated the speaker—in other words, the less he has been taught to bring reflection into play—the less active and operative is this consciousness.

If, then, we represent the formation of such a word as quicker in the shape of a solution of a proportion problem, the identity between the linguistic and algebraical processes must not be too closely insisted on. Similarly, we must not exaggerate the idea of clearness and distinctness present to the consciousness of the speaker who expresses the idea ‘rapid in movement’ by quick, and a higher degree of rapidity in the movement by the addition of the word more before it, or er after it. The fact is that no comparison is an absolute identity. Both our descriptions of the process by which many of our words arise in our minds, viz. the proportion, and the composition of the two elements, are inexact in some respects; and in some respects one, in other respects the other, will prove less faulty. If in a formation like quick, quicker, it is more likely that the two syllables in quick-er maintain a certain independence of signification, still no such explanation could possibly apply to such a form as brang, heard from a child or a foreigner, instead of brought. No simpler way of describing this process can be found than the equation—

Sing : sang :: ring : rang :: bring : brang.22

Moreover, this is doubtless the process adopted by our reasoning in acquiring a foreign language. We are taught that To speak is to be rendered by parler; I speak, by Je parle; I was speaking, by Je parlais, etc.; and our teacher expects (and naturally) that, possessing this knowledge, we shall be able, when he proceeds to inform us that porter means ‘to carry,’ to find the as yet unknown and unheard forms Je porte, Je portais, etc. At a later period, when we have read and spoken the language frequently, we form many similar tenses and persons of many verbs never or rarely encountered previously; and no speaker could certainly affirm whether he owes the utterance of the word to his memory recalling it into renewed consciousness, or to a process of automatic regulation by analogy after the model of other similar and more familiar forms.

From the above examples it may be seen that analogy is productive, not merely of abnormal forms, but also, and even to a larger extent, of normal forms. The operation of Analogy, however, attracts most attention when its influence leads to the formation of unusual forms, and this fact has prevented due credit being given to its full power and importance. It was once usual to speak of all forms employed by any speaker in conformity with normal usage as ‘correct;’ and of others, formed on the model of other examples, but deviating from normal usage, as ‘incorrect;’ in other words, as mistakes, or as formed BY FALSE ANALOGY. From what we have said it will be clear that this last term is wrong and misleading, and can only be applied as expressing that the analogy followed by the speaker in a certain case ought, for some reason or another, not to have been accepted as the norm.

Analogy, then, in most cases acts as a conservative agent in language by securing that its propagation and its continuity shall be subject to some degree of regularity. On the other hand, this very tendency to promote regularity and uniformity often makes itself felt by the destruction of existing words or flections which deviate from a given goal; and it is mainly when its destructive powers are manifest that its effects are deserving of separate discussion.

So long as a speaker employs or a nation continues to use the ‘correct’ form,—gradually, regularly, and naturally developing it according to the regular laws of phonetic change and growth to which it is subject for the time being,—it is immaterial for the student of language whether, in any particular case of the employment of a word, this regularity is due to memory or to analogy. It is when analogy produces forms phonetically irregular that its operation becomes of importance; and it is from the study of such ‘novelties’ amongst its productions, that we can alone derive full information about its nature. As long as we find that the A.S. stánas remained stánas, or even that this form was gradually changed into stones, we are not tempted to call in the aid of Analogy, nor are we challenged to prove its operation. Similarly, as long as the plural of eáge remains eágan, or eáge changes into eye, and forms its plural eyen, no temptation presents itself to inquire into Analogy or its operation. Even in this case, however, we cannot help remarking that Chaucer might conceivably have formed his plural eyen by analogy with other plurals in en. But it is when the form eyen is replaced by eyes, that we naturally inquire whence comes the s? And since no phonetic development can change n into s, we know that analogy with other substantive plurals is and must be the reason of the appearance of this otherwise inexplicable form. Thus the French mesure could and did become the English measure; but the French plaisir could not, according to the laws of phonetics, develop into pleasure. We can only explain the latter form by assuming that it is founded on the analogy of the older forms measure, picture, etc.23

We ascribe to Analogy those cases of change in form of words, in syntactical arrangement, or in any other phenomenon of language, such as gender, etc., where the existing condition has been replaced by something new modelled upon some pattern furnished by other more numerous groups. Thus, for instance, we find that the Latin feminine nouns in -tas, -tatis, have developed French derivatives in -té, all of the feminine gender. Why, then, is été masculine, though equally derived from a feminine Latin æstatem? The answer lies in the fact that printemps, automne, and hiver, being all masculine, the feeling set in that the ‘names of the seasons’ should be masculine: just as names of trees are feminine in Latin, and this possibly under the influence of arbor. Thus été followed the example of the others, and was classed with them. The affinity in signification here caused the difference in gender to be felt as an incongruity, and the less strong came to be assimilated to the stronger and more universal type. Similarly, such words as valeur seem to have become feminine after the analogy of Latin abstracts in -ura, -tas, etc. In the former of these particular instances we had to deal with a ‘MATTER-GROUP’ of four cognate ideas, viz. ‘the seasons;’ in which group, as three of the terms agreed in another accidental peculiarity, viz. that of gender, this peculiarity was imposed likewise upon the fourth member, so as to produce a more complete uniformity in every respect.

In other cases we find, perhaps indeed more frequently, MODAL groups thus extending their domain. Thus the comparative forms, which nearly all end in er, create the feeling that if a word expresses a comparative degree it may be naturally expected to end in er; and more from mo, lesser instead of less—nay, even worser for worse is the result. In the case of more, its very form led to the supposition that mo was a positive form.

Similarly, the existence of the plurals in s in Anglo-Saxon, aided no doubt by the frequency of s plurals in French, has caused this way of expressing the plural to embrace almost all English nouns; or, at all events, to embrace their formation to such an extent that the older methods (such as vowel modification, e.g. mouse, mice; foot, feet; formations in en—ox, oxen, etc.) now appear as exceptions, themselves needing explanation; and, again, as in the case of more, when once the rule was formulated which laid down that if a word expresses the plural it must end in s, the conclusion was drawn that, if a word ending in s be used as a plural, this s is the termination, and must be omitted in the singular. It thus happens that to the analogy of fathers as against father, trees as against tree, etc., we owe the sets Chinese used as a plural noun with its newly coined singular Chinee; Portuguese with its singular Portuguee; cherries (Fr. cérise), cherry; pease (Lat. pisum), pea. Nay, it is not even always necessary that the s form be used in a plural signification to cause the s to be ‘removed’ in order to express the singular; a raedels was perfectly good Old English, but as two riddles was right, the conclusion was natural that one riddles was wrong. Two chaise would not give offence, but it seemed natural to write and say one shay.

The modal group, again, consisting of such formations as despotism, nepotism, patriotism, etc., created the feeling that tism was the correct ending instead of ism, and so has manifested a tendency to supplant it. Thus the correcter form egoism has made way for egotism. Thus it is to the pianist, machinist, violinist, that the tobacconist owes his n, to which he has no right; he ought, properly speaking, to appear as tobaccoist.

The most widely reaching result of the operations of analogy is where modal and matter groups, in their cross classifications, unite to cancel irregularities created in the first instance by phonetic development. Thus the Anglo-Saxon form scæd (neuter) exists side by side with another form, sceadu (feminine). The Gothic form skadus proves the latter to belong to the u declension. But even in Anglo-Saxon this declension was but sparingly represented, most words originally belonging to it being declined according to the far more common scheme of words, like stán, stone; dóm, doom, etc.; others varying in their declensions between the feminines whose stem ended in wâ, or like those in â. In both these declensions the nominative ended in u; an example of the wâ declension being— Nom. beadu, Gen. beadwe, and of the â declension— Nom. giefu, Gen. giefe. Our word sceadu long oscillated between these two paradigms, and we consequently meet with a Gen. sing. sceade, as well as an Acc. plur. sceadwa. This termination, where w was maintained, developed into our present termination ow, seen in shadow; whilst the form shade is, properly speaking, a nominative form. Analogy, however, depending upon other nouns in which all cases in the singular had become identical in form, caused the form shadow to be used in the nominative as well as in other cases, and extended the use of shade over those cases which were declined. Similarly, the two forms mead and meadow are due, the one to a nominative, the other to the inflected cases of the same word, the A.S. mǽd. In these cases both forms survived, and the meanings became slightly differentiated; it more frequently happens that one succumbs. Thus the A.S. Nom. plur. of the pronoun for the second person gé developed into ye, the inflected case éow into you. The latter has now almost completely ousted the once correct nominative ye, which survives only in dialects or in elevated language, where, in its turn, it frequently supplants the accusative and dative you.

The regular development of preterite and past participle in many verbs, together with the dropping of the prefix ge, which in several Teutonic languages has become specialised as a mark of that participle, caused both these forms to converge into one. This has in its turn been the cause why, in the case of many verbs, where regular phonetic development kept preterite and participle asunder, one of these forms was made to serve for both.

The A.S. verb berstan was, in its preterite, conjugated thus:— Indic. Bærst Subj. burste ” burste ” burste ” bærst ” burste ” burston ” bursten ” burston ” bursten ” burston ” bursten and its past participle was borsten. Thus the u was present in four of the six forms in the indicative, and in six subjunctive forms. The first effect of the operation of Analogy was to abolish this useless and cumbersome irregularity, and the u supplanted the æ, not long after this æ had become a (barst). Then the process set in which we explained above, and the past part. borst (en) was replaced by burst.

It would be easy to multiply these instances ad infinitum. Enough has, however, been said to explain the working of Analogy and to show how wide its application is. The student who has mastered this sketch, should proceed to study carefully the corresponding chapter in Paul’s ‘Principles of Language,’ and the pamphlet, cited above, by Professor Wheeler, where many illustrations will be found taken from English and many other languages. One of the main points which are clearly brought out in the latter work is that the phenomena of folk-etymology show that these groupings are effectual in modifying form only in so far as a supposed likeness of contents or idea is associated (erroneously) with the resemblance of form.

Before concluding our remarks, we must, however, add a few words on the operation of Analogy where it works neither as a conservative nor as a destructive agent, but simply as a CREATIVE one.

In the cases hitherto discussed, the forms called into being have survived to the prejudice of older material which perished for lack of vitality. In the struggle for existence it succumbed. A new form, in order to survive, had necessarily to replace some unusual and inconvenient older one, or it was a necessary condition that several speakers, for some other reason, should concur in creating the same novel form.24 That ‘irregular’ forms should continue to exist in the case of some of the commonest verbs, and in the pronouns, is explicable by the fact that these words occur with sufficient frequency to gain enough strength to resist innovation. The frequency of their occurrence induces familiarity. Any new form which some innovating speaker might create on the basis of some analogy is, in those words, too strongly felt as a novelty; the speaker too frequently hears or reads the ‘correct’ form to permit the survival of the new candidate for general usage. The novelty is a ‘mistake,’ remains a ‘mistake,’ and succumbs in the struggle for existence. Frequency of use in the case of any particular word may assist its phonetic development and increase its impulse in that particular line, and its rate of speed on the road to phonetic decay:—this is as yet, however, a point of dispute among philologists, and a question which claims attention from all students of language. But there can be no doubt that the more frequent the occurrence of any particular form in ordinary speech, the more capacity it must gain for resisting the levelling tendencies, the absorbing influence of other more numerous but less common groups. It is, however, not true that all the offspring of Analogy is thus exposed to the struggle for existence. Where new ideas are to be expressed, Analogy guides us in our choice of terms, and even where the idea is not strictly new, but no term for it exists in the vocabulary or in the memory of a community, or even in that of the majority of such community, the new form will be adopted with little reluctance; nay, often without being felt as a new creation at all. In this way the language is always being enriched by new forms created on the analogy of existing ones. Where many instances might be given, a few will suffice.25 The termination y of mighty, guilty, etc., was added to the nouns earth, wealth, etc., to form wealthy, earthy,—nay, even used to form such hybrids as savoury, spicy, racy. After the model of kingdom, heathendom, etc., were formed princedom, popedom, etc. The group winsome, blithesome, etc., gave birth to venturesome, meddlesome, etc.; and whilst sorrowful, thankful, baleful, shameful, are found in A.S., no such antiquity can be claimed for blissful, youthful, faithful, merciful, respectful, etc.

It has been well remarked26 that a perfect grammar would be one which admitted no irregularities or exceptions; and if all the operations of Analogy in forms and syntax could be thoroughly mastered and reduced to rule, exceptions and irregularities would be far less common than they are.