Chapter III: Part 3

Dean Conybeare, in his able “Essay on Church Parties,”[48] has noticed this addition of Slang to our pulpit speech. As stated in his Essay, the practice appears to confine itself mainly to the exaggerated forms of the High and Low Church—the Tractarians and the “Recordites.”[49] By way of illustration, the Dean cites the evening parties, or social meetings, common amongst the wealthier lay members of the Recordite churches, where the principal topics discussed—one or more favourite clergymen being present in a quasi-official manner—are “the merits and demerits of different preachers, the approaching restoration of the Jews, the date of the Millennium, the progress of the ‘Tractarian heresy,’ and the anticipated ‘perversion’ of High Church neighbours.” These subjects are canvassed in a dialect differing considerably from English, as the word is generally understood. The terms “faithful,” “tainted,” “acceptable,” “decided,” “legal,” and many others, are used in a sense different from that given to any of them by the lexicographers. We hear that Mr. A. has been more “owned” than Mr. B.; and that Mr. C. has more “seals”[50] than Mr. D. Again, the word “gracious” is invested with a meaning as extensive as that attached by young ladies to nice. Thus, we hear of a “gracious sermon,” a “gracious meeting,” a “gracious child,” and even a “gracious whipping.” The word “dark” has also a new and peculiar usage. It is applied to every person, book, or place not impregnated with Recordite principles. A ludicrous misunderstanding resulting from this phraseology is on record (this is not a joke). “What did you mean,” said A. to B., “by telling me that ---- was such a very ‘dark’ village? I rode over there to-day, and found the street particularly broad and cheerful, and there is not a tree in the place.” “The gospel is not preached there,” was B’s. laconic reply. The conclusion of one of these singular evening parties is generally marked by an “exposition”—an unseasonable sermon of nearly one hour’s duration, circumscribed by no text, and delivered from the table by one of the clerical visitors with a view to “improve the occasion.” This same term, “improve the occasion,” is of Slang slangy, and is so mouthed by Stigginses and Chadbands, and their followers, that it has become peculiarly objectionable to persons of broad views. In the Essay to which reference has been made, the religious Slang terms for the two great divisions of the Established Church receive some explanation. The old-fashioned High Church party—rich and “stagnant,” noted for its “sluggish mediocrity, hatred of zeal, dread of innovation, abuse of Dissent, blundering and languid utterance”—is called the “high and dry;” whilst the opposing division, known as the Low Church—equally stagnant with the former, but poorer, and more lazily inclined (from absence of education) towards Dissent—receives the nickname of the “low and slow.” These terms are among persons learned in the distinctions shortened, in ordinary conversation, to the “dry” and the “slow.” The Broad Church, or moderate division, is often spoken of as the “broad and shallow.”

What can be more objectionable than the irreverent and offensive manner in which many Dissenting ministers continually pronounce the names of the Deity—God and Lord? God, instead of pronouncing in the plain and beautiful simple old English way, “G‑o‑d,” they drawl out into “Gorde” or “Gaude;” and Lord, instead of speaking in the proper way, they desecrate into “Loard” or “Loerd,”—lingering on the _u_, or the _r_, as the case may be, until an honest hearer feels disgusted, and almost inclined to run the gauntlet of beadles and deacons, and pull the vulgar preacher from his pulpit. This is, though a Christian impulse, hardly in accordance with our modern times and tolerant habits. Many young preachers strive hard to acquire this peculiar pronunciation, in imitation of the older ministers. What, then, can more properly be called Slang, or, indeed, the most objectionable of Slang, than this studious endeavour to pronounce the most sacred names in a uniformly vulgar and unbecoming manner? If the old-fashioned preacher whistled Cant through his nose, the modern vulgar reverend whines Slang from the more natural organ. These vagaries of speech will, perhaps, by an apologist, be termed “pulpit peculiarities,” and the writer may be impugned for having dared to intermeddle with a subject that is or should be removed from his criticisms. Honesty of purpose and evident truthfulness of remark will, however, overcome the most virulent opposition. The terms used by the mob towards the Church, however illiberal and satirically vulgar, are fairly within the province of an inquiry such as the present. A clergyman, in vulgar language, is spoken of as a “choker,” a “cushion-thumper,” a “dominie,” an “earwig,” a “gospel-grinder,” a “grey-coat parson;” a “spouter,” a “white-choker,” or a “warming-pan rector,” if he only holds the living _pro tempore_. If he is a lessee of the great tithes, “one in ten;” or if spoken of by an Anglo-Indian, a “rook.” If a Tractarian, his outer garment is rudely spoken of as a “pygostole,” or “M. B. (mark of the beast) coat.” His profession is termed “the cloth” (this item of Slang has been already referred to), and his practice is called “tub-thumping.” This latter term has of late years been almost peculiarly confined to itinerant preachers. Should he belong to the Dissenting body, he is probably styled a “pantiler,” or a “psalm smiter,” or perhaps, a “swaddler.”[51] His chapel, too, is spoken of as a “schism shop.” A Roman Catholic is coarsely named a “brisket-beater.”

Particular as lawyers generally are about the meanings of words, they have not prevented an unauthorized phraseology from arising, which may be termed legal Slang. So forcibly did this truth impress a late writer, that he wrote in a popular journal, “You may hear Slang every day in term from barristers in their robes, at every mess-table, at every bar-mess, at every college commons, and in every club dining-room.” Swift, in his _Art of Polite Conversation_ (p. 15), published a century and a half ago, states that “vardi” was the Slang in his time for “verdict.” A few of the most common and well-known terms used out of doors, with reference to legal matters, are “cook,” to hash or make up a balance-sheet; “dipped,” mortgaged; “dun” (from a famous writ or process-server named Dunn), to solicit payment; “fullied,” to be “fully committed for trial;” “land shark,” a sailor’s definition of a lawyer; “limb of the law,” a milder term for the same “professional;” “monkey with a long tail,” a mortgage; “mouthpiece,” the thief’s term for his counsel; “to run through the ring,” to take advantage of the Insolvency Act; “smash,” to become bankrupt; “snipe,” an attorney with a long bill; and “whitewash,” to take the benefit of the Insolvent Act. Comparatively recent legislation has rendered many of these terms obsolete, and “in liquidation” is now the most ominous sound a creditor can hear. Lawyers, from their connexion with the police courts, and transactions with persons in every grade of society, have ample opportunities for acquiring street Slang, of which, in cross-questioning and wrangling, they frequently avail themselves.

It has been said there exists a literary Slang, or the Slang of Criticism—dramatic, artistic, and scientific. This is composed of such words as “æsthetic,” “transcendental,” “the harmonies,” “the unities,” a “myth;” such phrases as “an exquisite _morceau_ on the big drum,” a “scholarlike rendering of John the Baptist’s great toe,” “keeping harmony,” “middle distance,” “aërial perspective,” “delicate handling,” “nervous chiaroscuro,” and the like. It is easy to find fault with this system of doing work, whilst it is not easy to discover another at once so easily understood by educated readers, and so satisfactory to artists themselves. Discretion must, of course, always be used, in fact always is used by the best writers, with regard to the quantity of technical Slang an article will hold comfortably. Overdone mannerism is always a mistake, and generally defeats its own end. Properly used, these technicalities are allowable as the generous inflections and bendings of a bountiful language, for the purpose of expressing fresh phases of thought, and ideas not yet provided with representative words.[52] _Punch_ often employs a Slang term to give point to a joke, or humour to a line of satire. In his best day he gave an original etymology of the schoolboy-ism “slog.” “Slog,” said the classical and then clever _Punch_, is derived from the Greek word “slogo,” to baste, to wallop, to slaughter. To show his partiality to the subject, he once amused his readers with two columns on Slang and Sanscrit, from which the following is taken:—

“The allegory which pervades the conversation of all Eastern nations
is the foundation of Western Slang; and the increased number of
students of the Oriental languages, especially since Sanscrit and
Arabic have been made subjects for the Indian Civil Service
examinations, may have contributed to supply the English language
with a large portion of its new dialect. While, however, the spirit
of allegory comes from the East, there is so great a difference
between the brevity of Western expression and the more cumbrous
diction of the Oriental, that the origin of a phrase becomes
difficult to trace. Thus, for instance, whilst the Turkish merchant
might address his friend somewhat as follows—‘That which seems good
to my father is to his servant as the perfumed breath of the west
wind in the calm night of the Arabian summer;’ the Western
negotiator observes more briefly, ‘all serene!’”[53]

But the vulgar term, “brick,” _Punch_ remarks in illustration,

“must be allowed to be an exception, its Greek derivation being
universally admitted, corresponding so exactly as it does in its
rectangular form and compactness to the perfection of manhood,
according to the views of Plato and Simonides; but any deviation
from the simple expression, in which locality is indicated—as, for
instance, ‘a genuine Bath’—decidedly breathes the Oriental spirit.”

It is singular that what _Punch_ says unwittingly and in humour respecting the Slang expression “bosh,” should be quite true. “Bosh,” remarks _Punch_, after speaking of it as belonging to the stock of words pilfered from the Turks, “is one whose innate force and beauty the slangographer is reluctantly compelled to admit. It is the only word which seems a proper appellation for a great deal which we are obliged to hear and to read every day of our life.” “Bosh,” nonsense or stupidity, is derived from the Gipsy and the Persian. The universality of Slang is proved by its continual use in the pages of _Punch_. Who ever thinks, unless belonging to a past generation, of asking a friend to explain the stray vulgar words employed by the _London Charivari_? Some of the jokes, though, might nowadays be accompanied by explanatory notes, in similar style to that adopted by youthful artists who write “a man,” “a horse,” &c., when rather uncertain as to whether or not their efforts will meet with due appreciation.

The _Athenæum_, the _Saturday Review_, and other kindred “weeklies,” often indulge in Slang words when force of expression or a little humour is desired, or when the various writers wish to say something which is better said in Slang, or so-called vulgar speech, than in the authorized language. Bartlett, the compiler of the _Dictionary of Americanisms_, continually cites the _Athenæum_ as using Slang and vulgar expressions; but the magazine the American refers to is not the literary journal of the present day,—it was a smaller, and now defunct, “weekly.” The present possessor of the classic title is, though, by no means behindhand in its devotion to colloquialisms. Many other highly respectable journals often use Slang words and phrases. The _Times_ (or, in Slang, the “Thunderer”) frequently employs unauthorized terms; and, following a “leader”[54] of the purest and most eloquent composition, may sometimes be seen another “article”[54] on a totally different subject, containing, perhaps, a score or more of exceedingly questionable words. Among the words and phrases which may be included under the head of Literary Slang are, “balaam,” matter kept constantly in type about monstrous productions of nature, to fill up spaces in newspapers; “balaam-box,” the term given in _Blackwood_ to the repository for rejected articles; and “slate,” to pelt with abuse, or “cut up” in a review. “He’s the fellow to slate a piece” is often said of dramatic critics, especially of those who through youth, inexperience, and the process of unnatural selection which causes them to be critics, imagine that to abuse all that is above their comprehension is to properly exercise the critical faculty. This is, however, dangerous ground. The Slang names given to newspapers are curious;—thus, the _Morning Advertiser_ is known as the “Tap-tub,” the “’Tizer,” and was until recently the “Gin and Gospel Gazette.” The _Morning Post_ has obtained the suggestive sobriquet of “Jeames;” whilst the _Morning Herald_ was long caricatured as “Mrs. Harris,” and the _Standard_ as “Mrs. Gamp.”[55]

The _Stage_, of course, has its Slang—“both before and behind the curtain,” as a journalist remarks. The stage-manager is familiarly termed “daddy;” and an actor by profession, or a “professional,” is called a “pro.” It is amusing at times to hear a young actor—who struts about padded with copies of all newspapers that have mentioned his name—talking, in a mixed company, of the stage as _the_ profession. This is after all but natural, for to him “all the world’s a stage.” A man who is occasionally hired at a trifling remuneration to come upon the stage as one of a crowd, or when a number of actors are wanted to give effect, is named a “supe,”—an abbreviation of “supernumerary.” A “surf” is a third-rate actor, who frequently pursues another calling; and the band, or orchestra between the pit and the stage, is generally spoken of as the “menagerie.” A “ben” is a benefit; and “sal” is the Slang abbreviation of “salary.” Should no money be forthcoming on the Saturday night, it is said that the “ghost doesn’t walk;” or else the statement goes abroad that there is “no treasury,” as though the coffers themselves had departed. The travelling or provincial theatricals, who perform in any large room that can be rented in a country village, are called “barn-stormers.” A “length” is forty-two lines of any dramatic composition; and a “run” is the continuous term of a piece’s performance. A “saddle” is the additional charge made by a manager to an actor or actress upon his or her benefit night. To “mug up” is to paint one’s face, or arrange the person, to represent a particular character; to “corpse,” or to “stick,” is to balk, or put the other actors out in their parts by forgetting yours. A performance is spoken of as either a “gooser” or a “screamer,” should it be a failure or a great success;—if the latter, it is not infrequently termed a “hit.” To “goose” a performance is to hiss it; and continued “goosing” generally ends, or did end before managers refused to accept the verdict of audiences, in the play or the players being “damned.” To “star it” is to perform as the centre of attraction, with your name in large type, and none but subordinates and indifferent actors in the same performance. The expressive term “clap-trap,” high-sounding nonsense, is nothing but an ancient theatrical term, and signified a “trap” to catch a “clap” by way of applause. “Up amongst the ‘gods,’” refers to being among the spectators in the gallery,—termed in French Slang “paradis.”

There exists, too, in the great territory of vulgar speech what may not inappropriately be termed Civic Slang. It consists of mercantile and Stock Exchange terms, and the Slang of good living and wealth. A turkey hung with sausages is facetiously styled an “alderman in chains,”—a term which has spread from the City and become general; and a half-crown, perhaps from its rotundity, is often termed an “alderman.” A “bear” is a speculator on the Exchange; and a “bull,” although of an opposite order, follows a like profession. There is something very humorous and applicable in the Slang term “lame duck,” a defaulter in stock-jobbing speculations. The allusion to his “waddling out of the Alley,” as they say, is excellent. “Breaking shins,” in City Slang, is borrowing money; a rotten or unsound scheme is spoken of as “fishy;” “rigging the market” means playing tricks with it; and “stag” was a common term during the railway mania for a speculator without capital, a seller of “scrip” in “Diddlesex Junction” and other equally safe lines. At Tattersall’s a “monkey” is 500_l._, and in the City a “plum” is 100,000_l._, and a “marygold” is one million sterling. But before proceeding further in a sketch of the different kinds of Slang, it may be as well to speak here of the extraordinary number of Cant and Slang terms in use to represent money—from farthings to bank-notes the value of fortunes. Her Majesty’s coin, collectively or in the piece, is known by more than one hundred and thirty distinct Slang words, from the humble “brown” (a halfpenny) to “flimsies,” or “long-tailed ones” (bank-notes).

“Money,” it has been well remarked, “the bare, simple word itself, has a sonorous, significant ring in its sound,” and might have sufficed, one would have imagined, for all ordinary purposes, excepting, of course, those demanded by direct reference to specific sums. But a vulgar or “fast” society has thought differently; and so we have the Slang synonyms—“beans,” “blunt” (_i.e._, specie,—not soft or rags, bank-notes), “brads,” “brass,” “bustle,” “coppers” (copper money, or mixed pence), “chink,” “chinkers,” “chips,” “corks,” “dibbs,” “dinarly,” “dimmock,” “dust,” “feathers,” “gent” (silver,—from argent), “haddock” (a purse of money), “horse nails,” “huckster,” “loaver,” “lour” (the oldest Cant term for money), “mopusses,” “needful,” “nobbings” (money collected in a hat by street-performers), “ochre” (gold), “pewter,” “palm oil,” “pieces,” “posh,” “queen’s pictures,” “quids,” “rags” (bank-notes), “ready,” or “ready gilt,” “redge” (gold), “rhino,” “rowdy,” “shiners” (sovereigns), “skin” (a purse of money), “stiff” (checks, or bills of acceptance), “stuff,” “stumpy,” “tin” (silver), “wedge” (silver), and “yellow-boys” (sovereigns);—just forty-three vulgar equivalents for the simple word money. So attentive is Slang speech to financial matters, that there are seven terms for bad, or “bogus,” coin (as our friends the Americans call it): a “case” is a counterfeit five-shilling piece; “half a case” represents half that sum; “grays” are halfpence made specially for unfair gambling purposes; “queer-soft” is counterfeit or lead coin; “schofel” refers to coated or spurious coin; “sheen” is bad money of any description; and “sinkers” bears the same and not inappropriate meaning. “Snide” is now the generic term for all bad money, whether coined or in notes; and “snide-pitching” or “schoful-tossing” is the term in use among the professors of that pursuit for what is more generally known as “smashing.” “Flying the kite,” or obtaining money on bills and promissory-notes, is closely connected with the allegorical expression of “raising the wind,” which is a well-known phrase for procuring money by immediate sale, pledging, or by a forced loan. In winter or in summer any elderly gentleman who may have prospered in life is pronounced “warm;” whilst an equivalent is immediately at hand in the phrase “his pockets are well lined,” or “he is well breeched.” Each separate piece of money has its own Slang term, and often half a score of synonyms. To begin with that extremely humble coin, a farthing: first we have “fadge,” then “fiddler;” then “gig,” and lastly “quartereen.” A halfpenny is a “brown” or a “madzer (pronounced ‘medzer’) saltee” (Cant), or a “mag,” or a “posh,” or a “rap,”—whence the popular phrase, “I don’t care a rap.” The useful and universal penny has for Slang equivalents a “copper,” a “saltee” (Cant), and a “winn.” Twopence is a “deuce,” and threepence is either “thrums” or “thrups.” “Thrums” has a special peculiarity; for while “thrums-buskin” represents threepence-halfpenny, the term “buskin” is not used in connexion with any other number of pence. Fourpence, or a groat, may in vulgar speech be termed a “bit,” a “flag,” or a “joey.” Sixpence is well represented in street talk, and some of the slangisms are very comical—for instance, “bandy,” “bender,” “cripple,” and “downer;” then we have “buck,” “fye-b’ck,” “half a hog,” “kick” (thus “two and a ‘kick,’” or 2_s._ 6_d._), “lord of the manor,”[56] “pig,” “pot” (the price of a pot of ale—thus half-a-crown is a “five ‘pot’ piece”), “snid,” “sprat,” “sow’s baby,” “tanner,” “tester,” “tizzy,”—seventeen vulgar words to one coin. Sevenpence being an uncommon amount has only one Slang synonym, “setter.” The same remark applies to eightpence and ninepence, the former being only represented by “otter,” and the latter by the Cant phrase “nobba-saltee.” Tenpence is “dacha-saltee,” and elevenpence “dacha-one,”—both Cant expressions. It is noticeable that coined pieces, and sums which from their smallness or otherwise are mostly in use, receive a commensurate amount of attention from promoters of Slang. One shilling boasts eleven Slang equivalents; thus we have “beong,” “bob,” “breaky-leg,” “deener,” “gen” (from the back Slang), “hog,” “levy,” “peg,” “stag,” “teviss,” and “twelver.” One shilling and sixpence is a “kye,” now and then an “eighteener.” It is noticeable that so far the florin has escaped, and only receives the shilling titles with the required numeral adjective prefixed. Half-a-crown is known as an “alderman,” “half a bull,” “half a wheel,” “half a tusheroon,” and a “madza (medzer) caroon;” whilst a crown piece, or five shillings, may be called either a “bull,” a “caroon,” a “cartwheel,” or a “coachwheel,” or, more generally than either, a “wheel” or a “tusheroon.” The word “dollar” is in general use among costermongers and their customers, and signifies exactly five shillings. Any term representing this amount “takes in two,” and represents the half-crown by the addition of the usual prefix. The next advance in Slang money is ten shillings, or half-a-sovereign, which may be either pronounced as “half a bean,” “half a couter,” “a madza poona,” “half a quid,” or “half a thick ’un.” A sovereign, or twenty shillings, is a “bean,” “canary,” “couter,” “foont,” “goldfinch,” “James” (from Jacobus), “poona,” “portrait,” “quid,” “thick-un,” or “yellow-boy.” Guineas are nearly obsolete, yet the terms “neds” and “half neds” are still in use. Bank-notes are “flimsies,” “long-tailed ones,” or “soft.” A “fin,” or a “finnuf,” is a five-pound note. Twenty-five pounds is a “pony,” and a hundred a “century.” One hundred pounds (or any other “round sum”), quietly handed over as payment for services performed, is curiously termed “a ‘cool’ hundred.” Thus ends, with several necessary omissions, this long list of Slang terms for the coins of the realm which, for copiousness, it is not too much to say, is not equalled by any other vulgar or unauthorized language in Europe.

The antiquity of many of these Slang names is remarkable. “Winn” was the vulgar term for a penny in the days of Queen Elizabeth; and “tester,” a sixpence (formerly a shilling), was the correct name in the days of Henry VIII. The reader, too, will have remarked the frequency of animals’ names as Slang terms for money. Little, as a modern writer has remarked, do the persons using these phrases know of their remote and somewhat classical origin, which may, indeed, be traced to a period anterior to that when monarchs monopolized the surface of coined money with their own images and superscriptions. They are identical with the very name of money among the early Romans, which was _pecunia_, from _pecus_, a flock. The collections of coin-dealers amply show that the figure of a “hog” was anciently placed on a small silver coin; and that that of a “bull” decorated larger ones of the same metal. These coins were frequently deeply crossed on the reverse; this was for the convenience of easily breaking them into two or more pieces, should the bargain for which they were employed require it, and the parties making it had no smaller change handy to complete the transaction. Thus we find that the “half bull” of the itinerant street-seller, or “traveller,” so far from being a phrase of modern invention, as is generally supposed, is in point of fact referable to an era extremely remote. This remark will safely apply to most descriptions of money; and it must not be forgotten that farthing is but a corruption of fourthing, or, literally, fourth part of a penny. The representative coin of the realm was often in olden times made to break up,—but this by the way. It is a reminder, however, that the word “smash,” as used by the classes that speak Slang from motives other than those of affectation, has nothing whatever to do with base coin, as is generally supposed. It simply means to give change. Thus:—“Can you smash a thick ’un for me?” means simply, “Can you give me change for a sovereign?” We learn from Erizzo, in his _Discorso_, a further illustration of the proverb “that there is nothing new under the sun;” for he says that the Roman boys at the time of Hadrian tossed up their coppers and cried, “Head or ship;” of which tradition our “heads or tails,” and “man or woman,” or “a tanner I heads ’em,” is certainly a less refined version. We thence gather, however, that the prow of a vessel would appear to have been the more ordinary device of the reverse of the brass coin of that ancient period. There are many other Cant words directly from a classic source, as will be seen in the dictionary.

Shopkeepers’ Slang is perhaps the most offensive of all Slang, though this is not intended to imply that shopkeepers are perhaps the most offensive of people. This kind of Slang is not a casual eyesore, as newspaper Slang, neither is it an occasional discomfort to the ear, as in the case of some vulgar byword of the street; but it is a perpetual nuisance, and stares you in the face on tradesmen’s invoices, on labels in the shop-windows, and placards on the hoardings, in posters against the house next to your own—if it happen to be empty for a few weeks—and in bills thrust into your hand, as you peaceably walk through the streets. Under your door, and down your area, Slang handbills are dropped by some “pushing” tradesman; and for the thousandth time you are called upon to learn that an “alarming sacrifice” is taking place in the next street; that prices are “down again;” that, in consequence of some other tradesman not “driving a roaring trade,” being in fact, “sold up,” and for the time being a resident in “Burdon’s Hotel” (Whitecross-Street Prison), the “pushing” tradesman wishes to sell out at “awfully low prices,” to “the kind patrons, and numerous customers,” &c. &c., “that have on every occasion,” &c. &c. These are, though, very venial offenders compared with those ghouls, the advertising undertakers, who employ boys, loaded with ghastly little books, to follow up the parish doctor, and leave their horrible wares wherever he calls. But what can be expected of ignorant undertakers when a London newspaper of large circulation actually takes out the death records from the _Times_, and sends a circular to each address therein, informing the bereaved persons that the “----” charges so much per line for similar notices, and that its circulation is most extensive? Surely the typical “death-hunter,” hardened though he may be, is hardly down to that level. In shopkeeping Slang any occupation or calling is termed a “line,”—thus, the “building line.” A tailor usurps to himself a good deal of Slang. Amongst operatives he is called a “snip,” a “steel-bar driver,” a “cabbage contractor,” or a “goose persuader;” by the world, a “ninth part of a man;” and by the young collegian, or “fast” man, a “sufferer.” If he takes army contracts, it is “sank work;” if he is a “slop” tailor, he is a “springer up,” and his garments are “blown together.” Perquisites with him are “spiffs,” and remnants of cloth “peaking, or cabbage.” The per-centage he allows to his assistants (or “counter jumpers”) on the sale of old-fashioned articles is termed “tinge.” If he pays his workmen in goods, or gives them tickets upon other tradesmen, with whom he shares the profit, he is soon known as a “tommy master.” If his business succeeds, it “takes;” if neglected, it becomes “shaky,” and “goes to pot;” if he is deceived by a debtor (a by no means unusual circumstance), he is “let in,” or, as it is sometimes varied, “taken in.” It need scarcely be remarked that any credit he may give is termed “tick.”

Operatives’ or workmen’s Slang, in quality, is but slightly removed from tradesmen’s Slang. When belonging to the same shop or factory, they “graft” there, and are “brother chips.” Among printers the favourite term is “comps,”—not compositors, though the same contraction is used for that word,—but companions, whether so in actual fact, or as members of the same “companionship.” A companionship is the number of men engaged on any one work, and this is in turn reduced to “ship:” sometimes it is a “’stab ship,” _i.e._, paid by the week, therefore on the establishment; sometimes it is “on the piece,” and anyhow it is an extremely critical organization, so perhaps it would be better to broaden the subject. Workmen generally dine at “slap-bang shops,” and are often paid at “tommy shops.” At the nearest “pub,” or public-house, they generally have a “score chalked up” against them, which has to be “wiped off” regularly on the Saturday night. This is often known as a “light.” When credit is bad the “light” is said to be out. When out of work, they describe themselves as being “out of collar.” They term each other “flints” and “dungs,” if they are “society” or “non-society” men. Their salary is a “screw,” and to be discharged is to “get the sack,” varied by the expression “get the bullet,” the connexion of which with discharge is obvious, as the small lecturers—those at the Polytechnic for instance—say, to the meanest capacity. When they quit work, they “knock off;” and when out of employ, they ask if any “hands” are, or any assistance is, wanted. “Fat” is the vulgar synonym for perquisites; “elbow grease” signifies labour; and “Saint Monday” is the favourite day of the week. Names of animals figure plentifully in the workman’s vocabulary; thus we have “goose,” a tailor’s smoothing-iron; “sheep’s-foot,” an iron hammer; “sow,” a receptacle for molten iron, whilst the metal poured from it is termed “pig.” Many of the Slang terms for money may have originally come from the workshop, thus—“brads,” from the ironmonger; “chips,” from the carpenter; “dust,” from the goldsmith; “feathers,” from the upholsterer; “horse-nails,” from the farrier; “haddock,” from the fishmonger; and “tanner and skin” from the leather-dresser.

If society, as has been remarked, is a sham, from the vulgar foundation of commonalty to the crowning summit of royalty, then do we perceive the justness of the remark in that most peculiar of peculiarities, the Slang of makeshifts for oaths, and sham exclamations for passion and temper. These apologies for feeling are an addition to our vernacular, and though some argue that they are a disgrace, for the reason that no man should pretend to swear or curse who does not do so, it is some satisfaction to know that they serve the purpose of reducing the stock of national profanity. “You be blowed,” or “I’ll be blowed if,” &c., is an exclamation often heard in the streets. “Blazes,” or “like blazes,” came probably from the army, unless, indeed, it came from the original metaphor, afterwards corrupted, to serve all turns, “to smoke like blazes.” “Blast,” too, although in general vulgar use, may have had an engineering or military origin, and the phrase, “I wish I may be shot, if,” smacks much of powder. “Blow me tight” is a very windy and common exclamation. The same may be said of “strike me lucky,” “never trust me,” and “so help me Davy;” the latter being evidently derived from the truer old phrase, “I’ll take my Davy on’t”—_i.e._, my affidavit, “Davy,” and sometimes “Alfred Davy,” being a corruption of that word. “By Golly,” “Gol darn it,” and “so help”—generally pronounced “selp” or “swelp”—“me Bob,” are evident shams for profane oaths. “Tarnation” is but a softening of damnation; and “od,” whether used in “od drat it,” or “od’s blood,” is but an apology for the name of the Deity. “Marry,” a term of asseveration in common use, was originally, in Popish times, a mode of swearing by the Virgin Mary;—so also “marrow-bones,” for the knees. “I’ll bring him down upon his marrow-bones,”—_i.e._, I’ll make him bend his knees as he does to the Virgin Mary. The Irish phrase, “Bad scran to yer!” is equivalent to wishing a person bad food. “I’m sniggered if you will,” and “I’m jiggered,” are other mild forms of swearing among men fearful of committing an open profanity, yet slily nibbling at the sin. Maybe, some day one of these adventurers will meet with the object of his desires, and then when fairly “jiggered,” whatever it may ultimately turn out to be, it is to be hoped he will prove a fearful example to all persons with the will, but not the pluck, to swear fierce oaths. Both “deuce” and “dickens” are vulgar old synonyms for the devil; and “zounds” is an abbreviation of “God’s wounds,”—a very ancient oath.

In a casual survey of the territory of Slang, it is curious to observe how well represented are the familiar wants and failings of life. First, there is money, with one hundred and odd Slang terms and synonyms; then comes drink, from small beer to champagne; and next as a very natural sequence, intoxication, and fuddlement generally, with some half a hundred vulgar terms, graduating the scale of drunkenness, from a slight inebriation to the soaky state which leads to the gutter, sometimes to the stretcher, the station-house, the fine, and, most terrible of all, the “caution.” The Slang synonyms for mild intoxication are certainly very choice,—they are “beery,” “bemused,” “boozy,” “bosky,” “buffy,” “corned,” “foggy,” “fou,” “fresh,” “hazy,” “elevated,” “kisky,” “lushy,” “moony,” “muggy,” “muzzy,” “on,” “screwed,” “stewed,” “tight,” and “winey.” A higher or more intense state of beastliness is represented by the expressions, “podgy,” “beargered,” “blued,” “cut,” “primed,” “lumpy,” “ploughed,” “muddled,” “obfuscated,” “swipey,” “three sheets in the wind,” and “top-heavy.” But the climax of fuddlement is only obtained when the “disguised” individual “can’t see a hole in a ladder,” or when he is all “mops and brooms,” or “off his nut,” or with his “main-brace well spliced,” or with the “sun in his eyes,” or when he has “lapped the gutter,” and got the “gravel rash,” or is on the “ran-tan,” or on the “ree-raw,” or when “sewed up,” and regularly “scammered,”—then, and not till then, is he entitled, in vulgar society, to the title of “lushington,” or recommended to “put in the pin,” _i.e._, the linch-pin, to keep his legs steady.

FOOTNOTES:

[32] An outgrowth of this latter peculiarity consisted in anyone with a high or prominent nose being, a few years back, called by the street boys “Duke.”

[33] This term, with a singular literal downrightness, which would be remarkable in any other people than the French, is translated by them as the sect of _Trembleurs_.

[34] Swift alludes to this term in his _Art of Polite Conversation_, p. 14, 1738.

[35] See _Notes and Queries_, vol. i. p. 185. 1850.

[36] He afterwards kept a tavern at Wapping, mentioned by Pope in the _Dunciad_.

[37] _Sportsman’s Dictionary_, 1825, p. 15.

[38] This introduction was written in 1859, before the new edition of _Worcester_, and Nuttall’s recent work, were published.

[39] Introduction to Bee’s _Sportsman’s Dictionary_, 1825.

[40] The Gipsies use the word Slang as the Anglican synonym for Romany, the Continental (or rather Spanish) term for the Cingari or Gipsy tongue. Crabb, who wrote the _Gipsies’ Advocate_ in 1831, thus mentions the word:—“This language [Gipsy] _called by themselves_ Slang, or Gibberish, invented, as they think, by their forefathers for secret purposes, is not merely the language of one or a few of these wandering tribes, which are found in the European nations, but is adopted by the vast numbers who inhabit the earth.”

[41] The word Slang assumed various meanings amongst costermongers, beggars, and vagabonds of all orders. It was, and is still, used to express “cheating by false weights,” “a raree show,” “retiring by a back door,” “a watch-chain,” their “secret language,” &c.

[42] North, in his _Examen_, p. 574, says, “I may note that the rabble first changed their title, and were called the “mob” in the assemblies of this [Green Ribbon] club. It was their beasts of burden, and called first _mobile vulgus_, but fell naturally into the contraction of one syllable, and ever since is become proper English.” In the same work, p. 231, the disgraceful origin of SHAM is given.

[43] I am afraid my predecessor was of a somewhat satirical turn of mind, or else he had peculiar notions of melody.—ED.

[44] This latter is, as I take it, an error, as the sign was originally intended to represent the king’s head and cross guns, and may still be seen in parts of the country.—ED.

[45] Savez-vous cela?—[I fancy this is from the Spanish _sabe_. The word is in great use in the Pacific States of America, and is obtained through constant intercourse with the original settlers.—ED.]

[46] At page 24 of a curious old Civil War tract, entitled, _The Oxonian Antippodes_, by I. B., Gent., 1644, the town is called Brummidgham, and this was the general rendering in the printed literature of the seventeenth century.—[This must have been the first known step towards the present vulgar style of spelling, for properly the word is Bromwich-ham, which has been corrupted into Brummagem, a term used to express worthless or inferior goods, from the spurious jewellery, plate, &c., manufactured there expressly for “duffers.”—ED.]

[47] This was more especially an amusement with medical students, after the modern Mohocks had discarded it. The students are now a comparatively mild and quiet race, with very little of the style of a generation ago about them.

[48] _Edinburgh Review_, October, 1853.

[49] A term derived from the _Record_ newspaper, the exponent of this singular section of the Low, or so-called Evangelical Church.

[50] A preacher is said, in this phraseology, to be “owned” when he makes many converts, and his converts are called his “seals.” This is Cant in its most objectionable form.

[51] “Swaddler” is also a phrase by which the low Irish Roman Catholics denominate those of their body who in winter become Protestants, _pro tem._, for the sake of the blankets, coals, &c., given by proselytizing Protestants. It is hard to say which are the worse, those who refuse to give unless the objects of their charity become converted, or those who sham conversion to save themselves from starving, or the tender mercies of the relieving officer. I am much afraid my sympathies are with the “swaddlers,” who are also called “soupers.”—ED.

[52] “All our newspapers contain more or less colloquial words; in fact, there seems no other way of expressing certain ideas connected with passing events of every-day life with the requisite force and piquancy. In the English newspapers the same thing is observable, and certain of them contain more of the class denominated Slang words than our own.”—_Bartlett’s Americanisms_, p. 10, edit. 1859.

[53] When this appeared, “all serene” was one of those street phrases which periodically spring up, have their rage, and depart as suddenly as they come into popularity. These sayings are generally of a most idiotic nature, as their latest specimens, “I’ll warm yer,” “All serene,” and “I’ll ’ave your hi”—used without any premonitory notice or regard to context, and screeched out at the top of the voice—will testify. I suppose we shall soon have another of these “ebullitions of popular feeling.”—ED.

[54] The terms “leader” and “article” can scarcely be called Slang, yet it would be desirable to know upon what authority they were first employed in their present peculiar sense.

[55] The _Morning Herald_ was called “Mrs. Harris,” because it was said that no one ever saw it, a peculiarity which, in common with its general disregard for veracity, made it uncommonly like “Mrs. Gamp’s” invisible friend as portrayed by Dickens. But the _Herald_ has long since departed this life, and with it has gone the title of “Mrs. Gamp,” as applied to the _Standard_, which is, though, as impulsive and Conservative as ever.—ED.

[56] This is rhyming slang, and is corrupted into “lord” only. “Touch-me,” a common term for a shilling, is also derived from the same source, it being short for “touch-me-on-the-nob,” which is rhyming slang for “bob” or shilling.

THE

SLANG DICTIONARY.

~A 1~, first-rate, the very best; “she’s a prime girl, she is; she is A 1.”—_Sam Slick_. The highest classification of ships at Lloyd’s; common term in the United States; also at Liverpool and other English seaports. Another, even more intensitive form is “first-class, letter A, No. 1.” Some people choose to say A I, for no reason, however, beyond that of being different from others.

~Abigail~, a lady’s-maid; perhaps obtained from old comedies. Used in an uncomplimentary sense. Some think the term is derived from Abigail Hill (Mrs. Masham), lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne, and a typical ABIGAIL in the way of intrigue.

~About Right~, “to do the thing ABOUT RIGHT,” _i.e._, to do it properly, soundly, correctly; “he guv it ’im ABOUT RIGHT,” _i.e._, he beat him severely.

~Abraham-man~, a vagabond, such as were driven to beg about the country after the dissolution of the monasteries.—_See_ BESS O’ BEDLAM, _infra_. They are well described under the title of _Bedlam Beggars_.—_Shakspeare’s K. Lear_, ii. 3.

“And these, what name or title e’er they bear,
Jarkman, or Patrico, Cranke, or Clapper-dudgeon,
Frater, or ABRAM-MAN; I speak to all
That stand in fair election for the title
Of king of beggars.”—_Beaumont and Fletcher’s Begg. Bush._ II. 1.

It appears to have been the practice in former days to allow certain inmates of Bethlehem Hospital to have fixed days “to go begging:” hence impostors were said to “SHAM ABRAHAM” (the Abraham Ward in Bedlam having for its inmates these mendicant lunatics) when they pretended they were licensed beggars in behalf of the hospital.

~Abraham-sham~, or SHAM ABRAHAM, to feign sickness or distress. From ABRAHAM-MAN, the _ancient Cant_ term for a begging impostor, or one who pretended to have been mad.—_Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy_, vol. i. p. 360. When Abraham Newland was Cashier to the Bank of England, and signed their notes, it was sung:—

“I have heard people say
That SHAM ABRAHAM you may,
But you mustn’t SHAM ABRAHAM Newland.”

~Absquatulate~, to run away, or abscond; a hybrid _American_ expression, from the Latin _ab_, and “squat” to settle.

~Acres~, a coward. From Bob Acres, in Sheridan’s _Rivals_.

~Adam’s Ale~, water.—_English._ The _Scotch_ term is ADAM’S WINE.

~Added to the List~, a euphuism current among sporting writers implying that a horse has been gelded. As, “Sabinus has been ADDED TO THE LIST.” Another form of expression in reference to this matter is that “the knife has been brought into requisition.” “ADDED TO THE LIST” is simply a contraction for “added to the list of geldings in training.”

~Addlepate~, a foolish fellow, a dullard.

~Admiral of the Red~, a person whose very red face evinces a fondness for strong potations.

~Affygraphy.~ “It fits to an AFFYGRAPHY,” _i.e._, to a nicety—to a _T_.

~Afternoon Farmer~, one who wastes his best opportunity, and drives off the large end of his work to the little end of his time.

~Against the Grain~, in opposition to the wish. “It went AGAINST THE GRAIN to do it, but I knew I must,” is a common expression.

~Aggerawators~ (corruption of _Aggravators_), the greasy locks of hair in vogue among costermongers and other street folk, worn twisted from the temple back towards the ear. They are also, from a supposed resemblance in form, termed NEWGATE KNOCKERS, and sometimes NUMBER SIXES. This style of adorning the head is, however, fast dying out, and the everyday costermonger or street thief has his hair cut like any one else. The yearly militia drill may have had a good deal to do with this alteration.

~Akeybo~, a slang phrase used in the following manner:—“He beats AKEYBO, and AKEYBO beat the devil.”

~Albertopolis~, a facetious appellation given by the Londoners to the Kensington Gore district. Now obsolete.

~Alderman~, a half-crown—possibly from its rotundity. Also a long pipe.

~Alderman~, a turkey; “ALDERMAN IN CHAINS,” a turkey hung with sausages.

~All of a Hugh!~ all on one side; falling with a thump; the word HUGH being pronounced with a grunt.—_Suffolk._

~All my Eye~, a remark of incredulity made in reference to an improbable story; condensation of “ALL MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN,” a vulgar phrase constructed from the commencement of a Roman Catholic prayer to St. Martin, “Oh, mihi, beate Martine,” which in common with many another fell into discredit and ridicule after the Reformation.

~All out~, by far;—“he was ALL OUT the best of the lot.” _Old_—frequently used by Burton in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_.

~All-overish~, neither sick nor well; the premonitory symptoms of illness. Also the feeling which comes over a man at a critical moment, say just when he is about to “pop the question.” Sometimes this is called, “feeling all over alike, and touching nowhere.”

~All-rounder~, a shirt collar going all round the neck and meeting in front. Once fashionable, but little worn now.

~All Serene~, an ejaculation of acquiescence. Some years back a popular street cry. With or without application to actual fact, the words ALL SERENE were bawled from morning to night without any reference to the serenity of the unfortunate hearers.—_See_ SERENE.

~Alls~, tap-droppings, refuse spirits sold at a cheap rate in gin-palaces.

~All There~, in strict fashion, first-rate, “up to the mark;” a vulgar person would speak of a handsome, well-dressed woman as being ALL THERE. An artisan would use the same phrase to express the capabilities of a skillful fellow-workman. Sometimes ALL THE WAY THERE. Always used as a term of encomium.

~All to Pieces~, utterly, excessively; “he beat him ALL TO PIECES,” _i.e._, excelled or surpassed him exceedingly. Also a term much in use among sporting men and expressing want of form, or decadence. A boat’s crew are said to “go ALL TO PIECES” when they through distress lose their regularity. A woman is vulgarly said to “fall to pieces,” or “tumble to pieces,” when she is confined.

~All to Smash~, or “GONE ALL TO PIECES,” bankrupt, ruined.

~Almighty Dollar~, an _American_ expression representing the manner in which money is worshipped. Modernly introduced by Washington Irving in 1837. The _idea_ of this phrase is, however, far older than the time of _Irving_. _Ben Jonson’s Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland_, commences thus—

“Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice, _almightie gold_.”

It seems almost obvious that the term must have been applied, not to dollars certainly, but to money, long before the time of Irving.

~American Tweezers~, an instrument used by an hotel-sneak which nips the wards end of a key, and enables him to open a door from the opposite side to that on which it has been locked.

~Andrew Millar~, a ship of war.—_Sea._

~Ain’t~, the vulgar abbreviation of “am not,” “are not,” or “is not.”

~Anointed~, _i.e._, eminent; used to express great rascality in any one; “an ANOINTED scoundrel,” king among scoundrels.—_Irish._

~Anointing~, a good beating. A case for the application of salve.

~Anonyma~, a lady of the _demi-monde_, or worse; a “pretty horsebreaker.” INCOGNITA was the term at first. Product of the squeamishness of the age which tries to thrust away fact by the use of fine words.

~Antiscriptural~, oaths, foul language. Anything unfit for ordinary society conversation.

~Apartments to Let~, a term used in reference to one who has a somewhat empty head. As, “He’s got APARTMENTS TO LET.”

~Apostle’s Grove~, the London district known as St. John’s Wood. Also called GROVE OF THE EVANGELIST.

~Apostles~, THE TWELVE, the last twelve names on the Poll, or “Ordinary Degree” List at the Cambridge Examinations, when it was arranged in order of merit, and not alphabetically, and in classes, as at present; so called from their being _post alios_, after the others.—_See_ POLL. The last of all was called ST. PAUL (or Saint Poll), as being the least of the apostles, and “not meet to be called an apostle” (_see_ 1 Cor. xv. 9). As in the “Honour” list (_see_ GULF), students who had failed only slightly in one or more subjects were occasionally allowed their degrees, and these were termed ELEGANT EXTRACTS.—_Camb. Univ. Slang._

~Apple-pie Bed~, a trick played at schools on new comers, or on any boy disliked by the rest. One of the sheets is removed, and the other is doubled in the middle, so that both edges are brought to the top, and look as if both sheets were there; but the unhappy occupant is prevented getting more than half-way down, and he has to remake his bed as best he can. This trick is sometimes played by children of a larger growth.

~Apple-Cart~, the human structure, so far as the phrases with which it is connected are concerned. As “I’ll upset your APPLE-CART,” “down with his APPLE-CART.”

~Apple-pie Order~, in exact or very nice order.

~Appro~, contraction of approbation, a word much in use among jewellers. Most of the extensive show of chains, watches, and trinkets in a shop window is obtained “ON APPRO,” _i.e._, “on sale or return.”

~Area Sneak~, a thief who commits depredations upon kitchens and cellars.

~Argol-bargol~, to bandy words.—_Scotch._

~Article~, derisive term for a weak or insignificant specimen of humanity.

~Atomy~, a diminutive or deformed person. From ANATOMY, or ATOM.

~Attack~, to carve, or commence operations; “ATTACK that beef, and oblige!”

~Attic~, the head; “queer in the ATTIC,” intoxicated or weak-minded. Sometimes ATTIC is varied by “upper story.”

~Attic Salt~, wit, humour, pleasantry. Partly a reference to a suggestive portion of Grecian literature, and partly a sly hit at the well-known poverty of many writers.

~Auctioneer~, to “tip him the AUCTIONEER,” is to knock a man down. Tom Sayers’s right hand was known to pugilistic fame as the AUCTIONEER.

~Audit Ale~, extra strong ale supposed to be drunk when the accounts are audited.—_Camb. Univ._

~Auld-Reekie~, an affectionate term for the old town of Edinburgh. Derived from its dingy appearance.

~Aunt Sally~, a favourite figure on racecourses and at fairs, consisting of a wooden head mounted on a stick, firmly fixed in the ground; in the nose of which, or rather where the nose should be, a tobacco-pipe is inserted. The fun consists in standing at a distance and demolishing AUNT SALLY’S pipe-clay projection with short bludgeons, very similar to the halves of broom-handles. The Duke of Beaufort is a “crack hand” at smashing pipe noses; and his performances some years ago on Brighton racecourse, which brought the game into notoriety, are yet fresh in remembrance. AUNT SALLY has, however, had her day, and once again the inevitable “three shies a penny!” is chief among our outdoor amusements.

~Avast~, a sailor’s phrase for stop, shut up, go away,—apparently connected with the _old Cant_, BYNGE A WASTE; or from the _Italian_, BASTA, hold! enough.

~Awake~, or FLY, knowing, thoroughly understanding. “I’m awake,” _i.e._, I know all. The phrase WIDE-AWAKE carries a similar meaning in ordinary conversation, but has a more general reference.

~Awful~, a senseless expletive, used to intensify a description of anything good or bad; “what an AWFUL fine woman!” “awfully jolly,” “awfully sorry,” &c. The phrase is not confined to any section of society.

~Ax~, to ask. Sometimes pronounced arks.

~Babes~, the lowest order of KNOCK-OUTS (which _see_), who are prevailed upon not to give opposing biddings at auctions, in consideration of their receiving a small sum (from one shilling to half-a-crown), and a certain quantity of beer. They can, however, even after this agreement, be secured on the other side for a little longer price. There is no honour among thieves—at all events not among auction thieves—nowadays.

~Back~, to support by means of money, on the turf or otherwise.—_See_ LAY.

~Back~, “to get one’s BACK UP,” to annoy or enrage. Probably from the action of a cat when preparing to give battle to an enemy.

~Back-end~, that portion of the year which commences with October. This phrase is peculiar to the turf, and has its origin in the fact that October was actually, and is now nearly, the finishing portion of the racing season. Towards BACK-END the punters and “little men” generally begin to look forward with anxiety to their winter prospects, and “going for the gloves” is not only a frequent phrase, but a frequently recurring practice.

~Back Out~, to retreat from a difficulty; reverse of GO AHEAD. Metaphor borrowed from the stables.

~Back Slang It~, to go out the back way. Equivalent to “Sling your hook out of the back-door,” _i.e._, get away quickly.

~Backslums~, the byeways and disreputable portions of a town.

~Back-Hander~, a blow on the face with the back of the hand, a back-handed tip. Also a drink out of turn, as when a greedy person delays the decanter to get a second glass. Anything done slyly or secretly is said to be done in a back-handed manner.

~Backer~, one who places his money on a particular man or animal; a supporter of one side in a contest. The great body of betting men is divided into BOOKMAKERS and BACKERS.

~Back Jump~, a back window.—_Prison term._

~Bacon~, the body, “to save one’s BACON,” to escape.

~Bad~, “to go to the bad,” to deteriorate in character, to be ruined. _Virgil_ has an almost similar phrase, _in pejus ruere_, which means, by the way, to go to the worse.