is not the work of the vocal organs only; nearly the whole of the upper
part of the human frame, including head, chest, lungs, have a share in
creating it; and it may be accompanied by a movement of the eyes, nose,
fingers, hands, feet which contributes to the effect of it.

The principle of onomatopea has fallen into discredit, partly because it
has been supposed to imply an actual manufacture of words out of syllables
and letters, like a piece of joiner's work,--a theory of language which is
more and more refuted by facts, and more and more going out of fashion with
philologians; and partly also because the traces of onomatopea in separate
words become almost obliterated in the course of ages. The poet of
language cannot put in and pull out letters, as a painter might insert or
blot out a shade of colour to give effect to his picture. It would be
ridiculous for him to alter any received form of a word in order to render
it more expressive of the sense. He can only select, perhaps out of some
dialect, the form which is already best adapted to his purpose. The true
onomatopea is not a creative, but a formative principle, which in the later
stage of the history of language ceases to act upon individual words; but
still works through the collocation of them in the sentence or paragraph,
and the adaptation of every word, syllable, letter to one another and to
the rhythm of the whole passage.

iv. Next, under a distinct head, although not separable from the
preceding, may be considered the differentiation of languages, i.e. the
manner in which differences of meaning and form have arisen in them. Into
their first creation we have ceased to enquire: it is their aftergrowth
with which we are now concerned. How did the roots or substantial portions
of words become modified or inflected? and how did they receive separate
meanings? First we remark that words are attracted by the sounds and
senses of other words, so that they form groups of nouns and verbs