I have somewhere read of an eminent person who used in his private
offices of devotion to give thanks to Heaven that he was born a
Frenchman: for my own part I look upon it as a peculiar blessing
that I was born an Englishman. Among many other reasons, I think
myself very happy in my country, as the language of it is
wonderfully adapted to a man who is sparing of his words, and an
enemy to loquacity.

As I have frequently reflected on my good fortune in this
particular, I shall communicate to the public my speculations upon
the English tongue, not doubting but they will be acceptable to all
my curious readers.

The English delight in silence more than any other European nation,
if the remarks which are made on us by foreigners are true. Our
discourse is not kept up in conversation, but falls into more pauses
and intervals than in our neighbouring countries; as it is observed
that the matter of our writings is thrown much closer together, and
lies in a narrower compass, than is usual in the works of foreign
authors; for, to favour our natural taciturnity, when we are obliged
to utter our thoughts we do it in the shortest way we are able, and
give as quick a birth to our conceptions as possible.

This humour shows itself in several remarks that we may make upon
the English language. As, first of all, by its abounding in
monosyllables, which gives us an opportunity of delivering our
thoughts in few sounds. This indeed takes off from the elegance of
our tongue, but at the same time expresses our ideas in the readiest
manner, and consequently answers the first design of speech better
than the multitude of syllables which make the words of other