Chapter II: Part 2

There is one class of words which does not exhibit a uniform method of writing, either in Great Britain or in America. This class is typified by the words _traveler_, _counselor_, _worshiper_ and the like. It will be readily seen that these words are all derivatives, formed from the primary by the addition of a suffix; and the writing vacillates between a single and a double consonant preceding the suffix. According to the well-known principle of English orthography, these words are not entitled to a double consonant, and therefore should never be written _traveller_, _counsellor_ and _worshipper_. The rule is, if the final syllable of a word ending in a single consonant and preceded by a short vowel is accented, the final consonant, on the addition of a suffix beginning with a vowel, is doubled; but never otherwise. Thus we write _offered_, _deviled_ and the like, but _referred_, _transferred_ and _jammed_. Hence the orthodox spelling should be _traveler_, _counselor_, _worshiper_, _unrivaled_ and the like. But practise shows that either spelling is regarded as correct on both sides of the Atlantic. These words are survivals from a former period in the history of the language when more latitude was allowed in English orthography and there was no hard and fast line drawn, no fixed standard. The proper historical spelling, it is interesting to note, is with one consonant, as in _counselor_ derived ultimately from the Latin _consilarius_. While either spelling is considered correct, British usage favors the double consonant (_counsellor_) and American the single (_counselor_). Here again as elsewhere American spelling inclines to simplification and would make these words conform to the general rule of English orthography as laid down above. Strange to say, British usage shows one exception in the word _paralleled_, which it has adopted (and not _parallelled_). Here we find another instance of the striking inconsistency of British orthography. It may be a shocking thing to say, but investigation will prove it true, that if those British critics who censure our spelling so severely, as offending their esthetic sense, were more familiar with the history of the language, they would, without doubt, have far less comment to make upon the so-called eccentricities of American spelling.

It remains to notice some apparent exceptions to the rule of English orthography stated above. Noteworthy among these are the words _handicapped_ and _kidnapped_, which are written alike in British and American English. But they can be explained and are only apparent exceptions. A moment’s reflection is sufficient to convince one that _handicap_ and _kidnap_ are not simple words, but in reality compounds in which the last element has not completely lost its identity in combination. Because of the consciousness of the independent words _cap_ and _nap_ in these compounds, they conform to the rule as a matter of fact and therefore double the final consonant, on the addition of a suffix beginning with a vowel. Hence, if they are exceptions, they must be considered exceptions which prove the rule.

The few points we have drawn attention to in this imperfect little sketch are enough to show how unphonetic and illogical is our English spelling. Many of the eccentricities of our orthography, according to Skeat, have resulted from the futile attempts of pedants in the sixteenth century to make English spelling etymological and to make it conform to the classics, from which a vast multitude of words had been introduced into our speech. These conscious attempts at etymological spelling gave rise to endless confusion and disorder. But other causes, such as analogy and mere caprice, also contributed to this end. Thus we are to explain the writing of the word _female_, for example. This word, coming from the Latin _femella_ through the French _femelle_ into English, was originally written _femelle_ and would probably have retained this form to the present time. But because of a fancied connection with the word _male_, the spelling was changed to _female_. In a similar manner is to be explained the spelling of numerous other words in our language which seem perfectly natural and logical on first blush.

AUTHORITY IN ENGLISH PRONUNCIATION.

For wellnigh two centuries a popular belief has prevailed throughout the English-speaking world that there should be a standard of pronunciation, which should be followed in all those countries where English is the native tongue. Many people, holding this view, assume that some such norm is unconsciously observed by men of education and culture, who, because of their influence and rank, are generally conceded the right to establish the customs of speech. It is but natural, therefore, that men with greater or less claim to culture and education should take it upon themselves from time to time to determine the supposed standard of pronunciation. Thus as far back as the beginning of the eighteenth century we find that the orthoepists of that period undertook to ascertain and record the pronunciation of English as practised in polite society.

Now, the early orthoepists discovered, apparently to their astonishment, that English pronunciation, even in the most cultured circles, far from being fixed by ironclad rules, was quite an elastic thing, allowing considerable latitude. Indeed, two centuries ago pronunciation in English, as reflected by the best usage, was no more uniform than it is to-day. Then as now, men recognized no fixed and absolute standard of English pronunciation. They followed their own tastes and individual preferences, despite the orthoepical suggestions and recommendations of their contemporaries. Prejudice and caprice, too, in those days, as in the present time, were factors to be reckoned with, so that the path of the would-be authority on pronunciation was beset with no slight difficulty.

It must not be inferred, however, that the orthoepists themselves were a unit and in perfect harmony as to current usage. On the contrary, they were frequently far apart in recording the pronunciation sanctioned by the best society and differed quite as much as their worthy successors of the present day. They sometimes indulged in vituperation and severe censure at each others’ expense and made no attempt to conceal their disapproval of a rival’s authority, which they expressed in plain, vigorous Anglo-Saxon. Some of their sarcastic remarks furnish spicy and entertaining reading to the student who is willing to plod his way through the dreary waste of those forgotten dust-covered tomes.

The most conspicuous among the eighteenth century orthoepists were Baily, Johnson, Buchanan, Sheridan and Walker. Some of these were Scotch, and some Irish, and some, of course, English. Quite naturally it struck the fancy of an Englishman as somewhat humorous, not to say absurd, for an Irishman or a Scotchman to pose as an authority on English pronunciation. So the damaging taunt of foreign nationality and consequent lack of acquaintance with English usage was flaunted in the face of Buchanan and Sheridan, natives of Scotland and Ireland, respectively.

When Doctor Johnson was informed of Sheridan’s plan of producing an English dictionary that was designed to indicate the pronunciation of each word, he ridiculed the idea of an Irishman’s presuming to teach Englishmen how to speak their native language as utterly absurd. “Why, Sir,” growled the autocrat of eighteenth century literature, “my dictionary shows you the accent of words, if you can but remember them.” Then on being reminded that his dictionary does not give the pronunciation of the vowels, “Why, Sir,” continued he, in his characteristic surly manner, “consider how much easier it is to learn a language by the ear than by any marks. Sheridan’s dictionary may do very well; but you can not always carry it about with you; and when you want the word, you have not the dictionary. It is like the man who has a sword that will not draw. It is an admirable sword, to be sure; but while your enemy is cutting your throat, you are unable to use it. Besides, Sir, what entitles Sheridan to fix the pronunciation of English? He has, in the first place, the disadvantage of being an Irishman; and if he says he will fix it after the example of the best company, why they differ among themselves. I remember an instance: when I published the plan of my dictionary, Lord Chesterfield told me that the word _great_ should be pronounced to rhyme to _state_; and Sir William Yonge sent me word that it should be pronounced so as to rhyme to _seat_, and that none but Irishmen would pronounce it _grait_. Now, here were two men of the highest rank, the one the best speaker in the House of Lords, the other the best speaker in the House of Commons, differing entirely.”

As this quotation shows clearly and forcibly, even the usage of the very best speakers in England in the eighteenth century was far from uniform and harmonious, as has been intimated in the opening paragraph. Moreover, it is evident from the striking illustration Johnson uses that English pronunciation must have varied much more two centuries ago than it does to-day; for no two speakers of national reputation, such as the leaders of the two chambers of Parliament presumably must have been, would differ so radically at the present time in their pronunciation. The truth is, in those good old days men paid but little attention either to pronunciation or to spelling. It is a fact not so widely known as it deserves to be, that English orthography two centuries ago was just emerging from a state of confusion and chaos; and law and order were then for the first time beginning to appear. The result is the conventional spelling which only since the eighteenth century has been stereotyped in the form now so familiar to all educated people. And not even yet, as we know, has English orthography had its perfect work. As late as Doctor Johnson’s time, the spelling of many English words had not yet been crystallized, and not a few words could be spelled in two distinct ways, either of which was recognized as correct. For instance, the spelling of _soap_, _cloak_, _choke_ and _fuel_, to select only a few examples, as recorded in his dictionary, vacillated between “sope,” “cloke,” “choak,” “fewel” and the present accepted spelling of these words. These variant spellings, long since rejected, now seem to us either attempts at phonetic spelling or quaint and curious imitations of Chaucerian orthography. Having discussed elsewhere[8] the subject of English spelling, I dismiss the matter here with this passing reference.

The crystallized form of English spelling which has been brought about mainly through the influence of the printing-press in the last few centuries we accept as a matter of course, little thinking of the difficulties innumerable which the printer and the “gentle” reader encountered three centuries ago. But the very existence of a standard orthography, as a moment’s reflection will show, has necessitated as its indispensable adjunct the pronouncing dictionary.

The pronouncing dictionary, therefore, is a modern production; it was hardly known before the first quarter of the eighteenth century. It is held by some scholars, notably Professor Lounsbury in his “Standard of Pronunciation in English,” that the pronouncing dictionary was called into existence by the desire on the part of the imperfectly educated middle class to know what to say and how to say it. This desire became stronger and stronger as the members of that growing class of England’s population rose by degrees into social prominence. Possessing little culture and few social advantages, and lacking confidence in their meager training, such people were not willing to exercise the right of private judgment, and consequently they sought out an authority and guide. They were eager to learn the modes of speech which obtained in the most highly cultured circles, the _jus et norma loquendi_ of the nobility. It was natural therefore, since the occasion appeared to demand it, that self-appointed guides should come forward and offer to conduct the multitudes of social pariahs through the wilderness of orthoepical embarrassment into the Canaan of polite usage. Such was probably the origin of the pronouncing dictionary.

It will prove interesting to consider some of the pronunciations authorized by the early orthoepists as reflecting contemporary usage. How unlike current usage many of those early pronunciations are, the reader will see for himself. But first a word as to the orthoepists themselves.

The earliest of the eighteenth century orthoepists is Baily. His dictionary enjoyed the enviable distinction of being the first authority on English pronunciation during the first half of the eighteenth century. But Baily’s supremacy was eclipsed by Johnson, whose epoch-marking dictionary appeared in 1755. Johnson claimed to record the most approved method of English orthoepy, and his prestige as a man of letters contributed speedily to establish his dictionary as the ultimate authority on English pronunciation. It is to be observed, however, that Johnson only indicated the syllable on which the accent falls. This left much to be desired as a pronouncing dictionary. So, in 1766, Buchanan, a Scotchman, gave to the world his dictionary which challenged Johnson’s pre-eminence. A few years later, in 1780, to be accurate, Sheridan published his dictionary. Sheridan was an Irishman by birth, as has been said, the son of the famous British orator and dramatist, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, whose plays are so favorably known to us through Mr. Jefferson’s interpretation. Sheridan’s nationality was used by his competitors to prejudice the public against his dictionary and to discount it as an authority on English pronunciation. Still Sheridan enjoyed a considerable vogue.

In 1791 Walker published his dictionary. The reputation of this work, in a revised form, extended far into the last century, so we are informed by the late Mr. Ellis in his authoritative work on English pronunciation. Walker, like Sheridan, was an actor, but unlike his rival he was an Englishman by birth. He did not fail to draw attention to the advantage this circumstance would naturally give him in the popular estimation, in advertising the merits of his book. In his treatment of the principles of pronunciation, however, Walker shows a feeble grasp of his subject, and the most serious criticism upon his book is that he was unduly influenced by the spelling in ascertaining the pronunciation of a word. “In almost every part of his principles,” says Mr. Ellis, speaking of Walker’s work, “and in his remarks upon particular words throughout his dictionary, one will see the most evident marks of insufficient knowledge and of that kind of pedantic self-sufficiency which is the true growth of half-enlightened ignorance.” Such drastic criticism upon the author of a dictionary which was esteemed the highest authority on English pronunciation during the first half of the last century does not invite confidence in the results of our early orthoepists. Rather it makes us feel that none of them is perhaps entitled to credit. Probably Doctor Johnson shared this feeling when he exclaimed in the preface to his dictionary, _Quis autem custodiet ipsos custodes?_

So much for the lexicographers of the eighteenth century. Let us now consider some of the pronunciations authorized by them, which have long since been discarded. These will serve as illustrations to bring home to the mind of the reader the truth that our speech is slowly but surely and constantly changing, and that English pronunciation, unlike English spelling, has never been stereotyped in a fast, unvarying form. They will also show how indispensable an auxiliary to our crystallized, conventional spelling has the pronouncing dictionary become.

An interesting illustration is furnished by the word _asparagus_. The popular pronunciation of this word in the eighteenth century was _sparrow-grass_. This was felt by the orthoepists, however, to be a vulgar corruption of the word, and they therefore strove with concerted effort to stem the popular tide and to make the pronunciation conform to abstract propriety as indicated by the spelling. Walker, in commenting upon the pronunciation of the word, remarks, as if apologizing for the theoretically correct form which he recommends, that “the corruption of the word into _sparrow-grass_ is so general that asparagus has an air of stiffness and pedantry.” Another word with a no less interesting history is _cucumber_. This word used to be generally pronounced _cowcumber_. The popular pronunciation of this word as well as of _asparagus_, once so universal, has survived even up to the present in the lingo of the illiterate whites of New England and in the Negro dialect. This vulgar pronunciation which was a thorn in the flesh to the eighteenth century lexicographers, it is instructive to note in passing, was not the result of mere caprice, but was warranted by an old variant spelling of the word. This historic spelling, long since discarded altogether by the users of English, was formerly very prevalent and in good literary usage. Hence little wonder that the vulgar pronunciation for a long time contested the supremacy with the mode of utterance now universally accepted. Even so high an authority as Mr. Pepys refers in his “Diary” to a certain man as “dead of eating cowcumbers.” It was not till wellnigh the middle of the last century that the orthoepists Knowles and Smart ventured to denounce _cowcumber_ along with _sparrow-grass_ as vulgar and therefore tabooed in polite circles.

It is a well-established fact in the history of English pronunciation that in the seventeenth century and far into the following century such words as _spoil_, _toil_, _boil_, and so on, were pronounced, even in best usage, precisely as they are uttered to-day in the Negro dialect and by the illiterate whites among us, that is, just as if they were written “spile,” “tile” and “bile.” This is conclusively proved by the rhymes of Dryden and Pope.[9] It is further evident from the rhymes of the poets of the latter half of the eighteenth century that this archaic pronunciation persisted almost down to the beginning of the last century. This pronunciation was regarded by the orthoepists as antiquated and vulgar, and they did not fail to denounce it in strong terms, warning against its use. In 1773 Kenrick records with mingled regret and disgust that it would appear affected to pronounce such words as _boil_, _join_ and many others otherwise than as “bile” and “jine.” But toward the close of the eighteenth century the present pronunciation began to prevail and “the banished diphthong,” as Nares records with triumphant delight, “seemed at length to be upon its return.” This same orthoepist informs us, and we may well believe him, that it was the authority of the poets, who had pilloried the offensive pronunciation in their verse, that retarded the progress of the received sound of the diphthong which finally triumphed.

The early lexicographers were divided on the pronunciation of _vase_. Indeed, two centuries have not sufficed to unite their successors in perfect harmony on this question. The word to-day vacillates between four received pronunciations. The great unwashed pronounce _vase_ to rhyme with _base_ and _case_. Some pronounce the word as if written “vaz” with “the broad a.” Others, associating it with its French equivalent, pronounce the word “vauze.” Others still pronounce it so as to rhyme with _amaze_ and _gaze_. Of these four pronunciations the first is the most prevalent to-day, as it also was two centuries ago. According to the Century Dictionary, the word was introduced into English during the latter half of the seventeenth century, and after the analogy of words of its class, it would naturally be pronounced so as to rhyme with _case_ and _base_. But the recency of the word and its familiar association with art have given rise to the attempt to make it conform to the analogy of the French pronunciation and sound it as if written “vauze.” The early occasional spelling of the word as _vause_ doubtless contributed somewhat to the extension of this latter pronunciation. This French pronunciation, says the Century, is now affected by many. It is worth while to remark, however, that while the Century recognizes the French pronunciation, it still gives the preference to the old historic pronunciation, viz., that rhyming with _case_ and _base_.

Now, in the eighteenth century some of the orthoepists favored one pronunciation and some another. Sheridan, Scott, Kenrick, Perry and Buchanan declared for the pronunciation rhyming with _case_ and _base_. On the other hand, Smith, Johnston and Walker expressed themselves in favor of “vaze.” Walker says that he has uniformly heard it so pronounced, but adds the significant remark that the word is pronounced according to the French fashion “sometimes by people of refinement; but this, being too refined for the general ear, is now but seldom heard,” This French pronunciation, however strange the comment may appear to us in view of his wide acquaintance with English usage, the late Mr. A. J. Ellis averred was the most familiar to him. So the struggle between the several pronunciations of _vase_ continues still, and no one can say which will ultimately prevail.

Another interesting illustration of vacillation of usage two centuries ago is furnished in the pronunciation of _either_ and _neither_. Like the word _vase_, these words show incidentally how long a time two pronunciations of the same word may linger in good usage before either supplants the other. There is to-day probably as much variation in the pronunciation of _either_ and _neither_ as there was a century and a half ago. Early in the eighteenth century the _i_ sound was conceded by some of the orthoepists as permissible in these words. Two authorities, Buchanan and Johnston, declared for the new pronunciation, that is, “ither” and “nither.” But since they were both Scotchmen, their authority was discounted. On the other hand, Sheridan and Walker recommended the _e_ sound and used their influence to bespeak for it general endorsement. They recognized the _i_ sound, to be sure, but only on sufferance. From that day to the present the battle has waged more or less fiercely between the advocates of these respective pronunciations of _either_ and _neither_. Which will ultimately prevail, it is impossible to determine. It may be said, however, that analogy and history are on the side of the _e_ sound. Yet the _i_ sound appears to be encroaching at present on the former pronunciation. There is still another pronunciation of these words which we now rarely hear. I refer to the old dialectical pronunciation as “ather” and “nather.” This pronunciation was current in Doctor Johnson’s time, though it probably did not enjoy the sanction of good usage. On being asked one day whether he regarded “ither,” or “ether” as the proper pronunciation of _either_, the old Doctor is said to have blurted out in his characteristic crabbed manner, “Nather, Sir!” This pronunciation survives now only as an Irishism.

Another class of former pronunciations surviving now as an Irishism, or at best as a provincialism merely, is exemplified by such words as _nature_, _creature_ and _picture_. In Dryden’s and Pope’s time these words were pronounced “nater,” “crater” and “picter.”[10] These pronunciations are preserved still in the Yankee dialect, as shown in Lowell’s inimitable Biglow Papers, and of course they are frequently heard on Irish lips. But they long ago dropped out of the speech of polite society. There is one notable exception found in the word figure. The variant pronunciation of this word as “figer” survives in standard English as a heritage from the seventeenth century.

Quite as instructive an illustration of survivals in pronunciation, is furnished by the British pronunciation of _clerk_ and _Derby_. The English, as is well known, pronounce these words as if written “clark” and “Darby.” They used to pronounce _clergy_ with the same vowel sound, and many other words besides. But it is a significant sign of the approaching change in British usage in respect to these words that a recent British dictionary, the New Historical, in commenting on _clerk_ admits that the American pronunciation of this word has become somewhat frequent of late in London and its neighborhood. (Are we to look upon this as a result of the much-discussed American invasion?) But our British cousins are still wedded to their Derby (Darby) and show no sign of abandoning either the old pronunciation or the custom. Even we Americans cling tenaciously to _serjeant_ and show but little inclination to make that conform speedily to the analogy of other words of its class and to pronounce it in accordance with the spelling. But, no doubt, this word, also, in the course of time, will yield to the pressure of analogy, and our time-honored _serjeant_, with the flight of years, is destined to be classed among those pronunciations that have lost caste. The early orthoepists uniformly pronounced this entire class of words as our British cousins pronounce them at the present time, that is, as if they were written “clark,” “sarjeant” and so on. Indeed, it is the spelling that has been the main factor in effecting the change in the pronunciation of these words. There is a strong tendency in English to pronounce a word as it is written, and this tendency has been asserting itself with ever increasing force since English spelling has been crystallized and thereby rendered less subject to preference or caprice.

A constantly recurring question, which never ceased to vex the spirit of the early orthoepists, was, where to place the accent in the case of _contemplate_, _demonstrate_, _illustrate_ and similar words of classical origin. The question at issue here is whether the stress shall fall upon the antepenultimate or the penultimate. Even with all the accumulated knowledge of the centuries we are no nearer a solution of this perplexing question than were the Elizabethans. Shakespeare could say indifferently _cónfiscate_ or _confíscate_, _démonstrate_ or _demónstrate_. Here the battle has been waged between the scholars, on the one hand, who insist upon strict propriety, and the uninitiated, on the other, who follow the line of least resistance and by intuition place the accent upon the initial syllable. As is evident at a glance, these words come to us from the classics. The scholars therefore, somewhat pedantically, insist upon retaining the stress on the syllable which bore it in the original Latin or Greek. _Per contra_, the common people, who know “little Latin and less Greek” and care not a fig for the original accent, instinctively throw the stress upon the first syllable, in keeping with their feeling for their mother tongue. This feeling for the language, which the Germans call “_Sprachgefühl_,” is, after all, a safer guide than the rules laid down by the pedants. Candor compels us to admit that the popular tendency is more in harmony with the genius of our vernacular. But the scholars have made a brave fight for what we may demoniate abstract propriety, and the result, thus far, is a drawn battle. Each side has scored some points, and each side has had to make some concessions. Thus _balcony_, _academy_, _decorous_ and _metamorphosis_, to cite a few concrete examples, have finally triumphed over the earlier pedantic pronunciations, which required the accent on the penult of these words. _Horizon_, on the other hand, stands as a monument of a concession to the learned, since this word in Elizabethan times had the stress on the initial syllable, as had also the name of the month July. Popular usage in favor of the received pronunciation of _auditor_, _senator_, _victory_, _orator_ and many similar words has achieved a decided triumph over the early orthoepists, who, it was very obvious, were fighting a losing battle in their efforts to retain the classical accent.

It follows that pronunciation is the resultant product of several forces which are silently but constantly acting upon the living language. There are, to be sure, various methods of pronunciation, but the standard is that sanctioned by the most cultivated circles of society. Now, it is the function of the pronouncing dictionary, and its sole reason for existence, to determine and record the usage of the most cultured classes. But here is where the rub comes. This is the stumbling-block in the way of the lexicographers. It may seem, upon first blush, that the task of the orthoepist is easy enough. But not so in actual practice. Countless and insuperable difficulties soon begin to loom up a little ahead in the path of the intending orthoepist, and he finds, to his regret and his occasional disgust, that the way he has marked out for himself is not strewn with roses. It is an arduous undertaking which holds out but meager hope of successful accomplishment, to make an accurate record of the pronunciation received in any large class of society. The labor and trouble are multiplied many times when an attempt is made to determine the best orthoepical usage in a democracy. There is really no absolute standard of pronunciation in English and there can not be, from the very nature of the case, as Professor Lounsbury has clearly demonstrated in his recent luminous book on this subject.

Yet it is unquestionably true that the pronouncing dictionary is constantly making for uniformity of pronunciation. There is far less difference in English orthoepy at the beginning of the twentieth century, even despite the present diversity of good usage, than there was at the beginning of the eighteenth century. A glance at the history of the usage, if we may trust Professor Lounsbury, an eminent authority on English pronunciation, will readily convince the reader of this fact. This result is the direct outgrowth of the increased facilities for intercourse between communities, and of the gradual diffusion of education which the last two centuries have witnessed. With the spread of education there go along those habits of speech which are generally recognized to be in accord with best usage and which therefore have most to commend them to popular favor. But till men cease to exercise the right of choice in the mode of utterance, till men prefer, for the sake of uniformity, to say exclusively “hóstǐle” and not “hostĩle,” “sérvǐle” and not “servle,” “rise” and not “rice,” to mention an example of variant usage, so long will there probably be a diversity of pronunciation and the consequent need for the pronouncing dictionary. This consummation so devoutly to be wished we may expect at the Greek Kalends. We may rest assured, therefore, that the pronouncing dictionary is here to stay.

Every man has his preference as to his pronouncing dictionary, which he regards with more or less confidence and, may be, reverence, as his final authority. To this he resorts in all orthoepical questions, for final solution. This, of course, is a legitimate function of the pronouncing dictionary. The fact is, the vocabulary of the average educated man is so extremely limited and the vocabulary of the language so extremely copious that there are thousands of words of a technical character which even the most accomplished scholars have never once heard uttered. The average educated man who knows that English spelling is a very untrustworthy guide to pronunciation is perforce driven to consult his Webster, or his Worcester, or his Standard, or mayhap his Century. Only then can he pronounce an unfamiliar English word with any assurance of propriety.

Notwithstanding the fact that every educated man has his favorite dictionary, it is probably true that no man’s pronunciation is in entire accord with the dictionary he habitually follows. The late Mr. Ellis gave a suggestive test which I believe has never been successfully challenged. “I do not remember,” said he, “ever meeting with a person of general education, or even literary habits, who could read off, without hesitation, the whole of such a list of words as: bourgeois, demy, actinism, velleity, batman, beaufin, brevier, rowlock, fusil, flugleman, vase, tassel, buoy, oboe, archimandrite, etc., and give them in each case the same pronunciation as is assigned in any given pronouncing dictionary now in use.” Let the reader try these test words and see whether he pronounces this short list according to any received authority in use at the present day.

It may not prove an altogether unprofitable inquiry how our pronouncing dictionaries are made. Such an inquiry, if pursued, may teach us somewhat of the methods of the orthoepists to ascertain good usage. The method formerly adopted was very much after this fashion: The lexicographer studies in his own library the pronouncing dictionary of everybody who has taken the pains to compile one, whether he be an Englishman, an Irishman, a Scotchman, or an American. He compares these several dictionaries and records their variations. From these he selects those pronunciations which, for any special reason, commend themselves to his individual taste or judgment. These are usually such pronunciations as he is accustomed to hear or himself to use. These are published with the stamp of the lexicographer’s authority and approval, and the dictionary is sent out into the world as so-and-so’s record of the most approved usage.

This was doubtless the way pronouncing dictionaries used to be compiled. But we may believe that this method is not the course ordinarily followed by the authors of our best modern dictionaries. If our best standard dictionaries to-day were made in this fashion, their authority would richly deserve to be heavily discounted for such carelessness of method. But greater efforts are made by the most recent orthoepists, we may believe, to determine the accepted usage in polite society. Yet, after all, the personal equation enters as an important factor into the compilation of every pronouncing dictionary. The author or authors who compile the dictionary naturally follow their own preferences and prejudices in the matter of pronunciation; and their results, even at best, repose on very restricted and imperfect observation. An orthoepist ought not to be cocksure and dogmatic. Indeed, the proper attitude of the author of a dictionary is that of the late Mr. Ellis. It was quite natural that a man of his superior scholarship and rare orthoepical attainments should have been frequently asked as to the proper pronunciation of a particular word.

“It has not unfrequently happened,” observes Mr. Ellis in his monumental work on “Early English Pronunciation,” in reference to his practice, when appealed to as an authority, “It has not unfrequently happened that the present writer has been appealed to respecting the pronunciation of a word. He generally replies that he is accustomed to pronounce it in such or such a way, and has often to add that he has heard others pronounce it differently, but that he has no means of deciding which pronunciation ought to be adopted, or even of saying which is the more customary.”

This attitude will, no doubt, commend itself to the favor of the reflecting and judicious man much more forcibly than that spirit of assumed infallibility which is a sure sign, in an orthoepist, of insufficient knowledge and lack of preparation for his work. The business of a lexicographer is to record what good usage authorizes, not to tell us what we shall not use. The orthoepist who goes farther, and dogmatically asserts that a given pronunciation is correct and another incorrect, transcends the legitimate bounds of his province. Moreover, he arouses suspicion in the minds of the thoughtful as to his trustworthiness as a guide in matters of pronunciation. For no orthoepist records all the pronunciations sanctioned by good usage, and no one therefore can affirm positively that a given pronunciation of a word may not be warranted by reputable usage in some quarter. Even so high an authority and careful an observer as Ellis lapsed into error in his comment upon the pronunciation of _trait_, claiming that the silent final _t_ was an unfailing shibboleth of British practice. As a matter of fact, the pronunciation of the final letter of _trait_, as Professor Lounsbury has clearly shown,[11] had been recognized by English orthoepists as allowable for more than a century. It is manifest that one can not afford to be very positive in English orthoepy: if he is, he will be compelled either to retract or to qualify some of his sweeping statements.

The pronouncing dictionary is, as a general rule, a good guide to standard usage, though it can not be relied upon implicitly. When the orthoepists are all agreed upon a particular pronunciation, one ought to be very chary of using one’s customary or pet pronunciation that differs. The chances are that it is not in good repute. But when, on the contrary, the orthoepists themselves differ, one may reasonably infer that no statement of any one of them about the proper pronunciation of a word, however positive it may be, ought to be recognized as a binding authority. For no pronouncing dictionary is an absolutely final authority. Nor can it ever justly claim to be, since the pronouncing dictionary purports to record only such pronunciations as are sanctioned by good usage, and good usage ever varies with the living speech, which, like all living things, is always slowly changing from century to century. The change is sometimes so gradual that hardly the lapse of a century will reveal it. Again, for one reason or another, it is so rapid in development that even a generation suffices to record it.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] See A Question of Preference in Spelling.

[9] See Vulgarisms With A Pedigree.

[10] See Vulgarisms With A Pedigree.

[11] The Standard of Pronunciation in English, p. 230.

VULGARISMS WITH A PEDIGREE.

Never before was there so much enthusiasm manifested in linguistic studies as during the last quarter of a century, and even yet there is no indication of a waning interest. Not only have languages been studied in their relation to one another, but dialects also have come in for their share of attention in the pursuit of these studies. Nor has our own country been backward in contributing, through its dialectal and various philological associations, its quota to the science of philology. Authors in different parts of the country have written long and (it must be confessed, sometimes) tedious stories in the individual dialects of their respective localities. There are books in the dialect of the negro, as, for example, Thomas Nelson Page’s, to mention only one writer of a large class, those in the dialect of the Tennessee mountains, as, for example, Miss Murfee’s books, those in the dialect of the “Georgia cracker,” as the stories of Joel Chandler Harris, and a host of others in various parts of the country. These books are almost like the sands of the seashore for number.

So numerous and varied are the local dialects in this country that a contributor to the North American Review, some few years ago, ventured the thesis that from the very nature of the diverse and varied character of our local dialects, there can not be any such thing as a great national novel in the United States. While this, it must be admitted, is a somewhat extreme view, to which many do not feel prepared to subscribe, the fact yet remains that there are marked dialectal peculiarities in the spoken language of certain localities. These dialectal peculiarities, however, are fast disappearing before the onward march of the unifying influence of education, the printing press, and the railroad. When the leavening power of education has permeated the entire population of the country, there will result uniformity of speech, and dialectal variations from the common norm will linger but as a tradition.

The dialect authors, in the meantime, are doing the reading public a service in furnishing it with entertaining stories of an elevating character. Moreover, some of them at least, as for example, Page, Harris and others, are rendering literature and science an ulterior service, consciously or unconsciously, in preserving in their books types of a people and their speech which a wave of oblivion is rapidly sweeping away.

If one will examine the speech of the negro and the native-born illiterate white, it matters not whether the latter be from New England, or from the South, one will find that, excepting certain provincialisms peculiar to their respective homes, their language has much in common, and to the student of historic English, it exhibits indisputable evidence of its affinity with the English of the seventeenth century. This is obvious from such words as _hand-kercher_, _ar_ (air), _pint_ (point), _pison_ (poison), _gwine_ (going), _arrant_ (errand), _cratur_ (creature), _arth_ (earth), all of which are common alike to the “Yankee dialect” and to the negro dialect. The student who is familiar with the development of the English tongue will at once recognize these as standard, according to the received pronunciation of the seventeenth century. But in the development of the language, these pronunciations subsequently fell into disuse and were discarded by standard English. They still survived, however, in the lower stratum of society among the poor and illiterate who, denied the privileges and advantages of an education and therefore ignorant of the most elementary principles of grammar, inherited this speech from their ancestors and handed it down, with but little change, from generation to generation to their children.

The language of the seventeenth century was brought to America by the early settlers and was taught the slaves, and the tongue which the illiterate negroes then learned to speak they have preserved, without any material change, down to the present generation. Since this is the case, we can not then be surprised to find upon examination that many of their dialectal pronunciations and locutions are to be traced back to classic authors of an earlier period, yea, to Shakespeare himself. In this sense it is doubtless true that many of the fossilized pronunciations of our illiterates are much nearer the language of, and would therefore be more intelligible to, Shakespeare and Milton than present standard English.

Every one who has ever heard the old negro preacher giving an “exhortation” at the close of his fervid “sarmon” knows very well that, though the old man’s heart was perhaps right and himself on the way to the kingdom, his conscience never for a moment troubled him about his loose grammar. Notwithstanding his sanctification and his ecstatic anticipation of the joys of the kingdom for which he was bound, he had no conscientious scruples about “axin’” his “ole marster” if the latter was at all tardy in offering him the desired help. Perhaps many of those who were so familiar with the lingo of the old preacher never reflected that his language, like his heart, was, after all, not very far wrong and entirely without precedent when he “axed” for something. He was but obeying the scriptural injunction, which, according to Tyndale’s version, reads: “Axe and it shall be geven you.” Nor do they know that he was following, all unwittingly, to be sure, the example set by the first English printer, Caxton, who, in the preface to his edition of Vergil’s Aeneid, used precisely the same expression. If then the old parson blundered, as, according to our modern standard, he did, he at all events blundered in good company.

In Chaucer, “the first finder of our faire language,” as his ardent disciple Occleve rapturously, though quaintly, called him, we find the same word. Here we find also forms long since fossilized, though still preserved in the speech of the untutored, such as _kiver_, _driv_, _holp_, _writ_, _rid_, etc. In “Much Ado About Nothing” Dogberry, albeit he dislocates the dictionary in speaking of that villain who, he prophesies, would be condemned to everlasting redemption, yet uses grammar which, for his day, was above reproach, when he exclaimed: “O that I had been writ down an ass!”

So we must acknowledge that no violence was done to the language, however our sense of propriety may be shocked, when a century or so ago a Londoner remarked to his friend who had come up from his home in the country to see the play of “Orpheus and Eurydice,” and who was copiously bespattered with mud, as a result of his ride: “You came up to town, I suppose, to see Orpheus and _you rid I see_.” It would be difficult to find in the literature of that period a more felicitous illustration of a perfectly legitimate play on words which the contemporary pronunciation permitted.

Shakespeare, who could not resist the temptation to make a pun whenever opportunity offered, furnishes additional evidence of his versatility and ingenuity in his apt recognition of the obsolete pronunciation of many words of his time, which he turned to good account. Hence so many of his witticisms. In “Henry IV,” for instance, Falstall says: “If reasons were a plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion,” thus playing upon the old pronunciation of _raisins_ with which we are all familiar upon the lips of the unlettered. Thus he plays upon the antiquated pronunciation of _Rome_ as _room_, when, in “Julius Caesar,” Cassius says of Caesar’s vaulting ambition which o’erleaped itself:

“Now is it Rome indeed and Roome enough,
When there is in it but one only man.”

One of the conundrums of that period, which, by the way, could only have belonged to that period, illustrates the antiquated pronunciation of _chair_ as _cheer_, still current among the illiterate. “Why is a stout man always happy?” The answer was, “Because he is cheerful (chair full).”

It is needless to multiply random illustrations. We owe a lasting debt of gratitude to the philologists who have labored in this field and illuminated this subject which before was enveloped with almost Cimmerian darkness. These amenities of philology which have been mentioned above are but an incident of the arduous and laborious pursuits of those philologists. Let us consider for a while some of the results of their research which prove how the English language has changed.

Every student who has given any attention to the historical development of our speech knows that it has changed from age to age no less in form than in pronunciation. Indeed, it could not be a living tongue if it did not constantly change. The oldest form of the language which we call Anglo-Saxon gradually changed in form and sound till Middle English times, and then it continued to change even more rapidly till modern times. It has undergone no small change even since the days of Elizabeth, when our great dramatists spoke and wrote it. So great are these changes through which our vernacular has passed that a modern could not converse with one of his Saxon forebears of the time of the good and great King Alfred except through an interpreter of his own mother-tongue. If any man is skeptical on this point, let him test himself by trying to modernize offhand a passage from one of Alfred’s own works. Indeed, it is not necessary to go so far back. For Shakespeare, not to mention Chaucer, may prove a rock of offence and would no doubt appear to most of us to speak in an unknown tongue, could we hear him speak. Surely the commentators find no end of difficulties in interpreting his writings which have been preserved to us. Even were we to approach Shakespeare from the vantage ground of the famous Tieck and Schlegel translation which some patriotic German scholars with more zeal than knowledge assert is better than the original, no doubt, we should still encounter many hard sayings in the master dramatist’s language. Much less therefore should we be able to understand his spoken tongue, since spoken speech, in the very nature of things, changes far more than written language.

However, it is not our purpose here to use Shakespeare as a concrete illustration to show how our speech has changed even in the last few centuries. We have chosen two other authors who flourished long after the voice of the “sweet swan of Avon” had ceased to sing and his bones had moulded back to dust in the quaint parish church of Stratford. These writers are the distinguished satirists, the vigorous Dryden and the didactic Pope. Their rhymes are a fairly accurate index to the standard contemporary pronunciation.

Dryden has often been taxed with a certain laxity in his rhymes, and to one not recognizing the difference between the pronunciation current in England in the seventeenth century and that accepted at the beginning of the twentieth century, the criticism would appear to be well founded. But it must be borne in mind that the sounds of the English vowels, especially, have undergone a considerable change since Dryden’s day. We should not be surprised then if, when we apply the present standard of English pronunciation to his rhymes, they seem somewhat imperfect. However, this is not intended to extenuate Dryden’s false rhymes, of which there are confessedly some; for he had neither a sensitive ear nor a tender conscience in his work for the stage. His motto expressed in his own words was,

“He who lives to please, must please to live.”

Yet Dryden was, after all, no greater sinner in this respect than others of his day, or even of the present day, whose verses furnish such monstrosities as _has_ rhyming with _was_, _love_ consorting with _move_,--rhymes which “keep the word of promise to the eye and break it to the ear.” Let us now cite a few of the received pronunciations of the seventeenth century as indicated in the rhymes of that day. It will be observed that where these are still lingering in our speech to-day, they are regarded simply as vulgarisms.

Such words as _please_, _these_, _seize_, _severe_, _sea_, _speak_, _complete_, and the like were pronounced, in the seventeenth century and in the first half of the eighteenth, in a way which, to the modern ear, is decidedly suggestive of the Irish “brogue.” For both Dryden and Pope pronounced these words _plase_, _thase_, _saze_, _savare_, _say_, _spake_, _complate_: and this was the received pronunciation during that period. Pope, therefore, whose delicate ear was easily fascinated by the vigor and musical cadence of his master Dryden preserves but the aroma of the old tea, in that heroic couplet upon a mock heroic subject:

“Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Dost sometimes counsel take--and sometimes tea.”

Likewise, again he says:

“Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea.”

Dryden pertinently asks, in his Absalom and Achitophel:

“But when should people strive their bonds to break,
If not when kings are negligent or weak?”

So Pope likewise pronounced _weak_ rhyming it with _take_. Both he and Dryden offer numerous examples of _speak_ rhyming with _wake_, _sphere_ with _bear, hear_ with _care_, _retreat_ and _complete_ with _great_, and _treat_ with the French _tête_, as in Pope’s imitation of Horace:

“The guests withdrawn had left the treat,
And down the mice sate, tête-à-tête.”

In the Hind and the Panther Dryden uses the now vulgar pronunciation of _clear_ thus:

“The sense is intricate, ’tis only clear
What vowels and consonants are there.”

But this was a perfectly faultless rhyme then and was sanctioned by the best usage. So the vulgar pronunciation of _key_ is the only open sesame to this perfect rhyme in Dryden’s time:

“’Twere pity treason at his door to lay,
Who makes heaven’s gate a lock to its own key.”

Here also occurs the obsolete pronunciation of _says_ rhyming with _days_, and _said_ is wedded to _maid_ and even _have_ consorts with _slave_ and _wave_, all of which pronunciations have long ago been repudiated by standard English and survive now only in the speech of the rustics and upon Irish lips.

The story is told of an old Scotchman who, like some others not of Scotch descent, occasionally draw their inspiration from an illicit source that during a spell of serious illness he was visited by the good minister who pointed out to him his weakness and endeavored to persuade him to leave off his bibulous habit. When the minister told the erring Scotchman that in heaven whither he was going there would be no wine, he impulsively exclaimed: “I dinna ken, but I think it would be but _dacent_ (decent) to have it on the table.” This is precisely the way Dryden and Pope pronounced the word _decent_, and the pronunciation still lingers as a provincialism.

Pope rhymes _nature_ with _satire_ and makes Craggs exclaim in a dialogue:

“Alas, if I am such a creature
To grow the worse for growing greater.”

This rhyme at that time was perfect to the ear, though false to the eye. Again, Pope wishes--

“That all mankind might that just mean observe,
In which none e’er could surfeit, none could starve.”

As for the atmosphere, Pope called it _aar_, making the word rhyme with _star_, and _are_ and _were_ he pronounced occasionally _air_ and _ware_. These pronunciations, it is interesting to note, are still heard now and then from the lips of educated men, either as an affected archaism or more probably from sheer force of a habit of utterance acquired in youth.

There is another vulgarism with a pedigree which is especially to be noted because it is never heard now except from the unlettered. Yet in the seventeenth century this was the standard pronunciation. We refer to the obsolete pronunciation of such words as _oblige_, _join_, _poison_ and the like. In his Epistle to Arbuthnot in which Pope pilloried so many of his contemporary poetasters and there left them to the vulgar gaze of all subsequent ages, among others he damned Addison with faint praise as--

“Dreading e’en fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging that he ne’er obliged.”

Our _join_, _poison_, _point_, _soil_, _spoil_, and so on, would have offended the ear of Dryden and Pope, who invariably said _jine_, _pison_, _pint_, etc. In this respect the speech of our rustics is the speech which Dryden and Pope spoke, though their faith and morals are probably not those which these authors held.

In the words of Pope himself:--

“Waller was smooth, but Dryden taught to join
The varying sense, the full-resounding line,
The long majestic march and energy divine.”