scholars. It is found in the very form and character of Chinese education. There is throughout China, among all classes, a reverence for learning. Moreover, learning is profitable as well as respectable. Why then should there be so few, one need not say scholars, but persons, able to read fluently and to write correctly? Schools are common; and perhaps the majority of boys attend them, many for several years; and yet only a few, except those who make study and teaching their profession, ever acquire a practical use of their character. How is this to be accounted for, except by supposing that the task which this imposes is exceptionally difficult? It need not of course be asserted that the difficulty here spoken of has never been exaggerated. Our object is simply to show that it exists, and that so far as concerns the masses, it is practically insurmountable. This difficulty, however, does not, as the remark of Sir John Davis would seem to imply, grow wholly out of the great number of characters to be learned. This occasions a part of the difficulty, but not the whole. of it grows out of their arbitrary and peculiar form.

No small part

Some of these characters, it is true, are simple, easily learned and easily remembered. But this is far from being true of them all. Many of them are very complicated; and not a few of them, wholly unlike in meaning, are so alike in form as to be for ever bothering one to recall which is which. This confusion of course would not exist were the characters perfectly learned. But perfection, in most things, is something hard to reach, and it is especially so in the matter of learning ten or twelve thousand Chinese characters. Sir John Davis, and his predecessor Prèmare, I know, thought that four or five thousand characters well learned would enable one to read and write the language with tolerable facility. This opinion may possibly be correct; but their statement of it misleads, in that it overlooks a very considerable part of the difficulty with which the acquisition of these characters is attended. Were these four or five thousand characters isolated, and the only ones to tax his energies, his task, though still no slight one, would be comparatively easy. But it must be remembered that they are mixed up with a still larger number of others, which he is ever meeting, and with which he must necessarily form more or less acquaintance. And the tax laid upon his time and energies. in this way is very considerable. It is much like forming acquaintances with people. An evening spent with half a dozen would perhaps suffice to make the acquaintance of all. But the same time spent with a hundred, while the exertions would need to be greater, the results would probably be less.

It must be admitted then, we think, that the difficulties attendant on the acquisition of Chinese,-arising in part from the number of characters to be learned, in part from their arbitrary and complicated

forms, in part from the confusion and distraction occasioned by similarity of forms and sounds, and in part from their connection with numerous others, practically beyond the student's reach, but ever intruding upon his attention,-do really exist, and exist to such an extent as to render it incapable of ever being brought within the reach of the common people.

Moreover, the difficulty of acquiring a practical use of the Chinese character, while already too great for the common people, must necessarily increase as progress goes on. New things must have new names, and new thoughts must have new expressions. And as these increase to hundreds, and thousands, and perhaps to many thousands, what can be the result but to make what is impossible for the many, more and more so to the few?

Another feature of this language, indicating how unfit it is to be the language of progress, is its want of inflections. Only think of a language utterly destitute of these,-whose nouns can tell us nothing of their gender, number, or case; and whose verbs can tell us nothing of their mood, tense or person! Looking at such a language only from our own position, we might be strongly inclined to regard it as a kind of monstrosity,—something bad to look at, and something worse to handle. In truth, however, the language is not monstrous; it is only defective. The defect indeed is serious; yet by no means so serious as to render the language useless. There are ways of supplying the wants of inflection to some extent, but only to some extent. There are many forms of thought, simple and common in western languages, that could hardly be put into Chinese. And one translating from these is ever at his wits' end in matters of this kind. This defect, already so embarassing, must become more so as knowledge extends, ideas increase and forms of thought become more numerous and complicated. Were the language alphabetic, necessity would force upon it these changes; but no necessity could enforce them upon Chinese characters.

We will call attention to but one other feature of the Chinese language, incapacitating it to be the language of progress. This is its unadaptedness to receive help from others. Ability to do this seems essential to the growth of any language. Every one knows how much the English language has been indebted to others. It has borrowed much, and from many sources; and in doing so, while not robbing others of their wealth, it has greatly increased its own. The guardians of this language it is true, have been watchful and jealous, inclined to challenge and treat as aliens these linguistic immigrants; yet, in spite of them, a large number have maintained their position, and won their citizenship. Our language itself has been generous towards them. It could well afford to be, being by nature rich, and having every facility

needed to clothe, domicile and employ, all that would be active and useful. But the Chinese language has not this ability. It cannot, without difficulty, and without self-injury give place to foreign words. It is done, we know, to some extent, but always under a kind of protest. Indeed the very nature of the language is a protest against it. And were it practised to any considerable extent, the language would be in danger of becoming a senseless jargon. This must be obvious to any one who will recollect, that all Chinese characters have meanings, a circumstance of course strongly averse to their being used phonetically. Indeed, to use them in this way without some mark of indication, makes jargon at once. Even the use of them as proper names, which of course cannot be avoided, is, to the unpractised reader, a great stumbling-block,-so great, that in some books, pains are taken to indicate when they are so used, by drawing down their side, one straight line when they are names of persons, and two when they are names of places. But this process, however useful to the reader, mars the beauty of the page, and so it is generally avoided. When characters are used phonetically, for their sounds only, they have a mark,—the character for mouth,-attached to each on the other side. These not only disfigure the page, but the characters also; and they would, with reason, be still more disliked. Besides, this process is in itself an acknowledgement of the language's incapacity, being, so far as it goes, the adoption of a new one.

These are some of the considerations that induce the writer to regard the present language of China as incapable of any great improvement, and any hope of its being able to accompany its people very far in their progress, as utterly groundless.

What then is to be the result? Clearly the one or the other of these two things. Either the people will remain with their language without much progress; or progressing, they will leave their language behind. And of these two things, which appears the more likely? To the writer, the latter decidedly. He believes that the condition of this people is yet to be greatly improved; and that a part of its improvement will be a new and better language, a language that will make education possible for all classes. GUSTAVUS.

THE great origin of all things then, according to the Confucianists, is one eternal, indivisible, unmade SHIN, inherent in eternal, infinite matter; and, according to the Stoics and others, one eternal, indivisible,

The

unmade Theos (or Deus) inherent in eternal, infinite matter. Confucianists consider this primordial matter to be air, as did Anaximenes and his followers in the west.

Precisely the same names, titles, and attributes are given to this SHIN and to this Theos; and each being inherent in eternal matter and animating it, is a Soul-the soul of the world-and not a personal being. If therefore SHIN means "Spirit" and not "God" because it is a Soul; so also must Theos (or Deus) mean "Spirit" and not " God," because it is a Soul. But, if the latter, notwithstanding it is a soul, and all the Stoical Theoi (or Dii) are souls, means "God;" then also the former must mean "God," notwithstanding it is a soul, and that all the Confucian Shin are souls. "The sun, the moon, and each of the stars, has a distinct soul inherent in itself, or peculiar to it's own body. Each of these souls, invested in the celestial substance, and in each of the visible celestial bodies, is a god: and thus all things are full of gods." Plato calls the celestial bodies gods, as endowed with and moved by good and rational souls.* Any argument therefore brought against the word SHIN meaning "God," based upon the ground that all Shin are souls, falls powerless; unless we admit the force of the same argument as applied to Theos and Deus.

Having examined into the nature and attributes of the superior portion of the origin of all things, we now proceed to investigate the eternal matter in which this First SHIN is inherent, and from which he creates or forms the world which he animates by his presence.

I. The Khe is the chief Demon-god of the Classics.

The Khe is of two kinds, called respectively the Yang-Khe, pure ether or light, and the Yin-Khe, subtile air or darkness; and these two Khe are respectively designated, the latter Demon, and the former Shin; e. gr. "Demon and Shin are just the Khe." "Regarding the Khe as two, then the darkness is Demon, and the Light is Shin." "The Light is good, the darkness is evil; both sages and worthies have frequently made this statement."†

Thus in this Khe, generated by the First SHIN we have the Second Shin of the Confucian Classics, commonly called Demongod; and these two, SHIN and Demon-shin, although eternally united together, yet, are wholly distinct in nature and power; e. gr. "That which is incomprehensible in heaven (i. e. the universe) is SHIN. Com. This SHIN is Nor the shin of Demon-shin (i. e. the Khe); it is the SHIN which adorns the myriad of things." (Yih King).. "When we speak of the Great Extreme (SHIN) we connect it with the light

* Grote's Plato, Vol. i, pp. 418, 419.

+ Choo-tsze Sec. 51, pages 2, 6, also Sec. 49, Pt. iv, par. 23. This Khe is also called 精神. Sing-le, &c. Sec. v. p. 31.

and the darkness; and when we speak of nature (SHIN) we connect it with the Khe. If these severally were not so connected with the light and darkness (divided Khe) and with the (undivided) Khe, then how could the Great Extreme (SHIN) and Nature (SHIN) be supported? Yet, when we wish to distinguish them clearly, we cannot but treat of them separately.” "Le (SHIN) rests upon the light and darkness (Demon-shin) as a man rides upon a horse."*

"The Khe is the abode Sing-le &c. Sec. xi, 38. Thus the Confucianists, on the authority of the Yih King distinguish clearly and decidedly between the two powers SHIN and Kweishin or the Khe. This Confucianist designation of the Khe however, is not universally adopted by the Chinese philosophers; for, Hwaenan-tsze for instance gives each of the divisions of the Khe the designation "Shin" and calls these "the two Shin ()" which the Commentator explains to be the Yin-shin and the Yang-shin.†. Thus amongst the Chinese philosophers some call both the substantial principles of the universe "Shin," while the Confucianists call the good principle alone "Shin," and the evil principle they call Demon.

of SHIN, and body is the abode of the Khe."

In the First SHIN of the Confusianists, therefore, we recognise the First God of Persian theology from whom emanates the two substantial principles of light and darkness; and in the designation of these two principles we find precisely the same difference prevailing amongst the Magi as amongst the Chinese philosophers; e. gr. Some of the Persian Magi we learn from Dr. Mosheim "suppose that there are two gods, as it were of contrary arts, so that one is the author of good, and the other of evil things; others call him that is the better a God, but the other a Demon only."+

Here again, we have the clearest proof that what other pagan nations call" God," the Chinese call "Shin." Some of the Chinese philosophers and of the Magi, call the darkness "Demon," while the former call the light Shin, and the latter call it "God;" others amongst the former call both the light and the darkness "Shin," and amongst the latter some call both "God." Again; the Confucianists call the light or pure ether "Shin;" and "almost all oriental nations believe the all-pervading Light to be God." "In the earliest ages, God himself was believed to be light and ether." Zeno, "æthera Deum dicit" calls the ether "God," i. e. Jupiter, the second God.

II. The Khe is a twofold soul.

The process preparatory to the generation of all things, is that, the Demon-shin or the Khe forms a body for itself, viz., the visible

Choo-tsze, Sec. 49. Part ii, par. 17, 23.

+ Works, Sec. vii, p. 2.

Cud. Vol. i. 354 note.

Ibid. p. 475 note. Vol. iii, p. 279. Zeller, p. 140 note.