Chapter VIII: Introduction (7)

Dictionary English is something very different not only from common colloquial English, but even from that of ordinary written composition. Instead of about forty thousand words, there is probably no single author in the language from whose works, however voluminous, so many as ten thousand words could be collected. Of the forty thousand words there are certainly many more than one-half that are only employed, if they are ever employed at all, on the rarest occasions. We should be surprised to find, if we counted them, with how small a number of words we manage to express all that we have to say, either with our lips or with the pen. Our common literary English probably hardly amounts to ten thousand words; our common spoken English hardly to five thousand.

Odd words are to be found in the dictionaries. Why they are kept there no one knows; but what man in his senses would use such words as zythepsary for a brewhouse, and zymologist for a brewer; would talk of a stormy day as procellous and himself as madefied; of his long-legged son as increasing in procerity but sadly marcid; of having met with such procacity from such a one; of a bore as a macrologist; of an aged horse as macrobiotic; of important business as moliminous, and his daughter’s necklace as moniliform; of some one’s talk as meracious, and lament his last night’s nimiety of wine at that dapatical feast, whence he was taken by ereption? Open the dictionary at any page, and you will find a host of these words.

By a too ready adoption of foreign words into the currency of the English language, we are in danger of losing much of its radical strength and historical significance. Marsh has compared the parable of the man who built his house upon the sand, as given by Matthew and Luke. Matthew uses the plain Saxon English. The learned Evangelist, Luke, employed a Latinized dictionary. “Now,” he says, “compare the two passages and say which to every English ear, is the most impressive:”

“And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”—_Matthew._

“Against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great.”—_Luke._

There can scarcely be a difference of opinion as to the relative force and beauty of the two versions, and consequently we find, that while that of Matthew has become proverbial, the narrative of Luke is seldom or never quoted.

Trench says that the Anglo-Saxon is not so much one element of the English language, as the foundation of it—the basis. All its joints, its whole _articulation_, its sinews and its ligaments, the great body of articles, pronouns, conjunctions, prepositions, numerals, auxiliary verbs, all smaller words which serve to knit together and bind the larger into sentences, these—not to speak of the grammatical structure of the language—are exclusively Saxon. The Latin may contribute its tale of bricks, yea, of goodly and polished hewn stones to the spiritual building, but the mortar, with all that holds and binds these together, and constitutes them into a house, is Saxon throughout. As proof positive of the soundness of the above affirmation, the test is submitted that—“you _can_ write a sentence without Latin, but you _cannot_ without Saxon.” The words of the Lord’s Prayer are almost all Saxon. Our good old family Bible is a capital standard of it, and has done more than any other book for the conservation of the purity of our language. Our best writers, particularly those of Queen Anne’s time,—Addison, Steele, Swift, &c.,—were distinguished by their use of simple Saxon.

SOURCES OF THE LANGUAGE.

Some years ago, a gentleman, after carefully examining the folio edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, formed the following table of English words derived from other languages:—

Latin 6,732
French 4,812
Saxon 1,665
Greek 1,148
Dutch 691
Italian 211
German 116
Welsh 95
Danish 75
Spanish 56
Icelandic 50
Swedish 34
Gothic 31
Hebrew 16
Teutonic 15
Arabic 13
Irish 6
Runic 4
Flemish 4
Erse 4
Syriac 3
Scottish 3
Irish and Erse 2
Turkish 2
Irish and Scottish 1
Portuguese 1
Persian 1
Frisi 1
Persic 1
Uncertain 1
———
Total 15,784

NOUNS OF MULTITUDE.

A foreigner looking at a picture of a number of vessels, said, “See what a flock of ships.” He was told that a flock of ships was called a fleet, and that a fleet of sheep was called a flock. And it was added, for his guidance, in mastering the intricacies of our language, that a flock of girls is called a bevy, that a bevy of wolves is called a pack, and a pack of thieves is called a gang, and that a gang of angels is called a host, and that a host of porpoises is called a shoal, and a shoal of buffaloes is called a herd, and a herd of children is called a troop, and a troop of partridges is called a covey, and a covey of beauties is called a galaxy, and a galaxy of ruffians is called a horde, and a horde of rubbish is called a heap, and a heap of oxen is called a drove, and a drove of blackguards is called a mob, and a mob of whales is called a school, and a school of worshippers is called a congregation, and a congregation of engineers is called a corps, and a corps of robbers is called a band, and a band of locusts is called a swarm, and a swarm of people is called a crowd.

DISRAELIAN ENGLISH.

Mr. Disraeli gives us some queer English in his novel of _Lothair_, as may be seen in the following examples:—“He guarded over Lothair’s vast inheritance;” “Lothair observed on” a lady’s singing; “of simple but distinguished mien, with a countenance naturally pale, though somewhat bronzed by a life of air and exercise, and a profusion of dark, auburn hair;” “he engaged a vehicle and ordered to be driven to Leicester Square;” “he pointed to an individual seated in the centre of the table;” “their mutual ancestors;” “Is there anything in the _Tenebræ_ why I ought not to be present?”; “_thoughts which made him unconscious_ how long had elapsed;” “with no companions than the wounded near them;” “The surgeon was sitting by her side, occasionally wiping the slight foam from her brow.” We have heard of people foaming at the mouth, but never before of a lady foaming at the brow.

“YE” FOR “THE.”

_Ye_ is sometimes used for _the_ in old books wherein _the_ is the more usual form, on account of the difficulties experienced by the printers in “spacing out.” When pressed for room they put _ye_; when they had plenty of room they put _the_. Many people in reading old books pronounce the abbreviation _ye_. But the proper pronunciation is _the_, for the _y_ is only a corruption of the old _thorn-letter_, or symbol for _th_.

ITS.

_His_ is the genitive (or as we say, possessive) of _he_, (_he’s_,—_his_,) and _it_ or _hit_, as it was long written, is the neuter of _he_, the final _t_ being the sign of the neuter. The introduction of _its_, as the neuter genitive instead of _his_, arose from a misconception, similar to that which would have arisen had the Romans introduced _illudius_ as the neuter genitive of _ille_, instead of _illius_. _Its_ very rarely occurs in our authorized version of the Bible, _his_ or _her_ being used instead—occurs but a few times in all Shakspeare—was unknown to Ben Jonson—was not admitted into his poems by Milton—and did not come into common use until sanctioned by Dryden.

THAT.

The use of the word _That_ in the following examples is strictly in accordance with grammatical rules:—

The gentleman said, in speaking of the word _that_, _that that that that that_ lady parsed, was not _that that that that_ gentleman requested her to analyze.

Now, _that_ is a word that may often be joined,
For _that that_ may be doubled is clear to the mind;
And _that that that_ is right, is as plain to the view,
As _that that that that_ we use, is rightly used too,
And _that that that that that_ line has in it, is right—
In accordance with grammar—is plain in our sight.

I SAY.

A gentleman who was in the habit of interlarding his discourse with the expression “I say,” having been informed by a friend that a certain individual had made some ill-natured remarks upon this peculiarity, took the opportunity of addressing him in the following amusing style of rebuke:—“I say, sir, I hear say you say I say ‘I say’ at every word I say. Now, sir, although I know I say ‘I say’ at every word I say, still I say, sir, it is not for you to say I say ‘I say’ at every word I say.”

PATH-OLOGY.

There once resided in Ayrshire a man who, like Leman, proposed to write an Etymological Dictionary of the English language. Being asked what he understood the word _pathology_ to mean, he answered, with great readiness and confidence, “Why, the art of _road-making_, to be sure.”

THE PRONUNCIATION OF OUGH.

The difficulty of applying rules to the pronunciation of our language may be illustrated in two lines, where the combination of the letters _ough_ is pronounced in no less than seven different ways, viz.: as _o_, _uff_, _off_, _up_, _ow_, _oo_, and _ock_:—

§Though§ the §TOUGH COUGH§ and §HICCOUGH PLOUGH§ me §THROUGH§,
O’er life’s dark §LOUGH§ my course I still pursue.

The following attempts to show the sound of _ough_, final, are ingenious:—

_Though_ from _rough cough_ or _hiccough_ free,
That man has pain _enough_
Whose wounds _through plough_, sunk in a _slough_,
Or _lough_ begin to _slough_.

’Tis not an easy task to show,
How o, u, g, h, sound; since _though_,
An Irish _lough_, an English _slough_,
And _cough_, and _hiccough_, all allow
Differ as much as _tough_ and _through_,
There seems no reason why they do.

“Husband,” says Joan, “’tis plain enough
That Roger loves our daughter;
And Betty loves him too, although
She treats his suit with laughter.

“For Roger always hems and coughs,
While on the field he’s ploughing;
Then strives to see between the boughs,
If Betty heeds his coughing.”

The following _jeu d’esprit_, entitled “A Literary Squabble on the pronunciation of Monckton Milnes’s Title,” is stated to have been the production of Lord Palmerston:—

The Alphabet rejoiced to hear,
That Monckton Milnes was made a peer;
For in the present world of letters,
But few, if any, were his betters.
So an address, by acclamation,
They voted, of congratulation.
And O U G H T and N
Were chosen to take up the pen,
Possessing each an interest vital
In the new Peer’s baronial title.
’Twas done in language terse and telling,
Perfect in grammar and in spelling.
But when ’twas read aloud—oh, mercy!
There sprung up such a controversy
About the true pronunciation
Of said baronial appellation.
The vowels O and U averred
They were entitled to be heard.
The consonants denied the claim,
Insisting that they mute became.
Johnson and Walker were applied to,
Sheridan, Bailey, Webster, tried too;
But all in vain—for each picked out
A word that left the case in doubt.
O, looking round upon them all,
Cried, “If it be correct to call
T H R O U G H _throo_,
H O U G H must be _Hoo_;
Therefore there must be no dispute on
The question, we should say Lord _Hooton_.”
U then did speak, and sought to show
He should be doubled, and not O,
For sure if _ought_ and _awt_, then nought on
Earth could the title be but _Hawton_.
H, on the other hand, said he,
In _cough_ and _trough_, stood next to G,
And like an F was then looked oft on,
Which made him think it should be _Hofton_.
But G corrected H, and drew
Attention other cases to:
_Lough_, _Rough_ and _Chough_, more than enough
To prove O U G H spelled _uff_,
And growled out in a sort of gruff tone
They must pronounce the title _Hufton_.
N said emphatically No;
For D O U G H is _Doh_,
And though (look there again) that stuff
At sea for fun, they nickname _Duff_,
He should propose they took a vote on
The question should it not be _Hoton_?
Besides, in French ’twould have such force,
A Lord must be _haut ton_, of course.
High and more high contention rose,
From words they almost came to blows,
Till S, as yet, who had not spoke,
And dearly loved a little joke,
Put in _his_ word, and said, “Look here,
_Plough_ in this row must have a _share_.”
At this atrocious pun, each page
Of Johnson whiter grew with rage.
Bailey looked desperately cut up,
And Sheridan completely shut up.
Webster, who is no idle talker,
Made a sign signifying _Walker_.
While Walker, who had been used badly,
Shook his old dirty dog-ears sadly.
But as we find in prose or rhyme,
A joke, made happily in time,
However poor, will often tend
The hottest argument to end,
And smother anger in a laugh,
So S succeeded with his _chaff_,
Containing, as it did, some wheat,
In calming this fierce verbal heat.
Authorities were all conflicting,
And S there was no contradicting.
P L O U G H was _Plow_
Even _enough_ was called _enow_,
And no one who preferred _enough_
Would dream of saying “Speed the _Pluff_.”
So they considered it was wise
With S to make a compromise,
To leave no loop to hang a doubt on
By giving three cheers for Lord Houghton (_Howton_).

EXCISE.

The following curious document gives the opinion of Lord Mansfield, when Attorney-General, upon Dr. Johnson’s definition of the word Excise:—

_Case._

Mr. Samuel Johnson has lately published a book, entitled _A Dictionary
of the English Language, in which the words are deduced from their
originals, and illustrated in their different significations by
examples from the best writers. To which are prefixed a history of the
Language, and an English grammar._

Under the title “Excise” are the following words:—

Excise, n. s. (_accijs_ Dutch; _excisum_, Latin,) a hateful tax levied
upon commodities and adjudged not by the common judges of property,
but _wretches_ hired by those to whom _Excise_ is paid.

The people should pay a ratable tax for their sheep, and an
_Excise_ for every thing which they should eat.—§Hayward.§

Ambitious now to take _excise_
Of a more fragrant paradise.—§Cleveland.§

EXCISE.

With hundred rows of teeth the shark exceeds,
And on all trades, like Cassowar, she feeds.—§Marvel.§

Can hire large houses and oppress the poor
By farmed Excise.—§Dryden§, _Juvenal, Sat. 3_.

The author’s definition being observed by the Commissioners of Excise, they desire the favor of your opinion:

_Qu._—Whether it will not be considered as a libel; and, if so, whether it is not proper to proceed against the author, printers, and publishers thereof, or any and which of them, by information or how otherwise?

_Opinion._

I am of opinion that it is a libel; but, under all the circumstances, I should think it better to give him an opportunity of altering his definition; and, in case he don’t, threaten him with an information.

§W. Murray.§

29th Nov. 1755.

PONTIFF.

Mr. Longfellow, in his _Golden Legend_, thus refers to the derivation of this word from _pons_ (a bridge) and _facere_ (to make):—

Well has the name of Pontifex been given
Unto the Church’s head, as the chief builder
And architect of the invisible bridge
That leads from earth to heaven.

ROUGH.

Mr. Motley, in his _History of the United Netherlands_, IV. 138, thus ascribes the use of this word to Queen Elizabeth, of England, in her last illness:—

The great queen, moody, despairing, dying, wrapt in profoundest
thought, with eyes fixed upon the ground or already gazing into
infinity was besought by the counsellors around her to name the man to
whom she chose that the crown should devolve.

“Not to a Rough,” said Elizabeth, sententiously and grimly.

These particulars are apparently given on the authority of the Italian Secretary, Scaramelli, whose language is quoted in a foot-note, and who says that the word _Rough_ “in lingua inglese significa persona bassa e vile.”

Charles Dickens said, “I entertain so strong an objection to the euphonious softening of _ruffian_ into _rough_, which has lately become popular, that I restore the right word to the heading of this paper.” (_The Ruffian, by the Uncommercial Traveler, All the Year Round._) “Lately popular” does not mean popular for two hundred and eighty years past. A word that has escaped the notice of the Glossarists cannot have been in use early in the seventeenth century. That it should have been used in its modern sense by Queen Elizabeth, passes all bounds of belief. With all her faults she did not make silly unmeaning remarks; and it would have been extremely silly in her to say she did not wish a low ruffian to succeed her on the throne. If she uttered a word having the same sound, it might possibly have been _ruff_. The “ruff,” though worn by men of the upper class, was in Queen Elizabeth’s time an especially female article of dress, and the queen might have said, “I will have no ruff to succeed me,” just as now-a-days one might say, “I will have no petticoat government.” We want better authority than that of Scaramelli before we can believe that Elizabeth used either the word _rough_ or _ruff_, when consulted as to her wishes respecting her successor.

NOT AMERICANISMS.

In Bartlett’s Dictionary the term “_stocking-feet_” is given as an Americanism. But the following quotation from Thackeray’s _Newcomes_ (vol. i. ch. viii.) shows that this is an error:—

“Binnie found the Colonel in his sitting-room arrayed in what are
called in Scotland his stocking-feet.”

Professor Tyndall, at the farewell banquet given in his honor by the citizens of New York, prior to his departure, in referring to his successful lecture-course in the United States, said he had had—to quote his words—“what you Americans call ‘_a good time_.’”

But this expression is not an Americanism. It is used by Dean Swift in his letter to Stella, (Feb. 24, 1710–11); “I hope Mrs. Wells had a good time.”

That not very elegant adjective _bully_, though found in Bartlett, and used by Washington Irving cannot be claimed as an Americanism. Friar Tuck sings, in Scott’s _Ivanhoe_:—

“Come troll the brown bowl to me, bully boy,
Come troll the brown bowl to me.”

But to go further back, we find it in the burden of an old three-part song, “We be three poor Mariners,” in Ravenscroft’s _Deuteromelia_, 1609:

“Shall we go dance the round, the round,
Shall we go dance the round;
And he that is a bully boy,
Come pledge me on the ground.”

One of the words which the English used to class among Americanisms—ignorant that it was older and better English than their own usage—was _Fall_, used as the name of the third of the seasons. The English, corrupted by the Johnsonese of the Hanoverian reigns, call it by the Latinism, Autumn. But the other term, in general use on this side of the Atlantic, is the word by which all the old writers of the language know it. “The hole yere,” says scholarly Roger Ascham in his _Toxophilus_, “is divided into iiii. partes, Spring tyme, Sommer, Faule of the leafe, & Winter, whereof the hole winter for the roughnesse of it, is cleane taken away from shoting: except it be one day amonges xx., or one yeare amonges xi.”

This statement, by the way, that exceptionally mild winters were in the ratio of one to eleven, is worth noting with reference to the recent announcement of science that the spots on the sun have an eleven-year period of maximum frequency.

NO LOVE LOST BETWEEN THEM.

In the ordinary acceptation of the words, “No love was lost between the two,” we are led to infer that the two were on very unfriendly terms. But in the ballad of _The Babes in the Wood_, as given in Percy’s _Reliques_, occur the following lines, which convey the contrary idea:—

No love between this two was lost,
Each was to other kind:
In love they lived, in love they died,
And left two babes behind.

THE FORLORN HOPE.

Military and civil writers of the present day seem quite ignorant of the true meaning of the words _forlorn hope_. The adjective has nothing to do with despair, nor the substantive with the “charmer which lingers still behind;” there was no such poetical depth in the words as originally used. Every corps marching in an enemy’s country had a small body of men at the head (_haupt_ or _hope_) of the advanced guard; and which was termed the _forlorne hope_ (_lorn_ being here but a termination similar to _ward_ in _forward_,) while another small body at the head of the read-guard was called the _rere-lorn hope_. A reference to Johnson’s Dictionary shows that civilians were misled as early as the time of Dryden by the mere sound of a technical military phrase; and, in process of time, even military men forgot the true meaning of the words. And thus we easily trace the foundation of an error to which we are indebted for Byron’s beautiful line:—

The full of hope, misnamed _forlorn_.

QUIZ.

This word, which is only in vulgar or colloquial use, and which some of the lexicographers have attempted to trace to learned roots, originated in a joke. Daly, the manager of a Dublin play-house, wagered that a word of no meaning should be the common talk and puzzle of the city in twenty-four hours. In the course of that time the letters _q u i z_ were chalked on all the walls of Dublin with an effect that won the wager.

TENNYSON’S ENGLISH.

Probably no poet ever more thoroughly comprehended the value of words in metrical composition than Mr. Tennyson, but he has issued a new coinage which is not pure. Compound epithets are modelled after the Greek or revived from the uncritical Elizabethan era. Thus, where we should naturally say “The bee is cradled in the lily,” Mr. Tennyson writes, “The bee is lily-cradled.” When a man’s nose is broken at the bridge or a lady’s turns up at the tip, the one is said to be “a nose bridge-broken,” and the other (with much gallantry) to be “tip-tilted, like the petal of a flower.”

The movement of the metre again is very peculiar. Discarding Milton’s long and complex periods, Mr. Tennyson has restored blank verse to an apparently simple rhythm. But this simplicity is in fact the result of artifice, and, under every variety of movement, the ear detects the recurrence of a set type. One of the poet’s favorite devices is to pause on a monosyllable at the beginning of a line, and this affect is repeated so often as to remind the reader of Euripides and his unhappy “oil flask” in _The Frogs_. Take the following instances:—

And the strange sound of an adulterous race,
Against the iron grating of her cell
Beat.

A sound
As of a silver horn across the hills
Blown.
And then the music faded, and the Grail
Passed.
His eyes became so like her own they seemed
Hers.

“THAT MINE ADVERSARY HAD WRITTEN A BOOK.”

This passage from Job xxxi. 35, is frequently misapplied, being interpreted as if it had reference to a book or writing as commonly understood. It means rather, according to Gesenius, a charge or accusation. Pierius makes it “libellum accusationis,” and Grotius, “scriptam accusationem” Scott expresses this in his _Commentary_:—

“Job challenged his adversary, or accuser, to produce a libel or written indictment against him: he was confident that it would prove no disgrace to him, but an honor; as every article would be disproved, and the reverse be manifested.”

Other commentators understand it as meaning a record of Job’s life, or of his sufferings. Coverdale translates:—“And let him that my contrary party sue me with a lybell.” In the Genevan version it is, “Though mine adversarie should write a book _against me_.” In the Bishop’s Bible, 1595, “Though mine adversarie write a book _against me_.” The meaning seems to have become obscured in our version by retaining the English book instead of the Latin _libel_, but omitting the words in italics, “against me.”

ECCENTRIC ETYMOLOGIES.

To trace the changes of form and meaning which many of the words of our language have undergone is no easy task. There are words as current with us as with our forefathers, the significance of which, as we use them, is very different from that of their primitive use. And, in many instances, they have wandered, by courses more or less tortuous, so far from their original meaning as to make it almost impossible to follow the track of divergence. Hence, it is easy to understand why it has been said that the etymologist, to be successful, must have “an instinct like the special capabilities of the pointer.” But there are derivations which are only revealed by accident, or stumbled upon in unexpected ways, and which, in the regular course of patient search, would never have been elicited. The following illustrative selections will interest the general reader.

* * * * *

_Bombastic._—This adjective has an odd derivation. Originally bombast (from the Latin bombax, cotton) meant nothing but cotton wadding, used for filling or stuffing. Shakspeare employs it in this sense in _Love’s Labor Lost_, v. 2.

As bombast and as living to the time.

Decker, in his _Satyromastix_, says, “You shall swear not to bombast out a new play with the old linings of jests.” And Guazzo, _Civile Conversation_, 1591,—“Studie should rather make him leane and thinne, and pull out the bombast of his corpulent doublet.”

Hence, by easy transition from the falseness of padding or puffing out a figure, bombast came to signify swelling pretentiousness of speech and conduct as an adapted meaning; and gradually this became the primary and only sense.

* * * * *

_Buxom._—This word is simply bow-some or bough-some, _i.e._, that which readily bows, or bends, or yields like the boughs of a tree. No longer ago than when Milton wrote _boughsome_, which as _gh_ in English began to lose its guttural sound,—that of the letter _chi_ in Greek,—came to be written _buxom_, meant simply yielding, and was of general application.

——“and, this once known, shall soon return,
And bring ye to the place where thou and Death
Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen
Wing silently the buxom air.”—_Paradise Lost_, II. 840.

But aided, doubtless, as Dr. Johnson suggests, by a too liberal construction of the bride’s promise in the old English marriage ceremony, to be “obedient and buxom in bed and board,” it came to be applied to women who were erroneously thought likely to be thus yielding; and hence it now means plump, rosy, alluring, and is applied only to women who combine those qualities of figure, face and expression.

* * * * *

_Cadaver._—An abbot of Cirencester, about 1216, conceived himself an etymologist, and, as a specimen of his powers, has left us the Latin word cadaver, a corpse, thus dissected:—“Ca,” quoth he, is abbreviated for caro; “da” for data; “ver” for vermibus. Hence we have “caro data vermibus,” flesh given to the worms.

Yet while the reader smiles at this curious absurdity, it is worth while to note that the word _alms_ is constructed upon a similar principle, being formed (according to the best authority) of letters, taken from successive syllables of the cumbrous Latinized Greek word _eleemosyna_.

* * * * *

_Canard._—This is the French for duck, and the origin of its application to hoaxing is said to be as follows:—To ridicule a growing extravagance in story-telling a clever journalist stated that an interesting experiment had just been made, calculated to prove the extraordinary voracity of ducks. Twenty of these animals had been placed together, and one of them having been killed and cut up into the smallest possible pieces, feathers and all, and thrown to the other nineteen, had been gluttonously gobbled up in an exceedingly brief space of time. Another was taken from the remaining nineteen, and being chopped small like its predecessor, was served up to the eighteen, and at once devoured like the other; and so on to the last, which was thus placed in the remarkable position of having eaten his nineteen companions in a wonderfully short space of time! All this, most pleasantly narrated, obtained a success which the writer was far from anticipating, for the story ran the rounds of all the journals in Europe. It then became almost forgotten for about a score of years, when it came back from America, with an amplification which it did not boast of at the commencement, and with a regular certificate of the autopsy of the body of the surviving animal, whose esophagus was declared to have been seriously injured! Since then fabrications of this character have been called _canards_.

* * * * *

_Chum._—A schoolboy’s letter, written two centuries ago, has lately revealed that chum is a contraction from “chamber-fellow.” Two students dwelling together found the word unwieldly, and, led by another universal law of language, they shortened it in the most obvious way.

* * * * *

_Dandy._—Bishop Fleetwood says that “dandy” is derived from a silver coin of small value, circulated in the reign of Henry VIII., and called a “dandy-prat.”

* * * * *

_Dunce._—This word comes to us from the celebrated Duns Scotus, chief of the Schoolmen of his time. He was “the subtle doctor by preëminence;” and it certainly is a strange perversion that a scholar of his great ability should give name to a class who hate all scholarship. When at the Reformation and revival of learning the works of the Schoolmen fell into extreme disfavor with the Reformers and the votaries of the new learning, Duns, the standard-bearer of the former, was so often referred to with scorn and contempt by the latter that his name gradually became the by-word it now is for hopeless ignorance and invincible stupidity. The errors and follies of a set were fastened upon their distinguished head. Says Tyndale, 1575,—

“Remember ye not how within this thirty years, and far less, and yet dureth unto this day, the old barking curs, _Dunce’s_ disciples, and like draff called Scotists, the children of darkness, raged in every pulpit against Greek, Latin and Hebrew?”

* * * * *

_Eating humble-pie._—The phrase “eating humble-pie” is traced to the obsolete French word “_ombles_,” entrails; pies for the household servants being formerly made of the entrails of animals. Hence, to take low or humble ground, to submit one’s self, came familiarly to be called eating “humble” or rather “umble” pie. The word “umbles” came to us from the Norman conquest, and though now obsolete, retains its place in the lexicons of Worcester and Webster, who, however, explain the entrails to be those of the deer only.

* * * * *

_Fiasco._—A German, one day, seeing a glassblower at his occupation, thought nothing could be easier than glassblowing, and that he could soon learn to blow as well as the workman. He accordingly commenced operations by blowing vigorously, but could only produce a sort of pear-shaped balloon or little flask (fiasco). The second attempt had a similar result, and so on, until _fiasco_ after _fiasco_ had been made. Hence arose the expression which we not infrequently have occasion to use when describing the result of our undertakings.

* * * * *

_Fudge._—This is a curious word, having a positive personality underlying it. Such at least it is, if Disraeli’s account thereof be authentic. He quotes from a very old pamphlet entitled _Remarks upon the Navy_, wherein the author says, “There was in our time one _Captain Fudge_, commander of a merchantman, who upon his return from a voyage, how ill fraught soever his ship was, always brought home his owners a good crop of lies; so much that now, aboard ship, the sailors when they hear a great lie told, cry out, ‘You fudge it’.” The ship was the Black Eagle, and the time, Charles II.; and thence the monosyllabic name of its untruthful captain comes to us for exclamation when we have reason to believe assertions ill-founded.

* * * * *

_Gossip._—This is another of that class of words which by the system of moral decadence that Trench has so ably illustrated as influencing human language, has come to be a term of unpleasant reproach. In some parts of the country, by the “gossips” of a child are meant his god-parents, who take vows for him at his baptism. The connection between these two actual uses of the word is not so far to seek as one might suppose. Chaucer shows us that those who stood sponsors for an infant were considered “_sib_,” or kin, to each other in _God_: thus the double syllables were compounded. Verstigan says:—

“Our Christian ancestors understanding a spirituall affinitie for to grow between the parents, and such as undertooke for the childe at baptisme, called each other by the name of _God-sib_, which is as much as to say as that they were _sib_ together, i.e. of kin together, through God.”

The Roman church forbids marriage between persons so united in a common vow, as she believes they have contracted an essential spiritual relationship. But from their affinity in the interests of the child they were brought into much converse with one another; and as much talk almost always degenerates into idle talk, and personalities concerning one’s neighbors, and the like, so “gossips” finally came to signify the latter, when the former use of it was nearly forgotten. It is remarkable that the French “commérage” has passed through identically the same perversion.

* * * * *

_Grog._—Admiral Vernon, whose ardent devotion to his profession had endeared him to the British naval service, was in the habit of walking the deck, in bad weather, in a rough _grogram_ cloak, and thence had obtained the nickname of _Old Grog_. Whilst in command of the West India station, and at the height of his popularity on account of his reduction of Porto Bello with six men-of-war only, he introduced the use of rum and water among the ship’s company. When served out, the new beverage proved most palatable, and speedily grew into such favor that it became as popular as the brave admiral himself, and in honor of him was surnamed by acclamation “Grog.”

* * * * *

_Hocus-pocus._—According to Tillotson, this singular expression is believed to be a corruption of the transubstantiating formula, _Hoc est corpus meum_, used by the priest on the elevation of the host. Turner, in his history of the Anglo-Saxons, traces it to Ochus Bochus, a magician and demon of the northern mythology. We should certainly prefer the latter as the source of this conjurer’s catch-word, which the usage of ordinary life connects with jugglery or unfair dealing, but preponderant evidence is in favor of the former.

* * * * *

_Malingerer._—This word, brought much into use by the exigencies of our civil war, is from the French “malin gré,” and signifies a soldier who from “evil will” shirks his duty by feigning sickness, or otherwise rendering himself incapable: in plain words, a poltroon.

* * * * *

_Mustard._—Etymologists have fought vigorously over the derivation of this word. “Multum ardet,” says one, or in old French, “moult arde,” it burns much. “Mustum ardens, hot must,” says another, referring to the former custom of preparing French mustard for the table with the sweet must of new wine. A picturesque story about the name is thus told:—Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, granted to Dijon certain armorial bearings, with the motto “Moult me tarde”—I long or wish ardently. This was sculptured over the principal gate. In the course of years, by some accident, the central word was effaced. The manufacturers of sinapi or senévé (such were the former names of mustard), wishing to label their pots of condiment with the city arms, copied the mutilated motto; and the unlearned, seeing continually the inscription of “moult-tarde,” fell into the habit of calling the contents by this title.

* * * * *

_Navvy._—Many persons have been puzzled by the application of this word, abbreviated from navigator, to laborers. Why should earth-workers be called navigators? They whose business is with an element antipodean to water, why receive a title as of seafaring men? At the period when inland navigation was the national rage, and canals were considered to involve the essentials of prosperity, as railways are now, the workmen employed on them were called “navigators,” as cutting the way for navigation. And when railways superseded canals, the name of the laborers, withdrawn from one work to the other, was unchanged, and merely contracted, according to the dislike of our Anglo-Saxon tongues to use four syllables where a less number will suffice.

* * * * *

_Neighbor._—Formerly this familiar word was employed to signify “the boor who lives nigh to us.” And just here is another of those words which have been degraded from their original sense; for boor did not then represent a stupid, ignorant lout, but simply a farmer, as in Dutch now.

* * * * *

_Poltroon._—In the olden days the Norman-French “poltroon” had a significance obsolete now: days when Strongbow was a noble surname, and the yew-trees of England were of importance as an arm of national defence; then the coward or malingerer had but to cut off the thumb (“pollice truncus” in Latin)—the thumb which drew the bow, and he was unfit for service, and must be discharged.

* * * * *

_Porpoise._—The common creature of the sea, whose gambols have passed into a jest and a proverb, the porpoise, is so named because of his resemblance to a hog when in sportive mood. “Porc-poisson,” said somebody who watched a herd of them tumbling about, for all the world like swine, except for the sharp dorsal fin; and the epithet adhered.

* * * * *

_Scrape._—Long ago roamed through the forests the red and fallow deer, which had a habit of scraping up the earth with their fore-feet to the depth of several inches, sometimes even of half a yard. A wayfaring man through the olden woods was frequently exposed to the danger of tumbling into one of these hollows, when he might truly be said to be “in a scrape.” Cambridge students in their little difficulties picked up and applied the phrase to other perplexing matters which had brought a man morally into a fix.

* * * * *

_Sterling._—This word was originally applied to the metal rather than to a coin. The following extract from Camden points out its origin as applied to money:—

In the time of his sonne King Richard the First, monie coined in the east parts of Germanie began to be of especiall request in England for the puritie thereof, and was called _Easterling_ monie, as all the inhabitants of those parts were called _Easterlings_, and shortly after some of that countrie, skilful in mint matters and alloies, were sent for into this realme to bring the coins to perfection, which, since that time, was called of them _sterling_ for _Easterlings_.

* * * * *

_Surplice._—That scholastic and ministerial badge, the surplice, is said to derive its name from the Latin “superpelliceum,” because anciently worn over leathern coats made of hides of beasts; with the idea of representing how the sin of our first parents is now covered by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, so that we are entitled to wear the emblem of innocence.

* * * * *

_Sycophant._—The original etymology of the word sycophant is curious. The word συχοφαντέω (from σῦχον, a fig, and φαίνω, to show,) in its primary signification, means to inform against or expose those who exported figs from Athens to other places without paying duty, hence it came to signify _calumnior_, to accuse falsely, to be a tale-bearer, an evil speaker of others. The word _sycophanta_ means, in its first sense, no more than this. We now apply it to any flatterer, or other abject dependant, who, to serve his own purposes, slanders and detracts from others.

* * * * *

_Tariff._—Because payment of a fixed scale of duties was demanded by the Moorish occupants of a fortress on Tarifa promontory, which overlooked the entrance to the Mediterranean, all taxes on imports came to be called a tariff.

* * * * *

_Treacle._—A remarkable curiosity in the way of derivations is one traced by that indefatigable explorer, Archbishop Trench, which connects treacle with vipers. The syrup of molasses with the poison of snakes! Never was an odder relationship; yet it is a case of genuine fatherhood, and embodies a singular superstition. The ancients believed that the best antidote to the bite of the viper was a confection of its own flesh. The Greek word θηρταχή, flesh of the viper, was given first to such a sweetmeat, and then to any antidote of poison, and lastly to any syrup; and easily corrupted into our present word. Chaucer has a line—

Christ, which that is to every harm triacle.

Milton speaks of the “sovran treacle of sound doctrine.” A stuff called Venice Treacle was considered antidote to all poisons. “Vipers treacle yield,” says Edmund Waller, in a verse which has puzzled many a modern reader, and yet brings one close to the truth of the etymology, and shows that treacle is only a popular corruption of _theriac_.

* * * * *

_Wig._—This word may be cited as a good example to show how interesting and profitable it is to trace words through their etymological windings to their original source. Wig is abridged from _periwig_, which comes from the Low Dutch _peruik_, which has the same meaning. When first introduced into the English language, it was written and pronounced _perwick_, the _u_ being changed into _w_, as may still be seen in old English books. Afterwards the _i_ was introduced for euphony, and it became _periwick_; and finally the _ck_ was changed into _g_, making it _periwig_, and by contraction _wig_.

The Dutch word _peruik_ was borrowed from the French _perruque_. The termination _uik_ is a favorite one with that nation, and is generally substituted in borrowed words for the French _uque_ and the German _auch_. The French word _perruque_ comes from the Spanish _peluca_, and this last from _pelo_, hair, which is derived from the Latin _pilus_. Hence the Latin word _pilus_, hair, through successive transformations, has produced the English word _wig_.

* * * * *

_Windfall._—Centuries ago a clause was extant in the tenure of many English estates, to the effect that the owners might not fell the trees, as the best timber was reserved for the Royal Navy; but any trees that came down without cutting were the property of the tenant. Hence was a storm a joyful and a lucrative event in proportion to its intensity, and the larger the number of forest patriarchs it laid low the richer was the lord of the land. He had received a veritable “windfall.” Ours in the nineteenth century come in the shape of any unexpected profit; and those of us who own estates rather quake in sympathy with our trembling trees on windy nights.

ODD CHANGES OF SIGNIFICATION.

The first verse of Dean Whittingham’s version of the 114th Psalm may be quoted as a curious instance of a phrase originally grave in its meaning become strangely incongruous:—

When Israel by God’s address
From Pharaoh’s land was bent,
And Jacob’s house the strangers left
And _in the same train_ went.

Since the completion of the Pacific Railway, some introductory lines in Southey’s _Thalaba_ require correction:—

Who at this untimely hour
Wander o’er the _desert sands_?
No _station_ is in view.

If the author would revisit the earth, he would find numerous “stations” on the railway route across the Great American Desert.

* * * * *

Among funny instances of wresting from a text a meaning to suit a particular purpose, is that of the classical scholar who undertook to prove that the word “smile” was used as a euphemism for a drink in ancient times, by quoting from Horace’s _Odes_:—

Amara lento temperat risu.

Which is rendered by Martin:—

Meets life’s _bitters_ with a jest,
And _smiles_ them down.

By _lento risu_, it was argued, is clearly meant a _slow_ smile, or one taken through a straw!

The meaning of the word _Wretch_ is one not generally understood. It was originally, and is now, in some parts of England, used as a term of the softest and fondest tenderness. This is not the only instance in which words in their present general acceptation bear a very opposite meaning to what they did in Shakspeare’s time. The word _Wench_, formerly, was not used in the low and vulgar acceptation that it is at present. _Damsel_ was the appellation of young ladies of quality, and _Dame_ a title of distinction. _Knave_ once signified a servant; and in an early translation of the New Testament, instead of “Paul, the Servant,” we read “Paul, the Knave of Jesus Christ,” or, Paul, a rascal of Jesus Christ. _Varlet_ was formerly used in the same sense as valet. On the other hand, the word _Companion_, instead of being the honorable synonym of Associate, occurs in the play of Othello with the same contemptuous meaning which we now affix, in its abusive sense, to the word “Fellow;” for Emilia, perceiving that some secret villain had aspersed the character of the virtuous Desdemona, thus indignantly exclaims:—

O Heaven! that such _Companions_ thou’dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip,
To lash the rascal naked through the world.—iv. 2.

_Villain_ formerly meant a bondman. In feudal law, according to Blackstone, the term was applied to those who held lands and tenements in _villenage_,—a tenure by base services.

Pedant formerly meant a schoolmaster. Shakspeare says in his _Twelfth Night_,—

A pedant that keeps a school in the church.—iii. 2.

Bacon, in his _Pathway unto Prayer_, thus uses the word Imp: “Let us pray for the preservation of the King’s most excellent Majesty, and for the prosperous success of his entirely beloved son Edward our Prince, that most _angelic imp_.”

The word _brat_ is not considered very elegant now, but a few years ago it had a different signification from its present one. An old hymn or _De profundis_, by Gascoine, contains the lines,—

“O Israel, O household of the Lord,
O Abraham’s brats, O brood of blessed seed,
O chosen sheep that loved the Lord indeed.”

It is a somewhat noticeable fact, that the changes in the signification of words have generally been to their deterioration; that is, words that heretofore had no sinister meaning have acquired it. The word _cunning_, for example, formerly meant nothing sinister or underhanded; and in Thrope’s confession in Fox’s “Book of Martyrs” is the sentence, “I believe that all these three persons [in the Godhead] are even in power, and in cunning, and in might, full of grace and of all goodness.” _Demure_ is another of this class. It was used by earlier writers without the insinuation which is now almost latent in it, that the external shows of modesty and sobriety rest on no corresponding realities. _Explode_ formerly meant to drive off the stage with loud clappings of the hands, but gradually became exaggerated into its present signification. _Facetious_, too, originally meant urbane, but now has so degenerated as to have acquired the sense of buffoonery; and Mr. Trench sees indications that it will ere long acquire the sense of indecent buffoonery.

_Frippery_ now means trumpery and odds and ends of cheap finery; but once it meant old clothes of value, and not worthless, as the term at present implies. The word _Gossip_ formerly meant only a sponsor in baptism. Sponsors were supposed to become acquainted at the baptismal font, and by their sponsorial act to establish an indefinite affinity towards each other and the child. Thus the word was applied to all who were familiar and intimate, and finally obtained the meaning which is now predominant in it.

_Homely_ once meant secret and familiar, though in the time of Milton it had acquired the same sense as at present. _Idiot_, from the Greek, originally signified only a private man as distinguished from one in public office, and from that it has degenerated till it has come to designate a person of defective mental powers. _Incense_ once meant to kindle not only anger, but good passions as well; Fuller uses it in the sense of “to incite.” _Indolence_ originally signified a freedom from passion or pain, but now implies a condition of languid non-exertion. _Insolent_ was once only “unusual.”

The derivation of _lumber_ is peculiar. As the Lombards were the bankers, so they were also the pawnbrokers, of the Middle Ages. The “lumber-room” was then the place where the Lombard banker and broker stored his pledges, and _lumber_ gradually came to mean the pledges themselves. As these naturally accumulated till they got out of date or became unserviceable, it is easy to trace the steps by which the word descended to its present meaning.

_Obsequious_ implies an unmanly readiness to fall in with the will of another; but in the original obsequium, or in the English word as employed two centuries ago, there was nothing of this: it rather meant obedience and mildness. Shakspeare, speaking of a deceased person, says,—

“How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,
As interest of the dead.”

_Property_ and _propriety_ were once synonymous, both referring to material things, as the French word _propriété_ does now. Foreigners do not often catch the distinction at present made in English between the two words; and we know a French gentleman who, recently meeting with some pecuniary reverses, astonished his friends by telling them that he had lost all his “propriety.”

A poet is a person who writes poetry, and, according to the good old customs, a proser was a person who wrote prose, and simply the antithesis of poet. The word has now a sadly different signification; and it would not be considered very respectable to term Addison, Irving, Bancroft, or Everett “prosers.”

INFLUENCE OF NAMES.

The Romans, from the time they expelled their kings, could never endure the idea of being governed by a _king_. But they submitted to the most abject slavery under an _emperor_. And Oliver Cromwell did not venture to risk disgusting the republicans by calling himself king, though under the title of Protector he exercised regal functions.

The American colonies submitted to have their commerce and their manufactures crippled by restrictions avowedly for the benefit of the mother-country, and were thus virtually _taxed_ to the amount of all that they in any instance lost by paying more for some article than it would cost to make it themselves, or to buy it of foreigners. But as soon as _a tax_ was imposed _under that name_, they broke out into rebellion.

It is a marvel to many, and seems to them nearly incredible, that the Israelites should have gone after other gods; and yet the vulgar in most parts of Christendom are actually serving the gods of their heathen ancestors. But then they do not _call_ them _gods_, but fairies or bogles, etc., and they do not apply the word _worship_ to their veneration of them, nor _sacrifice_ to their offerings. And this slight change of name keeps most people in ignorance of a fact that is before their eyes.

Others, professed Christians, are believed, both by others and by themselves, to be worshippers of the true God, though they invest him with the _attributes_ of one of the evil demons worshipped by the heathen. There is hardly any professed Christian who would not be shocked at the application of the word _caprice_ to the acts of the Most High. And yet his choosing to inflict suffering on his creatures “_for no cause_” (as some theologians maintain) “except that _such is his will_,” is the very definition of caprice.

But when Lord Byron published his poem of “Cain,” which contains substantially the _very same_ doctrine, there was a great outcry among pious people, including, no doubt, many who were of the theological school which teaches the same, under other _names_.

Why and how any evil comes to exist in the universe, reason cannot explain, and revelation does not tell us. But it does show us what is _not_ the cause. That it cannot be from _ill will_ or _indifference_, is proved by the sufferings undergone by the _beloved_ Son.

Many probably would have hesitated if it had been proposed to them to join a new _Church_ under that _name_, who yet eagerly enrolled themselves in the Evangelical _Alliance_,—which is in fact a church, with meetings for worship, and _sermons_ under the _name_ of _speeches_, and a _creed_ consisting of sundry _Articles of Faith_ to be subscribed; only not called by those _names_.

Mrs. B. expressed to a friend her great dread of such a medicine as tartar-emetic. She always, she said, gave her children _antimonial_ wine. He explained to her that this is tartar-emetic dissolved in wine; but she remained unchanged.