I shall further take the opportunity of denouncing here the disorder which for some years has been introduced into German orthography in an unprecedented manner. Scribblers of every species have heard something of conciseness of expression, but do not know that this consists in the careful omission of everything superfluous (to which, it is true, the whole of their writings belong), but imagine they can arrive at it by clipping the words as swindlers clip coin; and every syllable which appears to them superfluous, because they do not feel its value, they cut off without more ado. For example, our ancestors, with true tact, said “_Beweis_” and “_Verweis_;” but, on the other hand, “_Nachweisung_.” The fine distinction analogous to that between “_Versuch_” and “_Versuchung_,” “_Betracht_” and “_Betrachtung_,” is not perceptible to dull ears and thick skulls; therefore they have invented the word “_Nachweis_,” which has come at once into general use, for this only requires that an idea should be thoroughly awkward and a blunder very gross. Accordingly a similar amputation has already been proposed in innumerable words; for example, instead of “_Untersuchung_” is written “_Untersuch_;” nay, even instead of “_allmälig_,” “_mälig_;” instead of “_beinahe_,” “_nahe_;” instead of “_beständig_,” “_ständig_.” If a Frenchman took upon himself to write “_près_” instead of “_presque_,” or if an Englishman wrote “_most_” instead of “_almost_,” they would be laughed at by every one as fools; but in Germany whoever does this sort of thing passes for a man of originality. Chemists already write “_löslich_” and “_unlöslich_” instead of “_unauflöslich_,” and if the grammarians do not rap them over the knuckles they will rob the language of a valuable word. Knots, shoe-strings, and also conglomerates of which the cement is softened, and all analogous things are “_löslich_” (can be loosed); but what is “_auflöslich_” (soluble), on the other hand, is whatever vanishes in a liquid, like salt in water. “_Auflösen_” (to dissolve) is the _terminus ad hoc_, which says this and nothing else, marking out a definite conception; but our acute improvers of the language wish to empty it into the general rinsing-pan “_lösen_” (to loosen); they would therefore in consistency be obliged to make “_lösen_” also take the place everywhere of “_ablösen_” (to relieve, used of guards), “_auslösen_” (to release), “_einlösen_” (to redeem), &c., and in these, as in the former case, deprive the language of definiteness of expression. But to make the language poorer by a word means to make the thought of the nation poorer by a conception. Yet this is the tendency of the united efforts of almost all our writers of books for the last ten or twenty years. For what I have shown here by _one_ example can be supported by a hundred others, and the meanest stinting of syllables prevails like a disease. The miserable wretches actually count the letters, and do not hesitate to mutilate a word, or to use one in a false sense, whenever by doing so they can gain two letters. He who is capable of no new thoughts will at least bring new words to market, and every ink-slinger regards it as his vocation to improve the language. Journalists practise this most shamelessly; and since their papers, on account of the trivial nature of their contents, have the largest public, indeed a public which for the most part reads nothing else, a great danger threatens the language through them. I therefore seriously advise that they should be subjected to an orthographical censorship, or that they should be made to pay a fine for every unusual or mutilated word; for what could be more improper than that changes of language should proceed from the lowest branch of literature? Language, especially a relatively speaking original language like German, is the most valuable inheritance of a nation, and it is also an exceedingly complicated work of art, easily injured, and which cannot again be restored, therefore a _noli me tangere_. Other nations have felt this, and have shown great piety towards their languages, although far less complete than German. Therefore the language of Dante and Petrarch differs only in trifles from that of to-day; Montaigne is still quite readable, and so also is Shakspeare in his oldest editions. For a German indeed it is good to have somewhat long words in his mouth; for he thinks slowly, and they give him time to reflect. But this prevailing economy of language shows itself in yet more characteristic phenomena.