If I am mistaken, I can but try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, or Hebrew.

But the savants of the sixteenth century generally wrote in Latin.

I am therefore entitled to pronounce this, a priori, to be Latin.

It is Latin." I jumped up in my chair.

My Latin memories rose in revolt against the notion that these barbarous words could belong to the sweet language of Virgil.
"Yes, it is Latin," my uncle went on; "but it is Latin confused and in disorder; "_pertubata seu inordinata,_" as Euclid has it." "Very well," thought I, "if you can bring order out of that confusion, my dear uncle, you are a clever man." "Let us examine carefully," said he again, taking up the leaf upon which I had written.