Title A NEW SYSTEM OF ENGLISH GRAMMAR
Timeline 19th Century A.D.

Text I HAVE often thought that the adjectives of the English language were not sufficiently
definite for the purposes of description. They have but three degrees of comparison―a very insufficient number, certainly,
when we consider that they are to be applied to a thousand objects, which, though of the same general class or quality, differ
from each other by a thousand different shades or degrees of the same peculiarity. Thus, though there are three hundred
and sixty-five days in a year, all of which must, from the nature of things, differ from each other in the matter of climate,―we
have but half a dozen expressions to convey to one another our ideas of this inequality. We say―"It is a fine day;" "It is a
very fine day;" "It is the finest day we have seen;" or, "It is an unpleasant day;" "A very unpleasant day;" "The most
unpleasant day we ever saw." But it is plain, that none of these expressions give an exact idea of the nature of the day; and
the two superlative expressions are generally untrue. I once heard a gentleman remark, on a rainy, snowy, windy and (in the
ordinary English language) indescribable day, that it was "most preposterous weather." He came nearer to giving a correct
idea of it, than he could have done by any ordinary mode of expression; but his description was not sufficiently definite.

Again:―we say of a lady―"She is beautiful;" "She is very beautiful," or "She is perfectly beautiful;"―descriptions, which, to
one who never saw her, are no descriptions at all, for among thousands of women he has seen, probably no two are equally
beautiful; and as to a perfectly beautiful woman, he knows that no such being was ever created―unless by G. P. R. James, for
one of the two horsemen to fall in love with, and marry at the end of the second volume.

If I meet Smith in the street, and ask him―as I am pretty sure to do―"How he does?" he infallibly replies―"Tolerable, thank
you"―which gives me no exact idea of Smith's health―for he has made the same reply to me on a hundred different
occasions―on every one of which there must have been some slight shade of difference in his physical economy, and of
course a corresponding change in his feelings.

To a man of a mathematical turn of mind―to a student and lover of the exact sciences these inaccuracies of expression―
this inability to understand exactly how things are, must be a constant source of annoyance; and to one who, like myself,
unites this turn of mind to an ardent love of truth, for its own sake―the reflection that the English language does not enable
us to speak the truth with exactness, is peculiarly painful. For this reason I have, with some trouble, made myself thoroughly
acquainted with every ancient and modern language, in the hope that I might find some one of them that would enable me to
express precisely my ideas; but the same insufficiency of adjectives exist in all except that of the Flathead Indians of Puget
Sound, which consists of but forty-six words, mostly nouns; but to the constant use of which exists the objection, that
nobody but that tribe can understand it. And as their literary and scientific advancement is not such as to make a residence
among them, for a man of my disposition, desirable, I have abandoned the use of their language, in the belief that for me it is
hyas. cultus., or as the Spaniard hath it, no me vale nada.

Despairing, therefore, of making new discoveries in foreign languages, I have set myself seriously to work to reform our own;
and have, I think, made an important discovery, which, when developed into a system and universally adopted, will give a
precision of expression, and a consequent clearness of idea, that will leave little to be desired, and will, I modestly hope,
immortalize my humble name as the promulgator of the truth and the benefactor of the human race.

Before entering upon my system I will give you an account of its discovery (which, perhaps I might with more modesty term
an adaptation and enlargement of the idea of another), which will surprise you by its simplicity, and like the method of
standing eggs on end, of Columbus, the inventions of printing, gunpowder and the mariner's compass―prove another
exemplification of the truth of Hannah More's beautifully expressed sentiment:

"Large streams from little fountains flow,
Large aches from little toe-corns grow."

During the past week my attention was attracted by a large placard embellishing the corners of our streets, headed in mighty
capitals, with the word "PHRENOLOGY," and illustrated by a map of a man's head, closely shaven, and laid off in lots, duly
numbered from one to forty-seven. Beneath this edifying illustration appeared a legend, informing the inhabitants of San
Diego and vicinity that Professor Dodge had arrived, and taken rooms (which was inaccurate, as he had but one room) at the
Gyascutus House, where he would be happy to examine and furnish them with a chart of their heads, showing the moral and
intellectual endowments, at the low·price of three dollars each.

Always gratified with an opportunity of spending my money and making scientific researches, I immediately had my hair cut
and carefully combed, and hastened to present myself and my head to the Professor's notice. I found him a tall and thin
Professor, in a suit of rusty, not to say seedy black, with a closely buttoned vest, and no perceptible shirtcollar or wristbands.
His nose was red, his spectacles were blue, and he wore a brown wig, beneath which, as I subsequently ascertained, his bald
head was laid off in lots, marked and numbered with Indian ink, after the manner of the diagram upon his advertisement. Upon
a small table lay many little books with yellow covers, several of the placards, pen and ink, a pair of iron callipers with brass
knobs, and six dollars in silver. Having explained the object of my visit, and increased the pile of silver by six half-dollars from
my pocket―whereat he smiled, and I observed he wore false teeth―(scientific men always do; they love to encourage art) the
Professor placed me in a chair, and rapidly manipulating my head, after the manner of a sham pooh (I am not certain as to
the orthography of this expression) said that my temperament was "lymphatic, nervous, bilious." I remarked that "I thought
myself dyspeptic," but he made no reply. Then seizing on the callipers, he embraced with them my head in various place, and
made notes upon a small card that lay near him on the table. He then stated that my "hair was getting very thin on the top,"
placed in my hand one of the yellow-covered books, which I found to be an almanac containing anecdotes about the virtues
of Dodge's Hair Invigorator, and recommending it to my perusal, he remarked that he was agent for the sale of this wonderful
fluid, and urged me to purchase a bottle―price two dollars. Stating my willingness to do so, the Professor produced it from a
hair trunk·that stood in a corner of the room, which he stated, by the way, was originally an ordinary pine box, on which the
hair had grown since "the Invigorator" had been placed in it―(a singular fact) and recommended me to be cautious in wearing
gloves while rubbing it upon my head, as unhappy accidents had occurred―the hair growing freely from the ends of the
fingers, if used with the bare hand. He then seated himself at the table, and rapidly filling up what appeared to me a blank
certificate, he soon handed over·the following singular document.