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THE LIBRARY
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THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
IN ENGLISH SPEECH
^
WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
IN ENGLISH SPEECH
BY
JAMES BRADSTPvEET GREENOUGH
PKOFESSOR OF LATIN IX HARVARD UNIVERSITY
AND
GEORGE LYMAN KITTREDGE
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN HARVARD UNIVEKSITY
ilontian
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1902 ''' ,. ■\
All ''i^hls rt'si'r7'Cii
rnPYKIOHT, 1001,
By the .MAC.MII, lax CO.MPAXV.
College
Library
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C'<fSL<)
MEMORTAK
FRANCISCI lACOBI CHILI)
MVLTOS ANNOS
VXIV. ][ARV. ritOFESSORIS
DVO
DISCIPVLI EIVS ET AMICI
VT CVM EO ITA IXTEK SE CONIVNGTI
VTERQVE EIV8DEM YXIV. PROF.
SED LUXUE DIVERS. AETATVM ET DIVERS. STVDIORVM
GRATI
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DEDKJANT
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PREFACE
The practical man, who rides in electric cars, talks by
the long-distance telephone, and dictates his letters to a
stenographer, seldom has time to think that he is the heir
of all the ages. Yet, however busy he may be, there are
moments when the amazing phenomenon of articulate
speech comes home to him as a kind of commonplace
miracle. To answer some of the questions that occur to
one at such moments is the main purpose of this book.
Chapters XIII and XIV are an essential part of the
treatment, but have been so adjusted that the reader who
linds them abstruse may skip them without scruple.
Obligations are thankfully acknowledged to a long line
of etymologists, lexicographers, and philologists, whom it
would be mere pedantry to call by name. The writers
find themselves especially indebted to the great Oxford
Dictionary, to the publications of Professor Skeat, and
to the etymological work of Professor Sheldon in Web-
ster's International Dictionary. Thanks are also due to
A. C. Goodell, Esq., Albert Matthews, Esq., and Professor
Sheldon for particular favors.
J. B. G.
(i. L. K.
vu
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. The Origin of Language
II. Language is Poetry
III. Learned Words and Poinilar Words
IV. Learned Words become Populai
V. Technical or Class Dialects .
\'I. Slan^' and Legitimate Speech
VII. The Literary Language
VIII. The Latin in ICnglish
IX. Fashion in Language .
X. Complexity of the English Vocabulary
XI. Unity of the English Vocabulary
XII. Cognates and I'lorrowed Words
XIII. The Development of \\'ords. 1. Roots, Stem
flection ....
XIV. The Development of ^^'ords. II. Derivatioi
Composition
XV. Fossils
XVI. The Conventional Character of Language
XVn. (Jeneralization and Specialization of Meaning
XVIII. Special Processes in the Development of Mea
Kadiation, etc. ...:..
XIX. Transference of ^Meaning . , . .
ix
. In
and
. 1
7
19
29
42
55
80
93
110
128
117
lot)
lUS
IS.')
l!);i
•JIM
2;J4
25!)
X
CONTEXTS
CHAPTER
XX. Desreneration of Meaning
XXI. Euphemism
XXII. Hyperbole or Exaggeration .
XX III. Folk-Etymology ....
XXIV. Doublets and Homonyms
XXV. Words from the Names of Animals
XXVI. AVords from Places or Persons .
Appendi:
PAGE
284
;]00
330
345
3G1
372
Index of Mattkhs
391
397
Index of Words
-111
WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
IN ENGLISH SPEECH
ABBREVIATIONS
^..V., Anglo-Norman. i., Latin.
A.S., Anglo-Saxon. L.L., Low Latin.
Fr., French. 0. II. Ger., Old High German.
Ger., German. O.X., Old Norse.
(tj*., Greek. P;/., Portuguese.
ItaJ., Italian. iS>., Spanish.
WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
CHAPTER I
THE ORIGIN OF LANGUAGE
The expression of our thoughts by means of hmguage
is a practice of so long standing that we accept it ahnost
as an instinctive performance. Nobody can remember
when or how he learned to talk. Indeed, it is seldom
possible to recall even those moments in later life when,
after the art of speech had been acquired, we became
familiar with particular words which, as we know well
enough, must have been from time to time added to our
personal vocabulary. We can, to be sure, remember when
we were first introduced to the technical language of some
particular science, as mathematics or medicine or political
economy. We may even recollect the person from whom
we first heard a new phrase which lias since become a part
of our habitual stock. And all of us are aware of specific
additions to our vocabulary from that ephemeral element
in everyday speech known as 'slang,' which is con-
stantly providing us with strange terms that force them-
selves upon our attention because everybody employs
them, and that rapidly die out only to be replaced by
equally grotesque novelties. But the sum-total of our
X'etrospect accounts for only the minutest fraction of
B 1
2 WOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
our whole outfit of words and phrases. And were it not
for our observation of infants, who cannot speak at all,
and of young children, who are painfully learning the art
of speech, we should inevitably believe that the expression
of our thoughts in language was spontaneous action, quite
independent of our own will and exertions, like breathing
or the circulation of the blood.
Yet no phenomenon is more amazing than that of speech.
Nor can any process be imagined more complicated than
that by which the vocabulary of a highly developed lan-
guage, like English, comes into existence and fits itself to
the multifarious needs of civilized man in the utterance of
thought and emotion. If to the process of oral speech we
add the corollary processes of reading and writing, we
have a series of phenomena Avhich no thinking man can
contemplate without a kind of awe.
Language is the expression of thought by means of
words; that is, by means of signs of a peculiar sort made
with the vocal organs. Since the tongue is one of the
most important of these organs, and since we are habitu-
ally conscious of using it in articulation, we often call our
language our ' tongue,' — and the word languar/e itself is
derived, through the French, from lingua, the Latin name
for that organ. 1
The origin of language is an unsolved problem. It was
once supposed that man was created a talking animal; that
is to say, that he could speak immediately on his creation,
through a special faculty inherent in his very nature.
Some scholars maintained that our first parents were
instructed in the rudiments of speech by God himself,
or that language in esse was a gift bestowed by the deity
1 M.E. langage, from Fr. langage, from L. linguq.
THE ORIGIN OF LANGUAGE 3
immediately after Adam was created. Along with these
opinions went, in former times, the opinion that Hebrew,
the language of the Jewish Scriptures, was the primitive
tongue of mankind. None of these views are now in
favor, either with theologians or with philologists. How-
ever we conceive the first man to have come into exis-
tence, we are forced to believe that language as we know
it was a human invention. Not language itself, but the
inherent power to frame and develop a language was the
birthright of man. This result, it will be seen, is purely
negative. It defines what the origin of language was twt,
but it throws no light on the question what it 2i'as, and no
satisfactory answer to the question has ever been proposed.
Some scholars believe that human speech originated in
man's attempt to imitate the sounds of nature, as if a
child should call a dog 'bow-wow,' or a cow 'moo.' No
doubt such imitation accounts for a certain number of
words in our vocabulary, but there are great difficulties
in carrying out the theory to its ultimate results. All
that can be said is that the ' bow-wow theory,' as it is
jocosely called, has never been driven from the field.
Another view, which may be traced without any great
difficulty to Herder's attempt to explain 'the speech of
animals,' has found a warm defender in Max Miiller.
According to this view, which has a specious appearance
of philosophical profundity, the utterances of primitive
man were the spontaneous result, by reflex action, of im-
pressions produced upon him by various external phenom-
ena. Though the 'ding-dong theory,' as it is derisively
called, is now discredited, and, in its entirety, is hardly
susceptible of intelligible statement, it may, after all, con-
tain a grain of truth.
Another partly discredited theory seeks the origin of
4 WOEDS AND THEIR WAYS
languai^e in such involuntary exclamations as oh ! bah !
■psJiaiu! and the like. Hence it is often called the ' pooh-
pooh theory.'
The upshot of the whole discussion is a confession of
ignorance. The impossibility of arriving at the truth is
more and more evident, as the stupendous length of man's
residence upon this planet before the dawn of history is
more and more clearly recognized. We do not know,
and we can never know, how language began. Yet we
can study some of the processes of its development in
form and in meaning for a period extending over several
thousand years, and we find these processes essentially
identical with those that we can imperfectly observe
within the limits of our own lifetime.
Well-chosen words, arranged in a felicitous order, have
a peculiar cadence which pleases the ear, irrespective of
any meaning which they convey to the mind.^ If the
cadence is sufficiently measured, the result is verse or,
to use the popular term, poetry. Now it is a familiar fact
of literary history that good poetry always precedes good
prose in the order of development. Indeed, the art of
writing unmetrical language in a forcible and pleasing
style is one of the latest achievements of any literature.
In the eighteenth century, when much attention was
given to literary and linguistic origins, but when these
were investigated on a basis rather of sentimental pre-
possession than of scientific reason, and when the body
of material available for evidence was extremely scanty
and had not been properly sifted, a peculiar theory of
iThis is shown by the popularity of nursery rhymes and similar non-
sensical jingles. Compare also 'The Hunting of the Snark,' and Ay-
touu's parody on Tennyson : ' Worship Mighty Mumbo -Jumbo in the
Mountains of the Moon.'
THE ORIGIN OF LANGUAGE 6
the connection between language and poetry gained very
general favor. It was expressed in a taking form by
Hamann, whose celebrated dictum, ' Poetry is the mother
tongue of man,' was taken up and enforced by Herder in
a way that gave it a commanding influence on contempo-
rary thought, — an influence, indeed, which it has not
altogether lost, even in the present age, whose tendencies
are so different from those that prevailed a hundred years
ago.
Primitive man was conceived b}^ the romantic imagina-
tion of the eighteenth century as leading an ideal existence.
Uncorrupted by contact with civilization, he lived near
to nature, and all nature spoke to him in a voice more
immediately intelligible than we can now conceive, even
in the case of a poet like Wordsworth. Thus sympatheti-
cally impressed by natural phenomena, man gave utterance
to the thoughts and feelings which they produced within
him in melodious sounds, which instantly took shape
as poetry. In short, according to this conception, lan-
guage and song are inseparable, and our poetry is nothing
but a survival, under more artificial conditions, of the
primitive language which mankind uttered in the Golden
Age.
Such theories are now known to be based on a false
conception of the history of mankind as well as of the
nature of articulate speech. Yet, like all theories that
have at any time commanded the assent of thinking men,
they must embody, in an imperfect expression, some quan-
tum of truth. Primitive man may not have sung like
the birds, but there is certainly a natural rhythm in
language to which the mind and feelings immediatel}''
respond, just as there is a natural rhythm in the beat-
ing of the heart, the drawing of the breath, and even in
6 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
many movements of the body which we call ' voluntary '
and regard as arbitrarily controlled by the individual will.
Language, that is to say, may not be poetry in esse, but
it is always potential verse. From another point of view,
too, the saying of Hamann may be justified if we inter-
pret it with the license that all oracles demand. There
is no process of figurative language, no device of gram-
mar or rhetoric, no whim even of pedantic theorizers on
eloquence, which does not find its parallel over and over
again in the unstudied processes of our ordinary speech.
It is profoundly true that 'all language is poetry.' ^
iFor further remarks ou the origlu of lauguage see p. 391.
CHAPTER II
LANGUAGE IS POETRY
When we examine the dictionary of any highly devel-
oped language like English, we are impressed not only
with the enormous extent of the vocabulary, but with its
infinite variety. There are plain words for common things
(as breads stone, Jioiise, child, horse') and simple physical
acts (as eat, drink, run, climb); there are formal or digni-
fied or poetical words for equally simple conceptions (like
residence, progeny, quaff, masticate') ; there are vague words
(like thing, affair, matter, act, do) and scientific terms of
rigid exactness (like oxygen, atmosphere, chloride, carbon,
inoculate); there are abstract terms for mental and moral
qualities (as sagacity, carelessness, p)robity, honor) and ad-
jectives describing persons who exemplify these qualities
(as sagacious, careless, honest, honorable); there are words
of a distinctly undignified character (like chum, crank,
bamboozle, blubber, baivL fizzle), others so dignified as to be
uncommon in familiar talk (as remunerative, emolument,
eleemosynary, recalcitrant) or so high-sounding as hardly
to be allowable even in elaborate writing (as exacerbate,
cachinnation, adumbrate); there are words which have
poetical associations (as golden, roseate, silver-tojigued,
gambol, soaring, eterne), and others so prosaic that every
poet avoids them (as fry, exchequer, discount, cross-ques-
tion, extra, 7nedium, miscellatieous) ; there are words so
technical as to be understood by specialists only (as elec-
7
8 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
trol^sis, cotyledon^ ontologij^ quaternions)^ and others so
childish as to be conlined to tiie dialect of the nursery (as
naiKjhty, mammy ^ dad, dolly').
Frequently, too, we find a number of different words
(' synonjnns,' we call them) for what is essentially the
same idea : ^ ask, request, beseech, pray, bey, jjetition, suppli-
cate, entreat, implore, solicit, crave, importune ; ayigry,
ivrathful, incensed, irritated, vexed, resentfid, enraged, furi-
ous, indigjiant, exasperated, irate, hot, infuriated ; join,
unite, associate, unify, link, connect, couple, coynbinc.'^
The same marvellous variety shows itself when we study
the different meanings of a single word. Thus figure may
be equally well applied to a person's form, a polygon, a
numerical sign, an elaborate drawing or picture in a book,
a metaphor or simile ; energy may be used in a general
sense or in the technical language of science ('the con-
servation of energy''); property may be a quality, one's
possessions, or (in theatrical language) a thing or utensil
used in setting the stage ; character may refer to one's
personal qualities, or it may denote a mark or sign in
writing or printing, or it may be colloquially used for an
eccentric person.
The question is immediately suggested : Whence does a
nation provide itself with this enormous mass of words,
with their multifarious meanings so aptly differentiated as
to express all the aspects of any conception that can occur
to the mind of civilized man ?
In the first place, no people is perfectly homogeneous,
1 So-called synonyms almost always differ from each other in some
shade of meaning, or in emphasis, or at all events in their connotations.
2 The reader may easily multiply examples by collecting, for instance,
the synonyms for avjkwanl, beautiful, heaUh>/, strange^ throiv, go, law,
sin, people, custom.
LANGUAGE IS POETRY 9
and this is strikingly true of the English nation, which is
' Saxon and Norman and Dane,' as Tennyson wrote, and
Celtic as well. Each component part of the population
contributes its proportion of words, — small or large, but
always characteristic, and distinct in many particulars from
the contributions of all the rest. Then, too, all cultivated
languages have borrowed much from outside nations with
whom they have come in contact in war or trade or litera-
ture. Our own language, as we shall see, has enriched
itself in this Avay from every quarter of the globe.
The varied materials thus brought together are con-
stantly subjected to what may be called mechanical pro-
cesses of growtli.' Every language has its machinery of
prefixes and sulhxes and compounds, by means of which a
single word may become the centre of a considerable group
of related terms : as, true, tni-th, trultj, iin-tnic, un-tru-ly,
tru-th'ful, tru-th-ful-ness, etc.
But these causes are not sufiicient to explain the richness
and complexity of our speech. Such a result was achieved
only when this great mass of variously derived material
had been subjected for centuries to the language-making
instinct ; that is, to the poetic faculty of man. The dictum
that 'all language is poetry,' then, if properly understood,
goes far toward answering the question with which we
are concerned.
The essentially poetical or figurative character of lan-
guage may easily be seen by comparing a number of
passages from the poets with ordinary'- prosaic expressions
When Wordsworth writes, in Laodamia, —
The gods approve,
The depth, and not the tunudt of the soul,
1 These processes will be studied in Chapters XIII, XIV.
10 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
the imaginative power of his phrasing at once appeals to
us. If, however, we compare such common expressions as
'He was deeply/ moved,' '•profoundly affected,' 'from the
bottom of my heart,' we recognize the same figure of
speech. In other words, the poetical history of Words-
worth's line goes back to that unknown time when some
primitive poet, without knowing that he was talking
poetry, tirst applied to the emotions words which in
their literal sense were only applicable to the physical
conception of depth. As time has passed, the primitive
metaphor has grown so familiar that it has ceased to be a
metaphor. It has become merely an ordinary meaning of
a group of common words. The modern poet, perceiv-
ing the imaginative significance of this usage, elaborated
the figure it embodied, phrased it anew with conscious
literary art, and thus, in an instant, restored it to its full
poetic rights. Similarly, we may compare with ' the
tumult of the soul,' such prose expressions as 'his mind
was disturbed,'' ' his agitation was painful to witness,'
'the violence of his emotion,'' — each of which, though no
longer felt as figurative, embodies a metaphor precisely
similar to Wordsworth's.^ We are not at this moment
concerned with the ethical or philosophical contents of
Wordsworth's line, for these might have been stated,
with perfect accuracy, in the plainest terms, but merely
with the poetical language in which he clothed his
thought.
When Banquo says to Macbeth that the witches' saluta-
tion 'might yet enkindle him unto the crown,' we perceive
1 Disturb is to 'drive asunder in disorder,' from L. dis-, 'apart,' and
turhd, 'disorder,' 'a riotous crowd.' Agitation comes from L. agito,
'to drive to and fro.' Violence is from vis, 'force.' Emotion is the
'act of moving (one) away,' 'disturbance (of mind).'
LANGUAGE IS POETRY 11
that enkindle is used metaphorically. So, also, when
Macbeth declares
' I have no spur
To prick the sides of my inteut.'
But we feel the figure less vividly iu such a phrase as
''fired with ambition,' and in the terms instigation and
ince7itive we are not conscious of any metaphor whatever.
Yet instigation comes from a root which means ' to goad,'
and incentive means literally ' that which sets the tune '
(from L. in and cayiere^ ' to sing ') ; so that both these
words were, in their first application to ' motives ' or
'promptings,' quite as poetical as either enkindle or spur.
The ordinary processes by which words change their
meanings are, then, essentially the same as the devices of
poetry ; or, to express the fact more accurately, the fig-
urative language of poetry differs from the speech of
common life mainly in employing fresher figures, or in
revivifying those which have lost their freshness from age
and constant use.
Language is fossil poetry which is constantly being
worked over for the uses of speech. Our commonest
words are worn-out metaphors.
Thus, depend is literally 'to hang from' (L. de-
pendo') ; egregious means ' selected from the [common]
herd ' (L. e, ' from,' and gre.v, gregis, ' herd ') ; spoil means
'to strip,' i.e. 'to strip off the armor, etc., of a slain
or defeated enemy '; front means 'forehead' (L. fro7is,
frontis') ; to fret is originally ' to eat up,' ' to devour '
(^A.^. fretan, for-., 'away,' and etan., 'eat'), — compare
' gnawing anxiety ' ; precocious means ' too early ripe '
(L. praecox., from prae-., 'before,' and coquo., 'to cook,'
'to ripen'); to thrill is literally 'to bore,' ' to pierce,'
12 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
and is related to drill (the same word is seen in nostril^
formerly Jiosethril) ; sullen means at first ' solitary ' and
comes (through the French) from L solus, ' alone '
(whence our adjective sole}.
Such illustrations might be multiplied indefinitely. In-
deed, almost every word that we shall have occasion to
study will serve as an example, for the processes that we
are considering go on incessantly so long as a language
is alive. We shall find that there is no device which we
are accustomed to call jioetical, no similitude so slight, no
metaphor so strained or so commonplace, that language
has not seized upon it to make new forms of expression
as the needs of advancing thought required them. Even
when the resultant words appear intensely ]n'osaic, the
processes that created them are identical with those of
artistic poetry.
This important truth may be further illustrated in the
growth of words from a single root.
The Indo-European family of languages (to which be-
long Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, English, and many other
tongues) had a simple linguistic form (a ' root ') pet,
which signified 'rapid motion across the field of vision.' ^
This root is clearly seen in the Latin verb peto. Since
such motion is produced either by faUlng or by flying^
words with these meanings have been formed from the
root PET in various languages of our family. ^ But such
motion may include also the idea of •• intentional direc-
tion.' Hence other words from the same root have ac-
quired the sense of ' aim,' and, by the transference from
actual to figurative aim, the meanings (originally nieta-
l)horical) of 'seek' and 'ask.' All three senses, 'aim,"
1 For tlie nature of roots and stems see Chapter XIII.
^ Thus, Gr. iriwTW, irLTviu, ' 1 fall ' ; Tr^ro/xai, ' 1 Hy.'
LANGUAGE IS POETRY 13
' seek,' and ' ask,' are found in the Latin verb peto.
Thus from this one root pet, we have, by various differ-
entiations of meaning, such words ^ as the following : —
Latin penna, 'a means of flying,' 'a wing,' 'a featlier,' — whence,
through the French, the English pen, originally applied to a quill
used for writing, but now extended to other devices (steel pen,
gold pen, stylographic pen, etc.).
Greek Trroio-t? (ptosis), 'a falling,' — then, figuratively, 'a case' in
grammar (since the genitive, dative, and other so-called 'oMique '
cases were conceived a.~^ falling away from the nominative, which
was fancifully called the 'upright case').
im-petus, ' a force of forward movement,' — first literal, tlien figurative.
ap-petite, 'a craving' (of body or mind).
re-peat, 'to go back to gel something,' 'to take up a thing a second
time.'
petition, ' a seeking,' ' a request.'
corn-petition, 'a seeking together,' — then, esiiecially, 'rivalry' (in
modern times applied especially to commercial rivalry).
petulant, 'butting' (as goats do), 'attacking,' — then figuratively, for
' ill-humored,' ' irritable.'
Another root, pit, meant ' clean,' and thence came the
Latin adjectives |>m^i^s, 'clean,' and purus, 'clear.' From
putus arose a verb puto, 'to clean.' In a vine-bearing
country, cleaning is particularly ' pruning,' and from that
idea, specially applied in surgery, we get amputation.
In mercantile language 'to clean up accounts' ( putarc
rationes} became a common expression for 'reckoning,'
and finally 'accounts' (^rationes') was dropped, and puto
was used for ' reckon ' in general (as in computation^. From
'reckon' we pass easily to 'think,' ^ and this becomes the
1 These words are built up by the mechanical means of word-forma-
tions developed in the various languages. Such formative mechanics will
be treated later (see Chapters XIII, XIV).
2 Compare the provincial use of / reckon for I tliink.' in both Eng-
land and America,
14 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ruling sense of puto (as in the adjective putative^. From
the same mercantile dialect comes imputo, ' reckon in,'
' credit or charge to the account of,' whence we get impu-
tation. From 'considering' or 'turning back to observe'
(cf. re-gard, respect, both meaning originally ' to look
back') we get the word reputation; and deputation is
derived from another idea of ' consideration carried out
in resolve.'' Thus from a root signifying originally 'clean,'
the imagination of the race, utilizing the mechanical means
wdiich the laws of derivation and composition afford, has
gradually formed a group of words of the most varied
meaning. Vine-dressing, surgery, mathematics, commerce,
and politics are all included within this circle, and one
word (reputation') is general enough to apply to all men.
Finally Ave may establish the poetical character of
language by a striking and conclusive test. Literature
has been attentively studied, as literature, for hundreds
and even thousands of years. Hence there has grown up
among scholars a set of technical terms, — the names of
the so-called ' figures of speech,' — which designate what
are commonly regarded as the ornaments or devices that
characterize the poetical style as opposed to the speech of
everyday life. Yet it is easy to see that all of these
' figures ' are perfectly familiar in our ordinary talk.
Metaphor, the most important of all figures, we have
already considered. It occurs everywhere, and one can
hardly utter a sentence without employing it. Every
occupation of mankind, every subject (however remote)
that engages man's attention, has furnished us with meta-
phorical expressions.^ We shall have occasion to return
to this point again and again. For the present we may
1 The particular sources of the English vocabulary will be discussed in
later chapters.
LANGUAGE IS POETRY 15
pass to other figures, making a selection from tliose com-
prised in the list commonly printed in works on grammar
or rhetoric.
Simile is involved in the great class of English adjec-
tives that end in -li/, which is an abraded form of like}
Thus a ' lyianly boy ' is a boy who is ' like a man ' in certain
traits of character. So cowardly^ ruffianly, saintly, homely
('like home,' and so 'ordinary,' 'commonplace,' with a
further development of meaning in America to ' hard-
featured,' 'plain'). Still clearer cases of simile are the
more recent adjectives compounded with like : as, child-
like, lionlike, birdlike, homelike, etc.
Metonymy is the figure by which a thing is designated,
not by its own name, but by the name of something that
resembles or suggests it, — as in Tennyson's ' the bright
death ' for ' the keen fatal knife,' or Horace's Pontica loiniis
for 'ship of wood from Pontus.' This 'figure' is so com-
mon in ordinar}^ speech that it seldom attracts our atten-
tion. Thus we say irons for ' fetters,' glasses for ' specta-
cles,' or 'drinking-glasses,' the knife for ' snrgery,' canvas
for 'sails,' style (from L. stilus, a writing implement)
for ' manner of writing,' bilboes for ' shackles ' (from Bilbao,
in Spain, famous for its iron and steel), and so on. Many
of the words thus treated are perfectly prosaic, but the
process is the same as that of poetry. A man's lineyi or
flannels are just as much metonymy as Milton's 'nodding
horror ' for the branches of a thick and dismal forest.
Synecdoche (the part for the whole, the genus for the
species, or vice versa') is seen in ' sixty head ' (of cattle),
'fifty sair (of ships), 'a bottomry bond,' 'a poll tax,' a
rumshop, a gin-palace, a cutthroat for a ' murderer,' a hang-
man for an 'executioner.'
1 See pp. 185-G for details.
16 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Antonomasia, or the use of a person's name for any one
who resembles him, is very counnon : a Solomon, a Shi/-
lock, 'a Daniel come to judgment,' a 3Icecenas, 'a reguhir
Nero,' 'a Roland for an Oliver.''
Hyperbole is natural in unstudied speech : ' I beg a thou-
sand pardons,' 'scared to death,'' ' Fd give the icorld to see
him.' Expressions of approval and disapproval are es-
pecially affected by hyperbole ('good for nothing,' 'a
magnificent idea '), and the language of schoolgirls is
proverbially made up of it: 'thanks awfully,' 'extrava-
gantly fond,' ' tremendously angry,' 'immensely obliged.'
Antithesis is frequent in the commonest expressions:
as, ' up and down,' ' hitlier and yon,' ' tliis way and
that.' So, 'Napoleon the Little,' 'Prince and Peasant.'
Alliteration^ a favorite poetic fancy, is found in such
phrases as, ' tit for tat,' ' blind as a bat,' ' spick and span,'
'the seven senses,' 'neck or nothing,' ' rough and ready.'
Onomafopa'ia has given rise to such words as tvhiz, buzz,
chickadee, bobolink, and countless others. INIany of them
are humorous, and not a few are slangy.
Irony appears in 'a pretty how-d'ye-do! ' 'Here's rich-
ness! ' and other colloquialisms. Horace's 'splendide
mendax ' is called a poetical oxymoron, but such phrases
as ' a magnificent failure,' ' a beautiful imbroglio,' ' to swim
like a stone,' show the same figure, — the joining of two
inconsistent words to produce a peculiar rhetorical effect.
Catachresis, as it is called by the pedantic grammarians,
— that is, an 'abuse' of language consisting in the em-
ployment of a harsh metaphor, — is not peculiar to the
poets. A well-known writer has ventured ' He spasmed to
him,' to express the act of a boy making signs to another
by contortion of the face. This is not likely to become
good English, but it might easily become slang, and ' mis-
LANGUAGE IS POETRY 17
uses of language ' quite as extraordinary have often made
their way into our vocabukiry. 'To jockey a contiding
partner ' is an example. A chaiish is a Turkish official
interpreter; in 1609, a particular chaush is said to have
distinguished himself by swindling a number of merchants
in London; hence chouse for 'defraud,' — a sufficiently
good instance of catachrcsis in its origin.
Litotes, or understatement, is found in all languages, but
is heard particularly in New England provincialisms, as
well as in slang. It comes partly from euphemism, and
partly from caution or hesitation. Thus we have ' the
late unpleasantness ' for the Civil War, ' no conjuror ' for
a stupid person, ' pretty well ' and ' so-so ' for ' in good
health.' The sarcastic rather ! may be compared.
Periphrasis, like litotes, is a favorite means of avoiding
plain language: 'he came to grief,' 'I hope nothing will
happen to him,' ' I am inclined to think your accounts are
not very accurate,' will serve as examples.
Pleonasm, or the practice of saying the same thing twice
over in the same expression, is a universal characteristic
of speech: as, 'go back again,' 'reared up,' 'go away
from here,' ' he fell down and jumped up again.' Exces-
sive pleonasm is of course objectionable, but it is idle for
the purist to object to such idiomatic phrases as those
which we have just cited. They are of the very fibre of
language. As Avell complain of ' John ! John ! ' or ' no! no! '
on the ground that one John or one no would suffice. The
double comparative Qmost unkindest cut of all'), formerly
in good use, is an excellent example of pleonasm. ^ The same
tendency may l)e seen in such compounds as inexsuperabilis.
1 Many forms which appear to be units are really instances of ' double
comparison.'' Tims nearer is vear (comparative of niyh) witii a compara-
tive suffix -or added. Similarly farther, nethermost, uppermost, and 30
c
18 WORDS AND THEIU WAYS
Thus we have subjected the principle that ' Language is
poetry ' to a variety of tests. We have compared specific
passages of poetry with ordinary phraseology, and have
found a similarly metaphorical character in both. We
have observed the imaginative nature of the development
of many meanings from a simple root-idea. We have
recoo-nized the existence of many so-called 'figures of
speech' in the commonest locutions of everyday life.
We may feel certain, therefore, that the principle is a
sound one, and may utilize it whenever it appears to be
useful in our further study of English words.
on. Compare the incorrect furthercr and furtherost, wliicli are simply
examples of the same tendency that have not had the fortune to gain
admittance to good linguistic society. Cf . p. 200.
CHAPTER III
LEARNED WORDS AND POPULAR WORDS
In every cultivated language there are two great classes
of words which, taken together, comprise the whole vocabu-
lary. First, there are those words with which we become
acquainted in ordinary conversation, — which we learn,
that is to say, from the members of our own family and
from our familiar associates, and which we should know
and use even if we could not read or write. They con-
cern the common things of life, and are the stock in trade
of all Avho speak tlie language. Such words may be
called ' popular,' since they belong to the people at large
and are not the exclusive possession of a limited class-
On the other hand, our lanofuaere includes a multitude
of words which are comparatively seldom used in ordinar}"-
conversation. Tlieir meanings are known to every edu-
cated person, but there is little occasion to employ them
at home or in the market-place. Our first acquaintance
with them comes not from our mother's lips or from the
talk of our schoolmates, but from books that we read,
lectures that we hear, or the more formal conversation
of highly educated speakers, who are discussing some
particular topic in a style appropriately elevated above
the habitual level of everyday life. Such words are
called ' learned,' and the distinction between them and
'popular' words is of great importance to a right under-
standing of linguistic process.
19
s
20 WORDS AND TTIETn WAYS
The difference between popular and learned words may
be easily seen in a few examples. We may describe a girl
as 'lively' or as 'vivacious.' In the first case, we are
using a native English formation from the familiar noun
life. In the latter, we are using a Latin derivative which
has precisely the same meaning. Yet the atmosphere of
the two words is quite different. No one ever got the
adjective lively out of a book. It is a part of everybody't
vocabulary. We cannot remember a time when we did
not know it, and we feel sure that we learned it lonL""
before we were able to read. On the other hand, we must
have passed several years of our lives before learning the
word vivacious. We may even remember the first time
that we saw it in print or heard it from some grown-up
friend who was talking over our childish heads. Both
lively and vivacious arc good English words, but lively is
'popular' and vivacious is 'learned.'
From the same point of view we may contrast the fol-
lowing pairs of synonyms: i the same, identical; speedy
oration ; fire, conflagration; choose, select; brave, valorous;
swallowiny, deglutition ; striking, percussion ; huilding, edi-
fice ; shady, umbrageous; pucker y, astringent; learned,
erudite; secret, cryptic; destroy, annihilate; stiff, rigid;
flabby, flaccid ; queer, eccentric; behead, decapitate ; round,
circular; thin, emaciated; fat, corpulent; truthful, ve-
racious; try, endeavor; hit, modicum; piece, fragment;
sharp), acute; crazy, maniacal; king, sovereign ; book, volume;
lying, mendacious ; beggar, mendicant ; teacher, instructor;
play, drama ; air, atmosphere ; paint, pigment.
The terms 'popular' and 'learned,' as applied to words,
are not absolute definitions. No two persons have the
1 Not all the words are exact synonyms, but that is of no importance in
the present discussion.
LEARNED WORDS AND POPULAR WORDS 21
same stock of words, and the same word may be ' popular '
in one man's vocabulary and 'learned' in another's.^
There are also different grades of 'popularity'; indeed
there is in reality a continuous gradation from infantile
words like mamma and papa to such erudite derivatives
as eoncatenation and cataclysm. Still, the division into
'learned' and 'popular' is convenient and sound. Dis-
putes may arise as to the classification of any particular
v/ord, but there can be no difference of opinion about the
general principle. We must be careful, however, to avoid
misconception. When we call a word 'popular,' we do
not mean that it is a favorite word, but simply that it be-
longs to the people as a whole, — - that is, it is everybody's
word, not the possession of a limited number. When we
call a word ' learned,' we do not mean that it is used by
scholars alone, but simply that its presence in the English
vocabulary is due to books and the cultivation of literature
rather than to the actual needs of ordinary conversation.
Here is one of the main differences betw^eeu a cultivated
and an uncultivated language. Both possess a large stock
of ' popular ' words ; but the cultivated language is also
rich in 'learned' words, with which the ruder tongue has
not provided itself, simply because it has never felt the
need of them.
In English it will usually be found that the so-called
learned words are of foreign origin. Most of them are
derived from French or Latin, and a considerable number
from Greek. The reason is obvious. The development
^It is instructive to study one's own vocabulary from this point of
vievv', — making a list of (1) those words which we feel sure we learned
in childhood, (2) those which we have learned in later life, but not from
books, (o) those which have entered our vocabulary from books. We
shall also find it useful to consider the difference between our reading
vocabulary and our speaking vocabulary.
22 WORDS AND TTIEin WAYS
of English literature has not been isolated, but has taken
place in close connection with the earnest study of foreign
literatures. Thus, in the fourteenth century, when our
language was assuming substantially the shape which it
now bears, the literary exponent of English life and
thought, Geoffrey Chaucer, the first of our great poets,
was profoundly influenced by Latin literature as well
as by that of France and Italy, In the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, the Greek and Latin classics were
vigorously studied by almost every English writer of any
consequence, and the great authors of antiquity were
regarded as models, not merely of general literary form,
but of expression in all its details. These foreign influ-
ences have varied much in character and intensity. But
it is safe to say that there has been no time since 1350
when English writers of the highest class have not looked
to Latin, French, and Italian authors for guidance and
inspiration. From IGOO to the present day the direct
influence of Greek literature and philosophy has also
been enormous, — affecting as it has the finest spirits in
a peculiarly pervasive way, — and its indirect influence is
quite beyond calculation. Greek civilization, we should
remember, has acted upon us, not merely through Greek
literature and art, but also through the medium of Latin,
since the Romans borrowed their higher culture from
Greece.
Now certain facts in the history of our language have
made it peculiarly inclined to borrow from French and
Latin. The Norman Conquest in the eleventh century
made French the language of polite society in England ;
and, long after the contact between Norman-French and
English had ceased to be of direct siernificance in our lin-
guistic develoj)ment, the reading and speaking of French
LEARNED WORDS AND POPULAR WORDS 23
and the study of French literature formed an important
part of the education of English-speaking men and women.
When literary English was in process of formation in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the authors whose works
determined the cultivated vocabulary were almost as famil-
iar with B^-ench as with their mother tongue, and it was
therefore natural that they should borrow a good many
French words. But these same authors were also familiar
with Latin, which, though called a dead language, has
always been t"he professional dialect of ecclesiastics and a
lingua franca for educated men. Thus the borrowing from
French and from Latin went on side by side, and it is often
impossible to say from which of the two languages a par-
ticular English word is taken. The practice of naturaliz-
ing French and Latin words was, then, firmly established
in the fourteenth century, and when, in the sixteenth
century, there was a great revival of Greek studies in
England, the close literary relations between Greece and
Rome facilitated the adoption of a considerable number
of words from the Greek. Linguistic processes are cumu-
lative : one does not stop when another begins. Hence
we find all of these influences active in increasing the
modern vocabulary. In particular, the language of sci-
ence has looked to Greece for its terms, as the language
of abstract thought has drawn its nomenclature from
Latin.
It would, however, be a great mistake to suppose that
all our ' popular ' terms are of native origin, and that all
foreign derivatives are 'learned.' The younger and less
cultivated members of a community are naturally inclined
to imitate the speech of the older and more cultivated.
Hence, as time has passed, a great number of French and
Latin words, and even some that are derived from the
24 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Greek, have made themselves quite at home in ordinary
conversation. Such words, whatever their origin, are as
truly popular as if they had been a part of our language
from the earliest period.
Examples of such popular ^ words of foreign derivation
are the following : —
From French : army^ arrest^ hay-, card^ catch, city, chase,
chimney, conveyance, deceive, entry, engine, forge, hour, let-
ter, mantle, mason, merchant, manner, mountain, maj), move,
navy, prince, pen, pencil, parlor, river, rage, soldier, second,
table, veil, village.
From Latin : accommodate, act, add, adopt, animal,
anxious, applause, arbitrate, auction, ageyit, calculate, cancer,
circus, collapse, collision, column, congress, connect, conse-
quence, contract, contradict, correct, creation, cucumber,
curve, ceyitennial, decorate, delicate, deyitist, describe, diary,
diffident, different, digest, direct, discuss, divide, educate,
elect, emigrant, equal, erect, expect, extra, fact, genius, genu-
ine, graduate, gratis, horrid, imitate, item, joke, ju7ictioti,
junior, major, ynagnificent, medicine, medium, miser, obsti-
nate, omit, pagayi, pastor, pauper, pedal, pendulum, permit,
picture, jilague, postpojie, premium, prevent, prospect, pro-
tect, quiet, recess, recipe, reduce, regular, salute, secure,
series, single, species, specimeii, splendid, strict, student,
subscribe, subtract, suburb, suffocate, suggest, tedious, tiinid,
urge, vaccinate, various, ventilation, vest, veto, victor, vim,
vote.
From Greek : anthracite, apathy, arsenic, aster, athlete,
atlas, attic, barometer, biography, calomel, catarrli, catholic,
catastrop)he, catechism, caustic, chemist, crisis, dialogue,
diphtheria, elastic, encyclopedia, hector, homeopathy, iodine,
lexicon, microscope, monotonous, myth, neuralgia, pariic,
1 The exact grade of ' popularity' differs in these examples (see p. 21).
LEARNED WORDS AND POPULAR WORDS 25
panorama, jyJiotop'aph, skeleton, stryclinine^ tactics^ telegraph,
tonic, zoology.
No language can borrow extensively from foreign
sources without losing a good many words of its own.
Hence, if we compare the oldest form of English (Anglo-
Saxon) with our modern speech, we shall discover that
many words that were common in Anglo-Saxon have gone
quite out of use, being replaced by their foreign equiva-
lents. The ' learned ' word has driven out the ' popular '
word, and has thereupon, in many cases, become ' popular '
itself. Thus instead of A.S. here \yq use the French word
army ; instead of thegn or theow, the French word servant;
instead of sciphere (a compound of the Anglia-Saxon word
for ship and that for army^, we use navy; instead of
micel, we say large; instead of sige, victory; instead of
swlthe, very ; instead of Idf. we say remainder or remnant,
— and so on.
Curiously enough, it sometimes happens that when both
the native and the foreign word still have a place in our
language, the latter has become the more popular, — the
former being relegated to the higher or poetical style.
Thus it is more natural for us to say divide (from L.
divido^ than cleave (from A.S. cleofan); travel than fare; ^
river than stream; castle than burg; residence than dwell-
ing; remain than abide; exjject than ween; pupil or scholar
than learner; destruction than bale; protect or defend than
shield; immediately than straightivay ; encourage than
hearten; present than bestow; firm than steadfast; direct
th-c\n foi'tliright; impetuous than heady; modest than shame-
faced; j^rince than atheling ; noise or tumult or disturbance
than din; p)eople than folk ;'^ p>rophet than soothsayer; fate
^ Fare is still common as a noun and in figurative senses.
■^ But the irregular plural folks is a common colloquialism.
26 WOIWS AND THEIR WAYS
than iveird; lancer than spearman; I intend than / am
minded; excavate than delve; resist than ivithstand ; beau-
tiful than goodly ; gracious than kindly. The very fact
that the native words belong to tlie older stock lias made
them poetical ; for the language of poetry is always more
archaic than that of prose.
Frequently we have kept both the native and the for-
eign word, but in different senses, thus increasing our
vocabulary to good purpose. The foreign word may be
. more emphatic than the native : as in brilliant., bright;
scintillate^ sparkle; astonishment, ivonder; a conflagration.,
a fire; devour., eat up; labor., work. Or the native word
may be more' emphatic than the foreign : as in stench.,
odor; straightforward, direct; dead, deceased; murder,
homicide. Often, however, there is a wide distinction in
meaning. Thus driver differs from propeller; child from
infant; history from tale; book from volume; forehead
from front; length from longitude ; moony from lunar;
simny from solar; nightly from noctui'nal ; churl from
villain; wretch from miser; poor ynan from pauper; run
across from occur; run, into from incur; fight from debate.
From time to time attempts have been made to oust
foreign words from our vocabulary and to replace them by
native words that have become either obsolete or less
usual (that is to say, less popular). Whimsical theorists
have even set up the principle that no word of foreign
origin should be employed when a native word of the
same meaning exists. In English, however, all such
efforts are predestined to failure. They result, not in a
simpler and more natural style, but in something unfamiliar,
fantastic, and affected. Foreign words that have long been
in common use are just as much English as if they had
been a part of our language from the beginning. There
LEARNED WORDS AND POPULAR WORDS 27
is no rational theory on which they shoukl be shnnned.
It would be just as reasonable for an Englishman whose
ancestors had lived in the island ever since the time of
King Alfred, to disown as his countrymen the descendants
of a Frenchman or a German who settled there three
hundred years ago. The test of the learned or the
popular character of a word is not its etymology, but the
facts relating to its habitual employment by plain speakers.
Nor is there any principle on wliich, of two expressions,
that which is popular should be preferred to that which is
learned or less familiar. The sole criterion of choice
consists in the appropriateness of one's language to the
subject or the occasion. It would be ridiculous to address
a crowd of soldiers in the same language that one would
employ in a council of war. It would be no less ridiculous
to harangue an assembly of generals as if they were a
regiment on the eve of battle. The reaction against the
excessive Latinization of English is a wholesome tendency,
but it becomes a mere 'fad' when it is carried out in a
doctrinaire manner. As Chaucer declares : —
Ek Plato seith, whoso that can him rede,
'The wordes mot be cosin to the dede.'
Every educated person has at least two ways of speaking
his mother tongue. The first is that which he employs in
his family, among his familiar friends, and on ordinary
occasions. The second is that which he uses in discoursing
on more complicated subjects, and in addressing persons
with whom he is less intimately acquainted. It is, in
short, the language which he employs when he is 'on his
dignity,' as he puts on evening dress when he is going to
dine. The difference between these two forms of language
consists, in great measure, in a difference of vocabulary.
28 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
The basis of familiar words must be the same in both, but
the vocabuhxry appropriate to the more formal occasion
will include many terms which would be stilted or affected
in ordinary talk. There is also considerable difference
between familiar and dignified language in the manner
of utterance. Contrast the rapid utterance of our every-
day dialect, full of contractions and clipped forms, with
the more distinct enunciation of the pulpit or the platform.
Thus, in conversation, we habitually employ such contrac-
tions as Til, don't, ivo7it, ifs, ived, he'd, and the like, which
we should never use in public speaking, unless of set pur-
pose, to give a markedly colloquial tinge to what we have
to say.
CHAPTER IV
LEARNED WORDS CECOIME POrULAR
The true distinction between a 'learned' and a 'popular'
word depends, as we have seen, not upon etymology but
upon usage. It makes no difference how or where a word
originated: it is popular if it is in common use among plain
speakers and is not felt by them as a 'big word.' Thus
coyitradict., arbitrate, and photograph were all three learned
words in their origin, yet are now distinctly popular. Con-
tradict (L. contradictus, from contra-, 'against,' and dicer<\
'to say') has forced out of common nse two native words
ivithsay and gainsay, both of them originally popular, so
that ivithsay has become obsolete and gainsay is learned.
The reason for this extraordinary shift is apparently the"
use of the learned word in giving instructions to young
children: 'You mustn't contradict people' is a very early
lesson in manners. With arbitrate the case is different.
Tliis word has gained such currency in the labor discus-
sions of the last few years that it is as familiar to every
workman as wages or strike. Hence it is a popular word,
though, like contradict, it had a learned origin (L. arbitra-
tus, participle of arbitror, from arbiter, 'judge'). Observe
that arbiter is still learned, though arbitrate and arbitration
are popular.^ The tliird ey^axn^Ae, photograph, differs from
the other two in its origin. At the outset, it was, if
possible, even more learned than contradict and arbitrate,
' Tlie practice of intcrnationnl arbitration has also helped to make the
words familiar.
29
30 WOEDS AND THEIR WAYS
being a term deliberately manufactured from the Greek
to describe a highly technical process. It is put together
from 2^^ioto- (supposed stem of ^W9, phos, the Greek for
'light,' seen in phos-phorus, 'light-bearer') and -graph, a
clipped form of the Greek verb <ypd(}>€iv (^(jrdphein), 'to
write.' If the process had remained a matter of scientific
curiosity, the word pliotograpli would have remained as
learned as, for example, cryptograph, — but it became the
commonest way of ' taking one's picture,' and hence the
word is known to every child. ^
These three examples show how varied are the causes
which bring learned terms into the popular category.
Scientific or technical words afford the clearest illustra-
tion of the process, since they are obviously learned in
origin and often become, as knowledge spreads, the com-
mon property of all but the most ignorant speakers. If
the progress of science makes the terms in question obso-
lete as a part of the technical vocabular}', their learned
origin may be utterly forgotten, and they may become
popular in the strictest sense. This is strikingly exempli-
fied in a number of words whose history is so interesting
that it must be given in some detail.
Ancient physiology divided the human body into solids,
liquids, and what may be called aeriform substances. Of
liquids there were thought to be four : Mood, phlegm, bile,
and black bile or melancholy. Three of these we recog-
nize as matters of fact; but the fourth, the 'black bile,'
was purely imaginary. These four liquids were known
as humors (humor he\ng the Latin word for 'liquid'), and
good health was thought to depend on the maintenance of
1 Compare tdefjraph (Gr. TrfKe, 'far'), a similarly learned formation
that has become almost equally popular. Phonograph (Gr. (punri ' sound ')
is pretty well known. Telephone (r^Xe and (pwvri) is entirely popular.
LEAIiNED WORDS BECOME POPULAR 31
a just proportion among them. This balance or commix-
ture of the humors was known as a man's temperament,
that is, his ' mixture ' (L. tempero, ' to mix '), or as his com-
plexion (from a Latin word meaning ' combination,'
derived from com-, 'together,' and plecto, 'to weave').
Thus if a man had more blood than any other humor in
his system, he was said to be of a sanguine temperament or
complexion (L. sanguis, 'blood') ; if more bile, of a bilious
temperament or complexion ; if more phlegm, of a p>1ileg-
matic temperament ; if more melancholy (or black bile), of
a melancholg temperament. If the temperament, or bal-
ance of the humors, was greatly disturbed, the result was
distemper, that is, a 'variance from the proper mixture.'
Saturnine, jovial (from Jove'), and mercurial, as names for
different temperaments or moods, preserve a faint echo of
the old belief that the planets govern our physical and
moral constitutions. We may compare lunatic, ' influenced
by the moon (luiia),'' hence 'insane.'
All this science is dead and buried, as science, but it
still survives in popular language, in which we constantly
use the old terms to describe different kinds of men or
different states of the mind or body. Thus a man may
still be ' good-humored ' or ' in bad humor,' and we still
speak of his mental or bodily disposition as his ' tempera-
ment.' When we call a person 'sanguine,' we revert,
without knowing it, to the old medical theory tliat a pre-
ponderance of l)lood in the temperament made one hopeful.
Similarly, we call a man ' melancholy ' or ' phlegmatic,'
thousrh we do not remember that the ideas which we
attach to these words go back to obsolete physiology. ^
1 MdancJioly, the imaginary fourtli humor, has kept its name alive in
medical science in mdancJiolin, a kind of madness once thought to come
from an excess of ' black bile ' in the system.
32 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Complexion has a particularly curious history. Origi-
nally, as we have seen, it was a medical term synonymous
with temperament. Since, however, the preponderance of
one or another humor was supposed to manifest itself in
the color and texture of one's face, complexio7i soon
received the meaning^ which we now attach to it. Thus
a learned and strictly technical term, of Latin origin, has
been rejected from the vocabulary of science and become
purely 'popular.' We have also preserved distemper.,
specializing it to diseases of animals, — as in ' the cattle
distemper.'
Temper., however, which was a synonym of temperament.,
has taken a different course. We use it vaguely for ' dis-
position,' but commonly associate it in some way with
'irascibility.' 'Keep your temper^ 'he lost his temper^
' \SS.-tempered^ show a trace of the old meaning ; but
the colloquial 'What a temper'^ he has,' 'He is in such
a temper! ' would never be referred to physiological
science by one who did not know the history of the
word.
But we are not yet done Avith the history of the word
humor. A diseased condition of any one of the four
humors might manifest itself as an eruption on the skin ;
hence such an eruption is still called a humor in common
language. Again, an excess of one of the humors might
make a man odd or fantastic in his speech and actions.
Thus humorous took the meaning 'eccentric/-'^ and a
J By a process of specialization (see p. 265).
2 That is, 'what a bad temper,' the modifying adjective idea remaining,
though no adjective is used. This kind of quasi-ellipsis is a common
cause of specialization of meaning in words (see pp. 2')2-.S).
^Eccentric means literally 'deviating from the centre' or 'having a
different centre' (G. (k, 'from' and Kivrpov, whence L. centrum,
' centre ' ) .
LEARNED WORDS BECOME POPULAR 33
'■humorous man' was what we call, in modern slang, 'a
crank.'' The 'comedy of humors,' of which Ben Jonson
is the best exponent, found material in caricaturing such
eccentric persons. From this sense, hiwior had an easy
development to that of 'a keen perception of the odd or
incongruous,' and we thus arrive at the regular modern
meaning of the word. It is certainly a long way from
humor in the literal sense of ' liquid ' or ' moisture ' to
humor in the sense in which that quality is so often asso-
ciated with wit.
Finally, the old physiology, as we have seen, ascribed to
the human system certain volatile or aeriform substances,
whi^h were believed to pass through the arteries and to
be of primary importance in all the processes of life.
These were called sinrits^ (L. spiritus, 'breath' or 'air'),
and they fell into three classes, the natural, the vital, and
the animal spirits. It is in unconscious obedience to this
superannuated science that we use such words and phrases
as 'in high (low, good, bad) spirits,^ high-spirited, loiv-
spirited, ' a spirited horse,' ' a spiritless performance,' and
that we speak of one who is spontaneously merry as
having 'a great flow of animal spirits.''
The dead science of astrology has also bequeathed to us
a number of interesting terms, — once severely technical,
now for the most part commonplace enough. Disaster is
'bad star' ( L. dis-, 'away from,' 'contrary,' and astrum,
'star'; cf. a.^iter, 'the star-flower,' asteroid, 'little star,' and
astro-logy itself). 'This business has an evil aspect'' is a
similar figure. The aspect of the heavens is the way in
which the planets look at each other and at the earth
(L. aspectus, 'looking at,' 'glance'). Influe'nce is the
iNot to be confounded with the rehgious and theological senses of
spirit, which are many.
34 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
' in-flowing ' (L. fluo, ' flow ') of planetary power upon the
fortunes of men. Otlier astrological terms are predomi-
nant (said of a planet more powerful than the rest at a
given moment), ' his star is in the ascendant,' and horoscojje;
but these are less familiar, and the last-mentioned is still
technical. Compare also ' born under a lucky star,'' and
the trivial oath 'my stars/' which has been humorously
extended to 'my stars and garters!' as if the allusion
were to the insiacnia of the Order of the Garter, which
include an eight-pointed star encircling the figure of
St. George.^
In the same way, even the most abstruse philosophy
has contributed familiar words to our common stock.
About the middle of the fourth century before Christ,
when the world had been inundated with a flood of new
ideas for some three hundred years, — a period of such in-
tellectual activity as mankind had never seen, — it occurred
to Aristotle, in his matchless peripatetic lectures, to want
short words for the general philosophic ideas of the
' nature ' and ' magnitude ' of any individual thing. He
found in the Greek language the words ttoZo? and iroao^
(^poios ixud p<^so8'), 'of what sort?' and 'how great?' ready
to his hand, but no one had ever before needed abstract
terms for these ideas. ^ So, by means of derivative endings
existing in our family of languages, he boldly formed
'TTOLorrj'i (^poiofes'), and iroaoTrj'i (posdtes'), which mnst have
appeared to tlie Greek purist of his time as strange and
uncouth as of-u'hat-sort-ness and lioiv-much-ness would seem
1 Such elaboration is conuuon in oaths, its object being to disguise their
profanity (see p. 304). Justice Shallow's 'by cock and pie' is a good
example. 'By cock' is (like hy gad, by gosh, etc.) a mere corruption to
make the oath innocuous, and pic. (magpie) is added to carry out the
suggestion that cock refers to a bird. The suggestion thatpze in this oath
is the 'mass-book ' is unfounded. ^ Except Plato, Thepet., 182 A.
LEARNED WORDS BECOME POPULAR 35
to US to-da3^^ But they served liis turn, and took their
place in the technical dialect of the Greek philosophers.
Two hundred years later, when Cicero interpreted these
ideas to his countrymen, he imitated the boldness of
Aristotle, and ventured qualitas (from qualis, 'of what
sort?'), a Latin word of equivalent meaning to iroLorri'i
(^poidtes) and similar formation. Still later, quantitas
(from quantus, 'Jiow much?') was manufactured as a
translation of ^ttocto't?/? (^posStes^.
So, in the course of linguistic history, these two Greek
terms for ' how-much-ness ' and ' of-what-sort-ness,' in-
vented to supply a refined philosophic need, have in the
forms quayitity and quality become the common possession
of every shopman, and are two of the most familiar words
in the English language.
Quiddity (L. quidditas^, coined by the mediaeval school-
men when qualitas had lost some of its scientific exactness,
has had less currency. It is formed from the interrogative
Latin quid, 'what?' and means ' what-ness,' 'characteristic
quality.' Since the schoolmen were proverbial hair-split-
ters, quiddity has taken on the sense of a 'quibble."^ We
may barely mention the colloquial ' He knows whafs
whatf which seems to be derived from the arsfuments of
these same philosophers, who, having asked themselves
'What is this and that?' until they had exhausted the list
of available subtleties, achieved the famous question ' quid
^ Some years ago a New England philosopher was much ridiculed for
using 'the thing-ness of the here' for 'the actuality of the present.'
There was nothing absurd in his coinage : it was simply minted ' an age
too late.'
'^Compare quillet (from Jj. qnid-Uhet, 'what you please'), and qnip
from quipproquo (for quid pro qno), ' repartee.' Quibhlp, is thought to be
a contamination of quip iuni quillet {or quiddity). The words all echo
the jargon of the schools.
36 WORDS AND THEIR WATS
est quid f " ' What is this ivhat that we use so glibly ? '
Butler's Hudibras puts the matter in a nutshell: —
Ho knew what's wliat! and tliat's as liigh
As metaphysic wit can fly.
About a century before Aristotle's time, Empedocles
had conceived the universe as composed of four sub-
stances, — fire (conceived as material), air, earth, and
water, to which, inasmuch as things were regarded as
made up of these as component parts, just as letters are
variously combined into words, was given the name aroi'x^eia
(^stoicheia), 'letters of the alphabet.' This was after-
ward translated into Latin by the word elementa^ which
also meant 'letters,' and a singular form elemeyitum was
made to fit it. The subsequent history of this word has
been most curious. In English, element has retained all
of its meanings. In the original sense of 'letters of the
alphabet ' we use elements for ' the rudiments of learning '
(the a-b-c of knowledge), and have the adjective elementary.
But the word is also applied to the four elements, fire,
air, water, and earth, or to any of them (particularly the
first three): as, 'the fury of the elements,' for a storm,
' the fiery elements,' ' out of its element ' (as of a fish out
of water), ' the fiery element,' ' the watery element.' In
older English ' the element ' often meant ' the heaven,'
'the sky,' — as in 'the cinders of the element '^ for the
' stars,' — and this use still survives among the negroes in
the Southern states. Finally, though the doctrine in-
volved has lone: ceased to be consistent with modern
thought, the word also retains the sense of 'elements
generally,' ' constituent materials,' and the like, and has
1 Shakspere, Henry IV, Part T, act iv, scene 3, 1. 58.
LEARNED WORDS BECOME POPULAR 37
given such words as elemental, in the same generalized
sense.
Now Aristotle, feeling the want of some more subtle
material for the heavens, suspected the existence of a
hfth substance {aether), to which his successors gave the
name irefxinrj ovaia (^jjempte oiisia), ' fifth being ' or ' form
of existence,' utilizing the abstract noun ovaia (^ousia),
'being,' formed from mu (om), the present particle of elvac
(ei7iai),'- to be.' The Romans, not having the participle of
esse, nor this abstract from it, got along without the word.
Cicero calls the aether quintum genus, ' fifth kind,' and
quinta natura, ' fifth nature ' ; and Horace loosely uses
quinta pars, ' fifth part,' in alluding to the doctrine.
But the later Latin devised a rude abstract form esse?itia
(as if from esse) to represent the idea, and this in English
became essence, a word which, as well as quintessence (^quinta
essentia, 'fifth essence ') as a kind of superlative, has had
the widest currency in the language for the most subtle
component part of anything, or that which makes it what
it is, — as it were, the ' soul ' of a thing.
Thus language picks out with almost a chemical cer-
tainty what is suitable for it, and any language at any
moment is a naturally selected residuum of all which the
human mind has thought or conceived ever since that line
of civilization began.
In the fifth century B.C., there came to Athens from
Cilicia, the native country, it will be remembered, of Paul
the Apostle, a remarkable man, Zeno, and established a
school of philosophers, who, from their habit of teaching in
one of the great colonnades of Athens, were called /Stoics,
or 'philosophers of the Porch.' ^ This sect influenced the
thought of the world for more than five hundred years,
^ Gr. cTTWi/tos, I'loui (TTod, 'roofed colonnade.'
38 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
and counted among its devotees many of the grandest souls
of pagan times. They developed a marvellous scheme of
the universe, in which everything visible and invisible was
organically connected into a stupendous unit of which ' the
Body Nature is and God the Soul,' or rather into a living
sentient organism, the soul of which was the only God.^
The speculations of the Stoics profoundly affected all
subsequent thought, so that it is almost impossible to state
their doctrines without using words that bear the Stoic
imprint. It is, liowever, in the realm of ethics that we
hnd language most vividly impressed by their conceptions.
The aim of all tlie philosophers of that age was a selfish
one, — the superiority of the soul of the sapiens, or 'sage,'
to all the chances or changes of the universe, his complete
serenity, 'equanimity' (ae^'MammYas) or 'composure ' (secu-
ritas, p. 278) amid the whirl of things about him. This
the sect sought to find in the perfect mental and moral
conformity of the sapiens to the scheme of the universe
and its governing soul. Providence, or what we should
call ' the divine Avill.' Sequi yiaturam was their motto.
Though the controlling motive of such conformity was
selfishness, yet, since the sapiens too was but a part of
the whole organism, his scheme of conduct necessarily in-
cluded acting for the good of the universe as well, though
he acted primarily for himself.
The serenity above mentioned was incompatible with
the existence in the sage of any ruffling emotions, such as
love, hate, desire, or fear, wliich, from their disturbing
nature, the Stoics called irdOi] (pdtJu', plural of 7rddo<;,
^ III accordance with this idea, even hnman speech, being divinely con-
stituted, had within it the true nature of all things ; for was not language
a part of the same stupendous organism ? Hence the search for the
' etymon ' in the endeavor to ascertain the truths of nature (pp. 229 ff.)-
LEARNED WORDS BECOME POPULAR 39
pathos)^ ' diseases,' a word that was derived from a root
meaning originally ' suffer,' though it had long been special-
ized to 'suffering from disease.'^ Hence this philosophic
serenity was called airddeta (^apdtheia) or ' freedom from
disease.' But since the Stoics identified emotions with
diseases, this apdtheia was 'freedom from emotions' (ttci^t;),
whence apatliy, its English representative, means ' absence
of feeling,' as in 'the apathy of despair.' Thus we have
abandoned the idea of 'disease,' but we still keep the term
denoting ' freedom from it ' to express ' want of feeling,'
the idea that the word acquired through the conceptions
of the Stoics. Compare also stoical and stoicism in a similar
sense.
Now when the Stoic ethics were expounded in Latin,
Gv. pathos was literally translated,^ not by any Latin term
thus used in the same meaning, Ijut by passio, a word that
meant simply 'suffering,' from ■patior\'- to suffer,' which is
rightly or wrongly supposed to be from the same root.
In Eno^lisli we have retained the natural meaning of
passio, that is, 'suffering,' in a few phrases (such as 'the
p>assion of our Lord'}, just as we h^we patient, 'suffering,'
'sufferer,' 'a patient,' and p)assive, all from patior' in its
common acceptation. But since the Latin passio was used
to translate Trdda (^pcitJios) in the Stoic sense, it came
more and more to be applied to those ' emotions ' which
the Stoics called by that name. Borrowed by us in this
meaning also, and variously specialized as referring to
particular emotions, it came to be used in English as we
almost always use it to-day, for 'a [)assion,' or 'the pas-
sions.' This likewise accounts for our adjective impassive,
' Thus, when Cicero wished to represent it in Latin, he used morhi (the
word which we liave in morhid).
2 Probably under tlie inllueuce of the idea of the Stoic etymon.
40 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
in which we have the curious phenomenon of a word that
is practically synonymous with its contradictory, passive.
Both adjectives come from patior, but passive is derived
from the verb in its proper sense of 'suffer,' while impas-
sive, its contrary, involves the special Stoic idea of apdtheia,
and means ' showing no emotion,' which is, in effect, the
same us passive, 'suffering, but doing nothing.' So im-
passibility/ (of countenance, for instance) would have no
meaning but for the Stoic ideas that were attached to
various derivatives of patior entirely apart from their
orisfinal meaning^.
With the English pathos, which is simply the Greek
Trddo^ borrowed without change of form, the Stoics have
nothing to do ; but it is worth while to mention it to
complete our account of this extraordinary word. The
Greek word easily became specialized, and, changing its
relations, came to mean, among other things, 'suffering'
from the point of view not of the suft'erer, but of one who
looks on (at a tragedy, for instance). In this sense it
was adopted as an English word, and, with its adjective
pathetic,^ is much used in literary criticism to describe a
quality of style with reference to the feelings of the spec-
tator or reporter, l^y its side, and serving in a manner
as its opposite, stands the jocose word bathos. This is
simply the Greek /3d0o^, ' depth,' which was borrowed by
Pope in the eighteentli century to signify what he called
' the art of sinking in poetry,' that is, a descent from the
sublime to the ridiculous. Bathos has maintained its place
chiefly through its combined similarity and antagonism to
pathos. It is probable tliat without this resemblance and
^ Strictly speaking, pathetic is not derived form nd.6os but from the
Greek adjective iraOrjTiKds, whicli comes from tlie same root ; but the
adjective and tlie noun are closely associated in English
LEARNED WORDS BECOME POPULAR 41
antithesis it could not have lasted long enough to become
a part of the language.
Of all the technical terms of the Stoic philosophy, only
passion has become completely popular ; but the history of
this word is not intelligible apart from the others, and the
whole group illustrates, in the most striking way, both the
continuity of civilization and the scope and significance of
etymological study.
CHAPTER V
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS
In Chapters III and IV we have distinguished between
popuhir and learned words, and have seen how learned
words may pass into the popular category, drawing some
of our most striking examples from the language of
science and philosophy. This matter of technical lan-
guage, however, requires some further discussion.
Every profession or trade, every art, and every science
has its technical vocabulary, the function of which is
partly to designate things or processes which have no
names in ordinary English, and partly to secure greater
exactness in nomenclature. Such special dialects, or jar-
gons, are necessary in technical discussion of any kind.
Being universally understood by the devotees of the par-
ticular science or art, they have the precision of a mathe-
matical formula. Besides, they save time, for it is much
more economical to name a })rocess than to describe it.
Thousands of these technical terms are very properly
included in every large dictionary, yet, as a whole, they
are rather on the outskirts of the English language than
actually within its borders.
Different occupations, however, differ widely in the
character of their special vocabularies. In trades and
handicrafts, and other vocations, like farming and fishery,
that have occupied great numbers of men from remote
times, the technical vocabulary is very old. It consists
largely of native words, or of borrowed words that have
42
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS 43
worked themselves into the very fibre of our hmguage.
Hence, though highly technical in many particulars, these
vocabularies are more familiar in sound, and more gener-
ally understood, than most other technicalities. The
special dialects of law, medicine, divinity, and philosophy
have also, in their older strata, become pretty familiar to
cultivated persons, and have contributed much to the
popular vocabulary. Yet every vocation still possesses a
large body of technical terms that remain essentially
foreign, even to educated speech. And the proportion
has been much increased in the last fifty years, particu-
larly in the various departments of natural and political
science and in t^ie mechanic arts. Here new terms are
coined with the greatest freedom, and abandoned with
indifference when they have served their turn. Most of
the new coinages are confined to special discussions, and
seldom get into general literature or conversation. Yet
no profession is nowadays, as all professions once were,
a close guild. The lawyer, the physician, the man of
science, the divine, associates freely with his fellow-
creatures, and does not meet them in a merely professional
way. Furthermore, what is called ' popular science '
makes everybody acquainted with modern views and
recent discoveries. Any important experiment, though
made in a remote or provincial laboratory, is at once
reported in the newspapers, and everybody is soon talking
about it, — as in the case of the Rontgen rays and wireless
telegraphy. Thus our common speech is always taking
up new technical terms and making them commonplace.
The process began with the conversion of the Anglo-
Saxons, soon after their settlement in Britain. Ecclesias-
tical words from the Latin (mostly of Greek origin) were
the first to come in. Among these were: —
44 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
abbot: A.S. ubbod, from L. abbas, abbalis, which conies, through the
Greek, from the Syriac abba, ' father.'
alb: A.S. alhe, from L. albus, 'white.'
bishop: A.S. biscop, from L. episcopus (Gr. eVi'crKOTros, epislvpos,
literally 'overseer'). Episcopal is a later borrowing from the Latin.
cowl : A.S. cugle, from L. cucullus, ' hood.'
??ion/L.- A.S. munuc, from L. monachus, 'one who lives alone' (from
Gr. /xovos, mdnos, 'alone,' .seen- in monologue, monotone, monarchi/, etc.).
minster: A.S. ?////«s/er, from L. monusterium (also from Gr. /xwos)-
Monastery is a later borrowing, like episcopal.
noon: A.S. /h1», from L. »;oHa {Jioru), 'ninth hour' (three o'clock
in the afternoon ; the shift in meaning coincided with a change in
the time of the service called nones).
nun: A.S. norme, from L. nunna (from a Greek word of uncertain
origin).
pope: A.S. papa, from L. papa, 'father,' originally a childish word.
It is the same as our papa, which we have independently adopted
from the French papa, which is the same Latin word.
A.S. preost, from L. presbi/ter (Gr. rrpeafivTepo';, presbdleros, ' elder ').
The Latin presbt/ter was afterward borrowed without change, and
gives its name to the Presbyterian Church, in which the ministers are
not called ' priests.'
school: A.S. scDl, from L. schola, which is from the Gr. axoXy
(schole), ' leisure.' 1
verse: A.S. vers, fers, from L. versus, 'a turning,' 'a line of verse.'
clerk: A.S. clerc. Cleric, clergij, and clerical well illustrate the
variety of our vocabulary. They all come ultimately from Greek
kXtj/cikos (kierikos), 'clerical' (literally, 'pertaining to the lot,' from
KXrjpos, Utros, ' lot,' later ' orders ' in the ecclesiastical sense 2). Clerk,
however, was borrowed from L. clericus by the Anglo-Saxons, as
cleric, clerc, and has maintained itself in the latter form. The same
Latin word gave clerc in Old French, and thence come O. Fr, clergie
1 The shift of meaning, which seems so peculiar to our schoolboys, is
simple enough. War and politics wore the business of the Greek and
Koman gentleman. He gave to literature (with good effect!) what leis-
ure he had from these more serious pursuits. Similarly we have ludus
in Latin, and hull viagisler (' a master of sport') meant 'schoolmaster.'
Pedagogue, however, was originally the slave who led (Gr. 6.-yw) the boy
(TraFs, 7rai56s) to school.
2 See Deuteronomy xviii. '-'.
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS 45
and our clergy (which also shows the influence of anotlier O. Fr.
word, clergie, from L.L. clericatus). Clerical comes directly from
L.L. clericalist, a derivative of cleric us. Clergy and clerk doubtless
became popular almost immediately, and the latter (through its sense
of 'scholar') has received a wide extension of meaning'. But clerical
is comparatively a learned word.
From the beginning of our language to the present day,
Latin has been, in large part, the language of scholars and
of the learned professions; hence, a multitude of technical
terras are of Latin origin. Medicine has also brought in
a great many Greek terms, since the ancient physicians
were largely Greeks. In the Middle Ages there were a
succession of distinguished Arabian physicians who had
become saturated with Greek culture, and from them we
have a number of words, some Arabic, some Greek in
an Arabic form (see p. 108).
The law, from the time of the Norman Conquest, had
two technical languages, Latin and Norman French. The
latter gradually developed into what is still known as Law
French, — a curious jargon containing a large admixture
of Eno'lish words. Hence, tlie law-terms which have
made their way into our ordinary vocabulary, show now a
French and now a Latin derivation, and in many instances
are out-and-out Latin, with no change in form. Thus we
have, for example : —
From French: mortgage, from mort, 'dead,' and gage, 'pledge'
(the same word seen in our wager and wages).
champerty, from champart (L. campi pars).
mortmain, from mort, and main, 'hand.'
convey, from O. Fr. conveier (L.L. conviare, from L. con- and via,
'way') ; convoy is from the modern Fr. convoyer, of the same deriva-
tion. Technical derivatives of convey are conveyance and conveyancer.
entail, from O. Fr. entailler, ' cut off,' ' curtail ' (from L. talea, ' a
rod,' 'a cutting' ; cf. tally, tailor).
46 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
tort, from O. Fr. Inrt, L. forliim, 'twisted' (cf. con-tori, dhtort, Inr-
ture, torsion).
From Latin: justiciar, justiciary, and Jiisticer, from Jj. L. jusliciarius.
abulienate, from L. ulienus, ' another's.'
divorce, from L.L. divorcium (for divortium), from (//-, 'separate,'
and vorlere, 'turn.'
injunction, from L. in-jungere, 'join into,' 'enjoin.
Latin without change : subpoena (literally ' under penalty,' — from
the beginning of the writ).
affidavit, L.L. 'he has pledged his faith.' from ad-, and Jides, 'faith,'
' pledge.'
alibi, Latin adverb, ' elsewhere.'
alias, Latin adverb, 'otherwise.'
habeas corpus, etc., etc. See p. 102.
The language of philosophy is mostly of Latin origin.
It includes also many Greek words, but most of these have
passed through the Latin before reaching their English
form. Thus logic is from L. logica, l)ut tliis in turn is a
mere transliteration of the Gr. Xoyiicj] Qogike), from
\6yo<i (J(}i/os), 'discourse,' 'reason.'
So metaphysics is the Low Latin metajjJii/sica, which has
a curious history. In the manuscripts of Aristotle, the
ph/sica, that is, the works relating to ' nature '(Gr. cfyvai'i,
phusis^, were followed by those which dealt with abstract
philosophy ; hence, the latter were called, by his disciples,
the works 'after ((jr. metd) the physics' (ra fiera to.
(f)vaiKd). But the phrase was capable of meaning also
' things beyond, or above, the natural,' and it was so under-
stood by the scholastic philosophers, whose interpretation
has prevailed. Hence, also, the sense of 'supernatural'
which the word metapliysical frequently bore in Eliza-
bethan English, as when Lady Macbeth speaks of 'meta-
physical aid.'
In countless instances, the Greek philosophical term
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS 47
was not adopted into Latin, but actually translated, as
TTcido'i {pathos) was by passio (see pp. 39-40). In such
cases the English has the Latin word, but with the mean-
ing of the original Greek, often considerably modified in
the course of centuries (as in jyassiow).
Predicament is another example. Aristotle divided
conceptions into certain general classes which he called
categories, that is, literally, ' assertions,' ^ because they were
meant to include everything that could be asserted of an
object (as quality, quantity, etc.). The Greek word was
translated literally by the Lutin praedicame7itu7n {homjn-ae-
dlco, 'to predicate'), which gave us predicament. Both
predicament and categori/ came gradually to have a vaguer
sense, — 'class,' 'condition,' — which category lias kept,
remaining always a learned word. Predicament^ however,
has become perfectly popular in the phrase 'in a bad pre-
dicament,' for 'in a bad situation,' whence predicament,
without the adjective, in the sense of a 'fix,' — as 'What
a predicament ! '
The same is true of Latin theological language. But
here a special influence was at work. Religious instruc-
tion has been the most pervasive form of education.
Preaching, the confessional, and private exhortation have
therefore made the greater numljer of theological terms
pretty familiar to everybody, and many of them have
become popular in the fullest sense.
Such are the Latin words salvation, damnation, trinity,
convert, vicar, curate, penitent, repent, reprobate, confess,
absolve, absolution, doctrine (sound, false), altar, infidel,
perverse, confession, purgatory ; and (Latin from Greek)
sceptic, heretic ; and (French from Latin) assoil, penance,
'day oi judgment,'' aisle, friar, pilgrim, clergy, p)arson, repeiit,
1 Gr. Kar-qyopia, from Kar-qyop^w^ 'assort,' from ayopd, 'assembly.'
48 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
graee^ mercy^pity^ etc. Others have remained more or less
learned, but are not exclusively applied to theological
ideas: as, 'works of supereroijation^' excommunicate^ sanc-
tify , justify, carnal, venial, obdurate, mediator, pastoral;
and (Latin from Greek) dogma, heterodox, ascetic, evangel-
ist, cathedral, orthodox, parochial, dogmatic.
Further, since it was necessary to explain tlie doctrines
of the church in simple language, a very large number of
technical terms have been translated into English, and
thus new meanings have l)een added to many popular
words. Examples are: hell, shrift, ghostly, Jlock, shepherd,
sheep, the world, the flesh, righteous, unclean, love, dooms-
day, gospel, brother, deadly sin, evil, godly, godhead, son,
kingdom, meekness, forgive, froivard, hard heart. The
reading of the Bible in the vernacular has had the same
effect, since the language of divinity is largely drawn
from the Scriptures. No other technical dialect has con-
tributed so many words or meanings to the ordinary
vocabulary.
Observe that all the words cited above, or most of them,
may be applied familiarly, in a figurative or jocose way, to
matters in no way connected with law or divinity. Thus
a man may mortgage his reputation; lie may be a heretic
in his medical theories, or orthodox in his political views.
He may be socially excommunicated for his sins against
propriety, or acquitted of a charge of prosiness by the ver-
dict of a drawing-room.
Nautical terms often show great picturesqueness and
humor. Some of them originated in slang, but have be-
come quite technical. Lazaret is properly 'a hospital for
lepers,' and comes from the parable of Lazarus in the six-
teenth chapter of St. Luke. Its extension to hospitals in
general, and its specialization to ' a hospital ship,' or ' a
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS 49
place of quarantine,' are not necessarily slangy in their
origin. Tlie sense of 'ship's storeroom,' however, cer-
tainly crosses the line. The application of cockpit to the
place to which the wounded are carried during a sea fight,
is clearly a bit of jocose and partly euphemistic slang.
Sick bay is an easy nautical figure.
Holystones, for the ' stones with which the decks are
scrubbed,' must also have had its origin in jest. Sailors
go down on their knees to scrub. If holy is for lioley
(porous sandstone being the proper material), there is
none the less a joke (as in the case of the Australian holy
dollar').^
Dead-eye, or deadmaii's eye, for a kind of block with
three holes in it, is grimly picturesque. The monocular
Dick Deadeye in •• H. M. S. Pinafore' is eitlier a pun or a
misapprehension.
Sea-terms in common figurative use are headway, leeway,
under tvay, coast, steer clear of, clear the decks, 07i deck, lee
shore, head-jiaio, anchor, take the helm, to ship, to unship,
cargo, to liyhten ship, to weather the storm, a safe harbor, to
run. aground, to founder, to suffer shipivreck, a castaivay,
piratical, to scuttle, taken aback, aboard, and many others.
Modern science has found it necessary to manufacture
great numbers of words, and for this purpose has had
recourse, not only to Latin, but to the rich storehouse of
the Greek, wliich affords peculiar facilities for making com-
pounds. These new words, however, have been treated
as if they were Latin, since most of the Greek words
already in our language had come through that language.
Thus the name (-f the ' duck-mole ' is a compound of the
Greek TrXaru? (^ plat us), 'broad,' and ttou? (^pous}, 'foot';
but the form used in English is not platupous (which
1 A d(^llar in wliich a hole has been punched (see p. 141).
50 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
would be Greek), but -platijpus, which is the form tliat
platupons takes when it is trausferred into Latin. Some-
times the Latin form is used without chauije as an EuG^lisli
word. Often, however, the new term takes an Englisli
form which makes it h)ok as if it came from tlie French.
For the Latin words which we had alread}' borrowed
through that language had set the fashion. Thus tele-
graph, wliich me£C-ns ' the far-writer,' was formed from
Greek rrjXe (tele'), ' far ' and ypdcfyco (grdphd), ' write.' Tlie
Greek form wouhl be telegrdplios ; the Latin, telegraphns.
But the French drops the final us of Latin words (L.
morhidus, Fr. viorbide'), and the English form is therefore
telegraph (as if from Fr. telegraphed .
The coinage of naturalists and other scientific men varies
greatly in its linguistic purity. Some of the words which
they have manufactured from the Greek are as good as if
they had been made in Athens, or Alexandria. Others
would 'make Quintilian stare and gasp.' Tliis is not
strange, for the tendency of modern science has been to
discourage classical study, but at the same time to ransack
the classical vocabulary. In the case of foreign-sounding
terms, however, our language swallows camels with avidity,
and digests them wdthout a qualm. The most clumsily
manufactured term will become popular if the thing
becomes familiar and if there is no other name for it. A
striking instance is ephthianura, used in Australia as the
vernacular name of a genus of small birds with ' dimin-
ished tails.' It is, of course, a bit of naturalists' Latin,
and looks and sounds well enough. But it appears actually
to have been made up by giving a Latin termination to a
Greek phrase, €<P6l€v ovpd (ephthien ourd), which means
' its tail wasted away' {€(f)6i€P, ephthie^i, being the past
tense of a verb related to our word phthiais, which is also
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS 51
borrowed from the Greek). No Greek or Roman could
possibly have made such a noun, l)ut our language accepts
it with the same complacency with which it has accepted
nincompoop, a corruption of non co7npos mentis, or hoax
from hocus pocus (itself a piece of dog-Latin). Gas, a
word devised by the Dutch chemist von Helmont in the
seventeenth century, lias had a veritably triumphant ca-
reer. It was suggested to its inventor by the Greek %ao<f
{chaos'), but cannot be called anything but an out-and-out
invention.
The classifying habit of the natural sciences reacts on
many unscientific terms in a curious way. It is conven-
ient for the naturalist to have the vernacular or ' trivial '
names of plants and animals coincide in their scope, so far
as possible, with the orders and families and genera of his
system. Hence we are bidden to limit the name ft// to
dipterous insects, bug to the hemiptera, ivorm to the order
vermes, and are rebuked if we speak of -a whale as a ' big
fish.'' This is all very well for the purposes of science,
but we must not allow ourselves to be browbeaten. The
whale was a ' fish ' when the ' order cetacea ' had never been
heard of, and will remain a '-Walfisch^ in German long-
after some future zoologist has reclassified the animal
kingdom. The loose popular designations are quite as
well established, and therefore as ' correct,' as the more
limited terminology of science. Less ' accurate ' they may
be, but language is not always bound to scientific accu-
racy. It has its inalienable right to vague terms when
there is no question of system at stake.
The technical vocabulary of art and music contains
many Italian words. Some of these are unchanged in
form (like stanza, allegro, piano, falsetto, soprano, andante,
concerto, trio, torso, terra cotta, ' articles of virtti,'' j^iccolo,
62 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
opera, operetta, finale^, others are clipped (like violin for
violino, duet for duetto, quartet or quartette for quartetto,
madrigal for ^nadrigaW) or otherwise changed. The clip-
ping, as before, is after the French model, from which
lanffuas^e other terms of the same kind have been taken
(like flageolet; hauthoij or ohoe, from Fr. hautbois, 'high
wood'; figurine, diminutive of figure).
The position of technical dialects or jargons with respect
to our language is this : so long as the terms in question
are used in technical discussions only, they scarcely belong
to the English vocabulary at all. If they wander out of
their narrow circle and are occasionally heard in current
speech, they become a part of our vocabulary, though they
are still a very special or technical part of it. But the
process may go much farther : the objects or conceptions
for which the terms stand may become very common, or
the words may lose their strictly scientific sense and be
applied vaguely or metaphorically. When this happens,
the word has l)ecome fully naturalized, and its technical
origin is pretty sure to be forgotten in the long run.
The propriety of using technical terms in speaking or
writing depends on a common-sense principle. A remark
should be intelligible, not merely to the speaker, wlio is
presumed to know what he wishes to say, but also to the
person addressed. Otherwise, it can hardly be called
language in any proper sense. To be very technical in
conversation not only savors of pedantry but makes the
speaker unintelligible ; and the same is true of a book
addressed 'to the great variety of readers.' Among
specialists, however, one can hardly go too far in the
employment of technicalities, provided the terms belong
to the accepted vocabulary of the science or art in ques-
tion. That form of pedantry which consists in changing
TECHNICAL OR CLASS DIALECTS 53
well-established designations for others that seem to
the writer more appropriate is extremely common, and,
indeed, may be called one of the weaknesses of the scien-
tific temperament.
The lay reader is often tempted to laugh at the 'ses-
quipedalian monstrosities ' of the scientific vocabulary.
If such words are, as is frequently the case, formed with
unnecessary grotesqueness, laughter is justifiable enough;
but the mere fact that they are long and cumbrous, and
that a good many of them are used, is no proper subject
for jesting. The longest scientific term is really short-
hand, as we shall soon find if we try to express, in ordinary
language, what the single word conveys to those who
understand it. It would be quite as reasonable to make
fun of the a;'s and i/'s of the algebraist. But, on the other
hand, until these words have actually made their way
into the general vocabulary, they have scarcely more
rifyht to be rated as Ensrlish than mathematical formulye
themselves.
The arts, science, philosophy, and religion are not alone
in the necessity which they feel for a special vocabulary.
Any limited circle having common interests is sure to
develop a kind of 'class dialect,' — such as that of school-
boys, of university men, of travelling salesmen, of govern-
ment clerks (or civil servants). For many persons,
however, the centre of the universe is ' society.' Now
'society' is ever in search of novelty, — and it is a limited
body of well-to-do women and men of leisure. From the
almost exclusive association of these persons with each
other, there arises a kind of special vocabulary, which
is constantly changing with the changing fashions, yet
maintains a measure of consistency, despite its unstable
character. This society jargon is disseminated like
64 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
the technical language of the philosopher or the man
of science, by the same means and with even greater
rapidity. Most of the words soon disappear, but a con-
siderable number make good their place in ordinary
speech. We shall study some of these coinages in the
jiext chapter.
The two great classes of mankind are, of course, men
and women. The occupations and interests of these
classes are distinct in many particulars. As we should
expect, the distinction manifests itself in the phenomena
of language, for language is the most perfect mirror of
all mental operations. Every one knows that the vocabu-
lary of women differs considerably from that of men. In •
some countries, indeed, where women spend most of their
time in retirement, and converse chiefly with each other,
a specific ' women's dialect ' has grown u[). Even among
English-speaking nations, where association between the
sexes is but very slightly restricted, such differences are
discernible. The use of common, for example, in the sense
of ' vulgar ' is distinctly a feminine peculiarity. It
would sound effeminate in the speech of a man. So, in
a less degree, with person for ' woman,' in contrast to
'lady.' Nice for 'fine' must have originated in the same
way. The women's dialect is often more conservative
than that of men,^ and is likely to be marked by greater
precision of utterance, as well as by differences in vocabu-
lary.
1 I'liny the Younger remarks, with admh'ation, that in certain letters
written by a friend's wife he ' thought he was reading Plautus or Terence
in prose' (Ep. i. 16).
CHAPTER VI
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH
A PECULIAR kind of vagabond language, always hanging
on the outskirts of legitimate speech, but continually
straying or forcing its way into the most respectable com-
pany, is what we call dang. The prejudice against this
form of speech is to be encouraged, though it usually rests
on a misconception. There is nothing abnormal about
slang. In making it, men proceed in precisely the same
manner as in making language, and under the same
natural laws. The motive, however, is somewhat differ-
ent, for slang is not meant simply to express one's
thoughts. Its coinage and circulation come rather from
the wish of the individual to distinguish himself by oddity
or grotesque humor. ^ Hence slang is seldom controlled
by any regard for propriety, and it bids deliberate defiance
to all considerations of good taste.
Slang is commonly made by the use of harsh, violent, or
ludicrous metaphors, obscure analogies, meaningless words,
and expressions derived from the less known or less es-
teemed vocations or customs. But the processes involved
1 ' Thieves' slang' or 'peddlers' French' {argot, Unthiralsch) stands in a
somewhat different position. It is, in fact, tlie professional jargon of a
particular class of society, and is comparable, therefoi'e, to other technical
vocabnlaries, though the art or profession which it represents lies outside
the bounds of respectable occupations. It has also the special object of
concealment, and belongs therefore to the class of 'secret languages.'
55
56 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
are strikingly linguistic. In fact, slang may almost be
called the only living language, the only language in
which these processes can be seen in full activity. Take,
for example, the expression start in for 'begin.' It is only
a metaphor derived from lumbering operations, when men
start into the woods in late autumn to begin the winter's
work. ' lireak ground,' which is in good use, is a figure
of precisely the same kind, from the more respectable pro-
fession of building. So 'to pack up one's traps,' ^ from the
vocation of trapping, is similar to the Latin vasa eoUigere,
'gather your pots and kettles,' which, originally soldiers'
slang, came at last to be the regular expression for ' break-
ing camp.' 'On the stocks' for 'in preparation,' a
metaphor from ship-building, is in good colloquial use.
' Down to bed rock ' and ' peter out ' are natural ex-
pressions among miners, but they become slang when
transferred to other circumstances and used as figures of
speech. So with the poker terms ' ante up ' and ' it is up to
you,' with 'come a cropper,' 'to be in at the death,'
'come to the scratch,' 'toe the mark,' 'well-groomed,'
'knock-out blow,' 'below the belt,' 'cock of the walk,'
'mass play,' 'get on to his curves,' and a thousand other
expressions that have passed into slang from various fields
of sport. None of these phrases is accepted at present,
though they differ much in their degree of slanginess, but
it is impossible to predict their standing a hundred years
hence. For the sport of former days has made many con-
tributions to our legitimate vocabulary. Thus bias (from
bowling) is a dignified word, though howl over is still
colloquial. So ' to parry a thrust,' ' to fence ' (in an argu-
ment), 'to cross swords with the opposing counsel,' 'to
handy words' (literally, 'to bat them to and fro' as in
^ The Elizabethans said ' truss up your trinkets ' in the same sense.
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 57
bandy-ball), 'to ivrestle with a problem,' ^ 'to trip one up'
in a discussion, ' to track or trace a quotation ' or ' to lone
track of-d subject,' 'to run counter' (literally, of dogs who
follow the scent in the wrong direction), ' to hit (or miss^
the mark,' 'within an ace of,' are all good English
expressions, though most of them were formerly slang
and passed through the intermediate stage of collo-
quialism before they secured admission to the literary
language. The now disreputable amusement of cock-
fighting (which was once respectable enough to divide
with scholarship and archery the attention of Roger
Ascham) has provided the language with crestfallen, ' in
high/ea^7t(?r,' and Shakspere's overcroiv (cf. to crow over').
'To show the ivldte feather' is from the same source,
since white feathers in a gamecock's tail are a sign of im-
pure breeding. Often the origin of such words or phrases
has been quite forgotten, but, when traced, discloses their
true character at once. Fair play is still recognized as
a figure from gambling; hut foul plat/, now specialized
to 'murder,' is hardly felt as a metaphor at all. Only
the etymologist knows that hazard may be the Arabic al
zCir, ' the die,' and that chance means ' the fall of the
dice' (L.L. cadentia,'^ from cado). Yet both words still
have gaming associations: hazard is a particular kind of
dice-play, and 'to take one's chances,' 'a good or bad
chance,' ' the chances are against it ' are transparent meta-
phors.
Many examples might be cited from sports that have the
dignified associations of antiquity. Thus, ' to tilt at ' (cf.
iCf. St. Paul's famous figure in Ephesians vi. 12: 'For we wrestle
not against flesh and blood, but against principalities,' etc.
2 Whence also cadrncc, which has no connection with gaming, but
comes from another specialization of the word.
58 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
full tilt}, 'to break a lance,' 'in the lists,' 'to rnn one's
course,' 'to reach the goal,' 'to win the palm.' Slang is
no novelty, as many persons imagine. It is only new
slang that is novel. ' The ancients did not know that
they were ancients.'
Provincialisms or dialect words are often adopted into
slang, exactly as they are adopted into literary language.
When Sir Thomas Lipton spoke of 'lifting the cup,' he
was merely using a provincialism, ^ but when the people of
the United States took up the expression in good-natured
mockery it became slang. Burns's crooii was also a dia-
lect term, but it almost immediately commended itself
to the poets, and is now in good use. So vamos is a
proper Mexican word (Sp. 'let us go'), but when it is
quoted and used by Americans for ' depart ' (^vamoose}, as
many words have been borrowed from other languages,
it becomes slang. So savv^ (Sp. sabe usted, ' do you
know?') is a slang word for 'comprehension'; but ir/no-
ramus (L. 'we do not know,' used as a law term) is
excellent English. A fiasco is properly a theatrical failure.
The Italian say /ar fiasco (' to make a bottle ') for ' to
break down or fail in a theatrical performance.' The
origin of the phrase is unknown, ^ but fiasco is now suf-
ficiently reputable English, though it is of recent intro-
duction. JNIany other foreign words, now thoroughly
naturalized, seem to have had slangy associations at some
period of their history. This is especially likely in the
case of those that may have been introduced by sol-
diers who have served in foreign parts. Bravado (Sp.
bravada} looks like a word of this kind. Bizarre (which
we take from French) has never been slangy in English.
1 Compare ' to lift cattle ' and shoplifter.
2 But cf . \r]Kvei<;u} and ampullor (p. 07, note).
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 59
In French, however, it formerly meant 'soldierly,' and
if it is actually from the Basque bisarra, ' beard,' we may
conjecture that it was not a dignified borrowing. The
'■sack of a city' (from Fr. sac, ' pack,' 'plunder') betrays its
own origin ; compare also loot, from the Hindoo word for
'booty.'
A few additional examples may be cited to illustrate
these points, and in parti(?Ldar to sliow how near slang
lies to legitimate speech. We may say \\ith propriety
a carnival or a Saturnalia of crime, but not a perfect circus.
A man may well be recalcitrant,^ but only in colloquial
style can he be a kicker. We cannot with dignity allude to
the curves of base-ball, but a bias, from the game of
bowls, is proper enough. A 1 i^ hardly out of the region
of slang, but probiti/ and iynprobity, similar mercantile
expressions, have cleared their skirts of commercial asso-
ciations, and are in good use.- You can hardly jumj) on
a man, nor can you go at him, but you can readily assail or
assault'^ him, and the Romans used adi/'e for 'go to' in
all senses. Insult means literally 'to jump at or upon.'
Apprehendo is merely Latin for 'catch on.' So attend to
is domestic language for ' punish,' but the Romans used
animadvertere'^ not onl}^ for 'attend to' in the literal
sense, but for 'punish' as well, and animadversion is in
good literary use.
1 L. re-, 'back,' and ralcitro, 'kick,' from calx, calcis, 'heel.'
- The L. impri}bns must have meant originally ' not first-class,' and
its use by Plautus of two girls in the sense of a ' bad lot ' clearly shows
its slangy character. Yet this word, with its opposite, prohus, has
become one of the most respectable in the Latin language, and in English
has lost all trace of its origin.
^Assail is French from L. ad, 'to,' 'at,' and salio, 'jump' ; assault
is also French from ad and saltus, 'a jumping,' which comes from the
same verb salio.
•* From animum adotrtere, ' to turn the attention to.'
60 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Our desire is a product of soldiers' slang. It evidently
comes (through the French) from desidero, no miss'
a soldier who is ' out of his place ' at roll-call. Once
transferred, on account of its familiarity, to a more
general meaning, desidero finally became the usual word
for 'long for.' Thus, a word belonging, if not to slang,
at least to a special vocation, becomes universal. ^ Doubt-
less fire over one\s head, on guard, enrolled (in a body or
sect), in marcJdnu order, expedite, expeditio7i, and many
others come from the same source.
Salary affords a good instance of ancient slang. The
L. salarium meant, among other tilings, ' salt-money,' an
allowance which a soldier received to buy salt with
(L. sal, 'salt'), but it was soon extended to the
present meaning of 'salary.' Such an extension was
clearly slang in the first instance. Compare our collo-
quial 'earn his salt,' and '^_>m-money.' Sardonic also
looks like venerable slang. It is certainly so if it comes
from the name of a Sardinian (Gr. Sardo, ' Sardinia ')
plant which puckered up the eater's face into a sardonic
smile. A solecism is so called from the bad Greek of the
colonists of Soli in Asia Minor. Doubtless it was at first
a slang designation. Compare the 'Stratford French' of
Chaucer's Prioress, who v/as ignorant of the ' French of
Paris,' and the old phrase 'French of Norfolk' for the
Norfolk dialect of English.
A kind of slang occurs in various languages which has
great influence on common speech. The tendency to use
diminutives for the names of familiar objects or customary
tools has been often remarked, and there are diminutives
in Greek, Latin, and other languages, which must have
iSee Greeuough, in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, I, 9G.
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 61
had this origin.^ The use of his with familiar words, as
' He knew Ms Homer from beginning to end,' is purified
slang of the same kind, and it is common to use Utile of
anything familiar, in a kind of baby-talk, prompted by
the same feeling : as, ' Eat your little dinner,' ' his little
horse.' The writer was once in Greece, talking in this
style with an intimate friend, and observed that he was
really translating the Homeric <J)lXo(; (^philos). The sus-
picion was not far off that this too had l)een slang, but
was afterward adopted by the literary language. In
some languages, as the Lithuanian, almost any noun may
thus take a diminutive form, — in other words, this kind
of slang has become the ordinary speech.
Slang is fond of clipped words : as, monk for monhey^
exam for examination^ loony for lunatic^ middy for midship-
man^ auto for automobile, biz for business, ley for blackley,
^varsity for university.'^ Many such formations have
passed into the accepted vocabulary. Thus cab is short
for cabriolet, van for vanyuard (for avant-yuard^, fence for
defence, miss for mistress, pert for apert, mob for mobile
vulyus, ^bus for omnibus (itself originally a slang term),
cad for cadet, yin for Geneva, rum for rumbullion, pad for
footpad, piano for pianoforte, cit for citizen, kilo for kilo-
gram, hack for hackney, zoo for zooloyical garden, loo for
lanterloo,^ gill ('a girl,' 'a flirt') for Gillian (i.e. Juli-
ana), ivay for waghalter,^ per cent for j?er centum, jjros
^ See Cooper, Word-Formation in the Sermo Plebeius, p. 107. English
examples are jimm>j {jemmy) and hrttii for Imrglars' tools, jack (as in
bootjack), a spiiiniiig jenny, hiUy for a 'club' or (in Australia) for a
'bushniau's kettle.' Cf. p.";l8G.
2 Cf. the in-ovincial English varsal for iniii-ersal (England) and the
Yankee tarncd for eternal (now nearly obsolete).
3 Itself originally slang, being the refrain of a comic song.
*That is, 'one fit to be hanged,' 'a rogue.' The .sense of 'droll fel-
low,' 'humorist' is more recent: see the disquisition on 'the insipid
62 WORDS AXD THE IB WAYS
and co)is for pros aiul co7itras, consols for consolidated,
mmuities, sweets for s/veetmeats, sport for disport, cat for
cat-o'-nine-taih.
liecognized colloquiulisms are Injpo for hypochondria^
or sodium hypophosphite, pyro for pyroijallic acid, typo for
typographer, phiz for physiognomy (already shortened by
the Elizabethans to fisnomy or visnamy^, coon for raccoon
(from Fr. raton, 'rat'), possum for opossum, cute for
acute, p)uh for p>uhlic house, cycle for hieycle, fib probably
from fihhle-fahhle (a reduplicated form oi fable), specs for
spectacles, smalls for smallclothes, phone for telephone, sport
for spoi'tsman, whip for whipper-in, confab for confabidation,
on tick from ticket, non con for 9?oyi content ^ (one voting
in the negative in the House of Lords), />/«t' for bluestock-
ing, the ?>^;/('.s for Z)?(tg devils, pike for turnpike, chap for
chapman (' merchant,' then ' fellow '),2 rickshaw for ^m-
In 1710, Swift, in the Tatler (No. 230), complained of
the ' continual corruption of the English tongue ' in an
amusing article of some historical importance. He in-
veighs against such colloquial clippings as Id, can^t, he's,
shan't, which he calls ' abbreviations and elisions, by
wliich consonants of most obdurate sound are joined
together, without one softening vowel to intervene.'
And he is particularly severe on ' the refinement which
consists in pronouncing the first syllable in a word that
has many, and dismissing the rest, such as phizz, hipps,
mobb, pozz, rep, and many more, when we are already
overloaded with monosyllables, which are the disgrace of
mirth of certain animals we usually call wags^ in the Tatler, No. 184
(June 13, 1710).
1 Also, formerly, for Non-confurmist.
2 See p. 287.
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 63
our lansruao^e.' 'Thus,' continues the critic, 'we cram
one syllable, and cut off the rest, as the owl fattened her
mice after she had bit off their legs to prevent them from
running away.' Incoi/ and ijlenipo he fears will suffer
still further mutilation to inc and jw/t'^i. Another ' refine-
ment ' is ' the choice of certain words invented by some
pretty fellows, such as banter, bamboozle, country put, and
kidney} some of Avhich are now struggling for the vogue,
and others are in possession of it.' ' I have done my
utmost,' he adds, ' for some years past, to stop the progress
of mobb and banter, but have been plainly borne down by
numbers, and betrayed by those who promised to assist
me.' And finally he is worried by certain young clergy-
men who ' in their sermons use all the modern terms
of art, sham, banter, mob, bubble, bully, cutting, shuffling,
and palming.'' The reader will be interested to see that
about half of the terms at which the essayist is so indig-
nant have made good their position as respectable collo-
quialisms, and that several of them are quite at home in
dignified composition. ^
The clipping process is a natural tendency of language.
It often implies familiarity, and has given us, for example,
a multitude of pet names, like Will and Tom and Moll.
Compare doc for doctor, prof for professor, and other jocose
or vulgar appellatives, and the childish fess for confess.
The so-called 'aphetic' forms, like squire for esquire,
bate for abate, scape for escape, pall for appall, should
also be considered. A very curious example of these is
our common adverb down. This is for adown, which is a
1 In such phrases as a ' man of that kidney,^ i.e. ' kind ' or ' disposition.'
- In the same paper Swift stigmatizes ' speculations, operations, pre-
liminaries, ambassadors, pallisadoes, communication, circumvallation,
battalions ' as neologisms brought into common use by the war.
64 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
corruption of the Anglo-Saxon phrase of dune, ' from the
down or hill,' used of descending motion (cf. Ger. hergah).
Thus we have in English the noun down, meaning 'a hill,'
and an adverb down, derived from this same noun, but
suggesting the opposite idea. ' Down in the valley ' is
a striking instance of the capa])ilities of language. Size
is a clipped form of assize, which means literally 'a sit-
ting ' (of judges), as in assizes, and comes (througli the
French) from L. assidere, 'to sit by.' From 'judgment'
or ' determination ' to ' allotment,' ' allotted portion,' and
thence to ' dimension,' is an easy passage. Size is a Cam-
bridge University term for an ' allowance ' from the
buttery. Goldsmith was a sizar at Dublin, i.e. a 'charity-
student' (such as formerly waited on the Fellows' table).
Size, ' glue,' is also from assideo (through Italian sisn),
being that which makes anything ' sit close ' or ' stick ' to
another. A much-docked word is drake, 'male duck.'
The history of drake is far from clear, but it is connected
with A.S. ened, 'duck' (cognate with L. anas, anatis'),
of which, however, it preserves only the single letter d
(cf. Ger. EntericJi). Wai/ward is shortened from away-
ward, hack (the adverb) from ahack, vails from avails,
quinsy from squinancy.^ Pose is from appose (for oppose},
' to raise objections,' ' to interrogate ' or ' examine ' (in a
discussion) ; a poser was an ' examiner' ; p)uzzle is corrupted
from opposal.
Slang delights in fantastic coinages and in grotesque
combinations or distortions of existing words. When a
whimsicality of this kind establishes itself as a permanent
colloquialism, or gets into tlie accepted vocabulary, the
etymologist has a hard nut to crack. Unless the early
^ Fr. esqidnancie from Gr. Kwdyxv, fnim kvoiv, kwos, ' doiz;,' and S.yx'^i
'choke.'
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 65
history of the word is known, or at least the circum-
stances under which it came into use, the derivation is
often an insoluble problem. And if the word is at all
old, its history is likely to be obscure, for slang seldom
gets into print until it has been in circulation for some
time.
A few examples of such linguistic chimeras will now
be given.
Bamboozle was a new slang word in 1710. It has been
thought to be from bam^ "• to hoax,' a slang word of about
the same date ; but bam is quite as likely to be an abbre-
viation of the longer form, and boozle remains unexplained.
Banter is another unsolved puzzle. It was at least forty
years old when Swift attacked it in the Tatler, in 1710.
Sham is thought to be an affected pronunciation of shame.
Doggerel is first found in Chaucer. The host objects to
' Sir Thopas ' as ' rym dogerel,' using the term, however, as
a kind of quotation: 'This may wel be rym dogerel,' i.e.
'This must l)e the rhyme doggerel that I liave heard tell
of.' The etymology is quite unknown, but it is hard
to reject dog, in view of dog-Latin^ dog-logic, and the
like.
Cockney is almost certainly 'cock-egg' (M.E. ey,
''Q^g'). The word meant at first an unusually small
Qgg (such as are termed in New England litter-eggs,
since the hen is thought to lay one at the end of her
litter). Thence developed the meaning of a 'cockered
child,' a ' pet,' a ' mother's baby,' or, in a wider sense, a
'milksop,' and, next, 'a [pampered] citizen' (a feeble
'cit' as opposed to a hardy rustic). Specifically, it
meant 'one ignorant of country matters,' as a greenhorn
is one who knows nothing of city life. Its particular
application to a Londoner was then natural, and was
66 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
made as early as the sixteenth century.^ All such jocose
or abusive names for the inhabitants of particular places
or countries are akin to slang, if not of out-and-out slang
origin. So Yankee for ' New Englander,' often applied by
Englishmen to all inhabitants of the United States ; ^ I>a(jo
for Italian ; Paddy for Irishman ; Saivney for Scotchman ;
Gothamite for New Yorker, and the like. Dago is a queer
misnomer. It must come from the Spanish Diego, yet it is
usually applied to Italians ; but slang does not make nice
distinctions of blood : witness the contemptuous use of
7iigger for many dark-skinned races who have no similarity
to the negro (so blackamoor, ' black Moor,' for Ethiopian).
Yankee is still a puzzle. The suggestion that it is for
Yengees or the like, and came from the attempt of the North
American Indians to pronounce English has no founda-
tion in the history of the word, and no inherent probability.
Chouse perhaps goes back to the Sultan's chaush, or official
interpreter, who swindled certain Turkish merchants in
London. Blackguard in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries was a term for the scullions and other similar
menials in a great household, as well as for the camp-
followers in an arm}'. Blackleg was slang for a swindling
' frequenter of the turf ' in the eighteenth century. Bully
was once a term of endearment, and has been connected
with German Buhle, ' lover,' but this is very doubtful.
Coxcoynh, first 'fool,' then 'fop,'-^ comes from the imitation
1 For the history of cockney see the Oxford Dictionary as corrected and
supplemented by Dr. C. T. G. Scott, Trans. Amer. rhilol. Assoc, XXIII,
20G ff. The form ney for ey, ' egg,' owes its n to the indefinite article an
{an ey becoming a ney) ; see pp. 197-8.
2 Cf. Yankees for ' American securities ' in English financial cant, like
Kaffirs and Jungles for South African and Indian stocks, respectively.
3 Fop also meant ' fool ' in general, but was afterward specialized to a
particular kind of folly; and sot has a similar history, though here the
specialization is different.
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 67
'cock's .comb' which adorned the cap of the professional
jester in Elizabethan times. Ragamuffin has something
to do with rag, beyond a doubt. It occurs (in the form
Ragamofiyi) as the name of a devil in the miracle-plays,
— and devils were often described as 'ragged,' that is,
' shaggy,' in appearance. Tlie word rag is related to
rug. Nincompoop is a distortion of 7ioyi compos i7ie7itis.
To wheedle is literally ' to fawn,' ' to wag the tail,' from
Ger. loedeln. Chum was defined in 1G90 as 'chamber-
fellow,' and is usually regarded as a corruption of this
term, but evidence is lacking. It has been university
slang since the latter part of the seventeenth century, —
and in 168-4 Creech dedicated his translation of Lucretius
' to my chum, jNIr. Hody of Wadham College.'
Bombast is 'cotton-wadding' (from Gr. ^o/x/Su^, bumhux,
'silk,' through Latin and French). So Prince Hal calls Fal-
staff ' my sweet creature of bombast.' Its application to an
inflated style is an obvious jest, and is first found in Nashe
(1589) : ' the swelling bumbast of a bragging blank verse. '^
It is not likely to be much older than his time. Fustian,
in a similar sense, is of about the same age, and is a simi-
larly jocose application of the name of the coarse stuff so
called. The word is supposed to be derived from FustCit,
i.e. Cairo. ^
Cozen has usually been referred to coiisin, and the French
cousiner favors this view. Cotgrave, in 1611, defined the
French verb as ' to claim kindred for advantage . . . ; as
he who, to save charges in travelling, goes from house to
house, as cousin to the owner of every one.' This ety-
1 For bathos, see p. 40.
2 So the Greeks used X-qKvdos (lehtthos), 'an oil-jar' (swelling in the
body) for a 'bombastic style,' whence they made a verb, XrjKvdi^u)
(lekiUhizo), 'to write fustian.' Horace translated the former by the
Latin ampulla, and coined a verb, ampxilloi; to correspond.
G8 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
mology lias been doubted, but it is supported l)y a fact
wliicli has escaped even the editors of the Oxford Dic-
tionary. 'To go a-cousining- ' is an old-fashioned New
England phrase applied to one who quarters himself on
his distant relatives.^
Cabal for an 'intrigue' or an 'intriguing clique' comes
(through the French and mediaeval Latin) from the
Hebrew word for ' tradition ' {quahbdldh'), applied espe-
cially to a mystical interpretation of the Scriptures (which
we have borrowed in the form cabbala). Its sense of
' political machination ' was strengthened and perpetuated
by its special application to Charles IFs ' Committee for
Foreign Affairs,' and in particular to five members of that
'cabinet council' whose names made the acrostic cabal:
Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, vlshley (Shaftesbury^,
iauderdale.
Gerrymander (with hard //) is a capital instance of the
license which the maker of slang allows himself. It is an
established political term in the United States and Canada^
for the ' redistricting ' of a state in such a manner as to
give a particular party an unfair advantage at an election.
Such a measure was carried in Massachusetts in 1812, when
Elbridge Gerry was governor of the Commonwealth.
Some clever person observed that one of the newly laid-
out districts that was expected to insure the success of
the governor's party took, with a little imagination, the
shape of a fantastic monster. A map of the district was
published, in which this was indicated, and the monster
was dubbed gerrymander., a word made up from Gerry
iThis is the only use of cozen that is really vernacular in this country,
where the habit of visiting country cousins is a common subject for satirical
jest.
2 In Canada and the West the hard rj has been softened in pronunciation.
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 69
and salamander.^ Usually such devices hardly survive
the campaign that produces them, — but the gerrymander
tickled the fancy of the American people, and the word is
still in common use, both as a noun and as a verb. Slant-
indieular, a jocose amalgam of slantin and perjtendicida?'
has not fared quite so well.
Even such lawless coinages as gerrymayider and slantin-
dicular are not essentially different from many forms
produced by the ordinary processes of language (see
Chapter XXIII, Folk-Etymology, for examples).
It is a favorite device of slang to replace a common
word by a figurative expression or by some word that is
well known as a synonym (or partial synonym) for the
first, but in another sense. Thus ' He had i[\e face to tell
me ' becomes ' the cheek to tell me ' ; effrontery becomes
brass (from the figurative use of brazen) ; handcuffs are
bracelets; a j^reacher is a sky -pilot; hands are 'pickers and
stealers? A man's card is his p)asteboard ; to be hanged
is to swing; a pocket jlask is a pocket pistol;^ a toivyi is a
burgh; money is cash or change; dinner table is mahogany^
and so on. The same process takes place with slang
words themselves, in the eager desire for novelty. The
old English grit, 'sand,' 'gravel,' came to be applied to
the special grain or texture of grinding stones, on which,
in fact, their efficacy depends. Thence it was transferred,
in American slang, to the personal qualities of courage,
firmness, and endurance. The expressiveness of the figure
^ See an article on 'The Machinery of Politics and Proportional Repre-
sentation' by W. R. Ware, in The American Law Review, VI, '282-G
(with a facsimile of the original gerrymander, from a broadside, p. 2S4).
2 From the phrase in the catechism, 'to keep my hands from picking
and stealing.'
3 From Falstaff's jest in the First Part of Henry IV, where he pnlls
out a bottle instead of a pistol.
70 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
won general acceptance for the new sense both in the
'country of its origin' and in Enghind. Grit seemed
lost to the slang vocabulary. At all events, it ceased to
be novel as soon as it became respectable. A new term
was straightway introduced to replace it, — sand, which
is actually a synonym of grit in another sense, and for a
time ' He has plenty of sand ' was a common expression
among speakers of the slang dialect.
It is needless to remark that the same desire for novelty
is constantly at work in the figurative expressions and
new coinages of legitimate speech. It operates more
rapidly in slang, and with less regard for the proprieties,
but the general law is the same in both.
Artistic literature, apart from the mere conveyance of
thought, aims to cliarm and attract the reader by means
of an agreeable style ; to stimulate his attention by clever
novelty, and even sometimes to shock him into thought
by grotesque or startling language. Thus arise a host of
new words, most of which soon die, but some of which
are sure to find their place in the general vocabulary.
And thus in particular, by the constant striving after
more delicate and subtle effects, there come into existence
new distinctions in the meanings of familiar terms which,
if they serve any good purpose, are pretty sure to become
permanent.
Phrase-composition, which we have already studied, is
alike active in slang and in law-abiding speech. Nicom-
poop (for non compos mentis), carouse (for gar ausl), and
hoax (from hocus pocus) ^ were all slang phrases. Alarm
(for aW arme!) -Ami jeopardy (iov jeu parti) are of digni-
fied origin. Frequently the fag-end of a phrase or quota-
tion obtains currency as a single word in some special
1 See p. 189 for details.
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 7l
sense. Here again slang and propriety join hands.
Propaganda is abbreviated from ' Congregatio de propa-
ganda fide,' a ' committee (of cardinals) for propagating
the (Christian) faith.' Proimunire, a kind of writ, is a
corruption of jyraemoneri facias, ' you shall cause to be
forewarned.' The Porte is short for Suhlime Porte.
Parole, for 'solemn promise,' is a clipped form of parole
dlionneur. The associations of these terms are irre-
proachable. In formation, however, they do not differ
from many slangy or colloquial expressions. Thus
factotum is for Johannes factotum, ' John do-all ' (cf . jack-
of-all-trades). Amphitryon, 'host,' is from Moliere's
'rAmphitryon on Ton dine.' ^ To cldvy or chevij is
doubtless Chevy Qhace; the full phrase is dialectic as
both noun and verb. Straiv, for ' slight but significant
indication ' (common in American political cant), is from
the proverb, ' Straws show which way the wind blows.'
So chaff, ' banter,' suggests ' An old bird is not caught
with chaff.' Box, 'a bad predicament,' is from 'in the
wrong box.' Buncombe is the name of a county in North
Carolina. The sense of ' ad captandum remarks ' or
' showy verbiage,' is said to have come from the reply of a
certain congressman, who insisted that he must 'make a
speech for Buncombe' (i.e. for his constituents to hear
of) on an occasion when the House of Representatives
was eager to take a vote. A jingo, for ' one who favors
an aggressive foreign policy,' comes from the burlesque
oath by jingo, which occurred in the refrain of a boister-
ous political song current in England during the Turko-
Russian War of 1877-8. The word has recently been
transplanted from England to America, where it is applied
(by their opponents) to those who are also styled ' impe-
^ lu the comedy of Amphitryon, act iii, sccue 5.
72 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
rialists,' — a word of inevitably bad odor in a repnblic,i
though inoffensive in an empire. We may leave the sub-
ject with an example from the sixteenth century. The
Greek Kyric cleison, '- Lord, have mercy upon ns,' was
often abbreviated to Kyrle., and this (as well as the full
phrase) was once a familiar vulgarism for a 'good scold-
mg. -
It appears, then, that there is no real difference in kind
between the processes of slang and those of legitimate
speech. Slang is only the rude luxuriance of the nijcared-
for soil, knowing not the hand of the gardener.
Yet it by no means follows that the products of slang-
are at once to be adopted, witliout further question. In
the first place, all human speech, even the most intimate,
is intended for the ears of others, and must therefore have
a certain dignity, a certain courtesy, out of respect to one's
hearers if not to one's self. Now slang, from the very fact
that it is slang, that it is not the accepted medium of
communication, has a taint of impropriety about it which
makes it offensive. Again, the very currency of slang
depends on its allusions to things which are not supposed
to be universally familiar or generally respectable ; and
hence it is vulgar, since it brings in associations with what
is for the moment regarded as unknown or in bad repute.
It is true that words have no character in themselves,
being only conventional signs for the ideas which they
express. Even bad grammar is essentially just as good
as good grammar ; it becomes bad merely because it is
associated with persons that we dislike or look down on.
1 Compare the Roman dislike to rex.
'- See Tyndale's list of slang phrases from church terms and the like,
in his Obedience of a Christian Man (Works of Tyndale and Frith, ed.
Kussell, I, 340).
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 73
And bad hiuguagc is only such because it is not the
accepted form of speech. Yet the recognized connota-
tions of particuhir words are an integral part of expres-
sion, and when these are such as to shock or offend our
associates, the words themselves should be avoided.
Furthermore, the accepted means of communication in
any widespread language has a certain constant and endur-
ing nature. Though language is ever changing, yet the
permanent elements far outweigh the variable, so that it
remains continuously intelligible through long periods of
time. Slang words, on the contrary, are evanescent, count-
ing their duration by days instead of decades, and becom-
ing obsolete even while one is speaking them. Hence
slang is ill-adapted to serve as a medium of intercourse
and therefore is unsuitable for adoption into legitimate
speech.
Finally, the unchecked and habitual use of slang (even
polite slang) is deleterious to the mind. Not only is slang
evanescent, — it also has no fixed meaning. Its terms
are vague and ill-defined, and they grow more and more
uncertain from day to day. Thus the use of slang tends
to level all those nice distinctions of meaning, all those
differentiations between word and word, which the con-
sensus of the language has been at so much pains to build
up. Everything is ' fine ! ' or ' immense ! ' or ' stunning ! '
or ' just gay ! ' from an appetizing breakfast to an epic
poem, from Alpine scenery to the cut of a friend's coat.
Slang has been called the 'lazy man's dialect,' and if the
sign of cultivation is an enriched vocabulary, the constant
use of vacfue and unselected terms for every shade of
meaning must gradually reduce one's thouglit to the same
ignorant level from which most slang proceeds. When
such a word becomes definite in its meaning, it has almost
74 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ceased to be slang. If it happens to till a real gap in our
means of expression, language will take care of it, as we
have already seen in numerous examples. In fact, any-
thing that is good in slang is almost sure to be picked up
and adopted in legitimate speech.
Of course, all slang is not on the same level. There
are many grades, from that whicli is innocent and almost
refined in its associations, to the odious coinages of a
debased stage. It is often humorous, sometimes witty,
and not seldom picturesque. The objections just urged
hold good against its habitual employment as an extensive
part of one's vocabulary. The discriminating use of a
slang term, now and then, on occasion, is a different mat-
ter. As we have already seen, every educated person
speaks his mother tongue in at least two ways, and the
difference between the dignified and the colloquial style is
considerable. Slang words frequently rise to the rank of
colloquialisms, and thus in time gain admission to the more
formal language. ' To hit straight from the shoulder,' ' I
feel rather below par,' ' the new woman,' ' a boodle alder-
man,' 'to floor a man,' 'I was flal)bergasted,' have crossed
the line and are admissible colloquialisms. ' Hit or miss,'
'nip and tuck,' 'tooth and nail,' 'by hook or crook,' 'sink
or swim,' ' rough-and-ready,' ' higgledy-piggledy,' have
passed through tlie colloquial stage and are recognized
idioms, though their form or sound, or something of their
old associations, tends to exclude them from serious con-
texts.
One further distinction is necessary. A word or phrase
which is slangy in general conversation stands in quite a
different position when it is used in a limited circle, or
under special circumstances. ' Horsey ' words are not
slang when one is 'talking horse,' nor hunting terms in
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 75
the hunting field, nor the cant phrases of politics on the
hustings or on the stump. They belong rather to the
category of jargons, or technical dialects, and are com-
parable to the special vocabularies of commerce, or medi-
cine, or the law. It is only when they leave the technical
circle, and are applied in a general way, that they become
out-and-out slang, and this would be just as true of scien-
tific or legal terms under similar circumstances. Here
again there are grades of slanginess, in inverse proportion
to the dignity of the associations which the words suggest.
' To mortgafie one's reputation ' is as essentially a slang
phrase as ' to be knocked out in an examination,' but there
is a considerable difference in the vulgarity of the expres-
sions. ' To come a cropper ' may l)e said to stand midway
between the two. ' At fault ' (from a dog that loses the
scent) is a dignified idiom.
Again, an expression that is unquestionably slang may
be so apt and necessary in the discussion of a particular
subject, and so often quoted by the best writers, that it
loses its taint and becomes a part of our common stock of
quotations. Then the presence or absence of quotation
marks is only a matter of greater or less familiarity, and
eventually all feeling of quotation may disappear. The
readiest admission to legitimate speech lies through our
freedom in quoting from any source, good or bad. For
when an expression is found in respectable company, the
public seldom cares to ask how it got there. Not long
ago the very vulgar slang phrase ' rusli the growler ' was
quoted in a dignified and irreproachable article in a daily
newspaper. It Avas used in a kind of technical sense, and,
more than that, it had exactly the connotations that the
writer desired. A score of such references might make
the reader forget that this most objectionable expression
76 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ever was slang, or had any offensive associations. In this
manner many words have made their way into the literary
language. The Elizabethan drama, for instance, has pre-
served and propagated many such expressions, for in a
play every speech is, in a manner, a quotation.
The slang of the United States differs in many particu-
lars from that of Great Britain, and India and Australia
show a multitude of peculiar coinages that differ from
both. Yet the lively intercourse of trade and travel, the
newspapers, the theatrical ' tour,' and the ' dialect sketch '
have kept the different English-speaking peoples tolerably
familiar with one another's latest coinages. For univer-
sal hospitality is the guiding principle of slang.
The bewildering variety of our language, and in [)articu-
lar the lawless and fantastic coinages which we have just
been studying, may well suggest the question, ' Is there
any ci'iterion of good English ? What principle of selec-
tion is one to follow who wishes to speak and write his
mother tongue with purity and without affectation?' It
is the business of grammar, rhetoric, and lexicography to
answer this question.
As soon as a literary language is thoroughly developed,
it becomes a subject of earnest study. Literature, like
painting or music, has a technique, and it is the province
of critics and rhetoricians to describe this technique, and
to reduce its principles and its details to a form in which
they may be conveniently acquired. Such principles are
inferred, in the main, from the works of men of genius,
but they soon become, so far as they are correct, funda-
mental conventions of expression, which must be followed
by everybody Avho would make himself immediately in-
telligible. So long as a language is alive, it is, however,
constantly changing, so that the grammar and rhetoric of
SLANG AND LEGITIMATE SPEECH 77
a living language can never be absolutely fixed. It is
only when the language has ceased to be spoken, — has
become, as we say, a dead language, — that fixed rules can
be framed which every one who undertakes to write it
must observe. The very statement that a language is
dead implies that henceforward no individual or body of
persons has power to change it in any particular.
Now all rules of grammar and rhetoric must be based
on usage, for there is no other standard in linguistic
matters ; and in order that they may be capable of intel-
ligible statement, the usage from which they are derived
must be limited in time. Yet at the very moment when the
rules are committed to writing, usage is shifting ; for lan-
guage never stands still until it ceases to move altogether.
Hence the codified principles of literary expression will
always be slightly behind the actual usage of one's con-
temporaries. In other words, we are here dealing with
conservative forces which tend to retard the naturally
rapid changes of speech. Conservatism always implies
distrust of that which is new, however good it may be ;
and teaching implies not only docility on the part of the
learner, but some dogmatism on the part of the instructor.
Unless a man thinks he knows something, it is useless for
him to teach it, just as it is idle for a boy to go to school
who thinks he has nothing to learn. When dogmatic con-
servatism in language goes farther than is reasonable, we
call it 'purism,' and stigmatize its disciples as 'purists.'
Everybody, however, who speaks or writes with any care
must be a purist in some degree, for we all have our pet
aversions in matters of vocabulary and construction.
Both the purist and the innovator are necessary factors
in the development of a cultivated tongue. Without
the purist our language would change with extravagant
78 WORDS AND TTIEIll WAYS
rapidity; our vocabulaiy, for example, would give daily
hospitality to hosts of new words which have nothing but
whim to justify tlieui, and which would he soon super-
seded hy eipially lawless fornuitions. Without the inno-
vator t>ur language would come to a dead stop, so far as
literary expression is concerned, and in a short time the
speech of books would have lagged so far behind the
speech of conversation that the two would form dilTerent
dialects. The history of any literary language is, then,
a record of successive compromises and readjustments
betwt'cn the old and the new.
A novel wortl or phrase which has not yet secured un-
questioned admission into the standard dialect is called a
■)U'olo</is))i, wliich is simply a (Ireek term for a 'new form
of speech.' 'i'liere is no test but time. If a neologism
seems to most speakers to supply a lack in the language,
or to be peculiarly lit for the expression of some special
idea, it is sure to maintain itself against the protests of
the literary and scholastic guild.
On the other hand, nothing can force a new term into
any language against the inclination of a large majority of
those wdio speak it. The lield of language is strewn with
the dry bones of adventurous words which once started
out with the paternal blessing to make their fortune, but
which have met with an untimely end, and serve only,
when collected, to till the shelves of a lexicographical
museum. Some 3'ears ago, Avhen the annexation of a large
tract of territory to the United States was discussed,
Charles Sumner endeavored to revive the obsolete word
annexion in place of this somewhat cumbrous term.
Sumner's position as an orator, a man of culture, and a
statesman seemed to insure the favorable reception of this
convenient form, but all these influences were of no avail.
r.LASG ASJj Lf/.iriMATE HI' £7/111 79
For a year or two annexion wm seen in the newspapers
occasionally, but to most of the present generation it is
as unknown as the eccentric ink-horn terms of the Eliza-
bethan age.*
- " nfeT'/i speech on tlie Cesfgi/m of Rossian Ame-rica I'WiTj, an/l
al«^> .Mfi'ropfj^ed Annexion of the Island of San iJomlngo, 1870,
CHAPTER VII
THE LITERARY LANGUAGE
The language which all educated users of English
speak and write is in one sense an artificial tongue. It
is what is called a ' literary language ' as distinguished
from the unstudied speech of peoples whose mother
tongue comes to them without the influence of literature
or the schools. This ' literary language ' is not confined
to cultivated speakers. It is the common property of all
but the absolutely illiterate, the regular medium of com-
munication throughout the English-speaking world. Dif-
ferent persons speak and write this standard English with
different degrees of correctness and elegance, and there
are local and national varieties in idiom and pronunciation
which distinscuish the English of Eno'land from that of
O CD <J
America or of Australia. But such differences bear no
proportion to the substantial uniformity of English speech.
What is the origin of standard or literary English, which
most of us take for granted as if it had existed from the
beginning? The question is complicated, but the clew is
easy to catch and to follow : it consists in the single word
'dialect.'
It is natural for a person whose knowledge of English
conforms in the main to the literary or standard type to
regard the dialect of Yorkshire or of Dorset as a degraded
form of his own speech. Such an impression, however, is
quite erroneous. The Yorkshireman's dialect is not a de-
based form of standard English. On the contrary, standard
8Q
THE LITERARY LANGUAGE 81
English is merely a cultivated form of a dialect which
originally had no more claim to be regarded as the general
language of all England than the dialect of Yorkshire has
to-day. In other words, — a dialect is not a degraded
literary language ; a literary language is an elevated
dialect.
The piratical marauders who in the fifth and sixth
centuries effected the Anglo-Saxon Conquest of Britain
belonged to three or four different tribes and spoke as
many dialects. These dialects, however, were very simi-
lar, and their variety did not interfere with mutual under-
standing. We may call them collectively ' Anglo-Saxon,'
but we must remember that at this period there was no
standard Anglo-Saxon language in the sense in which
there is to-day a standard French or German. Each of
our predatory ancestors spoke his own dialect with great
satisfaction to himself and without considering whether it
was better or worse than that of a shipmate Avho belonged
to a neighboring tribe. Taken collectively, Anglo-Saxon
was most nearly related to Old Frisian, the ancestor of
the dialects still spoken in the Frisian Islands. It was
also near akin to the Old Saxon, the ancestor of Modern
Plattdeutsch ; and to Old Frankish, the ancestor of Dutch
and Flemish. Its relation to the Scandinavian languages
and to the High German dialects was more remote.^
Of the three tribes who played important parts in the
Anglo-Saxon Conquest, the Angles occupied the northern
and central part of England and extended their conquest
to the lowlands of Scotland. The southern part of Britain
fell into the hands of the Saxons. The small but rich
domain of Kent remained the possession of tlie Jutes.
The seventh century finds the conquest completed, and
iCf. pp. 159, IG.-].
G
82 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
the new lords of the soil settled substantially in accord-
ance with these boundaries. They had no written lan-
guage. Yet we must not infer that their several dialects
had received no literary cultivation. Oral literature
always precedes writing, so that, when the art of writing
is finally introduced, there awaits it a considerable body
of poetry, ready to be taken down and perpetuated. Thus
the Angles and Saxons had a great quantity of heroic
song, for which they had developed an elaborate metre
and a peculiarly complicated style, quite different from
that of their habitual language. Observe, however, that
at the time of which we are speaking, no one of the various
dialects spoken in Britain had a title to preeminence.
We have no written documents in these dialects until
the eighth century, when Britain had been in the hands
of its new masters for two or three hundred years. Pre-
sumably, the various dialects had grown apart during this
time ; for Angles, Saxons, and Jutes were more widely
separated in their new home than they had been on the
continent, and their little kingdoms were always at war.
Yet in the eighth century the differences had not yet
become great enough to make the dialects mutually unin-
telligible. They may be divided into (1) Northumbrian,
the language of the kingdom of Northumbria, includ-
ing the north of England and the south of Scotland ;
(2) Saxon, spoken throughout the south of England ;
(3) Mercian, spoken in the kingdom of Mercia, corre-
sponding to the midland counties of the present day ;
(4) Kentish, spoken by the Jutes of Kent, The North-
umbrian and the Mercian were Ansflian dialects. The
men of Kent spoke Jutish, and the Saxon was, as its name
implies, the language of the Saxon contingent of the
original invaders. Within each of the territories thus
THE LITER An Y LANGUAGE 83
defined there was considerable divergency of speech, but
this may be neglected in a general survey.
The first dialect that could lay claim to literary prece-
dence was the Northumbrian (the language of Caidmon
and the Venerable Bede), which, in the eighth century,
seemed in a fair way to set the standard for the English
tongue. But the fall of Northumbria from its political
supremacy and the rise of the southern kingdom of Wes-
sex completely changed the situation. Northumbrian
sank once more to the position of a provincial dialect,
and under King Alfred, in the ninth century, the West
Saxon dialect put in a strong claim to be regarded as the
literary language. Meantime, however, the name Eng-
lish^ that is, 'Anglian,'^ had associated itself inseparably
with tlie idea of any literary form of the vernacular. The
Northumbrians had called their tongue ' English ' because
it ivas English, — that is, Anglian. The Saxons of Wessex
applied the same term to their own non-Anglian literary
tongue.
From King Alfred to the Battle of Hastings is about
two hundred years. In this time literary English (the
West Saxon dialect) had made great strides and seemed
far more likely to become the universal speech of English-
men than Northumbrian had seemed three centuries before.
If this development had not been violently interrupted,
we should nowadays be speaking, in all probability, a
language very similar to the Dutch. It was interrupted,
as everybod)' knov/s, by the Norman Conquest.
The effect of the Norman Conquest on the history of
our language is frequently misunderstood. The Normans
^ £'??T//^ means 'Angles,' and Eufilisr, 'Anglian.' The initial ^ shows'
' nnilaut ' of an older <i. England is Enrjla (genitive plural) land, 'the
country of the Angles.'
84 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
were superior to the English in chivalric manners; but the
English surpassed them in learning and in literary culture
of the vernacular. The English of the year 1050 was not
a rude, harsh-sounding jargon, but a highly developed
language, with a copious vocabulary and an abundant
literature in prose and verse. There is no evidence that
the Normans despised the English language, and they
certainly made no attempt to crush it. They talked a
dialect of French, and no doubt they had no expectation
of giving up their patois ; but they had no wish to impose
it on any one else. A far-seeing philosophical historian
might, indeed, have foretold that either French or English
would have to prevail in the long run. . But such a phi-
losopher would have had no doubt which of the two lan-
guages would survive. The Normans had already given up
their native Scandinavian in favor of French, and they
were heavily outnumbered by the English. The result
was inevitable. It cannot have occurred to any Norman
that his language was to become the vernacular tongue in
Great Britain. It certainly never occurred to any Eng-
lishman that his own language was likely to ])ecome
extinct.
What the Norman Conquest did was not to break up
or confuse our language by coming into direct conflict
with it, but simply to interrupt the literary tradition of
the English tongue. At the time of the Battle of Hast-
ings, the West Saxon dialect was the accepted literary
language, and, although it was not yet in general use
throughout the island, it was nevertheless in a strong
position with reference to such an extension of its influ-
ence. With the coming of the Normans, this dialect fell
from its pinnacle. French became the language of the
court and of high society, not because the court despised
TUE LITERARY LANGUAGE 85
English, but because the court consisted of French-speak-
ing Normans. There was no longer any encouragement
for the cultivation of the special West Saxon form of
English at the hands of scholars and poets. Hence when
any Englishman wrote in the vernacular after the Norman
dominion became established, he used his own local dialect,
without regard to the standards of West Saxon that had
existed before the Conquest. In other words, the Norman
Conquest put the dialects of England once more on their
mettle. West Saxon was reduced to the rank which
it had occupied before the days of Alfred, and it was
again an open question which of the three great dialects
(Northumbrian, Mercian, and Saxon) should become the
literary language of the English race.^
No doubt the speech of Normandy (the Norman French)
exerted a certain amount of direct influence on the
grammar and vocabulary of our language, but this influ-
ence was much smaller than is generally supposed. The
decay of inflections, which is one of the distinguishing
marks of modern English, had begun before the Normans
came. It was accelerated by the Conquest, but only in
an indirect wa3s through the break in literary tradition
already referred to. A similar decay has taken place in
Dutch and in Danish, which were never subjected to a
Norman Conquest, and it must be regarded as a natural
tendency of our language. Some words were borrowed
from Norman French, but not enough to color the vocabu-
lary to a perceptible degree. In short, the two languages
lived amicably side by side for about two hundred years,
neither affecting the other essentially. Indeed, every
1 Of course, the conditions of tlie problem were not appreciated in the
Middle Ages. Such movements as we are studying can be surveyed only
from the vantage-grouud of centuries.
86 WORDS AND rUEIR WAYS
Student of Anglo-Norman knows that the French of the
invaders suffered ahnost as much as the English of the
conquered. In 1154 the Count of Anjou became Idng of
England. At the beginning of tlie thirteenth century
Normandy was lost to the English crown. This loss had
important results. Henceforth the specific influence of
Norman French upon the English language was very slight
indeed, — hardly appreciable. In the latter part of the
thirteenth century and throughout the fourteenth, Eng-
lishmen were vigorously engaged in translating and adapt-
ing French literature. Their models, however, were not
Norman French, in the main, nor was their activity con-
nected with the Conquest or with the fact that the ruling
chiss was of Norman descent. The same translation and
adaptation took place in Germany, and even to some ex-
tent in Norway. Central or Parisian French was now the
recognized standard on the Continent, and the French of
the English court was not Norman, but as good Parisian
French as the nobility could muster. Moreover, by the
first quarter of the fourteenth century, many of the de-
scendants of tlie Normans had lost their French and were
speaking English like their Saxon neighbors.
Everybody knows that modern English contains thou-
sands of French words. We can hardly utter a sentence
without using one. Yet comparatively few of these are
derived from Norman French. Wholesale borrowing
began about 1300 and continued for two hundred years,
and the same process has gone on ever since, but in a
more limited way. But most of our French words, from
1300 to 1900, have come not from the dialect of the
Normans, but from Central or Parisian French, — the
recognized literary standard.
All this borrowing, however, signified not the victory
THE LlTERAltY LANGUAGE 87
of French, but the triumph of English as the vernacuhir
lanCTuaofe of Great Britain. Normans were Normans no
longer, but Englishmen. The Normans were greatly out-
numbered by the Saxons. They had long ceased to speak
the Norman dialect ; though many of them still regarded
French as their mother tongue, and talked the Parisian
dialect as well as they could, as Englishmen still do. As
for the Saxon element in the population, they had [)lacidly
gone on speaking English, in various dialects, and in the
long run the aristocracy were obliged to follow their lead.
There was no death-struggle between two hostile lan-
guages, as many writers have imagined. Everything
proceeded in the simplest and most natural way. In the
usual course of events, a man can have but one mother
tongue. The great majority of the population were con-
tent with English, which was therefore indispensable to
the minority as well. A man might learn French if he
liked, but he had to know English anyway. The result
was that by 1400 the language of England was English,
and French was what it is now, — the accomplishment of
a limited class.
Meantime, what is to be said of the English 'literary
language"? From shortly after the Norman Conquest up
to the year 1300 there was no such thing. The English
dialects were now so far apart that a Southerner could
hardly understand a man from the Northern Counties.
The Midlands occupied an intermediate position in lan-
guage as well as geographically. The Northern dialect
(the descendant of the old Northumbrian), some of the
Southern dialects (the descendants of the Saxon), and at
least two forms of the Midland dialect (the descendant
of the Mercian) had gradually risen to the position of
respectable literary tongues, but no one of them could
88 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
claim precedence over any other. Ever3^tliing pointed
to the end of the fourteenth century as the time for the
o-reat decision. What was needed was a dialect that was
widely intelligible and that was already the habitual lan-
guage of certain powerful elements in the state. The
East JNlidland seemed to meet the requirements. It was
the dialect of London, of the court, — when the court
spoke English, — of Oxford. It was the dialect in which
Wyclif made his translation of the Bible, and, finally, it
was the dialect in which Chaucer, the Londoner, naturally
wrote.
There is an active revolt nowadays against the thesis
that Chaucer 'made the English language.' Some of the
most recent investigators of our linguistic history have
even neerlected to mention him at all in this connection.
Yet there is much truth in the discredited old dictum,
however absurdly it has sometimes been interpreted. To
appreciate the facts, we must look for a moment at the
posture of affairs in the latter half of the fourteenth cen-
tury, — or, say, from 1340 to 1400, the accepted term of
Chaucer's life. For it was within these sixty years that
the East Midland dialect attained the rank of the Eng-
li^i literary language, — a position which it has never
lost.
It was an age of intense activity, — a singularly ' modern '
time. One is tempted to say that all the problems that vex
the world to-day either came into existence or manifested
themselves with peculiar force within these sixty years.
At all events, there is scarcely a political or social catch-
word of the present which cannot be applied to affairs in
the fourteenth century. ' Labor ' was giving trouble in a
dozen ways. The Black Death had greatly reduced the
number of farm-hands throughout the country. The sur-
THE LITERARY LANGUAGE 89
vivors, once little better than serfs, asserted themselves in
a manner that alarmed the landed proprietors and prompted
some futile legislation. There was the Jacqueine or Peas-
ants' Insurrection in France. In England there were the
uprisings of Wat Tyler, John Ball, and Jack Straw, partly
a revolt against unjust taxation and oppressive landlords,
and partly, especially in London, an assault upon the
Flemings, who had been imported by Edward III to
establish the manufacture of cloth, and of whom native
workmen were intensely jealous. The Eastern Question,
too, was assuming a strangely modern appearance. In
1343 the Turk first got a foothold in Europe, and twenty
years later began the meteoric career of Tamerlane, infin-
itely prophetic of barbarous possibilities from the Orient.
The revolt against the Pope, which resulted in the com-
plicated movement known as the Reformation, began in
the fourteenth century with Wyclif in England and with
John Huss in Bohemia. The Revival of Learning also falls
in this century; Petrarch and Boccaccio were Chaucer's
contemporaries. The interest in education was wide-
spread. A whole chain of universities, from Cracow
to Saint Andrews, were established between 1340 and
1410. The extension of the British empire was never
a more vital question than at this time. The armed asser-
tion of Edward's claims to the crown of France, the war
of Richard II in Ireland, and the attempt of John of
Gaunt to seize the kingdom of Castile, show how far-
reaching this movement was. One can even see a forecast
of the gold and silver question in the time of Edward III.
The king's gold nobles became immediately famous. They
were readily accepted by foreign merchants everywhere,
as sovereigns pass current to-day. Many similar details
might be enumerated, but enough has been said to indicate
00 WORDS AXD THEIR WAYS
that Chaucer was born in a time of great religious and
political and literary activity.
By station, and by the incidents of his career, Chaucer
was peculiarly fitted to express the complicated life of
this intensely 'modern' age. He belonged to the well-
to-do burgher class, and his family stood in some kind of
relation to the court. He was neither too hio-h nor too low
to be well acquainted with all varieties of Euglish life.
In his youtli he became page to the Countess of Ulster,
and from this time he always enjoyed some kind of official
emolument within the royal gift. He was a Collector of
the Customs, a Superintendent of Buildings, and an officer
in charge of what we should now call the Thames Con-
servation. He was also a Member of Parliament for a
short time. But his experiences were not merely insular.
He visited France and Italy several times on business of
state, and thus came into close relations with foreism life
and letters as well as with diplomacy. As courtier, office-
holder, legislator, soldier, diplomatist, burgher of London,
he came into contact with every sort of person worth know-
ing, from king to apprentice. Probably uo man had a
broader and more intimate knowledge of tlie social life of
the fourteenth century. Add to all this the splendid
accident of genius, and you have a writer astonishingly
well equipped to depict all sorts and conditions of men as
they thought and acted in this interesting time.
Chaucer found his native East Midland dialect already a
cultivated language. There had been much narrative
poetry written in this dialect. It was, in the main, the
English of commerce, of the court, and of the universitieso
Before he had written a line, the East Midland dialect
seemed likely to become standard or literary English, and
it doubtless would have achieved that position, even if he
THE LITERARY LANGUAGE 91
had never been born. Still, the process would have been
more gradual and much less certain. What was needed
at this juncture was a literary man, a poet of commanding
genius, whose native dialect was that which stood ready
to be stamped as literary English forever. Chaucer was
such a poet ; and after his death nobody doubted that
the language as he had written it was the best English,
It must not be thought that Chaucer actually imported
many new words into our language. Almost every word
that he used can be found somewhere at any earlier date.
Most of his French and Latin 'borrowings ' had been made
before. Wiiat he did for the Midland dialect was rather
to write it with an ease, a polish, and a regularity which
had not been hitherto attained, and to use it as the vehicle
for first-rate poetry. This stamped the language of
Chaucer at once as the literary standard. The excellence
of his English is celebrated by his contemporaries and
successors. By his side stood Gower, wlio wrote in the
same dialect. Gower, though no genius, was a skilful
versifier and the master of an extremely neat style. For-
tunately, his influence on the language coincided with
Chaucer's in almost every particular. Gower without
Chaucer would not have sufficed. Chaucer without Gower
would have been abundantly able to accomplish what
was necessary. The coincidence of their efforts was
fortunate for the English language. Chaucer died in
1400. His successors and feeble pupils, Hoccleve and
Lydgate, though they contributed nothing of value to
English poetry, did much to popularize the language of
Chaucer, which they directly imitated in every possible
way. There was no longer any doubt wdiat was the
English literary language: it was the East Midland dia-
lect, and whoever wrote in any other dialect was not
92 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
writing standard English, but a local or provincial patois.
Since 1400 there has been a very slight shift, so that
Modern English is a trifle more northerly than Chaucer's
dialect, but this is of no importance in the present dis-
cussion. ^
It is to be noticed that the dialect which finally became
literary English, and which, therefore, all educated speakers
of English use, however they may differ among themselves
in details, is not the descendant of King Alfred's West
Saxon, but of quite a different dialect, the Mercian. The
West Saxon is now represented by the rustic dialects of
Wilts and Dorset in the South of England.
The triumph of the INIidland Dialect was complete by
1450, and soon caused most of the other dialects to fall
into disuse as literary media. In the north, however, a
variety of the Northumbrian was develojoed into the
Scottish language, which was subjected to many special
influences, and received much literary cultivation. The
Scottish language could not maintain itself, however. It
has been constrained to consort with the dialects once
more, though it still maintains an exceptionally dignified
position among them.
Thus every one of the three dialects of the Anglo-Saxons
has had its chance. The Northumbrian became the first
literary English. The West Saxon succeeded to that
position, and held it until the Norman Conquest. In the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the Mercian made good
its claims and won a recognition which was final.
1 The most striking evidence of this shift is seen in the use of s instead
of iJi in the third person singular of verbs. Chaucer said haCh, duth, wail-
eth, for example, but we say has, does, wails.
CHAPTER VIII
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH
In sketching the development of the English language
we have confined our attention to the native (Anglo-
Saxon) element and to the influence exerted by Norman
and Parisian French. We have yet to consider the indebt-
edness of our language to the Latin.
English began to borrow words from the Latin before
there was any English. Street (L. strata [vm], 'a paved
road'), wall (L. vallwm'), chalk ( L. calx, calcis, 'lime'), and
a few other terms entered the West (Jermanic dialects
before the Anglo-Saxon Conquest of Britain. A few
others were learned by the invaders from the Britons,
who had been Roman colonists for three or four hundred
years. Among these were jjort (L. port)is) and -cJiester,
-caster (L. castra, 'camp'), as seen in the name of the
County of CJiester, and in Silcliester, Lancaster, etc. The
conversion of tlie invaders to Christianity immediately
brought in a number of religious and ecclesiastical words,
like i^o^f', bishop, monk, nun, which we have already studied
(p. 44). From this time to the present, the borrowing of
Latin words has gone on incessantly. We have seen that
this is true of the technical dialects of divinity, philosophy,
law, and natural science. But the influence of Latin is
not confined to the technical vocabulary. It is felt in
almost every sentence that we utter. It pervades tlie
whole system of English speech.
93
94 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
The relations between French and Latin on the one
hand, and English and French on the other, make the
influence of Latin on English extremely complex. In
outline, however, the subject may be easily grasped.
One fact of cardinal importance should be kept con-
stantly in mind. In the eighth century, when Anglo-
Saxon was developing a written literature, every educated
Englishman spoke and wrote Latin as easily as he spoke
and wrote his mother tongue. Indeed, the ability to use
Latin freely was, until a comparatively recent period, the
chief distinguishing mark of an educated man. Hence in
all the earlier periods of our language, anybody who was
learned enough to borrow a Latin word at all, was suffi-
ciently familiar with that language to borrow the word in
conversation as Avell as from the written page. This sig-
nificant fact is often lost sight of.
Before the Norman Conquest, then, a good many Latin
words had been introduced into English, either orally
or with the pen. Many of these disappeared when the
literary West Saxon went to pieces, but a few have sur-
vived and are still in use.
After the Conquest, as we have seen, French words
began to come into our language, — first from Norman
French, and afterwards, in mucli larger numbers, from the
Central dialect, the ' French of Paris ' which Chaucer's
Prioress had never learned. The Norman-French words
which became English were mostly 'popular' from the out-
set. They include such simple terms as peace, totver, castle,
grief, jjrison, court, countess, and the like, which are indis-
tinguishable in the minds of all English-speaking persons
from the commonest words of native origin. Later, from
1300 on, there took place a wholesale importation of words
from Central French, and to this the large proportion of
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 95
French words in our language is chiefly due. This impor-
tation was made by Englishmen to whom French was
almost a second mother tongue, and was therefore effected,
to a considerable extent, through oral rather than written
borrowing. Yet many French words came in through
literary channels as well. Now, all literary Englishmen
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries knew a good deal
of Latin. Gower, for instance, wrote three long poems,
— one in English, one in French, and one in Latin, —
and handled the three languages with equal facility.
Thus the same persons who were borrowing from French
were at the same time borrowing from Latin, and, since
French itself is only Latin in a corrupt form, it is often
impossible to determine from which of the two languages
a particular word was directly taken. The mere fact that
the/orwi of the English word is rather French than Latin
does not settle the question. For the form which a Latin
word assumed when it became English was frequently
determined by the habits of the French language. Thus
our word figure is ultimately derived from the Latin
figiira, of which the French figure is a clipped form. It
is probable that we took the word directly from the
French. Yet this is not certain. For any English writer
who had wished to introduce the Latin figura into the
vernacular would at once have modified the word after
the French fashion. TIius, whether figure came from
Latin directly or from French, it would inevitably have
taken the same form in English : namely, figure. Texture,
for example, is known to have come directly from the
Latin textura; yet it has been remade, after the French
model, as set by figure and other words already in the
language, so that, so far as ap])ears from its form, it might
perfectly well have come from the French texture. So
96 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
flexure, from the Latin flexura, has a similar form, as if it
came from a French word flexure, though, in fact, no such
word as flexure exists in the French language. How
strong was this tendency to follow the French fashion in
adapting words from the Latin may be seen in Chaucer's
forms for proper names. The Old French form for Cato
was Catoun, and this is regularly used by Chaucer and his
contemporaries. So Chaucer writes Achilles and Achille,
Pmidarus and Pandare, indifferently. Indeed, when a
word existed in both Latin and French, it must often
have been impossible for the borrower himself to tell from
which language he was taking it.
This state of things continued through the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries. A huge number of words came
in from both Latin and French, and wc are frequently at
a loss to distinguish between them. Li doubtful cases,
however, the distinction is of almost no importance, since,
even if the word passed through the French, it is none the
less Latin, and was felt as quite as much Latin as French,
whatever its immediate source may have been.
Li many cases, however, it is easy to distinguish a word
borrowed from the French. Thus we see at a glance that
deceive does not come directly from the Latin decipere, but
from its French form decevoir. So of voyage from Fr.
voyage (L. viaticum), poison from Fr. poison (L. potionem^,
venge from Fr. venger (L. vindieare'), point from Fr. 2:)oint
(\j. punctuni). Li these examples, and many others, the
French form has wandered so far from the Latin that
doubt is impossible. This points to an important obser-
vation. French is, in the main, the vulgar Latin of the
Gallic provincials in the shape in which centuries of decay
have left it, just as Spanish is the Latin of the provincials
of Spain, and Italian the remainder Latin of the Tuscans.
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 97
By the ninth century this Gallic Latin had become so
different from its prototype as to constitute a distinct
language. There were, then, two kinds of Latin in Gaul
at this time, the rustic and debased dialect, which we may,
with a slight anticipation, call ' French,' and the educated
Latin of the schools. Both had a continuous tradition
from Roman times ; but the former came from a vernacular
and untutored tradition, the latter from the learned tra-
dition of the church and the schools, identical with the
scholar's dialect throughout the Western World. From
the ninth to the twelfth century the vernacular changed
rapidly. Recognized as a genuine language, not a mere
patois, it received literary cultivation, which has ever since
continued, until French has become the ' polite language '
of Europe. With this cultivation, a multitude of words
were borrowed from the classic Latin by educated men,
exactly as was the case with English, and these '• learned '
words are close to the Latin, whereas tlie •■ popular '
words that come from the rustic tradition usually bear a
much less distinct resemblance to the Latin. Thus sevrer
(our sever) and separer both represent the Latin separare,
but sevrer is the 'popular' or continuous vernacular form,
and separer a 'learned' or literary borrowing. Again,
siirete (older seiirte) and securite both come from L.
securitatem, but surete is •• popular ' and securite is ' learned.'
We could never hesitate to derive our surety from the
French surete. Security, however, might come either from
securite, or, as is more likely in this instance, directly
from the Latin, the form which it takes being influenced
by surety and other similar words which we have taken
from the French.
These considerations not only serve to illustrate the dif-
ference between learned and popular words (to wliich
98 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
we have already given some attention), but they suggest
the complexity of the influences Avhich Latin, both as a
learned and as a popular tongue, has had upon the
language which we speak, or, in other words, the con-
tinuity and complexity of the civilization which the
English language ex2:)resses to the student of philology.^
If we pass on to the sixteenth century, we find the rela-
tion of French and Latin to our vocabulary quite different
from that in the fourteenth and early fifteenth. The
time of wholesale borrowing from the French has passed,
but Latin borrowing is more active than ever. It is, how-
ever, distinctly learned borrowing. The Revival of
Learning has sent men directly to the classics. Theolog-
ical and philosophical studies are also pursued with vigor,
and this means an immersal in Latin. Latin is still the
scholar's language, but to speak French has become a mere
accomplishment (as it is to-day) and the men who are
adding words to our vocabulary no longer feel that French
and Latin are equally near to them. These are 'learned
times,' and a multitude of words are taken directly from
the Latin, with no thought of their French relations.
The fashion of reforming such words after the French
model is still in force, for it has become a law of our
speech, but we no longer hesitate to which language to
refer an ambiguous form : Ave refer it to Latin without
hesitation. In fact, the best test in all these doubtful
cases is the age of the word in English. If it came in
after 1500, the chances are overwhelmingly in favor
of its having come directly from the Latin unless it
bears an unmistakably French imprint. This learned
1 We may remark, in passing, that nearly all the English words that
are from Norman French are from popular forms, whereas the later
borrowings include many learued terms.
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 99
borrowing from Latin went on vigorously till very
recently, and is still common, as we have seen, in the
technical vocabulary of the sciences. It brought in a
multitude of useful words, and tended especially to
enrich our language in its means of expressing shades of
thought and securing variety of expression in general.
But it was carried to pedantic lengths, and in the eigh-
teenth and nineteeath centuries there was a revolt against
it, which has restored the equilibrium betvveen the several
main components of the English language. The borrow-
ings from French since 1500 have been scanty compared
with those that preceded and with the borrowings from
Latin. Yet a good many words have come in from
that language, — especially military terms and society
phrases. The latter have manifested themselves particu-
larly in the times from the Restoration to the present day,
during wdiich French has been the language of diplomacy
and polite society, as well as a general medium of commu-
nication for travellers of all nationalities.
In addition to the great stock of Latin words that have
entered our language through the French, or under its
influence, we have a huge mass of words and phrases taken
directly from the Latin without change. Few persons
realize the extent of this element in our vocabulary, and
fewer still its significance.
A number of examples will bring out instantly some of
the main points : sujjerior, minimum, vim, bonus, stimulus,
animal, folio, item, nostrum, recipe, veto, vacuum, inertia,
innuendo, dictum, alibi, errata, interim, vnemorandum, affi-
davit, via (in 'via New York'). Here we have a score of
words taken bodily from the Latin without change. Yet
they are undoubtedly English and in common use. One
of them (yini) is so very ' popular ' as to be almost slangy.
100 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Their diversity of form is also remarkable. They repre-
sent almost every turn and twist of Latin inflection. We
find the first, second, and third declensions of nouns, all
three genders, and both numbers. Three cases appear
(nominative, accusative, and ablative), a verb, two perfect
participles, a gerundive, a gerund in o. There are mascu-
line and neuter adjectives, the comparative and superlative
degrees, a possessive pronoun, three adverbs, the present
and perfect indicative, and an imperative. In short, a
boy Avho can explain all the Latin forms involved in this
short list of thoroughly English words need fear no exami-
nation in Latin accidence.
This great diversity of form is highly significant. It
suggests that we owe many words of this class, not to
deliberate borrowing of a learned or literary character,
but to the haphazard linguistic processes of conversation
and daily life. Nor should we be surprised at this.
Latin, as we have observed already, was a second ver-
nacular to educated men for many centuries. Not only
was it the language of the learned professions, but it
long served as a means of communication among all but
the positively illiterate. To learn to read was to learn
to read Latin. Grammar was Latin grammar. Roger
Ascham remarks in a matter-of-fact way that it would, of
course, have been easier for him to write his Toxophi-
lus in Latin than in English. Legal documents, even
of the most ordinary kind, were indited in that language.
So were records of every sort, not only those of the state,
but the journals of guilds and trade-companies. All im-
portant accounts were also in Latin. Queen Elizabeth
talked Latin with foreign ambassadors ; Cromwell had
Milton for his Latin secretary.
All this means that to a large fraction of the commu-
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 101
nity Latin terras were, and always have been, actually the
only familiar terms for certain ideas and certain things.
This is still true in a measure, as with lawyers, for instance,
and physicians ; but it becomes more and more significant
as we trace our history back to mediLeval times. It was as
natural for all persons who had occasion to mention such
things, to use the Latin words for them when they were
talking English as when they were talking Latin. Even
to-day, when the doctors talk little Latin, and write it no
more than they can help, it is far easier for them to speak
of the sequelae of a disease than of its ' consequences,' and
it would be mere affectation if they avoided sucli terms as
prophylaxis and diagnosis, or tried to translate them into
English. We have seen how easily learned words pass
into the ordinary vocabulary and become popular. A
man does not use vernacular words merely because they
are vernacular, but because they are the words that he
hears ; and few Englishmen of any period have been so
out of contact with the Church or the courts, with medicine
or the arts, as not to be influenced by the language of
those who are professionally identified with such pursuits.
The habit, once established, propagated itself, as habits do,
and became one of the regular tendencies of our language.
The borrowings in question, then, are of all dates, remote
and recent.
A moment's consideration of some of our examples will
enforce what has just been said. Recipe is an imperative
directing the apothecary to ' take ' such and such drugs
and compound tliem ; it is the physician's formula in
beginning a prescription, and lias come to he tlie name
of tlie document itself. Nostnoii means 'our own' (or
'my own'), that is, 'a proprietary romed}',' unknown to
the profession in general, — hence, a 'quack medicine.'
102 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Innuendo is the gerund of innuo^ ' to suggest,' used as a
present participle to mean ' suggesting ' or ' signifying ' ;
it has passed from the kinguage of legal documents into
its familiar use in ordinary speech. Folio is the ablative
ot folium^ and means, literally, '-on such and such a leaf^
(in a written document) ; it is thus the common term in
referring to a particular page, and, being constantly heard
in the ablative, has become English in that case-form.
Memoranduin (often abbreviated to mem.^ is the gerundive
of memoro^ ' remember,' and means ' (that which) must be
borne in mind.' Item., 'also,' is an old accountant's term.
It was formerly prefixed to all the items in a bill or inven-
tory except the first,^ but gradually it lost its specific sense
of 'also' and came to be used with them all; hence its
meaning as an English word. Bonus is a recent addition
to our vocabulary, and sliows the persistence of the influ-
ences that we are studying. Perhaps it comes from the
stock exchange. It means ' a good thing,' something ' to
the good,' — and ought, strictly speaking, to be the neuter
bonum. Its recent or jocose origin is indicated by this
error in gender. Compare preQuima., which (being an
older word in English) shows a correct form.
The genuinely vernacular nature of these words is
emj)hasized when we pass to whole phrases, which have
been taken into our language with the greatest freedom.
No one when he says ex parte, or poiit mortem, or bona
fide, is conscious of talking a foreign language; for
these phrases and scores of others have become a part
of the vernacular by inheritance and constant use, and
although their home is Latin, they are as much English
as if they had been translated, as they often are. No one
can say that dividers is any more F^nglish than divisor.
i Which was iiupriinis, 'lirsl.'
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 103
The only difference; is that divisjr is originally a technical
term, Latin in form, which the progress of edncation has
made known to every schoolboy, while dividers has been
made over by means of an English termination and then
specialized into a technicality. It is even donbtful which
word is more vernacular to-day.
Subjjoena has become an English noun and is used as a
verb as well. It is merely the law term sub poena^ 'under
penalty.' Still more vernacular is the verb to )io)iplus.
It is originally a term of scholastic disputation. A man
was 'at a non plus ' when he had ' no more ' to say.
Sometimes such phrases are translated, but often the
translation is more artificial- — less English, indeed ^ — -than
the Latin itself. An '-ex cathedra opinion' is a perfectly
natural phrase for one delivered authoritatively, but we
should attach no such meaning to the English ' from the
chair," except by thinking of the Latin. ' In the arti-
cle of death' is a mere slavish rendering of in articido
mortis. In itself, it means nothing, for article has no such
sense in our language, but we understand the phrase by
association with the Latin original. Similarly, sine die is
occasionally made into pigeon-English as 'without day.'
So with the French mariaye de convenance., 'an arranged
marriage.' We sometimes translate it by 'marriage of
convenience,' which has no sense in English except as it
has acquired one by virtue of the French. ' Cela va sans
dire' has given us 'That goes without saying,' though
'goes' does not mean 'is valid,' 'holds,' nor does sayin;/
mean 'statement.' The English phrase is not very well
established, but it is always understood, for our language
is so tolerant of foreign phrases that aiiytliing will pass
muster that suggests one.
'Generally speaking' is an idiom that gives the strict
104 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
grammarian some trouble. For it is constantly used in
apparent violation of the rule that the participle must
have a noun to agree with: as, '•GeneraUij speaking, bank
notes are as good as gold.' But all diiliculty vanishes
when we observe that the phrase is merely the Late Latin
generaliter I'oquendo, for nobody expects the gerund to
agree with a noun.^
Inclusive, in such i)hrases as 'pages thirty to thirty-
three inclusive,'' is a curious instance of a Latin word
made English. It is really the Latin adverb inclusive,
'inclusively,' and was felt as Latin in the sixteenth century
(so also exclusive).''^ Probabl}^ it was first anglicized by
a blunder, as we hear people pronounce /c?e as one syllable
in bona fide. Tlie possibility of the error, however, is
strong evidence of the 'popularity' of such Latin phrases.
A remarkable bit of testimony consists in the liabitual
use of Latin abbreviations in English writing, and in the
fact that these almost always suggest not the Latin words
for which they stand, but the English equivalent. £, s., d.
mean to everybody ' pounds,' ' shillings,' and ' pence ' —
not librae, solidi, and detiarii. Falstaff's tavern-bill showed
ob. (obolus) among its entries, but Prince Hal read it
'half-penny.' Pp. Qpaginae') means 'pages,' and LL.B.
{Legiun Baccalaureiis) ' bachelor of laws,' to most of us,
though the doubling of the letter to indicate a plural is
not an English, but a Latin habit, and though laws is not
a legitimate translation of leges in the sense of 'two kinds
^ Considerinrj, regarding^ and the like, are related to this use, but
are commonly disposed of by calling them 'prepositions.' Similarly the
'preposition ' votvilhstanding is a mere translation of the Latin ablative
absolute {non obstante). Cf. Bishop Andrewes (in 1020): " For either
of these 7ion obstante, nay notwithstanding both these, she had the hap-
piness to see His Angels." Ninety-six Sermons, ed. 1841, III, 5.
- See Andrewes, Ninety -six Sermons, ed. 18-11, 1, 27.
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 105
of law' — civil and canon. So i.e. {id est) is read ' tliat
is,' e.^. (exempli (jratia), ' for example.' Now and then a
foreigner in writing English uses/.e. or/./., but we find it
hard to guess that he means ' for example' or 'for instance,'
though the Latin e-n- occasions us no difiiculty. Viz. is
a curious example. It is videlicet ('you may know,' 'to
wit'), the z being not a z at all, but an old sign of abbre-
viation resembling that letter in shape. We seldom say
videlicet nowadays, preferring 'namely' or 'to wit' (a trans-
lation of scilicet, for scire licet), and even viz is sometimes
heard.
Again we constantly use the Roman numerals without
thinking of the I^atin words for which they stand, or
remembering that accounts were kept in Latin down to a
pretty recent date. INIost striking of all is the sign <_£%
which, thougli merely a short way of writing et, is alwaj'S
called ' and,' and used to be annexed to the English alpha-
bet under that designation. Ampersand, the name for the
sign, is a corruption of ' and per se and.'' cfec. and etc.,
then, both stand for et cetera ; yet we commonly read the
former 'and so forth,' and reserve the Latin phrase for
the latter.
It would require a special treatise to exhaust the subject
of Latin words in English. Enough has been said to
explain their presence and to indicate the main channels
through which they entered the language. Few persons
realize the extent of our indebtedness. Computations
have often been made, but they have usually been based
on the English vocabulary as a whole or on the vocabulary
of a particular author. If the former course is adopted,
the question rises ' What is the Avhole English vocabulary? '
for every large dictionary contains a multitude of obsolete
and technical terms that have no place in such a problem.
106 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
If the works of a single author are taken as a basis, there
are equally great objections to the method, though of a
different kind. A better method is to see what propor-
tion of the Latin vocabulary has passed into English.
With this in view, we have counted the words beginning
with A in Harper's Latin Dictionary (Andrews-Freund,
revised by Lewis), excluding proper names, doublets,
parts of verbs, and adverbs in -e and -ter. Of tlie three
thousand words there catalogued, one hundred and fifty-
four (or about one in twenty) have been adopted bodily
into our language in some Latin form, and a little over
five hundred have some English representative taken, or
supposed to be taken, through the French. Thus we
have in the English vocabulary about one in four or five
of all the words found in the Latin lexicon under A.
There is no reason to suppose that this proportion would
not hold good approximately for the whole alphabet. No
doubt some words have been included in this computation
that should have been omitted, Ijut others have just as
certainly been overlooked, and no account has been made
of Low and Middle Latin. Roughly speaking, then, we
are safe in asserting that our language has appropriated a
full quarter of the Latin vocabulary, besides what it has
gained by transferring Latin meanings to native words.
Our indebtedness to Greek is chiefly in the way of learned
or scientific terms which have been borrowed in very
recent times. ^
The extent of the French and Latin influence upon the
English vocabulary makes our borrowings from other
languages seem insignificant. The Celtic tongues have
contributed very little, not because the Celts were exter-
minated, but partly because of the great dissimilarity
^ See pp. 49—31.
THE LATIN IN ENGLISH 107
between Celtic and Anglo-Saxon, partly because those
Britons with whom the invaders had most intercourse had
been Romanized to a considerable degree. Bmmock^ bai'd,
bo(/, brock ('badger'), brogue^ down ('hill'), dun ('dark-
colored'), glen, lad, loch^ shamrock, and slogan are speci-
mens of the Celtic contingent in our language ; but of
these examples only brock, dwi, and doivn go back to the
Anglo-Saxon period. ^
The Scandinavian influence is more important. It
began as early as the ninth century, and was felt particu-
larly in those northern and eastern tlistricts in which
there were Danish (or Norwegian) settlements. Many
Scandinavian words did not survive the INIiddle English
period, except dialectically. Most of our Old Norse con-
tingent came into English in oral intercourse, but a few
terms have been borrowed in recent times ])y literary men
(as, skald, edda, viking, valkyrie, Norn). Among the old
borrowings are aloft (O.N. a lopte, 'up in the air,' from
O.N. loptr, for loftr, cognate with A.S. Igft, Ger. Luff),
call, cast, sky, take, ivrong.
The influence of Italian and Spanish upon our literature
has been very great, but upon our vocabulary these
languages have had no appreciable effect. The reason is
plain. Before the time when such an influence could have
been exerted, our language was already fully formed, and
had adopted from Erencli or Latin nearly all those terms
wliich it might conceivably have borrowed from related
Romance languages. Art and music have brought in
a number of Italian terms, however ; and Spanish has
contributed fiotilla, grandee, jnnta, pro nunc iamento, rene-
1 Basket and cradle aro often cited as Celtic woi'ds, but there is no
evidence for such a derivation. Crock is doubtful. JIoj> may be from the
French. Dudkin, mattock^ and slough are of uncertain origin.
108 WOED.S AND TIIEIIi WAYS
fjade, siestcu and a few others. A good many Spanish
i'orins that were current in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries have become obsolete.
Of the Semitic tongues, Hebrew and Arabic have made
small contributions to our vocabulary. The Hebrew words
are mostly biblical: as, — cherub, seraph, shekel, hallelvjah,
mannah, Messiah. Several of the Arabic words are con-
nected with mathematics or chemistry, — sciences much
cultivated by learned Arabs of the Middle Ages.^ Thus
Ave have ahjehra (from the Araljic article «/, 'the,' and
jehr, 'reduction' [l)y equations]); alkali (from al and
^c/ZF, 'ashes of tlie soda plant'); alembic {anblq, from Gr.
aixjBi^, dmbix, ' cu}),' 'cap of a still'); elixir (from al-ikslr,
'the philosopher's stone,' from Greek ^rjpo'i, xerds, 'dry,'
since it was thought that this mysterious substance might
be discovered in the form of a powder) ; cipher (from gifr,
'zero,' literally 'empty '). Other Arabic derivatives are
sofa, salaam (literally 'peace'), sherbet, admiral. In ad-
miral (formerly amiral), the final syllable is again the
Arabic article, the word being a fragment of the phrase
amlr-al-bahr, 'commander of the sea.'
The enterprising sj^irit of the English people and their
fondness for travel and colonization, as well as the great
development of their commerce, have brought in miscellane-
ous words from every quarter of the earth. No language
is so hospitable as our own to these newcomers, perhaps
because no other language already contains so many
foreign elements. None of these borrowings, however,
have affected the structure of our speech, since they have
])ccn for the most part simply the adoption of names for
))articnlar tilings. Thus we liave binnacle and dodo, from
Portuguese; boor, brackish, hustle, isinjlass, kink, knapsack,
1 See p. 45.
TUB LATIN IN ENGLISH 109
landscape^ loiter^ mat'line, slender, stove, yaclit, from Dutch
or Low German ; hazar and caravan, from Persian ; i^olka,
from Polish ; hussar, from Hungarian ; hominy, moccasin,
tomahawk, squaiv, ivigivam, from North American Indian ;
tea, nankeen, from Chinese; tahoo, from Polynesian; boom-
erang, kangaroo, from native Australian, and so on. Such
words enrich and diversify our vocabulary without essen-
tially changing its character. We shall study many
instances of this miscellaneous borrowing in subsequent
chapters.
CHAPTER IX
FASHION IN LANGUAGE
A POWERFUL influence in bringing in new Avords or
reviving old ones, as well as in changing the use and
meaning of established expressions, is what may be
called, in a broad way, ' fashion,' — a term under which
we include not merely the fads and whimsicalities of the
moment, but certain larger and more impressive move-
ments and tendencies. The sway of fashion is easily
detected both in literature and in our common talk. In
the case of literature, we dignify such habits of expression
by calling them stylistic tendencies. When they attract
our attention in colloquial speech, we stigmatize them as
slang or affectation. In the uncontrolled utterances of
the street boy, these tendencies result in the rapid propa-
gation of every new phrase that falls upon his ear, till
there grows up a language so grotesquely vulgar as to
acquire a kind of humorous right to existence. In the
domain of letters, they result in those large differences of
style which characterize particular schools of writing or
even distinct ' epochs ' or ' ages ' in literary history. Yet
the underl3ang principles are the same both in literature
and in the individual, — fondness for novelty, the desire
to be original, and finally, the wish of every man to be
as wise as his neighbor, which results in a general imita-
tion of whatever is striking or distinctive.
110
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 111
The effect of fashion in introducing new words into our
vocabnhaiy, in l)ringing certain words already existent
into peculiar prominence for the time being, and in
banishing some old words altogether, may be observed by
contrasting the language of different individuals who,
though frequenting much each other's society, are never-
theless brought under the control of different modes
of expression. Thus, a law student, a medical student,
and a young 'sport,' will be sure to have widely dift'erent
vocabularies, even if they are personal friends. This is
true not only when they are 'talking shop,' but when
they are discussing subjects quite outside of their profes-
sional interests. The young lawyer will be sure to
interlard his conversation with fragments of legal lore
and with figures of speech derived from his text-ljoohs.
The physician will find it difficult to avoid allusions to
the clinic or the dissecting-room. The sporting man will
speak a dialect compounded of the race-track, the prize-
ring, and ihe foot-ball field. And all tliis may be quite
without affectation. The words that we hear oftenest
and that are associated with our dearest interests must
come to our lips most readily. That a physician should
speak of ' dissecting ' a subject, a chemist of ' analyzing '
it, a preacher of ' expounding ' it, is as natural as that an
ordinary man should speak of ' explaining ' it or ' making
it clear.' A calamity may be called 'a cropper' by the
horsey man, 'a knock-out' by the amateur of pugilism,
'a lost case' by a lawyer. Such differences will be per-
ceptible both in the colloquial dialect and in more dignified
speech.
Another fashion is the knack of literary allusion. It is
akin to the habit of quotation, — itself a fashion in lan-
guage that comes and goes; but it shows itself in a less
112 WORDS AND TIIEIIl WAYS
formal and tangible way. The use of scraps of French,
much commoner fifty years ago than at present, and the
trick of using big words on slight occasion, wliether for
humorous effect or for the sake of ' talking like a book,'
are other examples of individual peculiarities which may
at any moment become general.
But the sway of fashion may be observed not merely in
the several vocabularies of speakers whose professions are
different, but also in the changes that come over one's
own vocabulary as it is subjected to successive influences
in the course of a lifetime. School or the university pro-
duces a marked effect on the speech of a young man.
Another immediate change comes about when he begins
the study of his profession, or enters upon the business of
his life. Even after one's vocabulary seems definitely
established, current events of general interest will always
modify it strongly for the time being. During the heat
of a political campaign everybody talks political jargon,
even when politics are not under discussion. The Spanish
War filled American ears with hitherto unheard-of words
of Spanish origin, and the war in South Africa has famil-
iarized all of us with an odd corner of the Datch vocabu-
lary, hitherto known only to South African colonists.
For a time it was easy to call any difficult barrier a
troclia^ and the policy of reconcentration often appeared in
strange company. So every little hill was a liopje, a lodg-
ing-place of any kind was a laager^ all sorts of things
were eommayidee-recL and the suo-gestion that this or that
might ' stagger humanity ' was on every lip. Similarly,
intense religious excitement may charge the language of
an individual or a community with biblical or theological
terms or phrases. Within a century the progress of scien-
tific discovery and invention, and the rise of the economic
FASniOy I.y LANGUAGE 113
and social sciences, have profoundly affected our speech.
'Society' and 'social 'have taken on new senses. The
' social problem ' means much more than it ever did before.
' Unproductive consumer,' ' unearned increment,' ' the law
of supply and demand,' ' medium of exchange,' ' standard
of living,' ' wages fund,' ' pauper labor,' ' cooperative asso-
ciation,' are commonly heard, even from persons who have
never read a chapter of political economy. ' Evolution,'
'the struggle for existence,' 'the survival of the fittest,'
have become so vague in their common application that
one hardly dares to employ them in serious discussion for
fear of begging the question. Force is regularly used to
explain everything, as if it were not in itself a word that
assumes the very ;gioint which it attempts to prove. In-
deed, it has become one of the vague terms which language
requires to expres^s indefinite and indefinable conceptions.
These are some of the fashions that every grown-up
man can remember as. having from time to time increased
his vocabulary, and either enriched or impoverished his
thought.
If we broaden our scope, we shall find that what hap-
pens to the individual in a single lifetime, applies also to
a whole people in the lifetime of their language. New
interests assert themselves from age to age, and induce
new forms of expression. The fashion changes and lan-
guage must ' folloAv the style.' Let us consider some of
the movements that have affected the English language
from time to time.
We may begin with a simple, but sufficiently curious,
illustration. The style of the Anglo-Saxon translator of
Rede's Ecclesiastical History is marked by a peculiar trick
of repetition. Again and again he uses two synonymous
nouns or vorl)s or adjectives, wliere one would suftice to
114 WOIiDS AND THEIR WAYS
convey his wliole meaning. This may be called, then, an
English literai'y habit of the ninth century. It came, per-
haps, from an unskilful imitation of the Latin, or it may
be due to some uncertainty as to the exact scope of the
English words, then first applied to the finer shades of
thought. At all events, the liabit survived in English
prose until the end of the eighteenth century. And,
though out of favor at the moment, it has left a number
of idiomatic or colloquial phrases in the language: as, 'end
and aim,' ' lord and master,' ' without let or hindrance,'
'act and deed,' 'pure and simple,' 'in deed and truth,'
'really and truly,' 'bright and shining,' 'honest and true,'
'proud and haughty,' 'weak and feeble,' 'race and ran,'
'grunt and groan,' 'pull and tug,' 'holla and bawl,' 'cry
and scream,' 'clean and neat,' 'toil and delve.' ^
Such double phrases occur very frequently in the Book
of Common Prayer, where we find, for instance, ' sins and
wickedness,' ' dissemble nor cloak,' ' assemble and meet
togetlier,' ' requisite and necessary,' ' erred and strayed,'
' declare and pronounce,' ' pardoneth and absolveth,' ' bless
and sanctif}^' ' offer and present,' ' rule and govern,' ' knowl-
edge and understanding,' 'religiously and devoutly,' 'food
and sustenance,' 'search and examine your consciences,'
' prayers and supplications,' ' to try and examine them-
selves,' 'confirm and strengthen.'
In several of these instances, one word is native and the
other foreign. Hence many have suj^posed that the repe-
ilt is not meant that these particular phrases came down from King
Alfred's time, nor that they originated in tautology pure and simple, but
merely that they owe their currency to a habit of the language which we
may observe in full swing in the formal prose of the ninth century. On
the whole matter see Emerson, Modern Language Notes, 1893, i)p. 202
ff. ; J. M. Hart, in An English Miscellany presented to Dr. Furnivall,
pp. 150 ff.
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 115
tition came from a wish to be intellisfible botli to the
Saxon and the Norman element in the popnlation, or, at
all events, both to the uneducated and to the educated
classes. But this is pure assumption, and it is contra-
dicted by the habits of English speech. Remembering
the composite character of our vocabulary, we are not sur-
prised that in a pair of synonyms one should be of native
stock and the other borrowed. Besides, the examples
from the prayer-book show every kind of combination :
sometimes both words are native (as was of course always
the case in Anglo-Saxon), sometimes both are foreign, and
sometimes the pair includes one word of each kind. Most
of our older writers illustrate the same stylistic habit.
Lord Bacon, for instance, writes ' donatives and largesses,'
'pageants or gaudery,' 'amplitude and greatness,' 'to
forsake or destitute a plantation,' ' he runs and is swift of
foot,' 'good and fair dealing,' 'putrefy and corrupt,' 'the
spreading or publishing of them,' 'to stay and arrest
nature,' 'look sharply and attentively,' 'honored and re-
spected.' The rationale of such phrases is evident enough.
A single noun or verb seldom expresses the full scope of
an idea. The pair of words covers the whole meaning
intended by the writer, since the synonyms that he chooses
have somewhat different senses. To be sure, some repeti-
tion is involved, since the second word repeats a large
part of the meaning of the first, though adding some
meaning of its own. Yet the author prefers to express
his thought say one-and-a-quarter times to the opposite
method of expressing three-quarters of it and leaving the
rest to be inferred. In Modern English we take the latter
course, though not uniforml}^ The older fashion con-
duces to dignity and copiousness of style, but easily
betrays one into tiresome verbiage.
116 WORDS AND THEIR ]VAVS
111 the Middle Ages, the Englisli liiiigiiage was a good
deal affected by the allegorical treatment of love. This
followed various conventions, drawing its iigures espe-
cially from warfare, chivalr}^ the law, and religion. Thus
the lady's heart was a castle to which the knight laid
siege. The metaphor was elaborately developed and
even acted, as a kind of pantomimic tableau. Hence our
phrases, 'to take one's heart by storm,' 'to surrender at
discretion.' Or the lover was the lady's vassal, her 'man,'
bound to unquestioning obedience, her 'servant,' her
' thrall ' or slave. Love was a monarch whose courtiers
were Pity, Disdain, Fair Welcoming, False Semblant, and
the like; he sat in judgment and heard the complaints of
suitors against their hard-hearted mistresses. Strangest
of all, to our thinking, is the religious convention. The
lady was the ' saint ' to whom one prayed. The God or
Goddess of Love was addressed in terms appropriate to
the Deity. Faithful lovers were Cupid's 'saints.' Dido
and Phyllis, who died for Love, were Love's 'martyrs.'
As the Church recognized seven deadly sins and seven
principal virtues, so there were sins and virtues in the
worship of Love. Plence came many figurative ex-
pressions which to us sound blasphemous or, at least, in
very bad taste. But the religion of the Middle Ages was
not remote from life. It was a matter of course, which
nobody hesitated to talk about, and consequently such
figures conveyed no hint of irreverence. One of the first
and best effects of intelligent linguistic study is to eman-
cipate us from that form of provincialism which erects
the present fashions in language into eternal canons of
criticism.
The Elizabethan age was marked rather by the preva-
lence of every possible kind of literary mannerism than
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 117
by the predominance of any. Euphuism was only one of
several fashions in speech and writing. The language of
the Euphuist was not, as has often been thought, full
of strange and affected words. So far as mere vocabulary
is concerned, it was usually pure and dignified. But it
resorted to excessive antithesis; it balanced itself so nicely
from clause to clause as to make monotony into a fine art;
and it heightened false point by puerile tricks of allitera-
tion and jingle. Besides all this, it was overloaded with
far-fetched similes from what passed for natural history.
These peculiarities are all illustrated in the following
passage from Lyly's Euphues, a kind of moral romance,
from which the style in question takes its name : ' —
It fareth with me, Psellus, as with the osti'ich, who pricketh none
but herself, which causeth her to run when she -would rest; or as with
the pelican, who striketh blood out of her own body to do others good;
or with the wood-culver, wlio plucketh off her feathers in winter to
keep others from the cold; or as with the stork, who, when she is
least able, carrieth the greatest burthen. So I practise all tilings that
may hurt me, to do her good that never regardeth my pains, so far is
she from rewarding them.
The coinage of strange words, the borrowing of new
terms from the classic languages, and excessive Latiniza-
tion, were also characteristics of the Elizabethans. Hence
the contemporary satire on 'ink-horn terms.' A rough-
and-ready caricature is Rowlands' 'Signieur Word-Monger,
the Ape of Eloquence' (1600): —
As on the way I itinerated,
A rural person I obviated,
Interrogating time's transitation
J Euphues is the hero's name. It is Gr. evctjvrjs, ' of an excellent nature,'
from e5, 'well,' and 0i;w, 'to be born.' E5 is familiar to us in e^i-phony
((puvq, 'sound'), and euphemism (0u"'i 'to say"); (pina we have in
jihusics, physiciaii, ph>jsiuluy>j, and so on.
118 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
And of the passage demonstration.
My apprehension did ingenious scan
That he was merely a simplician ;
So when I saw he was extravagant,
Unto the obscure vulgar consonant,
I bade him vanish most promiscuously,
And not contaminate my company.
Translated into plain English, this farrago means merely :
' As I was walking in the road, I met a countryman, who
asked me the time and the way. When I saw he was a
vagabond, and belonged to the common people, I told him
to begone and not disgrace me by his company.'
Another trick of Elizabethan writers was to archaize.
Chaucer was much read and ■• Chaucerisms ' were abun-
dant. The most eminent of all archaizers is Spenser, only
a small part of whose poetry is written in the language of
his time. The influence of France, in which a remarkable
literary movement was then in progress, has been traced
in some (^f the Elizabethan whimsicalities.^ Spain and
Italy were also potent forces. Euphuism itself is com-
monly referred to Spanish influence, and certainly shows
much likeness to the celebrated Guevara.
Sometimes sham antiques have slipped in. Spenser, the
most distinguished of all our archaizers, made many mis-
takes, and his imitators in the eighteentli and nineteenth
centuries were not better instructed. Thus the strange
compound noun derring-do^ which he introduced, and
which has had some currency in the sense of ' courage,' ' val-
orous achievement,' is due to a headlong misunderstand-
ing of a passage in Chaucer, ' in derring do that longeth
to a knight,' i.e. ' in daring to do what belongs to a knight.'
1 See J. B. Fletcher, Areopagus and Plciade, in Journal of Germanic
Philology, II, 429-53.
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 119
So iicis, an adverb meaning 'certainly' (cognate with Ger.
getviss'), has usually been treated l)y archaizing writers as
if it were a pronoun and a verb, — I wis, 'I know,' —
thougli this is an impossible form, — the present tense
being really / 2vot, and the preterite I iviste (cf , the bibli-
cal, 'he wist not what he said'). Ti'oiv really means 'to
think,' but it has often been used as a synonym for ' I
know.' Gramarye is set down in all the dictionaries as
meaning 'magic' (like Fr. grimoire^ which has the same
origin), but the only old sense of this word that can be
discovered in English is ' grammar,' — its original and
proper meaning. It looks as if the sense of 'magic' were
a coinage of Bishop Percy's, — a clever coinage, it must
be admitted, or a happy blunder, for nothing ever had
more the air of a tine old word.^ The connection between
the idea of 'grammar' (/.e. 'learning') and 'magic' is
also close, and the Fr. grimoire^ ' a conjuring book,' shows
how natural the development is.
Finally, we may mention the universal Elizabethan habit
of punning, wliicli pervaded conversation and literature
alike. Every kind of play on words was common, from
the merest jingle in sound to the most elaborate calem-
bour. Puns are now out of favoi", probably because we
think that the punster wishes us to laugh at them.^ We
should be careful, however, not to take the punning habit
of the Elizabethans so seriously. Clearly the Elizabethans
did not laugh at puns, unless they were peculiarly amusing.
1 See Child, English and Scottish Popular Ballads, V, .'UO.
- Pun is of uncertain etymology, and was doubtless a slang word at
the outset. It is commonly referred to pound (of which there is a clipped
iovm jian, 'to beat,' occurring in Shakspere). An older word is clench
or clinch, either from the twist in the meaning of the words punned on
or from the sense of 'repartee,' — something that clinches the argument.
Quirk {vi 'turn' or 'flourish') and quip (from quid pro quo) are synonyms.
120 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
They got merely a certain intellectual titillation out of
the grotesque association of ideas which punning induced.
The pun became for the first and last time in our literary
history a definite feature of the language. Some of the
commonest puns became idiomatic, and attracted no atten-
tion whatever. Our own speech always seems familiar to
us, however odd it may sound to our neighbors over the
border, in space or in time.
In general, the Elizabethans handled the language with
the greatest freedom. It was an age of novelty. The
English people was at last awake to its importance as a
[)ower in the world at large. It was ceasing to be isolated,
and was becoming conscious of a great political destiny.
Discoveries, as of the New World, Utopian schemes, and
phantom commonwealths were in the air. Men's minds
were stimulated in the highest degree, and the mental
temper was alert and ready. Fantastic imitation of for-
eign ways was inevitable. Each Elizabethan felt that he
was an individual, and burned to distinguish himself, if
only by the cut of his coat. It was the age of Pericles,
without the restraints of Greek taste, — which, however,
were not so binding on the actual Athenians as they have
become in the tradition of retrosj^ective critics. The stage
reproduces for us almost every trick of Elizabethan speech
and manners. The mere vocabulary of a single dramatist
would wreck his reputation with the jjurists if he were a
modern.
In the next age, thought, literature, and language were
influenced by those complex causes which we sum up rather
vaguely as 'Puritanism.' The most obvious effect on our
language was to bring theology and biblical turns of phrase
into the common speech to a degree unknown before. Yet
it would be a serious mistake to suppose that any great
FASHION I^' LANGUAGE ]21
number of the religious words that are now a part of
our ordinary vocabukiry are derived from this movement.
Most of them had been in the language for a long time, and
many had gone through a development which had obscured
their origin, so that they were no longer felt as religious
allusions. The religious vocabulary was not the invention
of the Puritans, nor was its common use in everyday dia-
logue a specifically Puritan fashion. What the Puritans
did was to carry the habit out to its ultimate limits in
use. They also made constant appeal to the legislation of
the Old Testament, and thus filled the language, for a
time, with allusions to Hebrew law and ritual, as well as to
the poets and prophets of the Old Dispensation. In short,
they focussed their minds on biblical phraseology, with
results that permanently affected our stock of words and
idioms. In New England these forces worked with pecu-
liar power. Congregationalism was long established by
law, and all who refused to conform to that system were
'dissenters."^ The intellectual history of Massachusetts,
for example, was practically unaffected by the Restora-
tion.
The reaction from Puritanism in the life of the nation
is mirrored in the language of tlie eighteenth century.
Writers were in constant dread of 'enthusiasm' (which
was a synonym for ' fanaticism ') and ' the romantic ' (by
which was meant anything fanciful or imaginative or
emotional that was not instantly reducible to common
sense). Their ideal was the easy elegance of language
which befits a cultivated man of fashion. Polish, wit,
and epigram were the mode. Imagination was repressed.
Warmth of feeling was not to be uttered without sus-
1 See A. C. Goodell, in the Publications of the Colonial Society of
Massachusetts, I, 14U if.
122 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
picioii of vulgarity. The good writer, it was held, should
steer his course between exaltation, on the one hand,
and dulness on the other. Above all, he should be clear
and logical, or at all events, should have the semblance of
being so. To preserve one's self-control under all circum-
stances, without appearing to be self-conscious, was to
reach the acme of the kind of excellence then most
admired. The model was France, the polite nation.
There can be no doubt that the eighteenth century had
a beneficial effect on our language. In particular, it made
for what we now call 'grammatical correctness.' The
regularity of English syntax is mainly due to the tenden-
cies which we have been describing, ^lany constructions,
freely used in the Elizabethan age, were gradually dis-
carded in the eighteenth century because they seemed to
be irregular, or because they tended to ambiguity. Simi-
larly, the meanings of words became more limited, with
a manifest gain in exactness. And finally, our literary
vocaljulary was subjected to a purifying process. The
Elizabethans, as we have seen, were very free in coining
new words or in reviving old ones, and the learned times
liad brought in many sesquipedalian terms from the Latin.
This gave a peculiar richness to Elizabethan phrase-
ology, and a fine dignity to that of the seventeenth cen-
tury ; but such processes cannot go on indefinitely without
removinar the lancruaQ-e of literature too far from that of
common life. A period of rest has to intervene, that the
language may, so to speak, take account of stock, or,' to
change the figure, may digest what it has somewhat indis-
criminately devoured. The eighteenth century was such
a period. No better standard can be found than the easy
language of cultivated men who are neither specialists
nor pedants, and this was the standard which the eigli-
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 123
teenth century used in codifying 'good English.' Many
blunders were made in matters of detail, but the general
movement was sound, and its results were good. Of
course, this schoolmastering tendency could not last for-
ever. Long before the end of the century there were
revolts against the repressive canons of what was called
good taste, and the language began once more to go on in
its free course of development. There is such a thing as
pedantic dread of pedantry, and as soon as the eighteenth
century reached that stage, its work had been done, and
another readjustment began.
What is called the 'Romantic Revival,' toward the end
of the eighteenth century, is the next great influence
which our language felt. This is a vague term for a very
complicated group of causes, and the literary historians
find some trouble in defining it. The effect upon our
language, however, is a much simpler matter to study.
There was a revolt against French neatness and ' correct-
ness ' of style, a return to the older models of English,
— to Spenser, and Shakspere, and Milton. Obsolete and
half-obsolete words were revived, not always with an
accurate knowledge of their sense. Variety and striking
effects were sought after. Metaphor became bolder, and
versification was freed from some of its more recent
shackles. Poetry showed this first ; and in the nineteenth
century the reaction extended itself to prose. The easiest
catchword for the revolt is ' individualism,' as opposed to
the view that a man must conform his language to that
of everybody else, or that all must follow some definite
model or models, ancient or modern. We have a feeling
that 'the style is the man,' and that every author is there-
fore entitled to use that form of languao'e which best
expresses his individuality. Thus it is impossible to
124 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
say that there is any prevailing style that marks the
nineteenth century. A hundred years hence, when the
small men have sunk out of sight, and only a few great
authors emerge from the level of forgotten medocrity, the
future historian may be able to characterize nineteenth-
. century English, but it cannot be done by a contemporary.
In one and the same author, we often find marked preci-
osity of phrase cheek by jowl with the baldest colloqui-
alism. Affected brutality of diction associates itself on
the same page with equally affected sentimental refine-
ment. In some particulars, however, we can hardly go
wrong. It is certain, as we have already remarked, that
the progress of science and mechanics, and the widespread
popular interest in discovery and invention, have pro-
foundly modified our vocabulary. Another influence, of a
widely different kind, has come from the almost passionate
study of literature as a fine art, and from the consequent
development of literary criticism. And, finally, there has
never been a time in tlie history of our language when
' syntactical correctness ' has ruled with so capricious and
tyrannical a sway. The proof-reader has become a court
of last resort for many of us.
We have now considered not only the great movements
which brought the English language to pass, but some of
the modifying influences or 'fashions' to which it has
been subjected from age to age. Among the fashions,
we have counted mere tricks of style, like the Anglo-Saxon
tautology, and such far-reaching social and religious
forces as Puritanism. Despite all these modifying influ-
ences, we observe that the English tongue is still the
English tongue. It has changed much since the East
Midland became the literary language five hundred years
ago, yet all the changes have not essentially modified
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 125
its character. The 'genius of the language' is still the
same.
Such persistence of uniformity in the face of chance
and change challenges our attention. Words, as we
know, are but the signs of thought. They do nothing
of themselves, and have only such senses as the mind of
the speaker and the hearer gives them. Yet, when we
observe their conduct in the presence of various forces
that act upon them, they almost seem to have an inde-
pendent life, apart from the mind of the man who uses
them.
And, indeed, this is in a manner true. For no sooner
has an idea been expressed in words than the form of
expression reacts on the speaker and influences his subse-
quent thought. If this happens in the case of a casual
utterance, phrased in a conventional way, how much more
powerful must have been the reaction in the minds of
those whose first acquaintance with that idea was associ-
ated with the particular form of language in which it
was couched ! Every one knows how a peculiar or strik-
ing phrase, embodying a certain thought, may recur to the
memory whenever the thought comes back to us, and
thus, by a kind of haunting persistence, make it difficult
to phrase the thought otherwise. We all have our favor-
ite catchwords, which, originating in this way, liave
become as much a part of our individuality as our tricks
of gait or gesture or facial expression.
Now, in long lapses of time the continuance of similar
impressions produces in one speaker a mode or habit of
thought consonant with that of others. The several
impressions in the mind as a particular word is constantly
used act somewhat like objects in a composite photogra])li:
all thiit is alike is constanlly accumulating, while that
126 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
which is individual or peculiar is as rapidly dissipated.
Tlius there arises a regular and persistent mode of
thought, and consequently of expression, which more or
less dominates the form of the language in the mouths
of all its speakers, whether they mean to be guided by it
or not. To this tendency the Germans have given the
expressive name Sprachjefiilil, or 'speech-feeling.' We
have no settled term for it in English, — that is, no name
which our Sprachgef'dhl has accepted, — so that we are
more or less in the habit of employing the German word.
It is of course absurd to ascribe feeling to language,
except in a metaphorical way. Fortunately, however, the
vague syntax of composition (see p. 177) allows tlie Ger-
man word to mean a ' feeling /or speech' as well as 'feel-
ing of speech,' and by-and-by we shall either adopt the
term as an English word, or the feiiintj itself will accept
some other suitable phrase to express the idea. For the
SpracligefuU is a very real thing in a long-cultivated lan-
guage like our own. It affects every word that we utter,
tliough we may think that we are speaking as the whim
of the moment dictates; and thus it is the strongest and
most pervasive of all conservative forces, and has kept
our language true to itself through all the vicissitudes
which we have been describing.
The writer has a thousand times had occasion to notice
the difference in tliis Sprachgefiild in the use of Latin,
French, and English, and has constantly been surprised
at the way in which the language insisted upon writing
itself almost in spite of him. Thus a monumental sim-
plicity of style and a single point of view are almost
inseparable from a Latin essay; French must make itself
scintillating and epigrammatic; and it is almost impossible
not to be copious and diffuse in writing English.
FASHION IN LANGUAGE 127
No author, however eminent, can disregard this su])tle
and pervasive haw. Men of genius may take great hher-
ties with their mother tongue without offence ; but let
them once run counter to its cliaracteristic tendencies, let
them violate the Englisli Sprachgefilhl, and their manner-
ism becomes, as it were, a foreign language. They are
writing not English, but — say Carlylese.
CHAPTER X
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY
No language has so complex and varied a vocabulary
as English. Our everyday speech includes a multitude
of words from all periods of history, and every quarter of
the globe. All the great civilizations have contributed to
our vocabulary. Indeed, the history of English words is
the history of our civilization in all its aspects. A few
examples will illustrate these truths in a striking way.
Only familiar words have been chosen, but these have been
made as miscellaneous as possible in order to bring out the
complexity of the subject.
Candy comes from the Arabic qand, 'sugar'; the Arabs
got their word from the Persian, and its ultimate source
seems to be Indian, for it is connected in some manner
with a Sanskrit verb which means 'break' ('fragments of
crystallized sugar'). Sugar has a similar history, being
derived from Arabic, and by Arabic from Sanskrit. Mo-
Ias?ses, on the contrary, is from L. mellaeeus, 'honeylike'
(from mel ' honey,' whence melli-fluous, ' honey-flowing,'
which we use of a sweet sound). Rum, the name of a
third product of sugar-cane, seems to be of English origin;
an older form is rumbuUion, apparently a dialectic English
word for 'disturbance,' or 'racket'; thus in its original
application to a kind of liquor it was a mere bit of humor-
ous slang. Treacle for ' sugar-syrup' (also for ' molasses")
is ultimately derived from ;i, Orook word signifying 'an au-
]2S
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 129
ticlote for the bite of a wild beast.' ^ All of these words,
except rum, reached our language through the French;
rum, however, has been borrowed by French- from English.
A scolding woman is a scold, shrew, vixen, termaga7it, or
virago. The first three words are of native origin. Scold
goes back to a root which means ' to shove or push '; slweiv
means 'cursed' (cf. curst, an old word for 'ill-tempered'),
and it is connected with shrewd; vixen is the feminine
form of fox (cf. Ger. Fuchs, FUchsi7i)\ termagant is a by-
form of Tervagant (of unknown etymology), supposed in
former times to be a savage god of the Saracens ; virago is
a Latin word, borrowed without change of form; its origi-
nal sense is ' a manly woman ' (vir, ' man '), ' a heroine,'
'an amazon.' The adjective cross is ultimately from L.
crux ('a cross ■),2 and means first 'lying crosswise or
athwart,' then 'contrary or perverse,' and finally 'ill-tem-
pered.' Ill-tempered means literally ' ill-mixed,' and refers
to the mixture of the humors in a person's system; a dis-
turbance of the balance of this mixture puts one ' out of
sorts.' Ill comes from the Scandinavian, temper from the
Latin ; so that the adjective last mentioned is a hybrid
compound representing two widely separated civilizations
which came into contact with each other in the British
Islands, Ill-humored has the same source ; it refers liter-
ally to one whose humors (see p. 30) are in bad order.
Pheasant comes through French and Latin from Fhasis,
the Greek name of a river in Asia. Turkeys were thought
to have come from Turkey ; hence the name ; the word
Turk itself is from the Persian, but is probably of Tartar
origin. Parrot is 'little Peter,' from Fr. Pierrot, though
no one knows why the bird was so called ; paroquet has
1 See p. 200 for ck'tails.
2 For the history of the word see p. -'349,
130 WOnDS AND THEIR WAYS
the same meaning, and so has petrel (Fr. petrel). In the
last instance there is ]Derh;ips an allusion to St. Peter's
walking on the sea. Rohm is of course a diminutive of
Robert., which is an Old High German proper name
(meaning ' bright in fame ') that has reached us through
the French to remind us that French civilization is partly
of Teutonic origin. Thrush, icren, and throstle are native
English words, and so is dove; hut jn;/ eon is French, from
L. 2)ipio, 'a peeper,' 'a chirper.' Eagle is French, from
L. aquila (perhaps from aquilus, 'dark brown').
Oar came to us from the Norman carre, used for almost
any vehicle. Carre was from the late Latin carra, L.
carrus. The Romans took the word from the Celts. In
England car has become, in the main, a poetical word for
'chariot,' or the like, as in Milton's 'car of night.' In
America, however, it is still in popular use in a special
sense in connection with 'rapid transit' (see p. 271).
We speak of ' steam cars,' ' railway cars,' ' passenger cars,'
' freight cars,' 'horse cars,' 'electric cars,' etc., and use the
simple car as a generic term for them all. For Ameri-
cans, then, its associations are distinctly prosaic. Car-
riage (also from Norman French) is properly an abstract
or noun of action from the verb derived from carre.
It is used both abstractly and concretel}^ (for a single
vehicle). Vehicle (still a rather literary or learned
word) is borrowed directly from L. vehicuhim (from vehere,
to 'convey,' cognate with Eng. wag}. Cart is of un-
certain etymology, but must be connected with A.S.
crcet, 'cart.' It is perhaps akin to O. H. Ger. cratto,
'basket or hamper.' (Crate, from L. cnltis, 'hurdle,' is
a different word.) Wagon, or loaggon, comes from Dutch
or Low German. The native English term is wain (A.S.
wcegn, akin to way'), a related word, which has become
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 131
poetical. Coach is a much later word ; it was introduced
from the French eoche in the sixteenth century (when
coaches came into use). It was originally a Hungarian
adjective, from the name of the town Kocs (pronounced
kotcJi)^ so that coach is like berlin, landau, hansom (cf.
Concord tvagon, Bath or Sedan chair, etc.), and arises from
the omission of the generic noun which the adjective lim-
its.^ Drai/ is the A.S. drage, 'dragnet,' from dragan, 'to
draw.' It is connected with dredge, but dredge (though
originally Teutonic) comes directly from Fr. drege. Lo-
comotive is a learned formation (like Fr. locomotif), made
as if from a Latin locomofivus (loco-, stem of locus, 'place,'
+ motivus, from movere 'move'). In the case of such
learned words it is sometimes impossible to tell whether
they were made up directly from the Latin or borrowed
from the French, since the first user of them often had
both languages in mind, and, even if he were imitating a
French word, did so on the basis of Latin forms that were
familiar to him.. As we have already remarked, the Latin
words that our language borrowed directly have usually
been treated after the analogy of French formations, them-
selves taken from Latin.^ The full form is locomotive en-
gine. Locomotive has never become truly popular, — the
commonest term being simply engine, an interesting case
of successive specialization (see p. 248).
Cah was originally slang. It is shorthand for cabriolet,
— a French diminutive of cabriole. The latter comes from
the Italian cabriola, itself a diminutive of L. capra, ' she-
goat.' The application of the name to a light vehicle is a
manifest joke. Calash is merely an English pronunciation
of Fr. caleche, which is of Slavonic origin. The original
1 See pp. 253 ff, 2 gee p. 95.
132 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
calashes had a removable top, — hence the word was also
applied to a kind of hood. Barouche is the German Ba-
rutsche, respelled in the French fashion under the impression
that it was a French word. The Germans took Barutsche
from the Italian, its final source being the Latin birotus,
'two-wheeled' (from rota^ 'wheel'). Chaise is a much-
worn form of the Greek KaOehpa (^kathedra'), 'a chair.'
It has passed through L. cathedra (whence cathedral, from
the bishop's throne), and Fr. chaire, ' pulpit,' the form
chaise being an old Parisian dialectic pronunciation of
chaire. The word chaise is older than the vehicle. When
first borrowed in English it was applied to a litter (like a
'Sedan chair'"'). Shay (eliay^ is a seventeenth-century
form (always regarded as vulgar), due to the idea that
chaise was a plural (cf. pea from pease; vulgar corp from
corjjse').
Bicycle is an artificial modern formation from the Latin
prefix In-, which has long been freely used in English
(especially in scientific terms), and cycle, itself a deriva-
tive (through the Latin and perhaps the French) from
Gr. kvk\o<; (kfiklos), 'wheel.' The English word is
well formed,^ and conveys an appropriate sense. The
mere fact that it is a hybrid compound does not make
it any the less acceptable English. Observe the rapid
shortening of the word to plain cycle, A curious twist,
clcycle, sometimes heard from the ignorant in England,
illustrates both the tendency to assimilation of sounds and
that to reduplication. In less educated times this form
would have a good chance to prevail, since, like all such
1 Unlike its predecessor velocipede (from L. velox, velocis, 'swift,' and
pw, pedis, 'foot'), whicli was apparently intended to signify ' something
rapidly propelled by the rider's feet.' If, however, velocipede meant
simply 'swift-footed,' the word was legitimately made,
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 133
vulgar distortions, it obeys the dominating tendencies of
linguistic change.
Sjnee is the same word as species and specie. It comes
from the Latin species ' kind,' through O. Fr. espice, and
in Middle English meant both 'kind' and 'spice.' The
latter sense is a queer specialization and must have come
through trade, — there were different kinds of these
aromatic substances, and so spices came to be used for the
substances themselves. Species was later borrowed directly
from Latin without alteration. Specie is the ablative of
species^ and comes from the Latin phrase zw specie., — used
for payment in gold or silver (from the sense of ' treasure,'
'coin,' which sjjeaies took in late Latin). Notice that
from the noun species, a vulgar singular specie for 'kind'
has been formed, species looking like a plural.^
Pepper is the Anglo-Saxon jyfpoj', borrowed from h.pipe7\
which came from the Greek; but the Greeks themselves
took the word from the Orient. Cinnamon is the Hebrew
qinndmon., which is borrowed from some other Eastern
tongue. The older English form is cinnamom, from L. cin-
namomum, itself from the Hebrew. But this English form
was made over by scholars who were familiar with He-
brew and thought cinnamom erroneous. Ginger is also an
Eastern word. Its earliest English form was gingiver,
from O. Fr. gengibre, from L. zingiber, from Gr. ^L'yjL^ept'i
(^zingiber is), from some Oriental language. The literal
meaning is ' horn-shaped,' from the shape of the root.
Allspice is so called from its supposed composite flavor of
cloves, nutmegs, and cinnamon. Nutmeg (]M.E. notemuge')
is a hybrid compound of English nut (older note^ and
O. Fr. muge, 'musk.'
Grocer is literally one who sells at wholesale (en gros') ;
1 See p. lo9.
134 WORDS AND TUEIR WAYS
it is a comparatively modern word in its present ap-
plication. Doctor (literally ' teacher,' as in ' Doctor of
Divinity ') is a title used as an appellative ; its common
application to physicians is due to the fact that ' doctors
of medicine " outnumber all other kinds of doctors. Car-
peiiter is from L.L. carpentarius (through the French),
which meant formerly *■ wagon-maker,' from L. carpentum,
'wagon,' related to car and, like car, of Celtic origin.
Cordivainer, 'shoemaker,' has nothing to do with cord; it
is the Old French cordoanier, a worker in cordouan or
Cordovan leather (whence Eng. cordivahi).
Shop is the Anglo-Saxon seeoppa, 'storehouse,' 'booth.'
Store, from O. Fr. e^tor, 'provisions' (which is from
L. (in^stau7\ire, 'to restore'), meant in older English
' a collection ' or *• accumulation,' especially of goods ;
hence it came to mean 'a storehouse' or 'depot.' In the
United States and the British Colonies any shop where
goods are sold, large or small, is often called a store. This
is not mere provincial grandiloquence, as is often supposed,
but results from the fact that, when the use grew up,
the places in question were really storehouses, — as every
' shop ' in a new country must necessarily be. Emporium,
as often used, is deliberate and half-humorous magnilo-
(juence. The word means properly a market-town or
centre of trade, and is a mere Latinization of the Greek
e/jLTTopiov (e7np)6rio7i), 'trading post' or 'factory.' Factory
is ivoiw factor, 'agent.' A factory was formerly a trading
post or establishment for the agents of a foreign trading
company, — as '• i\\Q factories of the East India Company.'
Later it was transferred to its present meaning of ' manu-
factory ' (\j. manus, 'hand'), being in a manner rederived
fi'om \ J. factor ium} 'a place Avhere things are made.'
In classical Latiu,/aciu/'iM//i has taken the special sense of 'oil-press.'
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 135
Pretty is the Anglo-Saxon ji?r«^ti^, ^ sly,' which may come
in a roundabout way (possibly through the Celtic) from
L.L. 'practica^ 'practice,' 'plot' (which is from Gr.
'TrpaTTO), prdttO, 'do,' 'make'). The transition in mean-
ing from 'sly' to the present sense of pretty is doubtless
through the notion of 'cleverness.' Compare the American
nursery term cunning of a bright or amusing little child
(^cunning means literally 'knowing,' and had at first no
bad sense). ^ So Jiandsoine is literally 'dexterous,' 'handy '
(^-some being the suffix seen in winsome^ gladsome^ etc.).
Beautiful is a French word, beaufe, with an English suffix.
Beatify itself is from L.L. beUifas^ from L. bellus, 'pretty.'
Lovely is of course from love. Observe that all these
adjectives, especially pretty, the oldest of them in English,
show traces of being used as pet names or endearing
adjectives. This is, indeed, enough to account for what
seems at first the strange cliange of sense which pretty has
undergone. The fantastical language of affection often
makes pet names out of abusive ones. So Othello calls
Desdemona 'excellent wretch,'' and King Lear speaks of
Cordelia as 'my poor /ooL' Rascal, worm, villain, tyTce
(' cur '), goose, and even snake, have all been used in this
way ; cf . the L. asellus, ' little donkey.' We should remem-
ber Helena's list of
Pretty, fund, udoptious cliristendums
That blinking Cupid gossips,
in All's Well That Ends Well.
Coi'n is a native word (akin to L. gratuini, whence
grain is derived) ; its original sense is ' a single grain,' as
in the biblical 'a corn of wheat,' and kernel is its diminu-
i On the change of meaning in sl'j, cun)iiu(j, and knowing, see p. 289.
136 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
tive.i Collectively corn is used in England for any kind
of grain. In the United States, however, the word
(Avhen used without an adjective) regularl}^ means
'maize' or 'Indian corn,' and is never applied to wheat,
rye, barley, or oats. 3Iaize (a term seldom heard in the
United States) is a Haytian word, mahiz (or mahis^,
which came into our language through the Spanish tnaiz.
Ink comes (O. Fr. enque, modern encre') from eneaustum,
a Latinization of Gr. ejKavarov {enkaustoii)^ ' something
burnt in,' connected with caustic and holocaust. Pen is
simply 'feather' (Fr. penne from h. penna). Paper is the
papyrus plant (French, from Latin, from Greek). Parch-
ment comes (through the French) from L. Peryamenus., an
adjective from Perganium., a city in Asia. Write is a
native word which meant originally ' to scratch.' Book
is also native, but it meant originally 'beech,' for our
ancestors used to cut runic letters on wooden staves or
rods ; cf . Ger. BuGhstalnm, ' letters of the alphabet ' (liter-
ally 'beech-staves'). Alphabet is from the Greek letters
alpha and beta (our A and B).
For ' precious stone ' the Anglo-Saxons had a mysterious
word eorcnan-stan. They also borrowed gemma from the
Latin, in the form gim, and this survived as a native word
till the fourteenth centur3\ Li that century, however, in
which the influence of French and Latin was particularly
strong, the word was remade and brought nearer to its
Latin original, taking the form gemme. This remaking is
usually said to have been under the influence of the
French gemme (itself from the Latin), — but this is not so
certain ; for it is not possible to separate Latin and
1 Anglo-Saxon cyriiel is a regular diminutive of corn, showing the
diminutive ending -el (related to the Latin ending \n Jllio-Iuft. 'little
son') and ' umlaut' or vowel-mutation (as in gold, fjyldeu, 'golden').
COIIPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULART 137
French influence in a case like this. Javel is certainly
from the French. It is a diminutive of L. jocus (whence
Fr. jeu), and meant originally ' plaything.' ^ The names of
different precious stones are of very various origin. Dia-
mond is the same word as adamant; it comes through the
French and the Latin from the Greek a8aiJia<i {ddamas),
'untamed,' --and was so called from its hardness; L. do-
mare (whence our indomitable) and English ta7ne belong to
the same root. Emerald is from the Greek (TixdpaySo<i
{smdi-ae/dos), through Latin and French. Sajypldre has a
similar derivation ; but the Greeks must have got it from
some Oriental people, for the word is not Indo-European
and resembles the Hebrew sappir. Ruhy is connected
with L. ruber, 'red.' Pearl means 'little pear' (Fr. from
\j. jyirum, 'pear'). Jet is O. ¥v. jet, from L. gagates, a
Greek word derived from Gagas, the name of a town in
Asia Minor. Agate is French, from Gr. dxdTr)<i {achdtes),
through Latin. Jade is French from Spanish. In its
oldest form it is connected with L. ilia, 'flanks,' because
jade was thought to cure side-ache, in accordance with the
old view that ascribed all kinds of mysterious 'virtues' to
gems. Most of tliese gem -names came, it will be remarked,
from the East, and reached England through Greece, Rome,
and France successively. This correctly represents the
history of civilization in the matter of gems, except in one
respect. We should make a mistake if we inferred that
the English owed their knowledge of such things to the
French. Anglo-Saxon had names for many gems, derived
directly from the Latin (as in the case of the word gem
itself), but these words went out of use after the Norman
Conquest, when the persons who continued to speak
English liad little occasion to talk of precious stones ; and
1 See Slieldou, iii Studies and Notes in I'liilology and Literature, 1, 123.
138 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
the words passed into the language again later, through
the French.
Apple and berri/ are native words of unknown origin,
though the latter is perhaps associated with a root mean-
ing ' to eat.' Pear and plum were adapted from the Latin
pirum and prunum by Anglo-Saxons {piru, plam^. So
heet (A.S. bete, from L. beta), — and a good many other
names of plants. Peach comes through the French from
L. Persicum {malurn), ' Persian apple.' Grape is an old
French word (Fr. grappe) from an Old High German
word for ' hook,' and is related to grab, grapple, cramp ;
the French applied the term to a 'bunch of grapes,' the
connection of ideas coming through the relation between
' clutching ' and ' a handful.' Potato is the native Haytian
name slightly altered by the Spaniards (Haytian batata,
Spanish patata) ; the word, like the tuber, was borrowed
in the sixteenth century. The American 'sweet potato'
is a plant of quite a different family, but it has the best
of rights to its name, — - for it was called potato before
this name was given to the white tuber that is now
regarded as the true potato.
Parsley has had a strange history. It is a Greek com-
pound irerpoaeXivov (^petroselmo)i'), ' rock parsley,' from
7r€Tpo<i ipetros), 'rock' (whence the name Peter, — see
Matthew xvi. 18) and aeXivov (selinoti'), 'parsley.' The
Romans borrowed the word as petroselinum, and it was
taken into Anglo-Saxon as peter silie?- In French the
Latin word wore down to persil, and this was taken bodily
into English in the same form persil. Side by side with
persil, however, the English made a form perselg, which is
a kind of compromise between the Anglo-Saxon and the
French, and this form has survived in our modern parsley.
I'riiis is also the German wurd tor ' parsley.'
COMPLEXITY OF TUE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 139
Squash means one thing in England, another in America,
— and the two senses come from languages as widely
separated as it is possible for languages to be. The Eng-
lish squash means an ' unripe peapod ' (or ' peascod '), and
is connected with the verb squash, ' to crush ' ; the latter
probably coming (through the Old French esquachier,
modern, ecacher} from a Low Latin excoacticare, from ex
and cogere, coactum, 'to drive together,' 'to compel.' The
American squash is a kind of gourd (something like the
English vegetable marrow), the word coming from the
Massachusetts Indian asquash (plural of asq'), 'raw,'
'green,' i.e. 'green vegetables.' It is an odd coincidence
that two such different languages as Latin and North
American Indian should independently bestow upon our
speech two different words identical in form and sound.
But every cultivated modern tongue, being the record of
a long and complicated civilization, is full of such anoma-
lies (cf. p. 360).
Pea is the result of a common error. The Latin pisum
gave A.S. |?^^s•(?■, which became pese in Middle English.
Then the -e disappeared, leaving pes (whence pease').
The s, though really a part of the word itself, was taken
as the plural ending, and hence a singular pea was made,
— as if C07-JJ had been made from corps(e).^
Mint and money are really the same word. Both come
from L. moneta (which had Ijotli meanings) from Juno
Moneta, whose temple was the Roman mint. The surname
3foneta is from the verb monere, ' t(j warn' or 'advise'
(which we have in monitor, adtnonish), and has nothing to
do witli coining. The Anglo-Saxons borrowed moneta
1 Indeed, this form rorp is l<no\vu in vulgar English, and was once in
good use. For olher cases of a singular made in this way cf. burial, and
see pp. lo2-3.
140 WOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
as mynet (whence mint), and in E'rench the Latin word
became moneie (modern moymaie'), whence our money.
We still have two old phrases 'pay the shot'' and 'pay
the scot,' for ' pay your reckoning (at a tavern),' as well as
scot-free, literally ' free of expense.' In this use, shot is the
Anglo-Saxon scot, ' a share,' connected with sccotan ' to
shoot' (A.S. sc becoming sh in modern English); scot,
however, comes from O. Fr. escot (modern ecot),^ itself a
loan word from the Germanic, so that scot and shot are
really identical in etymology. Penny is Anglo-Saxon,
but the abbreviation d. is the Latin denarius. Farthing
is from fourth (A.S. feorthuny from feortha). Shilling
(A.S. scilling) means perhaps ' the clinking coin ' (cf. Ger.
schellen, 'to sound,' 'to ti)dde') ; the abbreviation s. is for
L. solidus, 'a solid piece of money,' whence soldier 'a hired
fighter.' Pound is the A.S. 2)r(nd, from L. po7ido, akin to
pondus, 'weight' (cf. cmv ponder, 'to weigh a subject');
the abbreviation <£ or l. is the Latin libra, ' a balance,' ' a
weight ' (whence de-liher-ate, and level, the latter coming,
through the French, from the diminutive lihella).
Dollar is fi'om the Low Countries, — Low German
dahler, whither it came from Ger. Thaler, short for
Joaehims-thaler, since dollars were first coined in the Tlial
('valley,' cognate with English dale) of St. Joachim in
Bokemia, in the sixteenth century. The word dollar was
commonly applied to a Spanish silver coin at the time
when our American monetary standards were devised.
Spanish dollars were well known in this country. Cent
was borrowed directly from \j. centum at the same time,
though the word already existed in English in per cent ;
and TwzVZ was similarly taken from L. millc, 'a thousand/
The clipped forms ce^it and mill are due to French intlu-
1 Or perhaps from Old Norse skot, really the same word.
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULABY 141
ence,^ but our American ancestors certainly had the Latin
words in mind.
Florin is from Florence, where these coins were first
struck. Croivn, louis, 7iapoleon., sovereign, guinea are spe-
cialized senses or nicknames. The last-mentioned comes
from the fact that the first guineas were coined from
Guinea gold. Such nicknames are originally slang, like
hob or tanner for 'shilling,' tenner for Hen-pound note,'
F for 'five-dollar bill,' cart-ivheel for 'silver dollar.' Note
itself, in this sense, is short for bank note, like hill for hank
bill. Holy dollar is an old punning Australian term for a
Spanish or American dollar from which a circular piece
had been cut ; such coins passed in Australia when cur-
rency was scanty. Compare slug, for a stamped lump of
gold in California; dump, for a similar thing in Australia.
Currency itself is an abstract noun used collectively for
current money.
A necromancer learns the future by calling up the
spirits of the dead (Gr. v€Kp6<i, nekros, 'dead body,' and
liavreia, manteia, 'divination'). Magic is the art of the
Persian Magi, a class of wizard-priests. Wizard is properly
a 'wise man' (Milton calls the Three Magi 'the star-led
wizards'); it is wise with the suffix -ard or -art^ (as in
drunkard, coivard, sluggard, braggart^. Witch (originally
of common gender) seems also to mean 'a wise man,' and
to be connected with the root seen in ^vit, 'knowledge.'
Sortilege is divination by drawing lots, once regarded as
a mysterious process controlled by the higher powers
(Fr. sortilege, from L. sors, sortis, 'lot,' and legere, 'to
1 French cetU, mille.
- The suffix -ard, -art, came into English from the Frencli, but is of
Germanic origin, and once meant 'bold,' 'hardy.' It is the same as the
English adjective hard, and appears in various proper names, as Eeriinhanl.
142 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
choose'). Soothsayer is a 'truth teller' (sooth, 'true,'
' truth '). Jngijler is L. joculator, ' jester,' ' player of tricks.'
Exorcist is a (jreek word meaning ' one who lays a spell
upon' evil spirits, and so bans them (from e|, ex, and
opKi^av, horkizein, 'to conjure or lay a spell upon,' from
6pK0<;, hdrkos, 'oath'). Conjurer is a similar Avord from
the Latin coti- (intensive) and^wro, 'to swear'; to conjure
is properly to pronounce the name of a god in such a way
as to gain his assistance.
Prophet means 'spokesman,' that is, ' one who speaks for
a divinity,' ' the interpreter of his will ' (Gr. 7r/3o</)r;T7;?,
prophetes, L. propheta, from Gr. ttjoo, p)r6-, 'for,' and (fidvai,
phdnaU 'to speak'); since pr6 also means 'before,' the
usual modern sense is easily intelligible. A seer is ' one
who sees.' Druid is a Celtic word for a kind of priest.
The druids practised magic, and the Anglo-Saxons took
the word in the form dry, in the sense of ' enchanter.' An
enchanter is one who sings chants or charms (^incantations^,
Fr. enchanter, from L. in-cantare (from cantus, 'song,'
whence chant). To augur is to interpret the omens given
by the flight of birds, as the Roman aug^ires (perhaps from
avis, 'bird ') did.
Town is a very concrete word in its origin. It is native
Germanic (A.S. tUn) ;^ it means, literally, an 'enclosure,'
or 'fenced place,' and points to the stockaded settle-
ments of a time long before the Angles and Saxons saw
Britain. The cognate Ger. Za^m has kept the older sense
of 'hedge.' City, on the other hand, is abstract. It is
the French cite from L. civitas. Civitas meant originally
'citizenship' (being the abstract from civis, 'citizen'), but
was easily transferred to the citizens in their collective
capacity ; and so came, at last, to be a mere synonym of
^ Cognate with the Celtic dtin, ' fortress,' seen in Lugdumim, ' Lyons.'
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 143
urbs, 'city.' In its origin, then, citi/ suggests the 'body
politic,' whereas tow7i suggests merely the actual place,
the fenced stronghold ; and some traces of this old distinc-
tion liave persisted to modern times, though the words
have received new conventional senses, different in differ-
ent parts of the English-speaking world. Village is
French, from L. villaticus, ' belonging to a country-house'^
(cf. Milton's 'tame villatic fowl,' in Samson Agonistes),
and suggests the manor-house with its adjoining cluster
of cottages. Hamlet is a double diminutive. We derive
it from O. Fr. hamelet, a diminutive of hamel (modern
liameau), which is itself a diminutive of W. Ger. Iiaim
(A.S. lidrn^ Eng. home, Ger. Ileim). Thus hamlet is
closely related to our home, though it has reached us
through the French, and has not descended, like home,
from Anglo-Saxon. Home (A.S, ham') is a general Indo-
European word for 'abiding-place,' 'dwelling.' In the
oldest English it was purely descriptive, and apparently
as destitute of tender or sentimental associations as toivn
or city with us. As early as the sixteenth century we
meet with the proverb ' Home's homely,' that is, ' Home
is homelike, or comfortable,' and since that time the
growth of the modern connotations has been rapid.
John Howard Payne's famous song, ' Sweet Home,' ex-
pressed in simple language the feelings that had become
vaguely connected with the word. In itself, the song
could not have produced the sentiments which we feel in
the word home. Yet, since it fell in with the popular
sentiment, and was easy to sing and pleasant to hear, it
became almost immediately the common expression of
1 The modern English word villa is a direct borrowing from tlie Italian,
which had preserved the word from the Roman times without change of
form. See pj). 321-2.
144 WORDS AND TUEIR WAYS
those sentiments for all English-speaking persons, and thus
intensified a hundred fold the tender connotations which
it aimed merely to express. In this way, home, at first a
mere concrete terra, has become an abstract expression for
all that is best in family life. There is at present a ten-
dency to overuse the word (at least in this country) as
little more than a softer synonym for 'house' or 'place
where one lives.' The result of this process would finally
be to strip the word of all its associations, and reduce it
once more to the position of a colorless descriptive term.^
Conservatism, and the inevitable revolt against overdone
sentimentality, may be strong enough to save the word.
County is properly the domain of a count or earl. Count
is P'rench (O. Fr. counte, modern comte), from L. comes,
'companion' (member of the imperial court). The influ-
ence of French on our language was sufficient to bring in
countess and county, but count is still a foreign title. The
English word is earl. The history of this word is almost
the history of England. In A.S. eorl simply meant a
' nobleman,' a person of higher rank than an ordinary
freeman. Among the Danes, the kindred word jarl was
applied to a special class of noblemen of very high rank,
who often exercised viceregal sway over particular dis-
tricts, the same class that were called alderme^i (ealdo7'-
menn^ in Anglo-Saxon. When Cnut, the Dane, became king
of England, jarl was of course used by the Danisli nobles
in England, and the corresponding English word eorl soon
took on this special sense. The Normans found it in use,
and it was recognized as equivalent to their term count.
1 This is a natural tendency of all language, and must not be regarded
as anything specially objectionable or noteworthy in itself. In the case
of this particular word, it seems a pity: that is all. Tlierc is nothing
abnormal or uruisual about the process,
COMPLEXITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 145
Thereafter, couut was used by French-speaking English-
men, and earl by those who spoke the vernacular ; but
though count entered our language, it never displaced earl
as the legal and popular English term. Countess, how-
ever, for ' earl's wife,' came in almost immediately, and is
one of the oldest French words in our language. It
occurs in the Peterborough continuation of the Anglo-
Saxon Chronicle under the year 1140, and was certainly
in use considerably earlier. Uarl continued to be the
highest rank in the English peerage until the fourteenth
century, when the French titles of duke and marquess
were bestowed on certain members of the royal family.
These titles were later extended beyond their royal limits,
and thus grew up the present system. Earl has now no ter-
ritorial significance, but is a mere title of rank, inferior to
that of duke and marquess. The old name of alderman
did not go out of use when earl was substituted for it.
It ceased to be a title of nobility, but was applied to the
head of a guild or trade-company. Towns were governed
by the heads of guilds, and hence alderman easily passed
into its present civic meanings with the development of
municipal government in England and America. Thus
the complete history of the single word earl involves the
Anglo-Saxon, the Danish, and the Norman Conquest, the
amalgamation of the different races into the present Eng-
lish nation, the growth of the social system of Great
Britain, and the development of municipal government
on both sides of the Atlantic.
But this is not all. The etymology of earl is uncertain
(perhaps it meant in the first place merely "-man'). But
alderman is derived from aldor, 'chief,' literally an 'elder,'
and so conducts us back to very primitive times, when
the community w%as a family, and the head of the clan was
146 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
tlie father or patriarch. We have before us, then, not
merely the history of England, but the history of govern-
ment itself. The vicissitudes of a word like alderman^
which once meant 'viceroy,' and now means a 'city official,'
are curious enough ; but the interest in them is far from
that of mere curiosity.
CHAPTER XI
UNITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCxiBULARY
The assimilating power of the English language is not
less remarkable than the complexity of its sources. Our
commonest words, as we have just seen, come from every
corner of the world, and have been subjected to almost
every conceivable process in form and meaning. Yet the
lansruagfe is consistent with itself, and has its distinctive
character. A priori, one might expect that a tongue like
our own would be like the learned jargon of Hudibras : —
Buft when he pleased to show't, his speech
lu loftiness of sound was rich ;
A Babylonish dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect.
It was a parti-colored dress
Of patched and piebald languages ;
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin ;
It had an odd, promiscuous tone
As if h' had talked three parts in one ;
AVhich made some think, when he did gabble,
Th' had heard three laborers of Babel ;
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A leash of languages at once.
In fact, however, English produces no such effect. Our
SpraehgefvJil., the 'genius of the language,' or wliatever
one may call the great conservative force which we have
already considered, has not only kept English true to
147
4
148 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
itself through long periods of time, hut revolts instantly
against any neologism that does not accord with our
idiom. English is full of French words, but it is none the
less Eno-lish. Transfer a French sentence^ into Ensflish
words, llffi-allf/, without regard to our idiom, and the
vigor with which our language resents a Gallicism is evi-
dent at once ; and the argument is clinched by the
admitted impossibility of translating Macbeth or Hamlet
into the language of Racine,
The diverse sources of English have been abundantly
exemplified in the preceding chapter by the citation of
groups of words for common things or familiar ideas.
The harmony with which these diverse elements combine
to make a consistent language may best be seen by exam-
ining the words that make up a particular passage of
connected discourse.
Let us take, then, the following Inief paragraph of recent
narrative prose : —
The negro pilot was naturally of a gloomy and savage expression
of countenance, and at these unwelcome tidings his forbidding fea-
tures were so hideously distorted with anger and terror that he looked
more like a demon than a man of this world. Springing to his feet,
he tore his cap from his head with a spasmodic twitch that half
detached the glazed visor, threw off his tattered pea-jacket, seized a
harpoon, and rushed toward the companion-way. The captain, poor,
peevish martinet, was at his wit's end. How should he exorcise the
roaring devil that his own cairtankerous folly had raised?
This is somewhat wordy, but not unusually so, and no
one will challenge any of its words as 'un-English.' It
1 This favorite trick of schoolboys and other humorists has, then, a real
scientific value, though it does not prove that French is inferior to English
as a medium of intellectual expression. The classic example of the joke
is Mark Twain's Jumping Frog, which has amused two continents.
UNITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 149
produces, on the whole, a consistent stylistic effect, though
peevish and cantankerous might be objected to as affectedly
simple or colloquial. At all events, it is by no means a
Babylonish dialect ; it does not suggest ' a leash of lan-
guages at once.' Yet a study of its components reveals a
bewildering diversity of tongues, nations, dates, profes-
sions, and linguistic processes.
Negro is a Spanish (or Portuguese) form, from the
Latin niger^ ' black. '^
Pilot comes immediately from Fr. pilote^ but this appears
to be merely the Dutch peillood, — ivoni ^eil, 'measure,'
and lood, 'lead.'
Gloomy belongs to a puzzling group of words in which
the ideas of light and darkness seem inextricably mingled.
The Anglo-Saxon glom, ' twilight,' is from the same root as
gloiv ; and there is a word glome, gloom, recorded from the
sixteenth to the eighteenth century, which means 'heat.'
From A.S. glom comes gloaming, a Scottish and North of
England word, recently introduced into English litera-
ture, like so many other dialect words. ^ Our ordinary
noun gloom, however, is first recorded in the sense of a
'frown,' or 'scowl,' and the verb to gloom, for 'to frown,'
seems to be older than this noun. It is hard to separate
this from glom, ' twilight,' but there are phonetic difii-
culties in the way.
Naturally is a Latin Avord with an English suffix.
Savage is French, from L. silvaticus, 'living in the woods '
(^silva, whence sylvan and the proper name Sylvanus). The
form salvages, which occurs so often in the early history of
America, looks like the Old French salvage (modern
sauvage'), but the I is more likely to be a learned insertion
under Latin influence. Of course this has nothing to do
^ See p. 35G. 2 Croon, for example (see p. 58).
150 WOliDS AND TUEIE WAYS
with the maritime salvage^ which comes (also through the
French) from L. salvo^ 'save.'
Expression is a Latin word meaning, literally, 'the act
of pressing out,' or 'modelling.' 'Moulding' is extended
to ' representation ' in general, and hence come all our
figurative meanings.
Countenance once meant ' one's bearing,' ' demeanor,'
and the like, — literally, the way in which a person ' holds
himself together ' (L. continentia, from eon- and teneo').
So Chaucer is described by the Host of the Tabard Inn as
'seeming elvish by liis countenance,' that is, 'shy (like an
elf among men), to judge by his bearing' (since he does
not chat with the other pilgrims). ^ From 'bearing,' in
general, the word was specialized to the bearing or expres-
sion of the face, and in Modern English is used concretely
for the face itself. So gestiwe^ which once meant one's
'bearing' in general (from gero, 'carry'), has been limited
to expressive motions with the hands, and so on. Conti-
nence is a direct borrowing from L. continentia, and has a
special sense.
Umcelcoyne is a native word remade under foreign intiu-
ences. Anglo-Saxon has wil-cuma, 'a j)leasure-comer,' that
is, one whose coming accords with one's will or wish. Later
this was corrupted to ivel-come^ which has an obvious
sense. The French hien venu is partly responsible for this
change.
Tidings is apparently formed from the verb to tide (A.S.
tidan, ' to happen ') under the influence of the Scandinavian
tlthinde, 'happenings,' which was of kindred origin. The
^ The passage is commonly misunderstood, as if couiUcnance liad the
modern meaning. Tims one of Chaucer's editors describes him as having
' a weird expression of countenance,' which is amusing in itself and does
not accord with his portrait.
UNITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 151
connection between 'occurrences' and 'news' is obvious
enough,
. Forbid is a native verb. Tlie prefix /or- has a negative
sense like the German ver-, to which it is rehited. The
two senses of bid, 'order' and 'offer' (as in bidding at an
auction) are due to confusion (which began in the Anglo-
Saxon period) between beodan, 'offer,' and biddan, 'pray'
(Ger. bieten and hittcn). Compare the more modern (and
therefore ' vulgar ') confusions between lie and lay, sit
and set. ' To bid one's beads ' preserves the old sense of
biddan. Bead is properly 'prayer,' and has acquired its
modern sense from the custom of counting one's prayers
on the rosary.
Feature is literally one's ' make ' (French, from L. fac-
tura'). In Shakspere's time it often meant one's 'form'
or ' figure ' ; but it is now specialized to the parts which
make up the face. Compare the somewhat similar lot of
countenance.
Hideous we get from the French. Its older history is
very uncertain. It is usually referred to L. Jiispidosus,
from hispidus, 'bristly.' An Old High German deriva-
tion has also been suggested : egidl, ' horror,' related to
our word awe. The Germanic conquerors of the Gallic
provinces contributed many words to French.
Bistort is simply ' twist out of shape,' — L. torqueo, tortus,
' twist,' whence, in different ways, our tortuous, torture, and
the law term tort.
Anger and terror are equally good English now, but
the former is the Old Norse angr and the latter the Latin
terror, both taken into our language bodily.
Look is a native verb. Its use in the sense of ' appear '
illustrates the process of transference which will be dis-
cussed in Chapter XIX.
152 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Demon is a Greek word for 'a divinity.' Its change in
sense is due to Christianity. The fathers of the Church
did not deny the existence of the heatlien gods ; they
regarded them as evil spirits that had long deceived
mankind. This view is familiar to all through Paradise
Lost.
World is interesting as a compound that has become so
reduced as to seem like a perfectly simple word. It was
once weorold, from wer, * man ' (as in ivere-ivolf), and an
old noun meaning 'age' (related to our adjective old).
Thus it meant ' the age of man,' and easily passed into the
sense of 'mankind.' Similarly we use the age and the
times for 'the people of the age ' (cf. L. saeculum^.
Cap is a very old (Anglo-Saxon) borrowing from the
Low Latin cappa^ capa. This cappa has been appropriated
by our language over and over again. Cappa has given
us cap (A.S. cceppe^ ; the other form, capa., has given us
cope. From cappa comes the Frencli cliape, which we
have borrowed in the sense of 'the metal tip of a sheath,'
and also (later) the French cape (through Spanish or
Italian), which gives us cape. From the Latin diminutive
eappella comes (through the Frencli) our cliapel. The
change of meaning is curious, but has been traced. St.
Martin's cloak {cappelUi) was preserved by the Frank-
ish kings as a most sacred relic ; and the name cliapel
came to be applied to other sanctuaries besides that in
which this eappella was kept. From this to 'the singers
in a choir' was an easy step (cf. clioir itself), and hence
we have Kapelle in German particularly applied to a 'mili-
tary band.' The interest that one feels in this remarkable
word capa is not a little enhanced by an additional circum-
stance. It first turns up in Spain, and, since it is certainly
not of Latin origin, it has been thought to be really an
UNITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 153
Iberian word, — one of the scanty remnants of the langnage
of the native Spanish tribes whom the Romans subdued.
Other English words that come from the same source are
chaplain; chaplet, 'agarhxnd'; ehapelet, 'a pair of stir-
rups,' 'a kind of pump' ; chaperon, literally 'a hood.'
Spasmodic and twitch repeat the same idea, for spasm
is merely the Greek word for 'twitching ' or ' convulsion.'
It affords a good instance of a learned medical word that
has become popular (see pp. 30-3). Spa7i is thought to
be from the same Indo-European root, and also spin and
space.
Detach is French. The second syllable is the same as
that seen in attach, attack, and tack, 'a small nail.' This
tack is probably Celtic. If so, we have here a curious
parallel to the relations in the case of caj?. Attach is an-
other good instance of the transfer of a technical word to
general uses, — this time a legal word.
Glaze is from c/Iass (A.S. glees'), perhaps connected (like
gloom) with the root seen in gloiv.
Visor is Fr. visiere, from vis, 'face.' It leads us back to
the days of chivalry, when the word was applied to a
movable part of the helmet. Vis is of course from L. video,
visus. The termination -or for -er shows the Latinizing
influence, as in the spelling bettor for better ('one who
bets').
Throiv has a remarkable history, which will be given in
a later chapter (see pp. 242-4).
Tatter is Scandinavian, and is more or less remotely re-
lated to tetter, dander., dandruff, tear, tar, tree, trough, tart,
and a number of other words. The general sense of the
root is 'to split.'
Pea-jacket seems to be both a hybrid and a tautological
compound, for the Dutch pij is a kind of coat. Jacket is
154 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Fr. jaquette, and is a diminutive of jack (Fr. jaqiie'), 'a
leather coat.' This seems to be soldiers' slang, for there
is little doubt that it is a jocose application of the proper
name Jacques (cf. pp. 386-7).
Seize is a word which has increased in intensity of
meaning. Its earliest meaning is to ' set ' or ' put in pos-
session of,' and this is still seen in the law-phrase seized of
for 'possessed of (cf. 'livery of seisin''^. The word is
of Germanic origin (related to set), but we took it from
the French.
Harpoon (formerly liarpon^ is French (Jiarpon) from
liarpe, ' dog's claw,' ' clamp,' which is derived, through the
Latin from Gr. apirr) {Jidrpe), 'hook,' 'clutch.' The Greek
Harpies are the 'Snatchers.' It is possible, however, that
the Germanic harp, ' a musical instrument,' is the source
of the French Jiarpe, — the curve of the harp suggesting
a hook.
Hush is Teutonic and has many relatives, all implying
either haste or noise. Toivard is an adjective in Anglo-
Saxon (toweard), meaning 'coming,' 'impending,' and
this sense lasted till Shakspere's time (cf. untoward and
froivard). It is a compound of to and an old Germanic
word akin to L. verto, 'turn.'
Companion-ivay is a hybrid compound, tvay being a
native and companion a borrowed word. The latter has
a diversified history. In its ordinary sense of ' associate,'
it is the French compagnon, from a late Latin term signify-
ing 'bread-sharer' (com-, and panis, 'bread'). As a
nautical term, however, it is a corruption (under the
influence of the ordinary word) of the French chamhre
a la compagne (or the Italian camera della compagna')^
which meant the 'pantry' or 'storeroom' on a ship's deck.
Perhaps the English word passed through the Dutch
UNITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 155
language {kompanje')^ whence so many sailors' terms have
come. This compagua, 'provisions,' is of the same origin
as the word for 'associate.'
CajJtain is French, from Late L. cajntaneus (from
caputs 'head'). An older French form from the same is
clievetain, which gives us chieftain.
Poor is Fr. pauvre (older povre)^ from L. pauper. The
generalizing of the sense from ' indigent ' to ' unfortunate '
or ' contemptible ' is interesting. Observe that we have
also borrowed the word pauper, and have given it a
technical sense, stronger than that which it bore in Latin.
Peevish is of unknown etymology. It is perhaps an
imitative word, suggesting the fretful whining of an
infant. At all events, it once meant ' childish,' and is
still particularly applicable to fretful children or to those
who resemble them. The inevitable union of both senses,
' childish ' and ' fretful,' in such a passage as the following,
goes far to establish the onomatopoetic character of the
word : —
As I remember, Henry the Sixtli
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king.
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
Richard III, iv, 2, 98-100.
Martinet is an example of a proper name which has
become a common noun (like ' a Solon,' ' a Solomon,' ' a
Daniel come to judgment ').i Martinet was a French
officer in the time of Louis XIV, and introduced new
regulations into the infantry service.
' See pp. 372 ff. This is the accepted etymology, but the history of the
word needs investigation. It was slang in tlie latter part of the eighteenth
century, but passed into the legitimate vocabulary in the first quarter of
the nineteenth. Martinet has no such sense in French, but does mean,
among other things, a 'cat-o'-ninc-tails.'
156 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Wit is [)reserved in this phrase in its old sense of
' wisdom ' or ' knowledge.' The word belongs to an
extremely productive Indo-European root meaning ' to
see,' found in the Latin video (whence, in various ways,
come vision, revise, invidious, envy, vie, visage, visor, etc.)
and in the Greek ihelv (idein, whence idea, idol}, as well
as in our wise, to zvit (ivot, tvist}, tivit, etc. The develop-
ment of meaning in the English noun is worth notice.
Compare 'a knowing fellow,' ' to live by one's wits,' and
similar phrases.
Exorcise came into our language during the ' learned
times' described in Chapter VIII. Its first occurrence is
in the sixteenth century. We need have no hesitation,
then, in refusing to derive it directly from the French
verb exorciser. It was certainly adapted from the Greek
i^opKt^o) (exorkizo), ' to put under oath,' or ' to put under
the ban,' witli a side influence from the borrowed Latin
verb exorcizo, which was a theological word for 'laying' evil
spirits (see p. 142). It was, then, technical in its origin,
but is now less so, though it has never become a popular
word.
Hoar and raise are native words, and require no special
comment in this place.
Devil is the Greek hcd/3o\o<i (^didbolos), ' slanderer,'
'traducer.' This word was used as a Greek equivalent of
tlie Hebrew Satan ('the adversary'), who was the accuser
or slanderer of the just, as in the first chapter of Job.
lloman Christianity took the Greek word into Latin as
diabolus, and it has also passed into tlie Germanic tongues.
These must have borrowed it very early. The East Ger-
manic Goths had the word in the fourth century, adopt-
ing it directly from the Greek. The Christianity of the
West Germanic tribes was Roman, not Greek ; yet the
UNITY OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY 157
behavior of this word in their dialects suggests that devil
may have been passed along from the Christian Goths to
the pagan High Germans, and so westward to the Angles
and Saxons in their continental home. There is nothing
improbable in this theory, in view of church, which had a
similar history.^ The name of a god or an evil spirit
readily travels from tribe to tribe, even when religions are
at variance. At all events, the Anglo-Saxons had the
Greek (or Latin) word devil as well as the Greek word
church before they went to Britain, and long before they
were converted to Christianity.
We have found, in one short English passage, besides
the native element, no less than a dozen languages
represented, — Greek, Latin, French, Spanish (or Portu-
guese), Dutch, Old Norse, the Celtic of Gaul, the Iberian
of the Spanish aborigines, and possibly Gothic and Old
High German. The borrowings have taken place at all
periods, — before the Anglo-Saxon Conquest, during the
Anglo-Saxon period, between the Norman Conquest and
Chaucer, in the learned times of the sixteenth century, in
recent days. We have Latin words that have come
through the French, others that have come from the Latin
but have been affected by French fashions, and one that
has entered the language bodily, without the change of a
letter.
The technical dialects of law, medicine, and theolog}^
are all represented in words that have passed from their
special vocabularies into the general stock. Slang, chiv-
alry, and seamanship have contributed their quotas. The
whole history of European Christianity is involved in the
passage. Its conflict with classical paganism is suggested
'A.S. cirice., circc, from Gr. KvpLaKbv. 'the Lord's (house).'
158 Tr07?D.S AXD TTTEIE WAYS
by demon. The early conversion of the Goths, proceeding
from tlie Eastern Church (in its heretical Arian offshoot),
and the later conversion of the West Germanic tribes,
proceeding from the Church of Rome, are mirrored in
devil. Side by side with the name of the great Hebrew
spirit of evil, we have the name of an obscure French
infantry officer, both serving as ' common nouns ' in
English.
Many linguistic processes are also exemplified. We
have seen native words modified by foreign influences,
and foreign words subjected to native modifications.
' Popular etymology,' which changes a word so as to make
it consistent with some fancied relation to another,^ is
also present. Hybrid and tautological compounds are
illustrated. Metaphorical shifts of meaning abound.
Generalization and specialization are manifest everywhere.
In short, our brief passage of simple narrative is a
great panorama of linguistic history, and we discover, on
surveying it, that the history of language is the history
of mankind.
■iSee Chapter XXI 11.
CHAPTER XII
COGNATES AND BORROWED WORDS
In studying a language like our own, which has enriched
its native stock by adopting thousands of words from
foreign tongues, the difference between ' cognate ' and
' borrowed ' words is of great moment. Thus we say
that frate7'nal is ' borrowed ' from the Latin fraternalis.
Brother^ however, is not borrowed from the Latin frater,
but ' cognate ' with it or ^ akin ' to it. The distinction is
particularly important in judging the relations between
English and German. Every educated Englishman
knows that a large part of his vocabulary is borrowed
from Latin or French ; but he is aware of a great residuum
of words that he does not associate with those languages,
such as bread, fiend, friend, hook, wife. When he is first
introduced to German, and meets with Brod, Feind,
Freund, Buck, Weih, he is of course struck with their
resemblance to these hitherto unexplained native words,
and, since he knows that much of his native language is
borrowed, he jumps at the conclusion that the same is
true of bread, friend, and so on. Hence the popular
error, which it seems almost impossible to eradicate in
England, that words like this were borrowed by English
from the German. The fact is, our actual borrowings
from that language are almost nil. The resemblances
that mislead the uninstructed reader are due to the fact
that the English and the German words are cognate.
159
160 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
The meaning of ' cognate ' in this etymological use may
easily be seen in the Romance languages. We know that
French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese are all descended
from a single language, — - the Latin. This is not a mat-
ter of inference, but of settled historical fact. When,
therefore, we find the word for ' son ' appearing as fils in
French, figlio in Italian, hijo in Spanish, Jillio in Portu-
guese, and remember that the Latin word for son is
films, we have no difficulty in accounting for tlie similar-
ity between the various forms without supposing that
Italian has borrowed from French, or Portuguese from
Italian. The French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese
words resemble each other because they all come from the
same mother-language, — Latin. Thus we explain the
likeness of Fr. 7nere, Ital. madre, Sp. madre, Pg. ma I,
as due to their common origin (L. mater, mafrem),
and so on with almost the whole vocabulary of the
Romance languages. That is, the ancestors of the
French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese peoples once
had substantially the same words for the same things; but
these words have gradually changed their forms, whether
much or little, with changing conditions of government
and society. Such languages, then, are cognate, or related
languages, and the words which they possess in common,
by virtue of their descent from a common inother-speech,
are called cognate ivords.
In the case of the (lermanic languages, as English, Ger-
man, Danish, Dutch, we find a similar state of tilings.
Thus we have so7i (A.S. sunu) in English, Sohn in Ger-
man, son in Danish, zoon in Dutch, and so on with a large
part of our vocabulary. This leads us to infer that there
was once a Germanic mother-language from which these
words have descended independently in different tribes;
COGNATES AND BORROWED WORDS 161
and this is established by much historical evidence, though
we have not (as in the case of the Romance tongue) the
mother-language actually preserved (as Latin is) in
ancient documents. The Gothic, a Germanic dialect
which was reduced to writing in the fourth century,
affords us much assistance in reconstructing the primitive
Germanic forms.
Similar processes with other groups of related lan-
guages enable us to postulate a number of similar mother-
languages, as Celtic (whence Irish and Welsh), Slavic
(whence Russian and Bulgarian), Greek (whence various
dialects like Attic and Ionic), and so on.
But we can carry our investigations still farther by
this method of observing cognate words.
Thus the English mother (a Germanic word) is certainly
not derived from the Latin mater, though it strongly re-
sembles that word, and the same is true of Gr. /J^rJTrjp
{meter'), Celt, mathair, Russ. mate, and Skt. mdtr. No
one of these words can be borrowed from any other ;
yet their similarities are too great to be accidental, and
the words must be related in some way. The natural
inference is that they are cognates, and that Germanic,
Latin, Greek, Celtic, Slavic, and Sanskrit are all descended
from a single mother-language (the so-called 'Lido-Euro-
pean'), as French, Italian, and Spanish are descended from
Latin. Such an inference is established beyond cavil by
the multitude of correspondences which these languages
show.
Where this Indo-European mother-language was first
spoken nobody knows. The ' home of the Aryans ' was
once thought to be somewhere in Asia, but tliis is ex-
tremely doubtful. Nor is the question important. We
are only certain that the family which it has produced
162 WOIWS AND THEIR WAYS
extended from Ireland in the West to India in the East,
including almost all the languages of Europe, and several
important Asiatic tongues. The nature of the movements
which spread the Indo-European over so large an area is
also obscure enough. We may be sure, however, that they
were excessively complicated, including almost every
possible means by which one tribe may influence another.
Collectively, they are often styled the Indo-European
Migration, but we must take care not to accept all that
this term may seem to imply. Identity of language does
not always mean identity of race. We know of many
instances in which a whole people has given up its lan-
guage : the Celts, for example, in Gaul ; the Iberians in
tSpain ; the Franks and the Normans in France ; the Nor-
mans in England; the Danes in East Anglia. Sometimes
the conqueror communicates his speech to the conquered ; at
other times (as with the Normans), the victors adopt the
language of those whom they have subdued. There are
' migrations of culture,' as well as migrations of tribes, and
sometimes a very little leaven suffices to leaven a large
lump. No schematic account of the Indo-European mi-
gration can be right in all its details, and however com-
plicated the scheme which scholarly ingenuity may devise,
the truth, if we could discover it, would be much more
complicated. Still, we can tabulate the Indo-European
Family of Languages as follows : —
I. Indian. (Sanskrit, Pali, etc.)
II. Iranian. (Avestan, Old Persian, etc.)
III. Armenian.
IV. Greek.
V. Italic. (Latin, with its descendants the Romance languages, —
ItaHan, French, Spanish, etc. ; Oscan, Umbrian, etc.)
VI. Celtic. (Irish and Highland Gaelic, Welsh and Armorican.)
COGNATES AND BORROWED WORDS 163
VIT. Slavonic. (Russian, Bulgarian, Polish, Bohemian, etc.)
VIII. Baltic. (Lithuanian, Lettish, Old Prussian.)
IX. Teutonic or Gei-manic.
A. East Germanic (Gothic.)
B. Scandinavian. (Icelandic, Dano-Norwegian, Swedish.)
C. West Germanic.
a. High Germanic. (German.)
b. Low Germanic. (Old Frisian, Anglo-Saxon, Old
Saxon, Old Frankisli ; Frisian, English, Platt-
deutsch, Dutch, Flemish.)
The position of our own language in this table should
be carefully observed. It belongs to the Low or Coast
division of the West Germanic dialects, as German belongs
to the High or Inland division of these dialects. Thus
it is more closel}^ related to Frisian, Dutch, Flemish,
and Plattdeutsch'^ than to German. Besides the West
Germanic dialects, the Teutonic branch includes East Ger-
manic (Gothic) and Scandinavian, to both of which Eng-
lish is allied, but less closely than to the West Germanic
languages. Finally, the Germanic group as a whole is akin
to every other branch of the Indo-European family. We
must, therefore, expect to find in any Germanic language
— English, for instance — a multitude of native words
which show similarities to Latin and Greek, for example,
not because they are taken from the classic tongues (as
so many of our words are), but by virtue of the com-
mon descent of all these from the Indo-European parent
speech. Thus our word guest, which once meant ' stran-
ger,' and the Latin hostis, 'enemy,' are the same word,
but lieither is borrowed from the other ; they are cog-
nates. Similarly, six and seven are akin to sex and sep-
tem, knee to genu, fish to piscis, father to pater, yoke to
^ ' Low German ' in the special sense.
164 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ju[ium^ and so on with a large proportion of the native
element in our speech. These correspondences are some-
times striking even to the casual observer, — as in six and
sex, for example, — at other times it requires considerable
knowledge of the subject to perceive them. Since Latin
is in one sense an older language than our own (though
from another point of view all Indo-European languages
are equally old, as being independently descended from
the parent stock), we expect to find the words less decayed
in Latin than in English, especially modern English, which
has undergone so many changes since the Anglo-Saxon
time. But this is not always the case, for different Indo-
European peoples have had different habits of linguistic
conservatism. Thus our word snow shows an Indo-Euro-
pean initial s which the Latin {s)mx, 7iivis, and the Greek
{a-)vi(f)a, (synipha, have lost, and so in many instances.
Comparison of cognates has shown that the changes in
human speech, arbitrary as they seem to be, proceed in ac-
cordance with definite and ascertainable laws. For any
united body of people form certain habits of utterance
which affect their whole language in a remarkably uni-
form way, so that — when these are once discovered —
one can predict with reasonable certainty what form the
orio-inal word will take in a e^iven dialect. Thus we find
that it was the unconscious habit of the Spanish provincials
to change Latin/ to 7i at the beginning of a word, so that
fahulare, ' to speak,' became habldt% facere became hacer,
and so on. Hence we look for the Latin falco, ' falcon,'
under //. in the Spanish dictionary, and find it appearing
as halcSn; formosus appears as hermdso, and so on. Such
habits, or 'laws of sound-change,' are equally noticeable
in studying the development of the various Indo-Euroi^ean
languages from the parent-speech. They may be followed
COGNATES AND BORROWED WORDS 165
out in minute detail, and their existence and regularity
have made Comparative Grammar almost an exact science.
It is in great part our knowledge of such laws as this
that enables us to distinguish with precision between
coornates and borrowed words. For when a word is
simply taken by one language from another, it suffers at
first comparatively little change in its form. Thus we
know that the Indo-European p was preserved in Latin but
became / in Germanic, — and this makes it easy to recog-
nize the Latin pccus and our fee as cognates, — that is, as
the common descendants of an Indo-European word.
Both originally meant ' cattle,' a sense which the Latin
has kept, while in English fee has come to mean ' prop-
erty ' in general, and has then suffered further changes of
meaning. Similarly we recognize piseis and fish as cog-
nates. When, however, we find piscatorial in English,
and p)iscatorius in Latin, we have no hesitation in recog-
nizing the former as borrowed from the latter, and so in
thousands of instances.
We have said that Comparative Grammar is almost an
exact science. The qualification is necessary, for appear-
ances are deceitful, in linguistics as in life, and phenomena
have to be examined with the greatest care, even when all
the facts are in our possession, which is rarely the case.
As an example of the difficulties that beset the investigator,
take the so-called 'New England o.' It is well known
that the long sound of o represented by oa in road^ tends,
in the natural speech of New England, to become a short
open 0, difficult for those who are unfamiliar witli it to
imitate, but equally hard for a born Yankee to avoid.
Thus we have coat, toad, load, boat, and so on. We should
at once infer that a New Englander would say goat, but
in fact, this word is never so pronounced, but is always
166 WOEDS AND TUEIR WAYS
(/oat, without the shortening. The reason is clear enough
in this case, for the phenomena are all recent, and the
facts are known. The goat is not a familiar animal in
this region, so that the name for it is rather a literary
than a popular word; it is not properly in the dialect, and
hence does not share in its peculiarities. The tendency
in question had thus no opportunity to make itself felt as
in coat and toad, which every child learns not from books,
but from common talk. Suppose, however, we were deal-
ing with a word that became obsolete two or three thou-
sand years ago. We should be at a loss to account for
the ' exception to the law,' and might even be tempted to
provide [/oat with some strange etymology or ascribe a
peculiar quality to its vowel in order to explain the facts.
Furthermore, there are many opportunities for analogy
and for hybrids and cross-breedings in language. Thus
our nepheiv is, in a manner, both a native and a borrowed
word. I]i Anglo-Saxon it was nefa (/ pronounced as v)i
and this is cognate with the Latin neijos, nepotis. The
French neveu, however, which is the Latin word in a de-
cayed form, influenced tlie English word, and the result is
our 7iephew, which is neither Anglo-Saxon nor French, but
an amalgam of both. Such processes as this may have
been operative at any time in the history of the Indo-
European family, and their action interferes a good deal
with the certainty of prehistoric etymologizing.
Still, when all deductions have been made, there remains
enousfh that is reg-ular and undoubted to substantiate the
claim of Comparative Grammar to be a true science. It
has occupied some of the keenest intellects among scholars
during the past century, and the results justify us in
speaking with great confidence about the relations of the
Indo-European tongues to each other and to the parent-
COGNATES AND BORROWED JVORDS 1G7
speech Avliich lias been obsolete for so many thousand
years. These results afford the only firm basis for inves-
tigating the history of words. In particular, they enable
us to reason with assurance about certain very ancient
processes in the growth of the inflectional languages, as
we shall have to do in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XIIT
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS
I. ROOTS, STEMS, INFLECTION ^
The origin of language, as we have already seen, is an
unsolved problem; yet the study of single words reveals
many facts about the development of their form which
make the question of their origin at least a simpler one.
We find in our own words, on comparing them with other
languages from which they have been borrowed or wdiich
have had a common origin with our own, certain obvious
joints, as it were, which show clearly that the words have
been built up of simpler elements by a process of aggrega-
1 This chapter sets forth the main principles that have governed the
development of words, as to their form, in our family of lani;uages. For
the sake of clearness, distinctions have been somewhat sharply made, and
cautionary provisos have been omitted whenever there was danger that
they would rather confuse than enlighten. Any orderly statement of
these phenomena must be somewhat misleading ; for, though the develop-
ment of language is in general what is indicated, no single process ceased
to act at the moment when another process began. The actual operations
of speech-making in the Indo-European family must have been almost
unimaginably complicated. The most minutely scientific investigation
can arrive at only a part of the truth. A general outline must therefore
be content to omit qualifications and parentheses. In particular, how-
ever, the reader sliould remember that the growth of stems did not
immediately put an end to the root-period, and that the rise of inflection
did not instantly put an end to the development of stems. Everything
was gradual. The old processes survived alongside of the new, and only
died out after long periods of time.
A furtlier caution is necessary. The principles here set forth accord
with the accepted results of philological science. In other words, they
168
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS IG9
tion or combination ; that is, we tincl in the words certain
sounds (letters or syllables) which appear elsewhere in
other combinations, always with essentially the same sig-
nificance. It seems justifiable to conclude that these
parts were once independent, and were afterward put
together, just as we might infer with reference to frame
and strings, handle and blade, wheel and axle, or the parts
of any other complex tool. To these component parts
in their last analysis we give the name of roots. Of
these roots we find two kinds : (1) roots wdiicli express
actions, states, qualities, and other definite conceptions, and
(2) roots which express less definite conceptions, such as
place, direction, and the like. To the first class we give
the name of verbal roots, because they seem to carry the
idea expressed in verbs, though they are in fact no more
furnish tlie most probable explanation of linguistic phenonieua, as the
Copernican astronomy is the simplest hypothesis yet found to account
for the phenomena of the lieavens. Some details, however, are by no
means settled. Thus the exact nature of stem-suffixes is far from cer-
tain. It is convenient to call them ' i)rononiinal roots,' but we should
remember that what seems to us a simple stem-suffix may be merely a
fragment of a longer root, or even a remnant of another fully developed
stem. Furtliermore, the forms given to roots are simply such forms as
we can infer from the fully developed words. We are by no means sure
of the actual forms of these roots at the time when they alone constituted
language ; nor can we be sure that everything that seems to be a root
actually goes back to this root-period in any form. Again, in selecting
words to illustrate stem-formation, composition, and the like, we cannot
always know that the example is old enough to belong to the period which
we use it to illustrate. It may have been formed long afterward on the
analogy of older formations of the stem-period which set the fashion for
later derivation and composition. All these are questions of importance
in a minutely scientific study of single roots and stems. But they do not
affect the main theory of linguistic development, and hence they are of
no immediate consequence in a brief outline of the subject.
One point, however, should never be lost sight of : in spite of the dis-
tinctions we have to make between stem-formation, word-composition,
derivation, and inflection, these processes are all substantially identical.
They are all cumposUion in the larger sense of the word.
170 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
verbal than nominal in their significance. To the second
class we give the name of pronominal roots, because a
great number of them occur in pronouns, and because
they seem to express ideas of a relative nature, such as
are found in pronouns and indefinite adverbs. There are
many apparent elements which we cannot surely assign to
either class, and it is doubtful whether the distinction is
fundamental. It is not certain whether at some period
in the development of language either kind could not be
used in place of the other. For instance, the first i in
itinerary is called a verbal root because it means 'go' in
many languages (as in L. ire^ Gr. levat^ ienai), while
the first i in iteration is called pronominal, because it
often appears in pronominal words, such as it and the
like. Yet it seems probaljle that these two roots were
once identical, and so with many others.
The process of aggregation indicated above seems not
to have been promiscuous and at haphazard, but orderly
and proceeding in a definite manner. In most instances
we find the root of the first kind at the beginning of
words, amplified by the addition of one or more roots of
the second kind. Of course some words of the pronomi-
nal sort contain no verbal root, and in this case they con-
sist of a similar aggregation of pronominal roots; but the
more significant and definite words have a verbal root at
the beginning. To take the two examples just cited :
itinerary (L. itinerarium) is analyzable into i + ti + no
+ er -\- a + ri + (o), all except the first found elsewhere
as pronominal roots ; and iteration (L. iteratio') may be
broken up into i + ti + ro + a + ti + on, all found as pro-
nominal. These examples illustrate the two forms of
combination that are regular in our family of languages.
A root, then, is the simplest form that can be recognized
TUB DEVELOPMENT OF ]VORDS 171
as having once had an independent existence and meaning
in the development of words.
As these roots are common to many words of very dif-
ferent senses, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish what
was the original conception that a root expressed. Ac-
cordingly we assign to each root that meaning from which
it is possible to develop all the various ideas attached to
the words in which it appears. This sense is often very
vague, and it becomes a question how a primitive people,
whose ideas are closely connected with the senses, could
be satisfied with such representations of ideas as these.
The answer is, that a conception that is very graphic to
the senses may include a great variety of associated ideas
which it may represent. For example, the root pet seems
vague to us. It is defined as 'fall, fiy, aim,' and clearly
shows all these varied senses in its different forms and
derivatives. Yet the root may have originally stood for
a 'motion in a certain direction through the air' — a very
graphic and sensible conception, from which the other
meanings were specialized as time went on. The cause,
or else the result, of such motion might be either ' falling,'
' flight,' or ' aim,' and so the same sound pet could express
either of these ideas. So with duc, ' lead,' AG, ' drive,'
ED, 'eat,' PA, 'drink,' cad, 'fall,' and many others. It is
not necessary that we should consider such signs as repre-
senting nouns or verbs. It is probable that the distinction
had not been developed in the root-period, and that a sign
could be used for either or both, just as a child can employ
any word that he knows for anything that he wants to say
about the thing or its associated ideas. ^ From this con-
1 Here the potency of signilicaut tones and inflections of tlie voice may
well be taken into account as a means of distinction. Gestures may also
have helped to indicate the special sense in some instances.
1T2 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
sideration of roots and their meaning it is evident that
roots are no mere abstractions, thougli they now have to
be dug out, or abstracted, from words by comparison, and
no longer exist independently in actual speech. They
once did so exist, and expressed thought.
The next step in linguistic growth is the formation of
steyns, which takes place long before the development of
what we call inllection. Stems came into existence by
the union of verbal and pronominal roots. That is to say,
the vague meaning and general application of the verbal
root were limited or specialized by the addition of one or
more pronominal roots, and thus was produced a new com-
plex (the stem) capable of being used for the conveyance
of ideas in the same manner as the root, but with a greater
definiteness of meaning. Stems are not yet words, and
hence we must not expect to find them existing separately
in any language, for all these processes precede the
formation of real words as we know them. Yet stems
may still be clearly seen in the first part of compound
words. Thus the stem agro- (root AG + ro), which meant
(vaguely) ' field ' is seen in the Greek compound word
a<ypo-v6fio<; (a/jro-nomos), 'inhabiting the country,' and, in
the form agi-l-, in the Latin agri-cola, ' farmer ' (literally
' field-cultivator '). This form agro- (agri-) nowhere exists
by itself, but it must once have so existed, or it could not
have been used in making compounds. The second part
of the compound agri-cola is from the stem cold- (root
COL -f- (7). Similarly armi-ger is made up of two stems
armo- (from ail -j- mo), -muX gcro (from cki; + o).
Since stems are not words, and no such thing as syntax
existed in the stem-period, Ave cannot designate stems as
parts of speech, — nouns, verbs, and so on. Yet there was
doubtless sullicient specialization to differentiate stems in
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WOEDS 173
a vague way as nominal or verbal, — so that one stem
vaguely suggested (like ac/ro- or armo-^ the name of a
thing, another (like cold- or gero-^ produced an idea more
active in its nature, a partly verbal idea. Yet nouns and
verbs as such could hardly exist before the inflectional
period. In the stem-period, it was still possible to express
a verbal idea by a stem which seems to us chiefly nominal,
and vice verm. This state of things accounts for certain
phenomena which seem anomalous to the young student
of grammar. Thus in Latin a noun tactio, ' the act of
touching,' may sometimes govern the accusative case : as,
hanc tactio., ' the act of touching her,' where Jianc is the
object of the verbal idea contained in the noun tactio. In
English a whole class of nouns (the so-called verbal nouns
in -^>^//) have this power. Thus in such a sentence as
' Eating fruit is good for the health,' eating is a noun ;
yet it has sufficient verbal force to take fruit as its
object. 1
Sometimes a stem was formed by merely repeating the
root, as the Italian uses piano inano, the French beau beau,
or a child goody goody, to express a high degree of the idea
intended. Examples are found in all reduplicated words
like murmnr, L. turtur, 'turtle dove,' and also (much
modified) in such forms of reduplication as momordi, 'I
liave bitten,' used for inflectional purposes.^
A stem, then, is a complex of sounds expressing an idea,
1 Our infinitive is also an old noun ; yet we feel it as a verb even
when its nominal nature is clearest : as in ' To eat fruit is good for the
health.' Compare also the old idiom in ' What went ye out for to see ?'
2 So Latin sisto shows a reduplication of the root sta seen in the simpler
verb sto. Usually the first part of the reduplication is that which lias
been modified. Sometimes, however, it is the second, and we get what
is called ' broken reduplication,' as in gargle (connected with L. gurgulio,
'gullet') ; cf. gargoyle.
174 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
and ready for composition and inflection, but not yet sub-
jected to either.^
The endings which were added to roots to make stems
such as we have been describing were very simple ele-
ments, such as -0, -«, -u, -vo, -Jco, -710, -tii, and the like.
The stems themselves were later more or less specialized
in sense ; but originally they must have been, from the
nature of the materials out of which they were formed,
pretty indefinite in their signification. Many of them
had a kind of adjective nature, expressing in a loose and
indeterminate way almost any relation between the primi-
tive idea of the root and some other conception or concep-
tions to which the stem might be applied.
The system must have attained an enormous develop-
ment before words, as such, came into existence. Thus
there were produced in this prehistoric period of lan-
guage an immense number of such vague adjective stem-
forms, many of which have survived in the languages
of our family, with their senses somewhat specialized,
l)ut, in accordance with their origin, preserving (even
after they have become definite parts of speech) much
of their original vagueness, so that they easily acquire
new special meanings as time goes on. There was also
a tendency to add further stem-endings of a similar sort
to stems already formed ; and by this heaping up of
stem-suffixes, new suffixes came into existence, and new
and more complicated stems were constantly growing
1 Though the stem-period of language is said to follow the root-period,
it must be remembered that the development of stems did not immediately
put an end to the independent existence of roots. In fact, the root-period
in a manner extends throughout the stem-period, for roots were often
used as stems without the addition of pronominal (stem) suffixes. In-
deed, except for clearness, it would be better to regard the stem-period as
merely a second stage of the root-period,
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WOEDS 175
iip.'^ Thus arose the system of derivative endings
(such as -er, -ness, -est, and so on), which is still one
of the most prolific sources of new words in our lan-
guage.2
The original vagueness of all such stem-formations may
be seen in the senses which the resultant words bear in
even the most highly developed periods of cultivated
languages. The adjective fox-^, for instance, may be
applied to anything resembling a fox either in color, in
actions, or in craft. A better example may be seen in a
number of words derived from the root pak, 'to feed.'
First we have L. 2^ecu, 'a flock.' From this comes j^ecu-
Uum, (1) ' a little part of the flock reserved for the slave's
private property,' or (2) ' a little garden-plot given to a
child.' Then we have the adjectiYe pecuUaris, 'belonging
or pertaining in any way to this little part oi the flock,'
and hence comes the idea of peculiar, in its variety of
applications: as in 'my peculiar (^.e. personal) property,'
'the Lord's peculiar people,' 'a peculiar institution,'
'peculiar notions,' 'a peculiar fellow,' 'the story seems
somewhat peculiar.' Then, by further growth, we get the
abstract noun peculiarity. So familiaris means originally
'belonging to the familia or household,' and we easily
get familiar in its different shades of meaning, iMid famil-
iarity and famiUarly. All this shows how vague the
1 This multiplication of suffixes is especially seen in the languages that
(like Greek and Latin) received literary cultivation at an early period.
The more ' barbarous ' tongues, not feeling the need of so many or so
finely discriminated words, escaped this tendency. Thus in the Teu-
tonic languages we usually have shorter words than in Latin. The
English vocabulary consists of two largs classes of words, — Teutonic
(from Anglo-Saxon) and Latin (from Latin and French) ; hence we can
see this difference in the component parts of our own speech.
2 The details of this system will be studied later. Here it is only
intended to suggest the general principles of development.
176 WOIiDS AND THEIR WAYS
connection of meaning between the primitive form and
its various derivative stems must have been. The pro-
cesses are all easy and natural, but very little is actually
expressed in each step of derivation. All that was
needed was a loose connection with the primitive idea ; the
imagination and the conventions of speech have done the
rest.i
All the processes which we have so far studied are
processes of composition^ that is, they consist in the com-
bination of significant elements to make a new complex of
a somewhat different meaning. But we have not yet
considered composition in the ordinary sense, — that pro-
cess which results in giving us compound words, like
butterfli/, torc1ihea7'ei\ railroad., and the like. The type
for such formations goes back to the stem-period : that is,
though we now make new compounds by putting together
distinct words, we do so in accordance with a method
which developed when there were no words, properly so
called, but only stems.
Stems, as we have seen, early become somewhat differ-
entiated, so that it is possible to speak of nominal and
verbal stems, though the distinction was not by any
means so sharp as that between our nouns and verbs.
Many stems, as we have also seen, had a kind of vague
adjective signification. An important step in linguistic
development was taken when two stems, thus differen-
tiated, were juxtaposed, and finally united into a single
complex stem-form, or compound, having a sense far more
definite than attached to either stem alone. This • is
composition, which has remained one of the commonest
1 Compare what has been said of the poetic faculty as the most active
influence in linguistic development (pp. 7 ff. ).
TTTE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS 177
means of manufacturing new words in our family of
languages.
By this process of stem-composition a kind of rudi-
mentary syntax arose. Thus, the stem cold- (the root
COL + d~) meant vaguely a 'cultivator.' To this was pre-
fixed the stem atjri- (agro-^^ ' a field,' and the compound
agri-cold- signified vaguely the kind of cultivator that
stood in some relation to a field. Of course this could
only mean what we should express syntactically in the
form ' the cultivator of a field,' or ' one who cultivates the
field,' or 'a man who tills the soil.' Thus this stem-com-
pound agri-cold- served, before there was any such thing
as syntax, to suggest by association of ideas the sense
which syntax now definitely expresses. So L. luclfer
(stem luci-fero-~) means ' light-bearer,' ' one who brings
light,' L. auceps (stem avi-cap-~), 'he who catches birds,'
and so on. Of course, we actually know such stem-com-
pounds only in a later form, — as real words (^agricola
being tlie Latin word for 'farmer'). Hence we cannot
be sure that any particular example is old enough to go
back to the stem-period. But this makes no difference
for our present purpose. Compounds made after the
end of the stem-period simply followed the model of the
older forms, and are equally good to illustrate the princi-
ples under discussion. That the suggestions conveyed by
the complexes in question were originally far more vague
than they seem to us, and that the meanings of tlie stems
of which they are composed were therefore still more
vague, may be seen by examining a number of compound
words in English. It will at once appear that the rela-
tion of the two ideas to each other varies widely in differ-
ent compounds. Thus we have hutterhall, a ball that
consists of butter ; hutferfly^ a fly that is yellow like but-
N
178 WORDS AND THEIIi WAYS
ter ; buttermilk, the milk tliat remains after the butter has
been made ; lmtte7'tuh, a tub in which butter is kept ; hut-
terwoman., a woman who sells butter ; Initter fingers^ a per-
son whose fingers are slipper}^ so that he cannot hold
anything, a careless person. Compare also the variety
shown in hodman^ aslmian (^dustmaii), motorman, 7nilkman,
fisherman, shipman, clergyman.^ The hodman carries the
hod ; the ashman or dustman collects and takes away ashes ;
the motorman manages the motor ; the milkman distributes
milk ; the fisherman is a fisher ; the sliipman sails in a
ship ; the clergyman belongs to the clergy.
We see that language, even in tlie highly developed
stage in which we know it, suggests much more than it
expresses. We may learn the same lesson from any con-
versation. It is seldom necessary to hear the whole of a
sentence in order to know what the speaker means.
Such considerations make it easy to comprehend how
language w^as intelligible enough before the dawn of
syntax.
We have now traced the history of language through
its earliest ascertainable periods. Beginning with roots,
the simplest elements, we have traced the development of
simple stems, and have seen some of the ways in which
these became more complicated by the addition of further
suffixes and by composition. All tliis, however, is intensely
prehistoric. AVe have not yet arrived at words indepen-
dently usable as such, and wo have therefore no proper
syntax. A further step is necessary, — namely injiection,
and this we must now consider.
The phenomenon of inflection consists in the addition
1 Man in these words has sunk ahiiost to the rank of a mere suffix,
so that the compounds iUustrate the essential identity of the processes
that we are studying.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS 179
to stems of certain suffixes which so limit the application
of the stems in various ways, that they are capable of
combining- syntactically in sentences to express all those
distinctions of time, place, action, existence, manner,
description, and the like, which we include under the
grammatical terms of 2)a7'fs of speech., mood., tense, ge7ider,
active, j9rtssi?;e, and the rest. We have no actual knowl-
edge of any language of our family at a period antedating
inflection. In fact, at the earliest stage of the Indo-
European parent-speech at which we can arrive with sci-
entific certainty, the language was already highly inflected.
Yet Ave may feel confident of the general nature of the
process which advanced language from the stem-period to
the period of inflection and syntax. Like all tlie processes
which we have been studying, this, too, was essentially a
process of conijjositiofi.
In compound words, as we can observe in our own habits
of speech, there is often a tendency to clip or sink the less
important member. Thus wan in fisherman, workman,
clergyman, is less fully pronounced than when it stands
alone. Yet the abrasion has not disassociated the man in
fisherma7i from the ordinary word man; we still recognize
the identity of the two. In Jdng-dom, hoAvever, we no
longer recognize the last syllable -dom as identical Avith
our Avord doom (A.S. dom'), partly because of the abrasion,
and partly because of a difference in sense. The -dom. in
kingdom,, then, has sunk to the position of a mere suffix.
We should never suspect that it had once been an inde-
pendent Avord. This abrasion is still more marked in
-ly, Avhich is the Anglo-Saxon -lice, our like, but Avhich,
though it keeps the sense Avhich it had AAdien it was a
word, has become a pure suffix. We add -ly to an adjec-
tive to form an adverb, just as Ave add -er and -est to form
180 WOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
the comparative and the superlative, or -inr/ to a verb to
form a present participle or a verbal noun.
We may suppose that inflectional forms were gained in
a similar manner during the stem-period, — that is, by
processes of petrified and abraded composition, — though
in these inflections we can no longer identify the compo-
nent parts. Occasional phenomena in later periods of
linguistic history tend to substantiate this view. Thus
the English ending -est, in the second person of verbs (as
in hindeiit, runnest) occurs in Anglo-Saxon both as -est and
as -es. The form in -es is the older ; that in -est came
from the habit of suffixing the pronoun tJiFi, 'thou.' Hence
hindes thu became hindestu, and the t, which really belonged
to the pronoun, was felt as a part of the verb, so that in
time hindest replaced hindes as the regular form. The
same thing has taken place in High German. A somewhat
similar example occurs in recent 'vulgar English.' Le€s
for let us is often pronounced less, which has, in the mouths
of ignorant speakers, become a petrified hortative form, —
so that 'less us go' is frequently heard.
How easily inflection may grow out of composition may
also be seen in such a form as heavenivard. Here -ivard
is a suffix (cognate with L. verto) denoting 'to.' Nobody
feels it as an independent word, yet it certainly was such
at one time. It is used in making adverbs of directioil
from nouns ; but we can easily imagine its having become
so universal as to be attached at will to any noun to in-
dicate ' direction toward,' — and if this had taken place,
-ward would have become practically a case-suffix, express-
ing the 'limit of motion' (like the Latin accusative ending
in Romam).
\^y these processes of composition and abrasion, then,
there grew up in the Indo-European family a great number
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS 181
of inflectional forms, indicating the relations of words
within the sentence, and other general modifications of
word-meaning, such as time, place, manner, and the like.
These inflections denoted three genders, eight or nine
cases, three numbers, three voices, five moods, seven
tenses with three numbers and three persons.
These inflections, so far as they were used in verbs,
began early, it may be from the very outset, to be confused
together, so that they do not all appear distinctly in any
Indo-European tongue. Thus, as we might expect from the
shifting and occasional nature of speech itself, some forms
are wanting to a complete scheme, and many others might
be imagined, or are found in other families, which would
be convenient, but of which there is no trace among the
Indo-Europeans. Indeed, the whole process seems to have
gone on jjro re nata, a new form being essayed only when
a need was felt for it. It should be remembered that our
grammatical paradigms are long subsequent to the forms
of which they consist, and that the first makers of gram-
mar did not know they had any grammar, any more than
the makers of history are aware that they are making his-
tory. Still, we must not suppose that our inflections came
into being at haphazard or without system. That perva-
sive influence which we call the S-prachgefi'M ^ must
always have exerted a controlling effect on the action
of the early language-makers, just as it does upon us
to-day.
It is a significant fact that there are many inflectional
forms in the Indo-European family that never seem to
have been gathered into a scheme at all, but were variants
from the first, though of course these may also be rem-
nants of a more complete scheme still. Such is the
1 See p. 12G.
182
WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Sanskrit -tas, used as an ablative, and we may compare
adverbs like thereby, tlierefrom. In general, adverbs are
survivals of lost forms of inflection; but often their orisri-
nal form cannot be recognized, and there will always be
reason for uncertainty whether they were ever real cases,
as is commonly supposed.
Few inflections survive in ordinary English : -s and -es
in the genitive and the plural of nouns; -en in a few
plurals ; -es (-s), -eel (-f?, -t) in verbs ; -ing^ -ed, and -en in
participles, and a few remnants in pronouns, almost com-
plete the list of our living inflectional suffixes. Yet the
earlier history of our language, and comparison with other
Germanic tongues, especially the Gothic, a Germanic dialect
which was reduced to writing in the fourth century, re-
veal the fact that English belongs to a highly inflected
family, other members of which are Sanskrit, Greek, Latin,
and the Iranian, Slavic, and Celtic languages. Not only
has there been a steady decay of inflections since the
Anglo-Saxon period, but we find that the language of the
Angles and Saxons themselves was already far gone in
the same process. The relations may be conveniently seen
by a comparative table of the preterite of have.
Gothic
Indicative
SINGULAR
DUAL
PLURAL
1st Person, habai-da
habai-dedu
habai-dedum
2d " habai-des
habai-deduts
habai-deduth
3d " habai-da
habai-dedun
Stibjunctive (Optative)
SINGULA K
DUAL
PLURAL
1st Person, liabai-dedjau
habai-dedeiva
habai-dedeima
2d " habai-dedeis
babai-dedeits
babai-dedeith
3d " babai-dedi
habai-dedeina
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS
183
Anglo-Saxon
Chaucek
Indicative
Modern English
1. hjefde
hadde
had
2. hfefdes(fc)
haddest
had
3. hfefde
hadde
had
Plural 1, 2, 3. hfefdoii
hadde(n)
had
Subjunctive
1. hsefde
hadde
had
2. hcefde
haddest
had
later haefdest
3. haefde
hadde
had
Plural 1, 2, 3. Im
^fden
hadde(n)
had
Observe that the Anglo-Saxon has lost the dual num-
ber altogether, and that the subjunctive forms differ very
slightly from the indicative. In Chaucer the indicative
and the subjunctive have become identical. In modern
English the whole complicated system is reduced to a single
form, had, which serves for all the persons and numbers of
both the indicative and subjunctive. The contrast witli
the fully inflected Gothic is startling. Our ' Jiad,' in the
preterite, takes the place of fifteen distinct forms in the
fowth- century Gothic. Decay of inflections could hardly
go farther.
The development of our family of languages, then, pro-
ceeds from simple elements of vague meanings to an elabo-
rate system of inflections, nicely differentiated to express
a great variety of ideas and relations. No sooner is this
great system built up, however, than it begins to go to
pieces, until, in our own speech, there are scarcely any
inflections remaining. Tliis decay, as we have seen, may
coincide with an enormous advance in civilization. Our
ancient relatives, the Goths of the fourth century, were
as much our inferiors in complexity of civilization as our
184 WORDS AND THEIE WAYS
language is inferior to theirs in complexity of inflectional
forms. At first this seems paradoxical, — but only at first.
The decay is merely formal ; it has in no way impaired the
expressive power of our language. The Gotlis used fifteen
distinct forms of have in the preterite, some of them extend-
ing to twelve letters ; we have a single form had, three
letters in length, to perform the functions of the whole
fifteen. Yet this one short form proves to be entirely
competent for the task imposed upon it. There has been
no loss, but an incalculable gain, — the gain involved in
accom})lishing a given result with an enormous economy
of effort. The apparent demolition is only the destruc-
tion of a scaffolding that is useless after the building is
finished, or — to change the figure — a short cut adopted
instead of a roundabout road when the landmarks are so
well known that there is no fear of losing one's way.
CHAPTER XIV
THE DEVELOPMENT OE WORDS
II. DERIVATION AND COMPOSITION
We have already considered the beginnings of com-
position and derivation, and have observed that these
processes are essentially identical, and that inflection is
but a special result of their operations. The importance
of the two processes, however, makes it necessary to study
them further, even at the risk of a certain amount of repe-
tition.
The enormous system of derivational endings (like
-ness, -ship, -dom, -ti/, -Ii/, -ish, -it; etc.) which characterizes
our family of languages is the result of the slow operation
of the forces already described, extending over thousands
of years, and acting in every period of our linguistic
history, from the remote ' Indo-European ' times to the
present day. New stems were made, as we have seen, by
the addition of modifying forms, either verbal or pro-
nominal (chiefly the latter), all in themselves once
significant.
The development of the endings is easily traced by
means of modern analogies. Home-like is a recent forma-
tion, both parts of which are recognizable as independent
elements preserving their full significance. There is no
difference between the word home-like and the phrase like
home. An older homelike, however, which has, by decay
185
186 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
of the second element, become Jiomeli/, is no longer recog-
nized as a compound, and has acquired new meanings quite
different from those which the full form home-like conveys
to our minds. The second syllable is no longer felt as
an independent word. It has become an effete adjective
suffix of wide application, — as in riiffiayily^ ghastly^ gliostly^
fleshly^ goodly^ comely. Another form of -like has in a
similar way become a universal termination for the manu-
facture of adverbs from adjectives, — as truly., beautifully.,
elegantly., terribly., ivillingly, and so on ad infinitum. All
the suffixes in our language have a similar history. The
beginnings of the process, however, lie so far back that
we cannot be sure of the original forms of many suffixes;
and we are certain that the oldest of them lie within the
root and stem period, and hence were not words, but roots,
verbal and pronominal (chiefly the latter). But that makes
no difference in the principle. The essence of the matter
is that a significant element, originally independent, is
added to auother element, and that, as time goes on, the
second loses its identity and comes to be a mere deriva-
tional ending, widely applicable in the formation of new
units of expression. After the advent of inflection, these
units are no longer stems, but words, though stem-forms
long continue to be usable as the material for composition
and derivation. Finally, as in English, all feeling for
stems disappears, and full-fledged words are freely com-
pounded. The tendency of the second member to lose its
identity still continues, and the production of derivational
suffixes goes on.
Our language has a huge number of derivational suf-
fixes, native and borrowed. Some of these are still alive,
— that is, they may be used at will to make new words.
Such are -ly., -ness, -ish, -y. Others are dead, — that is,
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WORDS 187
though still felt as suffixes, and existhig in a considerable
number of words, they can no longer be used as formative
elements. Thus, -mit (a French descendant of the Latin
participial ending -ans, -antis') is visible in militant^ recal-
citrant, reluctant, rampant, blatant, and so on, but we have
no power to make a new word in -ant. Contrast with
this the native suffix -in<j, which is fully alive. If a new
verb like to railroad is manufactured (see p. 191), we are
able, at will, to form a noun from it, and to speak of ' the
railroading of a bill through the House of Representatives.'
Some of our derivational suffixes may be traced back to
their independent existence as words. Such are -dom
(the same as doom'), -hood (A.S. had, 'station,' 'con-
dition'), -l>/ ('like'). Most of them, however, are known
only as suffixes. Such are -ish, -ness, -y, -tij, -ing, -ling,
•ic, -ical, and many others.
New suffixes sometimes arise from a mistake in the
application of old ones, the termination being cut off
behind its ears, as it were. Thus, having borrowed the
word habitable which is properly habita -\- ble (L. -bilis}, we
conceive the ending as -able and make saleable, eatable (cf.
edible'), and bearable. (See pp. 293-4.)
The development of prefixes is parallel to that of
suffixes; but the number of genuine prehxes is much
smaller. Most of the prefixes now in use were really
independent words associated syntactically with verbs
after the beginning of the inflectional period (see p. 188).
Of living prefixes mi-, re-, out-, semi-, and half-, may be
specially noted.
Besides the old stem-compounds and the word-com-
pounds that are their descendants or collateral relatives,
there are also many compounds which belong to a later
stage of linguistic development, being formed by the
188 WOBDS ANU THEIR WAYS
growing together of phrases or syntactic complexes. Of
this kind are all verbs compounded with prepositions or
similar particles. These prefixes were originally adverbs,
which, from being habitually used with verbs, have become
necessary to the sense, and have accordingly united with
the verb to make a single unit. Thus we have the native
verbs undergo^ outdo^ forego, ivithstand, etc., besides a very
larefe number of similar formations borrowed from Latin
or French: as, — transce7id, admit, deter, depose, adjoin.
The Greek has furnished us with a good many words of
similar character, — hiipo-crite, Jigper-pJiosj^hite, meta-thesis,
and so, in a less degree, of other languages.
Native phrase-compounds are beside (for hy-side'), he-
times (for hy-times'), undershot, overlord, outlaw, outdoor,
and so on. We may compare meanivldle, meantime, hence-
forth, forthright, toivards, offhand, throughout, wherewith,
therein, himself, oftentimes, somewhere,^ someivhat, everybody,
nobody, and many others, originally phrases, and still easily
taken apart. Longer examples are rough-and-ready, ivell-
to-do, matter-of-fact, tooth and nail, devil-may-care, through
and through, by-and-by, inside out, and so on, — some of
which are still felt as phrases rather than as single com-
pound words. So we use the old greeting 'Hail, fellow,
well-met ! ' (^i.e. ' Health to you, companion ! Glad to meet
you!') as an adjective to describe one who is familiar
with everybody he falls in with. We may even attach
derivative suffixes to long phrase compounds, as in lacka-
daisical (from lack-a-daisy, an elaborated form of lach-a-
day, i.e. alack-a-day),^ alamodeness (William Penn), and
1 The provincial some-place for somewhere (as in ' I have seen him
some-place ') shows how strongly somevihere is felt as a phrase rather than
as a single word.
2 Alack is doubtless ah ! lack ! the second word being used in the
obsolete sense of ' misfoi'tune.'
THE DEVELOPMENT OF WOIiDS 189
the colloquial monstrosities get-at-able and go-aliead-itive-
ness.
If the phrase is very old, its component parts may bo
no longer recognizable, and we have a simple word, not a
compound at all. Thus wassail is the Anglo-Saxon wes
half 'be well!' a sentence used in drinking healths.
The same result is often produced when a foreign phrase
is adopted into English. Aid-de-ca7?ip, bas-relief, belles
lettres, embonpoint, extempore, locum tenens (whence lieu-
tenanf), are still felt as phrases or phrase-compounds ;
but alarm, carouse, jeopardy, kickshaws, and hoax are
not so recognized except by the etj-mologist. Alarm
(Fr. alarme) is the Italian call 'to arms I ' (alV arme!).
Carouse is the German garaus! 'quite out!' i.e. 'empty
your glass. '1 Jeopardy (in Chaucer, jupartie~) is Fr. jeii
parti, 'even (^literally, divided) game,' i.e. a game in
which the chances are equal. From the noun we have
formed a verb, to jeopardize. Kickshaivs is a corruption of
Fr. quelque chose, 'something'; it was at first singular
(plural, kickshaivses}. Hoax, which was formerly slang,
and is still undignified, though accepted into the legiti-
mate vocabulary, is a shortening of hocus pocus. So is to
hocus, for 'to drug.' Hocus pocus seems to be a bit of
juggler's mock Latin, — a fragment of a longer formula
used by a particular magician in the seventeenth century.
A peculiar form of phrase-composition is found in nu-
merous words consisting of a verb and its object used as
names, more commonly of an abusive character. Some of
these look like imperative phrases used in ironical address.
At any rate, the category must have originated in quota-
tion. This is seen from the peculiar relation of the two
'^Carouse came to us through the French carons (later carronsst),
whence the form of the English word.
190 irOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
parts. Tlius, a spendthrift is a person who spends what
others have saved ; so telltale, do-nothing^ neer-do-well,
dreadnaught, daredevil, sinr/sonr/, killjoy, makeshift, turn-
coat, catchpoll, holdback, holdfast, Johnny -jump -up (the
name of a flower), forget-me-not. We may compare the
subjunctive phrase-compounds hit or miss, live or die, evilly
nilly, used adverbially. Here again, as usual, slang is
very fertile: as, kiss me quick, hug me tight, follow me lads,
names for articles of female attire. The distinctive mark
of these is that they have a verb and an object, so that
they must not be confounded with a few others which are
like them, but can hardly be quotations, such as catch-
basin, turnstile, 7'amrod. These seem to arise from a
confusion between noun and verb in the first member.
Words like go-bettoeeji and hangdog are somewhat doubt-
ful.
A curious tendency of our language is that of making
virtual new compounds of verbs and prepositions without
actual union, not unlike the separative compounds in
Homer. This shows itself in neuter (intransitive) verbs,
which become capable of having a passive by taking up
the j)reposition which properly governs the following
case. Thus one might speak to a womati, in which case
we should say that to governed ivoman, but it would not
be surprising if the woman should complain of being
spoken to in the street. So an adversary may l)e reckoned
ivith, a book quoted from, a house lived in, a divinity sworn
by, a man run through, or ru7i over, or stared at, or
despaired of, or talked about, or looked after. A doctrine
may be fought against. An argument may be insisted on,
or lost sight of, and in newspaper English, an opportunity
may be availed of. Not all sorts of such combinations can
be made, for nothing is so freaky as language in new for-
THE DEVELOPMEXT OE WORDS 191
mations ])y analogy, but many have become good English,
and the number is increasing. Perhaps the future anti-
quarian will revive the figure ' tmesis ' to account for the
separation of the verb from its preposition in these cases !
The almost entire loss of inflections in English has
brought about a curious result in the possibilities of our
language, namely, the free interchangeableness of verb and
noun. The tendency in this direction is visible very early
in our family of languages; but, so long as inflections exist,
a verb must be distinguished from a noun by some ter-
mination. Hence, though the change of noun to verb has
been a universal want, yet it had to be accomplished by
means of a system of derivative suffixes gradually adapted
to the purpose, and so in like manner of the change from
verb to noun. Indeed, so common have these changes
and parallelisms been, that in some cases one of the mem-
bers has been supplied by a false analogy. Thus in
French almost all verbs in -er have (or once had) a
corresponding noun in -e : as voyager, voyage; menagei\
menage^ and the like. Hence, couclier (L. col-locare) not
having a noun to match inasmuch as the noun (Joms) was
never compounded with con-^ one was made, out of hand,
to correspond with the others. Thus the French have the
noun couche^ whence our couch is borrowed. As it hap-
pens, this proceeding gives a curious combination. The
Latin locus became lieu in French (a word which we have
borrowed), so that couch and lieu are cognates, though
they have only a single letter in common.
When inflections are lost, as in English, there is noth-
ing to distinguish the form of verb and noun. Hence
any noun or adjective can at once become a verb if em-
ployed as such, and conversely almost any verb may be
used to express the idea of its action or result.
192 WOEBS AND THEIR WAYS
Thus we have to cudfjel^ to ijowder^ to oil., to pipe (for
gas), to ivall in, to hrick up., to hell (the cat), to metal^ to
provision, to n'ood and water, to color, to yelloiv, to black,
to serenade, to paper, to match, to fire, to fringe, to cover (a
hook), to letter, to carpet, to coach, to tutor, to gum, to ground,
to varnish, to hedge ahout, to man, to chaperon, to people, to
tar, to plane, to counterfeit. Indeed, a whole phrase may
be used as a verb : to blackball, to copperbottom, mastheaded.
Conversely are found the nouns : a (■'ell, a pidl up, a set-
back, a walk-over, an upper cut, a hiock-doiv7i, a run-over,
a spin, a hit ; and many such terms are used even in literar}'-
English. In general, however, we are not so free in using
verbs as nouns, as in using nouns as verbs. Our inclina-
tion is rather to have recourse to derivation by means of
nominal suffixes (as in starvatio7i from starve, and the
countless noun-formations in -ing~), or to employ a ready-
made synonym from our enormous stock of borrowed words
(as to climb, ascent ; to break, fracture'). Thus every part
of our complicated vocabulary works together in perfect
harmony in the expression of thought in all its varieties.
CHAPTER XV
FOSSILS
A LANGUAGE which is not ^iven to borrowing foreign
elements, but develops its vocabulary out of its native
resources, makes an immediate impression of consistency.
In such a language the same inflectional and derivative
endings are almost universally applicable, and composi-
tion o-oes on in accordance with fixed linguistic habits.
The formative processes are therefore almost sure to yield
words of like character and sound. And, though phonetic
decay works incessantly to alter the form of a language,
yet the habits of speech are so regular and the associative
forces so strong, that words when they change are likely
to go in groups or classes, so that they retain the same
similarity of sound to each other, though the sound itself
may be altered bej^ond recognition.
In an omnivorous language like English the same forces
work, though with slightly less energy. Words are bor-
rowed in blocks, as it were, or — what amounts to the
same thing — one after another in the same line merely
because a similar word has been borrowed before. We
have many long-tailed Latin words in -osity and -ation,
not because they are peculiarly adapted to our tongue,
but because, having found a use for a number of them, the
language is impelled to borrow more to match those it has
already. Notice also the huge quantity of verbs in -ate
(adapted from Latin past participles in -nfus). The ten-
o 193
194 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
dency is helped by the subtle association between sound
and meaning which manifests itself in rhyme, alliteration,
assonance, and so on, ever attempting to assimilate to each
other words which have a similar sense, or to give a simi-
lar sense to words that resemble each other in sound.
Two examples will make this clear : —
Citizen and denizen are old synonyms which have influ-
enced each other's form. Citizen is O. Fr. citeain'^ (from
L. civitas) ; the unoriginal z makes its first appearance
in Anclo-French and is borrowed from denizeii, which is
0. Fr. denzein or deinzein (from denz, ' within,' modern
dam'). Denizen, in its turn, has taken its i from citizen.
Restive and restless are etymologically unrelated. Their
similarity of form is quite accidental. Restive is from
L. restare, 'to stand back,' 'to hang back,' and means
properly 'unwilling to go forward.' Restless is from
A.S. rest, and means 'refusing to stand still.' Yet the
similarity of sound has so brought the words together in
our consciousness that restive has, in common speech,
become a synonym for restless, which is properly almost
its express opposite.^
The tendencies which we have considered operate to
keep the parts of a language together, so that words and
forms do not stand each by itself, but make larger or
smaller groups pretty firmly bound together in our con-
sciousness.
But there is at the same time a strong counter-influence.
Thought is constantly tending to individualize this or that
expression by ascribing to it an idea or a function which
is not shared by the other members of its group. Thus it
1 Modern citoyen. The ending -ain is L. -anus.
2 The error is assisted, no doubt, by the fact that a ballsy or ' restive'
horse is in fact also ' restless,' i.e. nervous and uneasy.
FOSSILS 195
often happens that a word which was one of a thousand,
or a form which was universal, becomes isolated. Dis-
sociated from its fellows, it ceases to share their future
destiny. If they perish, it does not perish with them.
Nor is its preservation assisted by their survival. It may
become the centre of a new group. Or it may remain
isolated, — embedded, as it were, in amber, and lost or
preserved to future ages, not as one of the swarm Ijut with
the individuality of a fossil.
English abounds in such fossils, and they are of every
conceivable kind. Sometimes a word or a meaning has
become obsolete except in an idiom or two, which, how-
ever, are still in common use. Again, an old construction,
once widespread, has died out in general, but still lingers
in a few phrases. So also an old grammatical form may
occasionally survive, because it has become petrified, as it
were, in a single expression or a small group of words.
A considerable number of survivals will now be studied.
We may begin with certain old forms or constructions
that often excite unnecessary scruples in the minds of
speakers who are nervous about their grammar.
Whilom, ' in former days,' ' quondam,' is familiar to
every one as an archaic adverb. It happens to be the
only word in the language that preserves the universal
Anglo-Saxon -um of the dative plural. In the gradual
simplification of language, -um went out of use, so that
to-day there is no special form for the case which it rep-
resented. Meantime, the form hwilum (from hivll, 'while,'
' time '), which meant ' at times,' had become petrified in
the sense of ' formerly,' and consequently the decay of
inflections did not affect it. It was not conceived as the
dative case of a noun, but simply as an adverb. Our con-
junctive while is the accusative singular of the same word ;
196 WOEDS AND TBEin WAYS
and whiles (of which ivhilst is a corruption) is an adverbial
genitive. Most adverbs, in all the languages of our family,
have originated in case-forms. \
The adverb needs, 'necessarily,' is another interesting-
survival. There were a number of Anglo-Saxon adverbs
formed by means of the genitive ending -es, and these
multiplied in the Middle English period. Tlie proper
genitive of A.S. ned was nede, and this, as well as 7iedes,
was used adverbially. In Middle English nede und 7iedes
were used indifferently. In Modern English, nede is quite
dead, and many of the old adverbs in -es have also perished.
Needs, however, still remains as an apparently anomalous
formation, commonly attached to miist, as in the well-
known proverb. Other examples of the same construc-
tion are nights and d,ays in such expressions as ' Do you
sit up late nights f '• What do you do dai/s?'' Here nights
and dags are old adverbial genitives meaning by night,'
'by day'; but they are felt as plurals by most speakers,
even by those who know better, and hence a tendency to
regard them as incorrect has grown up.^ In England, the
idiom ' early dags ' is still used, as ' It is ea7'lg dags to tell
what will come of this ' ; in America, however, it is seldom
heard, though * early in the day ' is common.
Once, twice, and thrice are likewise adverbial genitives,
though their formation is disguised by the spelling. In
Chaucer they are spelt 07ies, twges, thrges, which at once
makes their origin clear. The vulgar Hues for lief, as in
'■ I had just as lives do it ' shows the same formation. So
ivhilst for whiles (see p. 105), which has the excrescent
t seen in amidst (for amiddes), amongst (for amonges),
1 See p. 182.
2 Compare also sueh expressions as ' He always comes Tuesdays ' (for
which ' of a Tuesday ' is often heard) ; ' Where do you go iisinters ? '
FOSSILS 197
against (tor ageynes)^ the obsolete alongst (for alonges)^
and the vulgar oust and tivieet (for owce and twice). ^
Since is a curious instance of the same adverbial -es.
The Anglo-Saxon had sith'than (cf. Ger. seitdem), com-
pounded of sUh, ' afterwards,' literally ' later ' (akin to Ger.
seit'), and t/ion, an instrumental case of that. SitJithan be-
came sithen-es in Middle English, and this was shortened
to sitlience and since. The spelling in ce was intended
(as in 07ice, tivice, thrice') to prevent the pronunciation sinz
(as in the plural of sin). Hence and thence are also for
hennes and thennes.
Nonce is a curious fossil word, occurring only in the
single phrase for the 7io)ice, ' for the occasion,' ' for the
time being.' The n of 7io7ice really belongs to the preced-
ing word, so that the phrase was formerly for the7i 07iee.
The7i is a corruption of an old dative form (no longer
used) of the demonstrative that? so that /or tlie 7ionce means
literally 'for that one time.' The transference of ?i from
the end of then to the beginning of 07ice is parallel to what
we often see in the case of the article an., when followed
by a noun beginning with a vowel. Thus children say
a 7iapple instead of aw apple., and then sometimes, regard-
ing 7iapple as the name of the fruit, tJte 7iapple. So the
7iage7it is sometimes heard for the age7it. These two forms,
napple and 7iagent., have not established themselves in the
language, but many other forms originally quite as incor-
rect have come in from the same tendency. Thus neivt
owes its n to a preceding article an. The Anglo-Saxon
1 The adverbial -es occurs also in -vmrds (totvards, upioards, etc.),
ahoays, algates (perhaps originally a plural), besides, betimes, there-
abouts, hereabouts. Someioheres and noioJieres, thougli not in good use,
illustrate the strength of the tendency.
-The adverb then (really the same \Yortl as than) is another formation
from the same pronominal stem.
198 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
efete is also preserved as eft and evet. Conversely, in a
number of words, an n which properly belongs to the
noun, lixis parted company with it and joined the preced-
ing article, thus depriving the noun of its first letter.
Adder, for example, was originally nadder ; apron was
naprou (Fr. napperon'); mnplre was originally nomper
(O. Fr., from L. nonpar, 'not equal,' that is, 'odd,' the
umpire being the 'odd man' who decides a dispute). ^
Our yore is descended from an Anglo-Saxon adverb in
-a, gear a, really the genitive plural of gear, 'year.' Soon
was 8dna in Anglo-Saxon, and was felt as belonging to
the same class as geara. In fact, however, the -a in sona
is not a termination, but a decayed remnant of a noun
meaning 'time.' Both a's became weakened to -e, and in
Chaucer we have yore and soone. In Modern English the
adverbs appear to have no ending, since the final e has
• disappeared. 2
There are many adverbs in modern Engiisli which have
no ending, but are identical in form with the correspond-
ing adjectives. Such are fa^it, slow, quick, cheap, sound
(in 'to sleep sound'), Idgh, lotv, still, and the like. These
give the young grammarian much trouble, and he is seldom
assisted by his school-books, which usually inform him
(erroneously) that such words are 'adjectives used as
adverbs.' There is even a tendency to banish them from
the language, just as had better is stigmatized by many as
1 A very learned and equally interesting study of ' English Words
which have gained or lost an Initial Consonant by Attraction,' by Dr.
Charles V. G. Scott, may be found in the Transactions of the American
Philological Association for 1892, XXIII, 179-:305.
- Disappeared, that is, in speech. The fact that we write an e at the
end of yore is neither here nor there. This -e is simply a graphic sign to
indicate the length of the preceding vowel. It is no more an ending than
a long mark over the a would be. In Chaucer's time, on the contrary,
the final c was a sound.
FOSSILS 199
an impropriety. In fact, however, these words are merely
the survivors of a large class of adverbs in -e, and it is the
disappearance of this adverbial termination (in common
with all weak final e's in our language) that makes them
coincide in form with the adjectives from which they are
derived. Not all of our 'flat adverbs' actually go back
to such -e forms, since analogy has brought new ones into
existence, and a few (like ri^/I/t and fuU} are really old
adjectives used in an adverbial construction. However
derived, the ' flat adverbs ' are an ancient and dignified
part of our language, and the pedantry which discounte-
nances them is not to be encouraged. Still, one must
admit that such pedantry itself obeys a natural linguistic
law, — the tendency to associate particular endings with
particular syntactic functions. Most English adverbs of
manner do end in -I// (a decayed form of -lice, 'like '), and
the feeling that such a termination is indispensable is easy
to understand. But until the language has actually shown
some disposition to reject the ' flat adverbs,' it is pedantic
to attempt to put them under a ban.
Fro, an Old Norse form, once common as a preposition
(as in fro the fire, fro the land), has gone out of use, except
in a single adverbial phrase, to and fro.
The adverb ar/o is really the same as agone, the past par-
ticiple of ago(n), 'to go on,' 'depart.' Thus 'six years
ago'' is literally 'six years having elapsed.'
Elder and eldest are the regular ancient comparative
and superlative of old (which, like Cier. alt, shows the
umlaut, or change of vowel, in the comparative and
superlative). Elder and eldest have been almost univer-
sally replaced by older and oldest, — new formations made
directly from old, and keeping the same vowel as the
positive. Other ancient forms showing the same vowel-
200 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
change are strenger and strengest from strong^ and lenger
and lengest from long; but these have disappeared from
the Language. Elder and eldest survive because they were
so often employed in special family phrases, elder brother^
eldest son, and the like, and they are almost entirely con-
fined to this use. Elder has also survived as a noun in
a special sense.
Near and 7iext show a similar umlaut. They are really
the comparative and superlative of the adjective nigh
(A.S. neali), but they are no longer associated with nigh
in our consciousness. They survive as indeiDcndent words.
Near has become a positive, and a new comparative has
been formed from it, — nearer, which really shows a
double comparative ending. Far, which we also feel as
a positive, was originally in the comparative degree.
There has always been a tendency to use comparatives
as positives, and so to accumulate endings of comparison.
Thus farther shows two such endings, an'd the children's
word fartherer shows three. (The th in these words results
from a confusion with further, which is really a compara-
tive oi forth.') The accumulation of comparative endings
in successive periods of our family of languages is well
illustrated in nethermost. The Indo-European had a par-
ticle m, meaning 'down.' This is seen in L. ni-dus and
in the first two letters of nest, the last two (^sf) being a
clipped form of *sed6-z, ' sitting place ' (connected with
sit, set, and akin to L. sedeo). This ni appears in Anglo-
Saxon in the comparative nith-er and the superlative
nithemest, where the -th is an old comparative ending.
Nithemest has the superlative ending -mest, itself a union of
a superlative ending -mo (seen in L. pri-mus, ' foremost ')
and the familiar -st (-esf) ending (seen in fi7'st, latest).
This -mest ending was subsequently confused with the
FOSSILS 201
English 7nost, wliicli itself lias the same -st but is from
the root found in L. magis and major. Thus 7iether7nost
has at least four endings denoting comparison, th, -er,
-mo, and -st. ]\Iany other ancient forms are similarly ac-
cumulative, for tautology is an ineradicable tendency of
language. The so-called double comparison, now vulgar,
but formerly in good use, illustrates the point. Every-
body remembers instances enough in Shakspere : ' his
7no7'e braver daughter,' 'the 7nost zmkindest cut of all.'
Alive is a singular example of a fossil form. It is
descended from the Anglo-Saxon oti life (pronounced 07i
leeve}, 'in life.' Life was the dative form, llf the nomi-
native. At the end of a word, / was pronounced as we pro-
nounce it. Between two vowels it was pronounced like v.
The final e was the dative ending. This dative ending
disappeared from the language long ago, but before its
disappearance 07i-live or alive (for the a is merely a clipped
form of oil) had become established as an independent
word ; hence the z;-sound, which owed its existence only
to the dative ending e, remained. When we say alive,
then, we are in a manner preserving the Anglo-Saxon
dative; otherwise, we should say alife. In abed, which is
also descended from a dative (on bedde), the modern
word shows no remnant of inflection ; for the ending e
had no effect on the preceding d, and when the e disap-
peared, it left no trace behind it.
Down to very recent times the use of 7/ear as a plural
was extremely common, and it is still heard in careless
or colloquial language. It is not a corruption, but a sur-
vival. Indeed, from the historical point of view, it is a
better form than years. Year, in Anglo-Saxon, belonged
to a class of nouns which took no endinsf in the nomina-
tive and accusative plural. In Middle English, the dif-
202 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ferences between the old declensions broke down, so that
nearly all plurals came to be formed by means of the
ending -es (A.S. -as). Thus, yeeres was soon substituted
for yeer, but the older yeer was still used. In Chaucer,
for example, both forms are common. Compare te7i pound,
six mile, three foot, and other expressions of measure,
formerly correct, but now regarded as colloquial or
vulgar. Stone, however, as a weight, has never been
superseded by stones.
The, in such sentences as ' The harder he tries, the less
successful he is,' is not the definite article, but the instru-
mental case of the demonstrative pronoun that, like the
Latin 'ablative of degree of difference.' In the sentence
just quoted, the first the is a relative, the second a demon-
strative, for that had both functions in Anglo-Saxon, as it
has to-day. Thus, ' the more . . . the less ' is exactly
equivalent to the Latin quo ^nayia . . . eo minus. The
instrumental case of that survives in Modern English in
this idiom only. Another petrified instrumental is why,
wliich is really a form of tlie interrogative pronoun ivho,
what.
The pronominal ''em, 'm, um of rapid speech is usually
felt as a fragment of them, but is, in fact, quite a different
word. It is the Anglo-Saxon heom (ov him'), Chaucer's
hem, the regular dative plural of he. Them (Anglo-Saxon
thwrn), on the contrary, was not the personal pronoun. It
was the dative plural of the demonstrative that. The
Scandinavians used their form of this demonstrative
{theim^ as a personal pronoun, and it was partly under
this influence that a similar usage of them sprang up in
English, but did not extend to Chaucer's dialect. Their
is the Old Norse genitive plural theira; the Anglo-Saxons
used hira (Chaucer's hire, here'), also from he. The vari-
FOSSILS 203
ation between Chaucer and Modern English in the matter
of their and them is one sign that our literary language is
of a somewhat more northern character than his dialect. ^
The pronoun thee has gone out of use entirely, except
dialectically, or in the poetical or solemn style. It still
survives in the colloquial thank" ee. Compare the vulgar
don't-ee often heard in England, but probably never in the
United States. Prithee is now poetical, but was once
extremely popular.
An old ending -en (akin to L. -Imis'^ in serpentinus,
'snaky') produced a number of 'adjectives of material':
as, golden^ leaden., brazen, tvoode)i, earthen. These have
decreased in number, and some of those which survive are
poetical or figurative. The modern habit in such cases is
to use the noun itself as an adjective. Thus, we say 'a
gold watch,' but '■golden hair.' Wooden and earthen,
however, are still common in the literal prosaic use. In
the case of the participial ending -en, once universal in
strong verbs, there is great diversity. Most of the old
participles have lost the termination : as, sung, hung, spim,
found, bound. But others have kept it : as, stolen, born,
ridden. There is a tendency to retain the forms in
-en as adjectives, even when the participles are commonly
shortened. Thus, dnmJcen, sodden, swollen, '■iW-gotten
gains,' '■cloven foot,' 'a riven oak,' 'that labor and are
heavy-?ac?e?i,' 'all shaven and shorn,' ^shrunken cheeks.'
Hence the anomalous boughten, as opposed to home-inade.
The old adjectives of material in -en may possibly have
assisted here.
1 See p. 92.
2 The Latin termiuatiou became familiar in Eiiglisli iu a great number
of borrowed words. It is a living suffix in our language, being much used
in scientific coinages {rpiinine, etc.), and (by imitation) in such terms as
vaseline, pearliiie, etc., made up to name commercial products.
204 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Still another ending -en was once common as a feminine
termination, and is identical with the German -m, as in
Ko tiir/ in, ' qu.een'' (cf. Konig, 'king'). It is preserved in
the single word vixen (iv oiw fox), 'a she-fox,' and hence
'a snarling woman,' 'a scold.' Observe also that vixen
shows the umlaut of o to i (cf. Ger. Fuchs, FUchsin).
Verbs show many curious survivals, only a few of
which can be mentioned here.
Wbl, an old form of tvill, is never used except in the
colloquial negative tvont (for wol not, the I having dis-
appeared as in shant for sJiall not). Woo't, as in Hamlet's
' Woo't drink up esil, eat a crocodile ? ' is simply tvolt with-
out its I. Nil (that is, ne will) survives in the fossilized
subjunctive phrase wHIt/ nilly (for 'will I, nil I,' that is,
'will I, will I not'), meaning 'whether I will or no.'
A similar phrase (in the indicative) is sliilly shally, for
' Shall I, shall I ? ' — the natural hesitating question of
an undecided person. From this we have formed the
extraordinary verb to shillt/shaU//, which is made up of
two nouns and two pronouns, but which may be in-
flected like any other verb, as, ' He sJiiHi/shallied a good
while.'
' If you please ' is an old subjunctive phrase, and you is
in the dative case — 'if it be pleasing to you.' 'If you
like ' is the same thing, since the old meaning of like is
' be agreeable ' to one. After the old dative, you, began
to be used as a nominative also, the dative you in these
phrases, however, was erroneously taken as the subject of
the verb, and, as the result of the misapprehension, we now
say, ' if I like ' or ' if I please ' instead of the older 'if me
like.' Observe that the idiom is none the less accepted
because it sprang from a blunder, and, further, that no
one thinks of challenging 'if I please' because.it is
FOSSILS 205
impossible to ' parse ' the I without giving an unheard-of
sense to the verb.
Tlie subjunctive mood is rapidly going out of use. In
particular, it is no longer generally employed, as it for-
merly was, to express wishes. In a few phrases, however,
which originally had a religious significance, the old con-
struction survives. Thus we can say ' God bless me ! '
' Heaven help me I ' ^ The saints preserve us I ' But we
can hardly sai/, ' Fortune favor us I ' though we might
venture it in poetry. Curses survive as well as prayers,
and the subjunctive ' God curse him ! ' is quite as idio-
matic as ' God bless him ! '
A few other idiomatic uses of the subjunctive also sur-
vive in particular phrases : as, ' Cojne what will, I will
make the attempt,' '• Act as he may, he cannot alienate his
friends,' ' Tr>/ as hard as he can, he v/ill never climb the
tree.'
A peculiar idiom with the preterite subjunctive had
survives in a few phrases. Thus, ' I had as lief go as
stay,' ' You had better not do this," ' We had rather ride
than walk.' In this particular use had is really the pret-
erite subjunctive of have in the sense of 'regard.' Tlie
meaning may be clearly seen in the first example. I had
as lief means literally '• I should regard it as as pleasant to
go as to stay.' The extension of the same construction
to had rather is due to analogy. Naturally I had, we had,
etc., were contracted to I'd, we'd, etc., in these phrases
(as elsewhere), and many persons suppose that / had in
the expressions just quoted is a mistaken expansion of
Pd (the contraction of I tvoidd). Such a notion is not
strange, since this use of had is confined to so small a
number of phrases. The result has been a determined
attempt to stigmatize the idiom as an error, and to substi-
206 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
tute / ivould rathe}', I would better, etc., for it. Tlie
idiom, however, is perfectly established, has been in use
for centuries, and is habitually employed by the best
writers.^ In some cases the substitution of I ivoidd results
in downright error. Thus, ' I would better go ' is posi-
tivel}' ungrammatical.
In older English the indicative have and hath are com-
mon in such phrases, as well as the subjunctive had.
Thus, —
' Yet have I levere maken him good chere
In lionour than myn ernes [_Le. uncle's] lyf to lese.'
Chaucer, Troilus, ii, 471-2.
The meaning ' hold,' ' regard ' (cf . L. habere'), is also
seen in such phrases as ' I pray thee have me excused,' i.e.
not ''^procure an excuse for me,' but ' hold me excused (in
your own mind),' 'pardon me.'
In the case of idioms like ' I had better,' one frequently
hears the objection that had ' will not parse.' As a mat-
ter of fact, it will parse, easily enough, if one knows how
to parse it. But the objection would have no validity
even if the phrases were grammatically inexplicable. The
grammarian has no business to object to an established
idiom, for idioms are superior to paradigms and analytical
diagrams. Grammar was made (pretty imperfectly) from
language, not language from grammar.
As particular grammatical forms or old constructions
often remain in only a few phrases or in single words, so
obsolete words occasionally survive in a few expressions,
or even a single one.
Fine, an old noun meaning ' end ' (Fr. fin, L. finis),
1 See Fitzedward Hall, in the American Journal of Philology, II,
281 ff.
FOSSILS 207
survives only in the adverbial phrase in fine. The noun
Jiallow, ' a saint,' survives only in All Hallows, and in Hal-
lows'' en, that is, the 'eve or vigil of All Saints' Day.' The
Anglo-Saxon rice, ' kingdom,' ' domain ' (Ger. Reicli),
survives only in InsJioprio ; the Anglo-Saxon Idc, 'offer-
ing,' only in tvedlock ; the Anglo-Saxon rceden (a word
connected with rcedan, 'to counsel,' but used as an
abstract termination) in hatred and kindred only.
To 'revoke' at cards is to renege (often pronounced
renig and shortened to nig). This is L. renegare, and is
seen in its general sense of ' deny ' in Shakspere's ' Renege,
affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks with every gale and
vary of their masters.' The Spanish renegado, which
came into our language bodily, and was also adapted as
renegade, is L. renegatus, 'one who has denied his faith,' 'an
apostate.' Runagate is the same thing, but comes from
the French renegat, and has been corrupted b}^ 'popular
etymology ' ^ as if it meant ' runaway ' and were from rww
and gate, ' a way.' This gate comes from O.N. gata, whence
also gait. Gate, 'a door,' is another word, but may be
related.
Weasand, an old word for ' windpipe,' is practically ob-
solete, except in the half-jocose phrase 'slit his weasand.'
Stead is our regular native word for place (which is
French, see p. 244). The borrowed word, however, has
narrowed the use of the native term to compounds (like
homestead, farmstead, roadstead) and special phrases instead
of, in his stead, to stand me in good stead (cf. to stead me
or bestead me^. Even in so idiomatic an expression as
instead of the French lieu (L. locus) has made a bid
for favor, but is felt by most speakers as somewhat
bookish.
1 See Chapter XXIII,
208 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Welkin is an old word for the ' clouds ' (cf. Ger. Wolke)i).
It is kept only in the phrase 'to make the welkin
ring.'
Umhracje, ' offence,' survives in *• to take umbrage ' (less
commonly, ' to give umbrage '). It is a special sense of
umbrage, ' shade ' (from Fr. omhrage, which also has both
meanings). The figure is rather striking. One originally
' took umbrage ' when one was ' thrown into the shade ' by
another. Dudgeon is almost as limited as umhrage in its
use. It is practically confined to the phrase in dudgeon
('in great dudgeon,' 'to take a thing in dudgeon'). The
etymology is quite unknown, and the same is true of dud-
geon, 'a dagger,' — formerly dudgeon dagger, i.e. one with
a hilt of dudgeon or boxwood. The progress of meaning
in this word is curious : (1) a kind of wood, (2) a dagger-
hilt of this wood, (3) any dagger-hilt, (4) a dudgeon-
hilted dagger, (5) any dagger. It is not impossible that
dudgeon, ' resentment,' is the same word. We speak of
'looking daggers,' and a bitter speech is 'a dagger in
one's heart.' The sense in question is not found till the
Elizabethan age, when, for a time, the continental fashion
of stahhing in resentment of an insult was rather ostenta-
tiously followed by the English. Possibly ' to take a thing
in dudgeon ' was to resent it by planting your dagger in
the speaker's breast ; but this is not so likely.
Suborn is a good example of a word that is kept only in
a very limited application. It means to 'procure or fit out
secretl}^ ' (L. sub-orno'), and was used in English for the
act of inducing another person to commit a crime. Thus
Macduff speaks of the attendants ' suborned ' to murder
Duncan, and Hotspur talks of 'murtherous suborna-
tion.' Nowada3^s both the verb and the noun are con-
fined to perjury and treason. ' Subornation of perjury '
FOSSILS 209
is a well-known offence ; subornation of murder is never
heard of.
Sometimes an obsolete word is retained in an idiom in
which it is associated with another word of similar meaning.
We understand the whole phrase as a kind of compound
and get the sense out of the word which has survived in
ordinary use. A good example is ' without let or hin-
drance.' Let means 'hindrance,' but is obsolete except in
this idiom. In Anglo-Saxon there were two verbs, lettan,
'to hinder,' 1 and Icetan^ 'to permit,' 'to let go,' 'to let.'
The forms of these verbs were originally quite distinct.
Gradually, however, they fell together, so that in the time
of Shakspere there appeared to be a single verb, to let,
which sometimes meant ' to hinder ' and sometimes ' to
permit.' The ambiguity of such a verb led to the aban-
donment of one set of meanings, and with this abandon-
ment went the noun let in the sense of ' hindrance,' except
in the single phrase just noted.
3Iete, an old word for 'boundar}^' is similarly preserved
in the legal phrase metes and bounds.
Hue and cry (A.N. hu e cri, connected with huer, 'to
shout ') is a good example of the same thing.
Obsolete or unusual words are often preserved as family
names. So Fletcher, ' arrow maker ' (Fr. fieehe, ' arrow ') ;
Bowyer, 'bow maker' ; Spicer, 'dealer in spices,' 'grocer'
(cf. O. Fr. espicier, Fr. epicier') ; Webster, ' weaver ' (with
-ster, the old feminine ending) ; Baxter (for backster),
' baker ' ; Sumner, ' summoner,' ' somnour ' (ofticer of the
ecclesiastical courts); Bail, 'dairyman" (O.N. deigja.) \
Cbapman, 'merchant'; Lorhiipr, 'maker of bits, etc.";
Latimer {i.e. 'Latiner'), 'interpreter.'
^ It is ctyniologically related to the adjective late,, and properly meant
to retard,' ' to make slow ' {late having the meaning of ' slow ').
210 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
*
Fain was once freely used in the sense of ' glad ' ; and it
was possible to say, ' I am fain,' exactly as we now say, ' I
am happy.' We now have the word only in the phrase,
' to be fain to do so and so,' where it apparently means
'forced' or 'obliged.' This curious shift in meaning is
easily understood. Falstaff, according to his own account
(Merry Wives of Windsor, act ii, scene 2), 'leaving the
fear of God on the left hand and hiding his honor
in his necessity, was fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to
lurch.'
A great many obsolete words remain embedded in the
language as parts of compounds.
Gar, an old word for ' spear,' found also among the Celts
(whence Cesar's gaesuni), survives in garlic'^ and gar-pike,
and in the noun gore, for a 'triangular piece.' It is also,
in all probability, the source of the verb gore, 'to pierce.'
G-ore, ' blood,' is hot connected ; it is the Anglo-Saxon gor,
' filth,' and had no poetical associations in the eighth
century.
Many native compounds have ceased to be felt as other
than simple words, and in such cases the meaning of their
component parts has been utterly forgotten. Lord is A.S.
hldford, from Iddf, 'bread' (our loaf), and iveard, tvard,
'guardian.' Lady is A.S. hldfdige, of which the first
part is also Mdf, but the -dige is uncertain. The connec-
tion with dough, which has been suggested, as if lady were
' kneader of bread,' is attractive, but not quite easy. At
all events, both lord and lady had lost their literal mean-
ing before the end of the Anglo-Saxon period.
Stirrup is sty-rope, that is, 'mounting rope,' from A.S.
stlgan, 'to mount' (cf. Gev. steigen), and rap, 'rope.'
1 A.S. f/drleac, literally ' spear-leek ' or ' spear-plant,' from the shape
of the leaves.
FOSSILS 211
The literal meaning of the word, and the fact that it was
a compound, must have remained in people's minds until
the verb to sty {stiyan, stien') became obsolete. We have
a trace of this verb in our sfi/ (in the eye), wliich means,
literally, a 'rising' or 'swelling.'
Handiivorlc is not a compound of handy and work, but
of hand and A.S. ge-iveorc, where ye- is a collective prefix,
which later wore down to i-. Handicraft has no hereditary
right to its i, whicli it has appropriated from handiworh.
The step- in stepsoyi and the like is the adjective ste'op,
' destitute,' ' bereaved,' so that stepson or stepchild is the
same as orphan, which comes from the Greek for 'be-
reaved.' Stepfather and stepmother are therefore terms
which could only have arisen after the step- had lost its
proper sense. A stepmother is not a ' bereaved mother,'
but one who takes the place of a mother to the bereaved
children. This illustrates the tendency of language to
form groups, and to make new words to fill out any
gaps that may be observed in any group.
The nightmare is not a she-horse, but a nymph or de-
monic creature. The Anglo-Saxon mara, ' incubus,' is
quite distinct from mearh, ' mare ' ; but the words were
later confused, so that one even hears night-horse as a jocose
variation. The origin of mara, 'incubus,' is uncertain,
though the word is found in several languages of our
family. The suggestion that it means ' crusher,' and is
connected with mar, is not free from difficulties.
Mermaid preserves the Anglo-Saxon noun mere, 'lake,'
' sea ' (akin to L. mare'), which is obsolete except in poetry
or dialect. The word is thought to have the same root
as L. morior, ' die,' so that the sea was so called as being a
'dead waste,' a 'wilderness of waters.' 3Iarsh is a deriva-
tive of A.S. mere; morass (Fr. marais), seems to be from
212 WORDS AXD THEIR WAYS
L. mare. Moor doubtless belongs to the same group. It
is A.S. mor, which meant both 'moor' and 'morass' as
well as 'mountain.'
Just as many old forms remain fossilized in the language,
and an obsolete word may survive in a single idiom or a
compound, so now and then a peculiar phrase or group of
phrases preserves some ancient meaning of a term that is
otherwise common in a different sense. Thus gliostljf
originally meant ' spiritual ' in any sense ; but it is now
specialized to disembodied spirits, except in Hohi Ghost
and ghostly father or counsellor^ and the like. In this case,
the survival is due to the sacred associations, which always
act as conservative forces. Confound^ in the sense of ' de-
stroy,' is quite obsolete, except in the colloquial confound
you ! that is literally ' God destroy you ! ' which is used,
however, like most oaths and curses, with slight feeling for
its tremendous significance. Damn has been specialized in
the theological sense of 'condemn to eternal punishment.'
Its old meaning of 'condemn' in general (as in damned to
death') is still alive in 'the play was damned.' Condition,
in the sense of 'character' or 'nature,' is extremely com-
mon in Elizabethan English. Thus when Gloster in King
Lear says that ' the stars above us govern our conditions,'
he means that we owe our characters to the influence of
the heavenly bodies, — we do not derive them from our
parents. 'An ill-conditioned fellow' still shows a trace of
the Elizabethan sense.
Comfort (from L. com- and fortis, ' strong,' through the
French) originally meant 'to strengthen,' 'support.' It
now means ' to console ' ; but the literal sense is preserved
in one phrase, 'giving aid and comfort to the enemy,' a
legal formula which has become 'popular.' Observe that
aid and comfort mean much the same thing ; and that in
FOSSILS 213
our modern use Ave take them together as if they were
a single word, getting our understanding of the phrase
from aid^ and not attaching any definite sense to comfort.
Compare let or Jiindrmice (p. 209 ).
Abuse is literally ' to misuse,' and this is the regular
modern sense. The secondary meaning, 'deceive,' was
once very common, but is now quite obsolete. Disabuse,
however, still signifies ' to undeceive.'
Nerve once meant 'sinew' (L. nervus),^ as in Sliak-
spere's 'hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.' Nervous was
therefore ' vigorous,' — a sense which remains in 'a nervous
style' or ' writer." With the advance of physiology, how-
ever, the name nerve received a different sense, with the
result that, in ordinary use, nervous suggests almost the
opposite of sinewy strength. It is Avorth notice that we
have transferred to nerves in the modern sense a number of
expressive words which are literally applicable to the
muscles and sinews. Thus we speak of ' nervous tension,'
and say 'every nerve was tense with excitement,' or in
the vernacular, ' his nerves were on the stretch.' Com-
pare 'nervous strain." 'To lose one's nerve' is really
'to lose one's sinewy fibre,' to become weak and 'flabby.'
In modern usage, a man ' loses his nerve ' in proportion as
he becomes conscious that he has nerves, — a curious con-
tradiction, but natural enough when we know the history
of the word.
TJiorough and through are merely different ways of pro-
nouncing the same word. As often happens, we have
utilized the variation to make two words of one." We no
longer employ thorough as a preposition (' thorough bush,
thorough brier ') or throughly as an adverb. Yet we still
^ Nervus is tor au earlier aiivrvun, yerbapa cognate with snare,
2 See p. o55.
214 WORDS AND THEin WAYS
speak of a thoroughfare, a ' thorough-lighted room, ' the
' thorough-shot of a boom ' ; ^ and conversely, ' through and
through' is a synonym for 'thoroughly.'
'■ Prosper,' curiously enough, seems to be the older sense
of speed rather than 'swiftness.' We have it still in 'God
speed ! ' ' Speed the x^lough ! ' ' good speed,' and the much
misunderstood proverb, 'The more haste, the worse speed.'
Just, in the sense of 'exact,' is still found in the ad-
verbial use, and also in the printer's term justify, for
' straighten ' (type) ; cf. adjust.
An old sense of favor, ' features,' ' looks,' survives only
in hard-favored, ill- (or well-) favored, and two or three
phrases like ' He favors his father,' that is, ' looks like
him.' So 'Kissing goes by favor,' a proverb that is gener-
ally misunderstood.
All that Chaucer's Clerk of Oxenford spoke was ' soun-
ing in moral vertu,' that is, it ' had a tendency ' in that
direction, ' was colored ' by morality or consonant with it.
The idiom is obsolete in common talk, but the lawyers
have it still : ' to sound in damages,' ' to sound in tort.'
Lust formerly signified ' pleasure ' in general (as Ger.
Lust still does). A by-form of the noun was list, which
is now obsolete except in listless, '• taking no pleasure in any-
thing,' hence 'apathetic'
Read in the old sense of ' interpret ' or ' guess ' (whence
the ordinary meaning) is poetically alive in one phrase, —
' to read a riddle.' Riddle itself is from this same verb.^
To winh was once extremely common in the sense of
1 A lumberman's term for the opening where the logs are allowed to
' shoot through.'
- It is A.S. ncdels, the ending -els being the same that is seen in Ger.
Ildtlisel. This -els also survives in our burial, — A.S. byrgels, with the
s lost (becau.se it looked like a plural) and the -el respelled as if it were
from the Latin termination -alls.
FOSSILS 215
'shut the eyes,' which survives only in the figurative
phrase 'to wink at,' i.e. 'to connive' (from L. cormiveo,
Ho shut the eyes to ').
Liberal retains something of its old sense of ' gentle-
manly ' (L. Uberalis, ' free-born ') in ' liberal arts ' and
'liberal education/ The contest that is still raging over
the nature of a 'liberal education' affords very pretty
examples of the tyranny of words when the 'term is
allowed to govern the meaning,' especially when the
term is interpreted awry at the outset. Here, as in so
many other wordy combats, the etymon of the Stoics ^
'umpire sits, and by decision more embroils the fray.'
As yet is a relic of an ancient idiom. In former times
it was possible to prefix as to almost any expression of
time or place without appreciably changing the sense.
Thus we find as notu in the sense of ' now,' as in this place,
as then, as at this time, and so on. Of all these phrases
only as yet has survived in Modern English.
On was once common in the sense of ' because of,' a
meaning which has survived in only two or three phrases,
like on purpose and on compulsion. The preposition with ^
originally signified ' against,' ' in opposition to,' but it has
lost this meaning except in a few compounds, — such as
withstatid and ivithhold. The latter word means ' to hold
in opposition to somebody else,' and hence ' to retain.'
Withsay has been re])laeed by yainsay (^gain = against), and
that by the Latin synonym contradict. This is an
interesting example of the substitution of a learned for
a popular word. Withsay is pure Anglo-Saxon, and con-
tradict is a 'learned' borrowing. Yet few words are now
more truly ' popular ' than contradict. The reason is
1 See p. 230.
^ Cf. the withers of a horse, against which the harness draws.
216 WORDS ASD THEIR WAYS
obvious. It is a familiar term in the nursery. 'You
must not coniracliet' is one of the earliest lessons in
courtesy that children have to learn. Thus they become
acquainted with this cumbrous and seemingly erudite
term long before they see it in print. ^ There is no other
test of complete popularity.
Other phrases containing words or senses seldom found
in other contexts are: in durance (especially 'in durance
vile,' from Shakspere) ; ^ -a foregone conclusion'; 'at this
juncture ' ; ' in a trice ' ; ' the livelong day ' ; 'to meiv up ';
' a good 7'itldance ' ; ' much exercised ' ; ' st)ft impeachment ';
' sneaking fondness ' ; ' madding crowd ' ; ' damji with
faint praise ' ; ' special dispensation ' ; 'might and 7nain ' ;
'aid and abet''; 'watch and ward'; 'meat and drink';
^doubling capes'; 'in this cojinection' ; 'hugging the
shore' ; 'skirting the bushes'; 'the tvherewithaF ; 'on his
own recognizance.''
Some of the phrases just quoted will be recognized as
bits of proverbial lore or as fragments from the poets.
In such cases, the peculiar word or the ancient sense
accounts for itself immediately, on the principal of quota-
tion. So with the survival of archaic language in legal
formulas like ' hue and cry,' and, indeed, in many other
expressions.
The fate of a quotation that cuts loose from the exclu-
sive society of its context and joins the mixed company
of idiomatic phrases, is always instructive, and often
extremely curious. ' A foregone conclusion ' now means
' a result (or action) that may be predicted with absolute
certainty.' Quite different is the sense which the words
bear in their original context. When Othello says ' This
denoted a foregone conclusion,' lie means that this dream
1 See p. 29.
FOSSILS 217
of Cassio's pointed back to au actual deed in tlie past.^ It
will be seen that, in adopting Shakspere's phrase as an
idiom, we have gradually inverted its application. ^
An almost equally striking example is the famous line,
' One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,' from
Shakspere's Troilus and Cressida. It has become an
assertion of universal brotherhood. In its context^ how-
ever, the verse means simply, — ' All men are alike in one
natural trait,' — the love of noveltj^
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, —
Tliat all, with one consent, praise new-born gauds,
'I'liough they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. (Act iii, sc. 3, 11. 174-S.)
Thus we have gradually and unconsciously modified
the sense of two Shaksperean passages until the contrast
betAveen the meaning which we attach to them and tliat
which they bear in the original context is nothing less
than startling. The same process goes on incessantly
throughout the vocabulary of any living language. The
old terms shift their senses continually as they adapt
themselves to changed circumstances and novel ideas,
— that is, to new necessities in expressing thought. Lan-
guage develops by the felicitous misapplication of words.
Stray relics of ancient usage are often challenged by
critics who observe their isolation, and infer that they are
either erroneous or at best ' contrary to the spirit of the
language.' Such views are quite wrong, as the briefest
study will show. The correctness of a form or a con-
1 Othello, act iii, sc. 3, 1. 428.
- Cf. L. cui bono ? ' for wltose advantage ? ' usually taken as meaning
* for ichat advantage ? '
218 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
structioii is not impaired by the fact that there is nothing
exactly like it in English, any more than the correct-
ness of a word is to be called in qnestion merely because
our language has no other that is identical with it in
sound and spelling.
CHAPTER XVI
THE CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE
We have now studied a number of the most significant
processes in the development of, our language. We have
seen how words grow up and how they change their
forms. We have examined the machinery which makes
new terms by derivation and composition. We have con-
sidered the way in which a vocabulary accumulates by
borrowing from other languages. We have also discrim-
inated between the learned and the popular words in
our vocabulary, and have traced the slow growth of a
literary language from a mere tribal dialect. Incidentally,
we have had occasion to notice a great many shifts in
sense, great and small, natural and paradoxical. It is now
time to study more systematically the general and par-
ticular processes by which such changes in signification
take place. In other words, we must ask the question :
How do words behave in the development of their various
meanings ?
The changes which the meanings of words undergo in
the development of a language seem, at first sight, purely
fortuitous in some instances. In fact, however, the ap-
pearance of chance is due merely to our ignorance of the
causes that have operated in each case. Such causes may
be simple and easily understood, or so complex as never
to be discoverable in their entirety. But so long as
thought proceeds in obedience to definite laws, language,
219
220 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
which is tlie expression of thought l)y means of conven-
tional signs, must also obey rules which, if we could dis-
cover them, would account for every variation.
We often speak of the ' proper or essential meaning ' of a
word. The term is convenient, and one could not well
dispense with it in etymological study. Yet it may easily
become misleading, if certain cautionary limitations are
not borne in mind. In the absolute sense of the term a
word has no ' essential ' meaning. Words are conven-
tional signs. 1 They mean what they are intended to mean
by the speaker and understood to mean b}^ the hearer.
There is no other sense in which language can be properly
said to signify anything. Thus when a boy in the street
declares that he '• hain't seen no dog,' it is not true that his
' two negatives make one affirmative,' for he intends simply
an emphatic negation, and we inevitably understand him
in that way, however nice we may be about our own ??,o?'s.
In other words, two negatives may make an affirmative in
logic, but they seldom do in English speech. ^ The rule in
Anglo-Saxon and Middle English was like that in Greek:
'Use as many negatives as you can.' Thus in King
Alfred's description of the effects of the harping of Or-
pheus : ' No hart shunned-not no lion, nor no hare no
hound, nor no beast knew-not no hatred nor no fear from
another, for the pleasure they took in the sound.'
Many current social phrases show in a moment how
conventional are the meanings of words. Thus, ' Beg
your pardon ! ' with a questioning inflection of the voice,
has come to mean simply ' What ? ' — au inquiry when
one has failed to catch another's remark. The only dif-
1 See p. :]12.
'^ The somewhat artilicial ' not unnecessary,' ' not impossible,' and the
Uke (imitated from the Latin) are almost the only exceptions in English.
CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE 221
ference between ' Beg pardon ' and ' What? ' is a difference
in conrtesy, — the former involving an apology for in-
attention. ' Dear Sir ' at the beGfinnincf of a letter, and
' Your humble servant ' Tor ' yours ' anyway) at the end,
may mean very much, but commonly mean very little ;
they are no more than a notification to your correspondent
that a letter is beginning and ending (like salutem and
vale in Latin). 'Please' or 'if yon please,' annexed to a
command, carries no suggestion that the person who re-
ceives the order is to obey it or not, as he chooses. 'An
early remittance will greatly oblige ' does not necessarily
indicate that your tailor feels himself under an obligation
when you pay your old bill. ' Your favor of the 30th ' is
a common commercial phrase for any letter, though we all
know that letters are hardly favors to busy men. 'Be so
good as to go home I' ' Kindly let me see no more of you! '
'Not at home!' 'So glad to see you!' 'Give my love
to ,' ^ Sorry to be out when you called!' — are all
phrases which mean just as much and just as little as
they are understood to mean by the speaker and the
person spoken to.
Perhaps the final test of the fact that language is a con-
vention, — that words have no natural and essential mean-
ing which belongs to them more than any other, — is seen
in irony. Here we use a word in a sense which is the
direct opposite of that which it usually bears, — and we
are understood without difficulty. Thus, ' He is a very
courageous person ' may mean, if it is so intended and so
taken, ' He is an arrant coward ! ' Nor is it absolutely
necessary that the remark should be uttered in any special
tone of voice in order to convey this ironical meaning.
The intention of the speaker and the understanding of the
hearer are all that is required. There is a whole class of
222 WOBDS AXD THEIR WAYS
expressions (more or less colloquial) which have become
idiomatic in an ironical sense: as, 'A precious rascal!'
' That's a pretty thing to say ! ' ' Fine woi-k, this ! '
' Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do ! ' 'A nice mess ! ' ' You're
too kind I ' ' How vei^^ good of you ! ' ' Here's rich-
ness ! ' ' This is pleasant ! ' ' Much good may it do
him!' 'I wish you joy of it!' So merci ! and danke !
may mean ' No, thank you ! ' and the Romans used
henigne (like the Greek KaX(t)<;} in a similar sense.
The truth of these considerations may be tested in
another way. Many words have so changed their mean-
ings in the course of time that their present sense has no
necessary logical connection with that which they formerly
bore.
Thus the Latin rivcdls is an adjective that meant ' per-
taining to a brook' (L. ritnis ; cf. river, rivulef); but a
rival is a 'competitor." There is no necessary connection
of thought between the two senses. Philologists know the
history of this curious change, and see that it is easy and
natural. Rivcdes in Latin came to mean 'neighbors who
got water from the same stream,' — and it is thus used in
the Roman Digest, which discusses the contests that often
rose between such persons respecting their riparian rights.
But this connection between the senses is a mere matter
of history. It does not effect us to-day. We do not
think of brooks when we talk of rivals in politics, or
business, or love.
Chamberlain once meant a servant who attended to the
chambers of a house or inn. The Chamberlain of London
is the city treasurer.
Phaethon was a Greek participle that meant ' shining,'
and was appropriately applied to the son of Phoebus.
Phaethon once drove a chariot with disastrous results, and
CONVENTIONAL CHABACTEB OF LANGUAGE 223
his name now designates a kind of vehicle. But we do
not call such \ ehieles phaefo7is because they shine.
ExpJodo meant, in Latin, ' to drive off an actor l)y
clapping the hands,' then ' to hoot oft" ' by any noisy sign
of disapproval. Thus Cicero speaks of a player as being
'exploded not merely by hissing, but by abusive words.'
The modern intransitive use of e.rplode is very modern
indeed, but it suggests neither actors nor catcalls. The
bridsre between the senses is tlie idea of ' driving out ' in
such phrases as 'the Ijall was exploded from the gun.'
So powerful, however, are the modern associations of the
word that even the bookish phrase ' an exploded fallacy,'
which preserves the old sense, is commonly understood
as an error that has been 'blown up ' or 'blown to pieces'
by the arguments of an adversary.
Ingeyiium originally meant ' that which is born in a
man' (cf. generate, genus). Now, in the form engine
(taken into English through the French), it means a
machine for the application of ' power,' — a locomotive,
for instance. The intermediate steps are well known
(' mother-wit,' ' contrivance,' ' device ') ; but it would be
manifestly absurd to interpret our English word by appeal-
ing to in and the root gex, ' to be born.'
These are merely a few examples out of thousands, but
they suffice to enforce what has been said of the conven-
tional nature of words.
To be sure, the course by which these same words have
strayed so far from their former selves may usually be
traced ; and the clew which has guided their wanderings
may then become evident. But this does not alter the
case ; for the present signification of each of them is its
meaning, and something very different ivas its meaning a
hundred or a thousand years ago, and between the two
224 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
is a great gap, which the memory and the linguistic con-
sciousness of the mode-rn speaker does not span, and could
not if it would. Tt is as if the Avord had been annihilated
and created anew. Tlie modern user knows nothing of
the former meaning.
Words, then, have no character in themselves. They
are merely conventional signs, and consequently they can
be good or bad, dignified or vulgar, only in accordance
with the ideas which they conventionally denote or sug-
gest in the mind of the speaker and his hearers. Yet
under this head of s7ic/[/estions comes in an important con-
sideration, which accounts for a great deal that would
otherwise be inexplicable. Most words, from their use,
acquire special connotations or associations, which almost
seem to give them a character of their own.
Thus the word fist means simply ' the hand with the
fingers doubled up against the palm.' In the idiomatic
comparison 'as big as your fist,' it is purely descriptive,
and has no particular character, good or bad. The use of
the fist in fighting, however, has given a peculiar connota-
tion to the term. We may say ' He hit his opponent with
his clenched fist,' for here again fist is purely descriptive
and occurs in an appropriate environment. Similarly, we
may say ' The boy cried dismally, wiping his eyes with
his dingy fist,' for here there is a certain grotesqueness in
the scene which justifies the nse of undignified language.
But we can no longer say, as was formerly possible, ' The
lady held a lily in her delicate fist.' In other words, the
associations of fist are either pugnacious, vulgar, or jocose.
These suggestive associations are partly general and
partly individual. If certain phrases are habitually asso-
ciated in our minds with low or disagreeable persons or
things, they will inevitably be relegated to the category of
CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE 225
unseemly terms ; and, on the other hand, phrases that are
associated with dignified and reputable persons or circum-
stances, will acquire a kind of respectability independent
of the exact meaning which they convey.
The associations in question may be purely personal.
Everybody remembers certain words which he dislikes
intensely, though they are in common use, convey no bad
or disagreeable meaning, and are quite euphonious. We
may even remember our reason for such dislikes. Perhaps
the word is associated with an unpleasant experience ;
more likely, however, our antipathy is due to its habitual
use by some one whom we do not fancy. ^ Or we may
have been bored by hearing the word over-used, so that
every new repetition gives us a feeling of satiety.
We have already averted to this doctrine of association
in discussing slang. ^ One of the chief objections to the
excessive use of this pariah dialect is not that there is
anything objectionable about the words themselves, but
that their associations are low, or at least undignified, and
perhaps disgusting. If they secure a position in the
vocabulary, their origin is likely to be forgotten, and they
cease to be offensive.
The associations of words are always shifting, even when
the meaning remains unchanged. Hence we continually
meet with expressions in our older poets which have lost
their dignity, and appear to us out of harmony with the
context, though they were quite irreproachable when the
author used them. Examples are brag, cand//, pate, slub-
ber, mope, fry, portly, smug, pother, liver, wink, blab, feed,
and many others. The effect referred to may be felt in
such a passage as the following : —
1 So we often feel an aversion to the very names of people whom we do
not like. - See p. 72.
Q
226 WORDS AND THEIR WA YS
I have dispatch'd in post
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleoraenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stnff'd sufficiency.
Shakspeke, The Winter's Tale, act ii, sc. 1, 11. 182-5.
It is largely these indefinable connotations of words
that make it so difiicult to speak a foreign tongue. We
may be well trained in grammar and command a large
vocabulary, and j^et use words which, though they express
our meaning accurately enough, suggest ridiculous or inop-
portune associations to a native. ' Baboo English ' is
proverbial. The awkward and equivocal remarks into
which one frequently blunders in speaking one's own
language, ' the things one would rather have left unsaid,'
depend on a momentary forgetfulness of some more or
less obscure connotation which the words that we are
using may bear.
Clearly, then, we are dealing with a very real phenome-
non in the operations of language. When a word has
been long used in a particular sense, there cluster about it
a great variety of traditional associations, — religious, his-
torical, literary, or sentimental, which, though not a part
of its meaning, properly so called, are still a considerable
factor in its significant power. A rose by any other name
would smell as sweet, no doubt; yet no other name would
so vividly suggest to us its fragrance. The noun lily is
no whiter, nor is it more graceful, than, for example, nilly.
Yet if it were possible to substitute nilly for lily^ it would
be long before the new term would call up in our minds
either the whiteness or the grace of the lily as the accus-
tomed word presents them, — not by virtue of any inherent
quality, but merely because of its traditional and poetic
associations.
CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE 227
The power of such connotations becomes very great
when the word is an old one, which has been much used,
and is in some manner, therefore, bound up with the most
intense experiences of great numbers of men. Words
like father, mother, home, or the name of one's country,
may have a tremendous effect in a great crisis. A mob
may be roused to fury l)y the utterance of a single word ;
yet in all such cases it is of course not the word at all that
produces the effect, but its associations. Cpesar's mutinous
army was reduced to tearful submission by the one word
Quirites! ' fellow-citizens,' which reminded them that they
were no longer commilitones, the '• fellow-soldiers ' of their
beloved leader.
Indeed, lanmiao'e is sometimes translated into conduct.
A figure of speech may even suggest a course of action.
To ' bridle one's tongue ' is an old and very natural meta-
phor. Is it too much to believe that it suggested the
particular form of gag used in the seventeenth and eigh-
teenth centuries to confine the tongue of a convicted
shrew ? At all events, the figure of speech is centuries older
than the actual 'scold's bridle.' A mistaken etymology
may react in a similar manner. A forlorn hope is a body
of soldiers who undertake some service of extraordinary
peril. The phrase is an adaptation of the Dutch verloren
hoop, 'lost band' (in Fr., enfants perdus). Hoop is
cognate with our heap, which formerly signified a multi-
tude of persons as well as of things. Who can doubt
that the happy confusion of tongues which illuminated
with a ray of hope the desperate valor of the old phrase,
has had its effect on the fortune of war ?
As we have already remarked, we seem to ourselves to
speak by nature, for we cannot remember learning to talk.
This fact, taken in connection with the powerful influence
228 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
which words often produce upon our minds through the
association of ideas, enables us readily to understand how
it is often thought that words have some natural power or
meaning independently of usage or convention. ^ This
idea is widespread, and manifests itself alike in the savage
and in the philosopher.
Thus we find amongst men of all degrees of civilization
a deep-seated belief in the magic potency of words. This
belief underlies all kinds of charms and incantations. It
is not the magician who forces the demon to appear or
produces the convulsion of nature, but the words them-
selves which the magician speaks. His power consists
only in knowing the words. There are stories of ignorant
persons, and even children, who have accidentally read a
passage, to them unintelligible, from a book of magic, with
precisely the same effect which the spell would have had
if recited by the enchanter, Similarl}^ it is often thought
that the name of a person, an animal, or an object, has a
mysterious connection with its bearer. A werewolf may
be restored to his human form by calling him by name.
If a berserk champion was addressed by his right name in
the midst of a battle, he instantly lost his demonic strength.
In invoking a god, or other supernatural being, it was
1 So complex a phenomenon is language that even this possibility can-
not be utterly denied. Any such essential meaning, however, lies so
very far back that it is useless to attempt to discover it in the case of any
particular term. In other words, if there ever was such an essential ele-
ment of meaning involved in a particular combination of sounds, so many
changes have occurred in the thousands of years during which the term
has passed current among men that it must have lost this original signifi-
cance. Indeed, the sounds themselves must be something quite different
from what they were at the outset. Hence we are obliged in the pi-esent
discussion to regard the essential element of meaning in any particular
word as either non-existent in the beginning, or as now undiscoverable,
and therefore, for our purposes, nil.
CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE 229
customary to use many different names.^ Often, in later
times, the object of this variety was thought to be the
winning of the deity's favor by employing that title which
he might prefer. Originally, however, the purpose was
to make sure of uttering the one true and essential name
of the divinity, — that name which would control him
instantly and force him to grant your request. It is well
known that the real name of the city of Rome was sup-
posed to be kept secret, lest, if it became known to the
enemy, they might use it in incantations which would
deprive the city of its protecting gods.^ So, among some
savages, it is a deadly insult to call a man by his right
name, — an idea which has left its traces in the apologetic
Latin formula " quem honoris causa nomino,' and in the
parliamentary phrase ' the gentleman from Ohio.'
All these superstitions, primitive as they seem to us,
have had considerable effect on men's opinions about lan-
guage, and, consequently, on language itself. They have
even found philosophic expression in the Stoic doctrine
of etymology, which has exerted a profound influence on
modern thought, and still sways us in our judgment of
words.
When, in the fourth or fifth century before Christ, the
Greek philosophers began to connect the study of words
with that of things, one of the questions which confronted
them was, whether words and their meanings came 'by
nature' (c^ucret), or artificially and ' by convention ' (Oicret).
The Stoics, in accordance with their general theory of the
1 The custom passed into a literary convention in iiivokiiiii' the higher
powers to aid tlie poet. See tins opening passage in Book iii of Paradise
Lost.
2 See the formula of cvocatio (or calling out the gods of a beleaguered
city) in Macrobius, Saturnalia, iii, 9, 7-8.
230 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
universe/ decided in favor of a ' natural ' origin, and held
that if the 'true' (erfyu-o?, etumos}^ or original meaning of
a word could only be discovered, we should at once gain
an insight into the divinely constituted nature of the thing
which the word denotes. The search for this ' true mean-
ing ' (^eru/jiov, etumoTi) was therefore called etymology, or
'the science of true meanings.'
The doctrine of the Stoics has long been exploded, and
the term etymology has entirely changed its sense. Yet
the old notion dies hard. In the popular mind there still
lingers a haunting suspicion that it is true, and accord-
ingly one often hears, from the pulpit or the platform,
and even from the professor's chair, serious arguments
based on the supposed original or essential meaning of
this or that word. The fallacy of such reasoning may
be illustrated by an anecdote. The writer recently asked
a friend, in jest, whether a particular service came within
the functions of an amanuensis. ' Oh ! yes,' was the
reply, 'she does it tvitli her hands!'' Now, it is true that
amanuensis comes from maniis, ' the hand ' ; yet the jocose
remark just quoted was none the less an absurdity, as,
indeed, it was meant to be. The Romans, who were
accustomed to dictating their compositions, designated the
slaves who wrote for them as servi a manu, i.e. ' writing-
servants,' for manus was often used for ' handwriting ' (like
our ha7id}. Later they made, somewhat irregularly, a
noun, amafiuensis (like Atheniensis'), and this we have
borrowed in the same sense, and in that sense only.
Hence the absurdity of drawing from the general mean-
ing of manus., 'hand,' any inferences as to the projDer
duties of an amanuensis.
Yet similar 'etymological' arguments are extremely
1 See p. 38.
CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE 231
common in serious discourse. One can hardly take up
a periodical without reading that education is derived
from L. e-dilco, ' draw out,' and that therefore all educa-
tion must be a ' drawing out ' of the child's faculties.
Nothing could be more erroneous. In the first place,
education is not derived from e-daco; and if it were, it
is absurd to suppose tliat the first Roman who used the
noun educatio had any such sublimated and refined idea
of education. The whole argument depends on the
antiquated doctrine of the Stoic etymon.
Now, the fact is, that the Romans compounded the
verb daco, 'to lead,' with e.r, meaning 'out' or 'up.'
This compound educo they used for all kinds of ' leading '
(in distinction from agere^ ' to drive '), and particularly
for ' bringing up ' from the Qgg to the chicken, or from
infancy to mature years ; always, however, with personal
objects, that is, always with reference to the creature that
was 'brought up.' As educo also came to be employed in
many other senses, a special verb, educo,^ was made for
this special meaning, and later, this educo, with its deriva-
tive noun, educatio, was applied especially to the ' training '
of children. We may believe that the proper method of
education is to draw out the latent faculties of the pupil,
but we can find no suggestion of that method in the
etymology of the word itself.
It is equally misleading to seek for light as to tlie
nature of the religious principle in men from tlie ety-
mology of the word religion. Yet we are often told that
the very name of this principle reveals its true quality as
the bond that unites the human and the divine. There is,
^ Educo is only possible as a denominative verb from a real or sup-
posed noun, ednx, 'one who brin.irs up or rears,' formed from the same
root, DUO, to wliich duco belongs.
232 WORDS AND TIlEIlt WAYS
to be sure, a bare possibility of deriving religio (irregu-
larly) from religo, ' to bind ' ; but even if that were its
origin, the sense in which the first heathen users of the.
word conceived the figure could not throw any light on
the central principles of spiritual life. It is far more
likely, however, that the word is an abstract from relego.
This is Cicero's own derivation, and the use of the cognate
words undoubtedly confirms it. The verb relego^ ' to pick
up,' and so ' to notice,' ' take cognizance of,' ^ is com-
pounded of hgo^ 'to pick,' and red-, 'again' (the prefix
being used somewhat in the sense of re- in regard, as
we also have it in respicio, respecto). It undoubtedly
meant 'to notice carefully,' 'to observe closely' (cf. dill-
gens'), especially of noticing omens, portents, and other
divine intimations. Hence we have religlosus, ' inclined to '
this action, often in a bad sense, ' excessively so inclined,'
and hence 'superstitious' : compare the dictum quoted by
Aulus Gellius (iv, 9, 1), — 'religentem esse oportet, religi-
osum nefas,' 'One ought to be scrupulous, — it is wrong
to be superstitious.' At a time when man's connection
with the gods was entirely through omens and the like,
it would be natural that a ' painful regard ' (for divine
intimations) should be 'superstition' or 'religion,' either
of which ideas religio expresses. The word neglegere
is used of the opposite idea (though not, like relegere,
without an object). It is only by taking into account
the customs and beliefs that prevailed when a word was
made, that we can have any just conception of its origin.
Such false linguistic doctrine as this of education and
religion must not be confused with a proper study of
'root-meanings.' The history of every w^ord begins with
^ Cf. relegere scripta, 'to reread writings' ; relegere litora, 'to revisit
the sliores.'
CONVENTIONAL CHARACTER OF LANGUAGE 233
its root, if the root can be ascertained, as is not always
the case. Yet we must not expect the root to contain, as
in the germ, all the significance that successive civiliza-
tions have attached to the words that have grown out of
it. We should never forget that words are conventional
symbols, and that any word — whatever its origin — bears,
at any moment, that meaning which the speakers of the
language have tacitly agreed to assign to it. And this
meaning may, or may not, have a direct logical connec-
tion Avith the original sense of the root.
This principle does not do away with the distinctions
of right and wrong in speaking a language. The purpose
of speech is to express one's thoughts so that they may be
understood by others. Hence, the consensus of usage
determines the meaning which a word bears, and this con-
sensus is governed at all times by the SpracligefiXld^ so
that a language always remains true to itself, as we have
had occasion to remark before.^ Within the limits of this
feeling, however, hardly any influence is too slight to j)ro-
duce a variation in sense.
1 See pp. 126-7.
CHAPTER XVII
GENERALIZATION AND SPECIALIZATION OF MEANl'NG
Whether in literature or in common talk, a word is
never the exact sign of an unchangeable idea. Words
are not mathematical formulse. The character ir always
represents the same thing, — namely, the ratio of the cir-
cumference of a circle to its diameter, or 3.14159 +.
There cannot be two correct opinions about the meaning
of the symbol. Take, on the other hand, such a word as
hoy or man or hatred or virtue. There may be a dozen
opinions about the applicability of these terms to a par-
ticular person or quality. Science, it is true, aspires to
absolutely definite nomenclature, but the technical denote-
ments of science are not so much words as formulce or
hieroglyphics. At any rate, they stand outside of the
domain of ordinary speech.
We need only consider what different ideas are attached
by different persons to father, God, ruler, infidel, wealth,
honesty, morals, patriotism, government, to see tlie inexact-
ness of separate words as expressions of thought. It is
only when words are put together and 'modified,' when
they are expounded (by the circumstances or the context,
or by stress and modulation of the voice), that we can
interpret their meaning with much accuracy. The
Clown's ' O Lord, sir ! ' in Shakspere was a good answer
to all the remarks of the Countess.^ We may try the same
1 All's Well that Ends Well, act ii, scene 2.
234
GENERALIZATION OF MEANING 235
experiment by uttering the interjection oh! in various
ways. It will readily express surprise, indignation, pain,
terror, joy, compassion, or we may use it simply to attract
the attention of some one whom we wish to address.
So every language has its special stock of words that
mean little or nothing, but may stand for almost anything.
They are the counters and markers of the game of speech.
Such words are, in Modern English, tking^ affair^ business,
concern, regard, account, article, circumstance, fact, state,
condition, positioji, situation, loay, means, respect, matter.
Each of these may, it is true, be used in a pretty definite
sense, but they are also extremely common in the function
indicated. We infer that they once meant something
rather definite, but have gradually faded into their pres-
ent vague and shadowy condition. And such is, in fact,
their history.
Thus, state is L. status, 'the act or manner of standing,'
'attitude,' 'position.' The Latin word had taken almost
all the senses in which we use state, general and particu-
lar, except that of a concrete 'body politic' Ustate, the
same word in an Old French form, was formerly an abso-
lute English synonym for state, but is no longer used in
either the political or the vague sense, being more or less
appropriated to 'property' (abstractly or concretely), and to
'condition in life.' Status we have borrowed again, intact,
but in a comparatively limited sense. Position and situa-
tio7i are similar to state in their literal meaning, but have
not faded quite so much. Posture is vague in 'the pos-
ture of affairs,' but preserves its literal sense in most con-
texts. Conditio7i, which has become quite as vague as state,
is, literally, 'stipulation,' 'agreement,' or 'terms' (from
L. con- and dico'). Thing must have had a somewhat
similar history. Its special modern sense of 'inanimate
236 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
object' (usually regarded as its 'real meaning') is cer-
tainly due to generalization. The Anglo-Saxon noun thing
often meant 'terms,' and also 'a council or court,' and the
verb thingian, 'to make conditions,' 'to arrange.' So
he-dingen in German. Thing was the Old Norse word
for a legislative and judicial assembly, as it still is in the
Scandinavian languages. Thus, the Storthing (or Great
Thing) is the Norwegian parliament. The word is
thought to be cognate with L. tempus, 'the (fitting)
time,' 'the right moment.' If so, we may feel confident
that the oldest sense at which we can arrive in English
is 'that which is agreed upon as fitting.' From the
'terms' of a bargain to a concrete 'object of value' is a
short step, — and from this to 'anything' (actual or ideal)
is no long stride.
Circumstances^ literally, 'things that stand round one,'
has become so vague that we say, without hesitation,
'under the following circumstances.' The phrase, it will
be observed, includes three inconsistent expressions of
direction or position : under^ after^ and aromid. Yet we
do not feel the inconsistency, and even those stylists who
prefer '^w these circumstances ' to under, rest undisturbed
by the contradiction involved in following.
Such vague counters of the game change from genera-
tion to generation. Thus, in the Elizabethan time, gear
was used almost as we use thing or matter: as, 'This is
fine gear' for 'a fine state of things.' Similarly, effect
was often used in the sense oifact or act, passage for 'act
or action,' as in Fluellen's 'gallant and most prave pas-
sages at the pridgo,' or in 'passages of proof for 'facts of
experience.' Part was common for 'deed' (from t\\Q part
or role one plays ^) and so on. On the other hand, /aci
1 Cf. the Latin primus {secundas) partes agere.
GENERALIZATION OF MEANING 237
itself was less vague then than now. It often sici-nified
a 'deed' or 'act,' — especially 'wicked deed' or 'crime.'
The different words which have so faded as to be mere
synonyms for become are interesting. The old verb to
worth (A.S. weorthan^, cognate with Ger. tverden, has
disappeared, except in the poetical phrase, ' Woe worth
the day ! ' {i.e. 'May woe happen to the day ! '), a curse
used as an exclamation of sorrow. Become, once meaning
'arrive,' has taken its place, but is now so colorless that
other more vivid words have been summoned to its aid.
Thus we say: 'The weather grew cold,' ' He turned green
with envy,' and in older English wax, ' to grow,' was
similarly used, as in the biblical ' Jeshurun waxed fat and
kicked. ' ^ G-o, which has long been common in such
phrases as ' go lame,' said of a horse, is somewhat over-
used by recent writers in expressions like 'she went
white,' ' he went stale,' ' Old Adrian, penned in tlie land-
ing corner, went gray of face,' and the like. Cret is
another synonym, as in ' to get tired,' and Coleridge's
'His chariot wheels (/et hot by driving fast.' It is pecu-
liarly idiomatic in certain phrases, as to get rid of, to get
angry. "^ Martinets frequently object to these get'^, because
they think that the verb must always mean ' to acquire,'
but such an objection ignores all linguistic principles, as
well as the facts of good usage.
A striking example of ' fading ' is seen in the terms for
'existence.' This fading is demonstrable in all the words
for ' being ' in our family of languages, except, apparently
^ Wax is one of those curious words which nobody uses, but everybody
knows. Literature (particularly the Bible and Shakspere) still keeps it
alive in its general sense, and it is specially applied to the increase of the
moon.
2 On these uses see C. A. Smith, in Publications of the Modern Lan-
guage Association of America, XV, 108-10,
238 WOIIDS AND THEIR WAYS
in is and its cognates, that is, in the group of Indo-Euro-
pean terms that come from the root es. In fact, it is
doubtful whether the primitive languages liad any such,
category as ' being.'
Important as a ' copula ' seems to us for predication, it
is certain that such a tool is really unnecessary, and that
predication can be and is constantly performed without its
aid. The mere naming of an object is a true predication,
and the first person who called men ' mortals ' asserted
the mortality of man quite as effectively as the logician
with his ' All men are mortal.'
Further, as a ' substantive verb,' the ancestor of our ajn
and is (and the Latin sum, est) must have meant some-
thing far less abstract than ' pure existence ' when it was
first ventured on by the primitive language-maker of the
Indo-European family. What was the sensuous idea
behind these words we cannot nov/ divine, whether it was
'breathe ' or 'sit ' or one of a thousand others. But that
there was some sensuous image is proved by the analogy
of all other words for ' being,' by the freedom with which
adverbs of manner have been used from the earliest times
with these ES-verbs,^ and finally b}^ the constant effort of
the poets to revivify such images by using words which
actually mean something (as in Sophocles' ireXet, Virgil's
' incedo regina,' Scott's ' Breathes there a man ? '). There
was, then, a time when the primitive language-maker did
not feel the need of an er(/o sum, or a ' solvitur ambulando,'
or of Dr. Johnson's vigorous action. Some sensuously
observable idea was implied in the words which have now
faded by abstraction into mere words for ' existence.'
^As in '■ IIov) is he?' 'He's not very well.'' Compare the colloquial
• I am nicely, thank you ! ' So in Shakspere's ' That's verily ! ' and the
Latin bene est.
GENERALIZATION OF MEANING 239
However difficult the problems of ontology may be, it is
as idle to discuss them on the ground of words as it would
be to seek the Stoic etymon of orh'r/lon or education or
amanuensis.^
Such fading is demonstrable, as we have said, in all
words for existence except those from es. Thus he and
the Latin fui are from a root that meant ' to grow,' a
sense preserved in the Greek ^uw, pkiio (whence pJiT/sical,
physiology, etc.), which also was sometimes used in the
faded sense of ' be.' Was and ivere are parts of an Anglo-
Saxon wesan, from a root meaning ' dwell,' seen in that
sense in Sanskrit and in the Latin verna, ' a slave born in
his owner's house,' whence veryiaculus, ' native,' and our
loan-v/ord vernacular.
The fading is obvious (because not so prehistoric) in
our stand in 'it stands (=is) approved,' and the Italian
sta in ' come sta ella ? ' (from stare) ; in Gr. yLyvo/xat
{(/igiiomai)., 'be born,' then 'become' or 'be' (cf. L.
gigno) ; in our many synonyms for ' How are you ? ' :
' Comment vous portez-vous ? ' ' Wie geht's ? ' ' How goes
it ? ' ' How fare ye ? ' ' How do you do ? ' ' How do you
prosper ? ' Compare the rustic ' How do you git along ? '
made popular by Artemas Ward. Exist itself means
literally 'to stand out' and so 'to come into view.'
Sometimes words lose almost all their definiteness in
particular phrases: as, 'on the one hand,'' 'on the other
hand,'' from which all idea of hand in the literal sense has
disappeared. It is doubtful, indeed, if we think even of
the right side or the left side in using these phrases. So
also ' in the first place ' in such a sentence as, ' In the first
place, I do not like this street ; in the second place, I find
the house disagreeable,' where the phrases mean no more
1 See pp. 230 ff.
240 WORDS AND TTIEIR WAYS
than 'first' and 'secondly.' So stanch is often almost
equivalent to is: as, 'It stands recorded on page 253.'
This use of stands was much commoner in the Elizabethan,
time than at present. It is well preserved in 'stands
approved ' (p. 239) and in the antiquated phrase ' stands
affected': as, 'I do not know how he stands affected
toward me,' that is, how he is affected or feels. Compare
also the following three phrases, which are entirely
synonymous as we use them, though a moment's con-
sideration will show that they differ widely in their literal
sense : at any rate (a figure from reckoning) ; at all events
(however the matter may cortie out or 'eventuate'); in
any case (in any happening, that is, however things may
befall or happen). In these idioms, ra^e, events^ and ease
have pretty nearly lost their meaning. The phrases are
all synonymous with anyhow.
The last result of this fading process may be seen in
such meaningless ejaculations as well., you know., you see,
dont you knoiv? of course, without which conversation
cannot get on at all. Every such phrase is capable of
resuming its original meaning at any moment, but in
ordinary discourse they seldom stand for anything. They
merely fill pauses. Indeed, they may be called the punc-
tuation marks of spoken language. With persons addicted
to profane swearing, oaths and curses have become simi-
larly colorless to the speaker, who inserts them without
regard to their appropriateness and merely to emphasize
what he wishes to say, or to round out his period.
In discussing the vague and even meaningless way in
which some words are used, we have really been consider-
ing extreme cases of one of the two universal tendencies
of all language, — specialization and gene7^alization. The
operations that we have noticed are simply generalization
GENERALIZATION OF MEANING 241
carried to its last results. The word becomes so very
general that it ceases to distinguish anything in particular
from ever3'thing else. That is, a term that can be applied
to everything means nothing, as a man who is equally
intimate with everybody has no real friends.
Generalization and specialization of words are so closely
associated that they can hardly be treated separately, for
there is scarcely a word in the language which does not
show the results of both processes. As we have seen,
words are not exact signs for definite and unchanging
conceptions (as are the formulpe of mathematics). Every
word is capable of covering a great variety of conceptions,
and the area which it covers may be vastly enlarged by
the adoption of senses belonging to foreign synonyms
which it is used to translate into the vernacular. Cir-
cumstances and the trend of a people's thought alone
determine whether, in its commonest use, it shall include
all of these conceptions, or a few of them, or shall be con-
fined to a single one. And since circumstances vary
infinitely, and nothing is more susceptible than language
to every eddy and chance whirl of popular feeling, we
shall expect to discover in many words a complicated
history of generalization and specialization which, if we
could analyze it completely, would depict the intellectual
life of the race in no uncertain colors.
We may illustrate these processes in two common words
belonging to very different classes, — the abstract noun
virtue and the verb tlirow.
The starting-point of the noun virtue is the Latin word
virtus, from vir, ' man.' Virtus meant literally ' manliness '
in general. But ' manliness ' is not a simple quality, but
rather a collection of qualities ; and one of these, ' cour-
age ' or 'prowess in war,' was so important in the eyes of
242 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
the early Romans that the word was unconsciously spe-
cialized by them in that sense. The changed circum-
stances of an advancing civilization suggested that other
good qualities are always associated with ' manliness,' and
a need was felt for a more comprehensive term. Thus,
doubtless under the influence of Greek culture, virtus was
so generalized as to include all good qualities, as in our
virtue. With reference to individual objects this general
sense was easily limited to the special excellence of the
object, and thus virtus was used, for example, of the
' potency ' of drugs. A particular application to artistic
merit gave the Italian virtu (which we use in the phrase
'articles of virtH ').
The word entered English from the French, bringing
with it the general ethical sense as well as the meaning
of 'any excellent quality,' moral, mentrl, or physical.
Hence, in the Elizabethan time, it was a virtue to dance
gracefully as well as to speak the truth. The tendency,
however, has been more or less to limit the application of
the term to moral excellence, and this leads to frequent
misconceptions in reading our older authors. There is
nothinsr in Enelish to remind us of the original connection
of the word with ' wawliness,' and, in fact, we have given
it a newly specialized sense with regard to women, —
' chastity.' 1 A somewhat similar history may be seen
in vice, from L. vitium, ' a flaw ' or ' defect,' and in moral
and immoral (from L. snores, ' customs,' ' manners,' then
'character').
The history of the different English verbs that have
successively expressed the general idea of ' throwing ' is
equally curious. The earliest of our verbs to be used in
1 Literally, ' purity,' especially 'ceremonial or religious purity,' 'clean-
ness of hands.'
GENEEALIZATION OF MEANING 243
this sense was irarp (A.S. weorpan)^ which is cognate with
the German iverfen. Tlie German verlj has retained its
general sense of ' throw ' down to the present time. The
English tvarp, however, was ousted by east (a borrowing
from tlie Scandinavian). Warp did not go out of exis-
tence, but was limited or specialized to a particular kind
of throwing. A piece of wood, which, in drying, throws
itself out of the plane, is said to warp^ and we speak, figu-
ratively, of the warping of a man's judgment by prejudice.
Thus a word of completely general signification has be-
come extremely special. Cast maintained itself for a good
while ; but it acquired numerous special senses, such as
' to compute ' (to cast accounts), ' to lay plans,' ' to mould,'
etc. The effect of this swarm of particular meanings was
to drive out cast as the general term for 'throwing,' and
there was substituted for it tUroti\ — the verb which we
now use. This substitution of tlirow was an extraordi-
nary case of generalization in sense ; for tltrow (A.S.
thrdwan) originally meant '• to turn,' ' to twist,' and was
especially applied to torture ('to rack'; cf. torcpieo).
On being generalized, however, it lost its special sense
altogether, so that we are no longer conscious that it
has any connection with twisting or racking. By the
time that tliroiv ])ecame the common word for the general
action, our language was so fixed by literature and the
schools that no further substitutions seem imminent. Still,
we may observe in tlie untrammelled language of boys a
strong tendency to replace tliroiv by some word that is less
vague, and therefore more picturesque. Thus fire (from
gunnery) is popular with American boys, who constantly
speak of 'firing a stone,' and sling is not uncommon in
the same general sense. The reason is not far to seek.
' Throwing ' is specially connected in the boy's mind with
244 won US and their ways
the projection of a missile, like a stone or a ball. The
boy's ideal missile used to be a stone from a sling, but is
now a bullet from a rifle.
A few striking examples of generalization may now be
considered. Place came originall}^ (through L. platea) from
the Greek word for 'broad,' and signified a ' wide street ' or
' square ' in a city. It is now our regular term for any kind
of locality, or for ' locality ' or ' situation ' in the abstract ;
that is, it has become about as general as a word can pos-
sibly be and still retain a meaning. Piazza, the Italian
descendant of 'platea, still means ' a square ' in that lan-
guage ; but in English it is an architectural term for ' a
roofed arcade,' and in the United States it is often used
for the ' veranda ' of a house. The origin of both mean-
ings has been traced. ^ Covent Garden was laid out as a
square, Italian fashion, between 1G31 and 1G34, with an
arcade running along two sides. The square was named
' Covent Garden Piazza ' ; but the term -piazza was soon
applied to the arcades themselves, and this gave rise to
the architectural sense which it still has in England, and
which was adopted in this country some two hundred
years ago. In America, however, it was rapidly extended
to its present meaning, which alone survives, though the
East Indian word veranda is increasing in favor.
Picture meant first a 'painting,' but is now applied to
any flat representation of an object or scene, except a
mere plan or diagram. Thus photographs, pencil sketches,
and drawings with pen or crayon, are all included with
paintings under the general term pictures.
Religion seems to have originally signified a 'scrupu-
lous regard for omens,' that is, for the signs by which the
1 See a note by Albert Matthews in The Nation, New York, June 1,
1899, vol. LXVIII, p. 41G.
GENERALIZATION OF MEANING 245
gods commnnicated their purposes to mortals.^ Chris-
tianity has broadened and deepened its meaning in a very
striking way. Again, the adjective religious, in the Mid-
dle Ages, was applied solely to persons who had taken
some special vow as members of a holy order. Thus
monks, friars, nuns, hermits, and palmers were 'religious
persons.' A layman could not be so called, however pious
he might be. In modern usage the word is applied to
any devout person. Miscreant originally meant a ' misbe-
liever,' that is, a person who did not accept the Christian
faith, — a Saracen, for example, or a heathen. It is now
used as a general term for a person of bad character, with-
out regard to the orthodoxy of his opinions.
Injury once meant 'injustice.'^ It is now applied to
any kind of harm or damage. Indeed, it is perhaps com-
monest in its application to physical hurts. The Latin
poena meant first a '- fine,' or money compensation for an
offence, but was generalized to comprehend all sorts of
punishment (ef. 'pains and penalties,' 'pei7ie forte et
dure ') ; and our p)ain, its descendant, has come to in-
clude all acute bodily or mental suffering, whether
inflicted by way of punishment or not.
A few other examples of generalization may be briefly
indicated : layman (originally ' one not in holy orders,'
now often applied to any non-professional man or 'out-
sider') ; conduct (originally the ' act of guiding ' a person ;
now 'the way in which a man conducts himself or
behaves ') ; paper (originally a substitute for parchment
manufactured from the papyrus plant, now any similar
flexible substance used for the same purpose, whether
made of rags, rice, or wood-pulp; or any 'document');
1 See pp. 231-2.
2 Cf. the legal formula damnum absque injuria.
246 WORDS AND THEIR ]VAVS
wall (originally 'a rampart,' L. vallum; now used of any
similar structure, whether of earth, stone, or brick ;
applied also to the sides of a house, even if they are made
of wood) ; sail (literally, to ' travel in a vessel propelled
by sails,' now applied to steam navigation as well) ; street
(literally, 'a paved way,' strata [via], borrowed from
Latin by the Germanic languages to distinguish the great
Roman military roads, the only paved ways with which
our ancestors were acquainted ; now applied to a definitely
laid out road in a city or town, quite irrespective of the
question of pavement) ; apatlty (a Stoic term for ideal
freedom from domination by the passions ; ^ now vaguely
applied to any sluggish condition of mind or body) ;
assassin (originally a member of a fanatical sect in the
East, who intoxicated themselves with hashish, and com-
mitted murders for the glory of their divinity ; cf. thug) ;
scene (originally 'a tent'; then the booth in front of which
the actors played; then a permanent structure in the Greek
theatre, forming the background of the stage or orchestra ;
cf. our 'behind the scenes': now used in the most gen-
eral way for anything that lies open to the view or may
be taken in by one glance of the eyes).-
The generalization of a word may be due in the first
instance to some special figure of speech. Take, for
example, our use of hodij as applied to a collection of per-
sons — as 'a body of men.' In former times, philosophy
liked to regard the individual as a miniature analogue of
1 See p. 3'J.
2 Doubtless the accidental reseiublauce of this Greek word in its
English pronunciation to our native participle seen has assisted in this
enormous extension of meaning, though a somewhat similar extension
has taken place in French, where of course no such cause is operative.
Words are constantly influenced by each other even when they have no
etymological connection. See Chapter XXIII.
GENERALIZATION OF MEANING 2-17
the great universe. The universe (^cosmos') was an orderly
system on a hirge scale. A man, body and soul, was a
similar orderly system on a small scale. Hence, man was
often called a yjiicrocosm (' little universe ') as opposed
to the 7nacrocosm (' great universe '). Closely connected
with this idea, which, though merely an analogy, was con-
stantly used as if it enshrined a physical truth, was the
conception of the state as a kind of body — 'the body
politic' — of which the citizens were tlie 'members.' So
taking was this figure that statesmen often argued from
the behavior of the human body in health and disease to
the larger operations of government and society. Thus
Lord Bacon observed that inactivity and neglect of exer-
cise make a man's system sluggish and generate disease.
From this he chose to infer that long- continued peace
might induce a diseased condition in a commonwealth,
and that the strenuous exercise of war was then needed
to restore the state to health. From this use of bod?/ as a
figure for the state, it was easy to pass to its employment
for any collection of individuals, whether persons or
things. Another figure, however, assisted in the develop-
ment of the extremely general way in which we now use
this word for aw?/ Jcind of collection: 'a body of men,' 'a
body of facts,' 'a formidable body of arguments.' A par-
ticular codification of the common law was known as the
corpus juris, because it collected and arranged the isolated
facts and principles in a systematic order, as the human
body is an assemblage of different parts working harmoni-
ously together. From ' body of law ' it was easy to pass
to 'body of divinity' for a systematic treatise on theology,
and this learned figure lias contributed to generalize the
meaning of anybody.
The phenomena of specialization are no less important
248 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
than those of generalization, and they are perhaps even
more striking in their effects.
When a word is equally applicable to a number of
different objects which resemble each other in some
respects, or to a vague or general category of ideas, it may
at any moment become specialized by being used to name
one of those objects or to express 07ie of those ideas. And
if this particular application gains currency in the lan-
guage, a new and specialized sense is the result. Thus,
the Latin liquor means simply 'liquid,' but in English it
often designates 'ardent spirits,' and in the French form
liqueur \t is still further specialized to an 'aromatic cordial.'^
Ballad means any 'dance song,'^ but it is frequently used
for a particular kind of simple narrative poem. Here the
tendency to generalization has also been operative, for the
ballad is no longer confined to the uses of the dance. The
French ballade (also adopted in English) is further
limited to a very special lyrical form.
Disease was formerly used for any kind of 'discomfort.'
Wedlock is literally a 'pledge' of any kind (A.S. tvedldc,
a compound of ivedd., ' pledge,' and lac, 'offering'). Ghost
once meant ' spirit ' in general, — not specifically a disem-
bodied spirit appearing to mortal eyes. Poet is literally
'maker' (L. foeta, from Gr. iroirjTi]'?, poietes), but it was
borrowed by us in the special sense, so that we cannot use
the literal meaning to interpret the English word. CJiarm
is carmen, 'song,' in a French form (cf. i7i-cantation
en-chant). Minister in Latin means ' attendant,' 'servant.'
Affection \\\QQa\t 'feeling' in Elizabethan English. Auction
is literally 'the act of increasing' in any way. Tyrant
1 Cf. humor (p. 30).
2 It is frnm Prov. ballada (ballare, 'to dance '), through the French
ballade.
SPECIALIZATION OF MEANING 249
meant simply ' king ' or ' absolute ruler ' in Greek ; but it
was specially applied to one who usurped the rule over
a democratic state, and hence it has gradually come to
mean ' a cruel or irresponsible monarch.' Groods is literally
'good things.' ^I/jth is merely the Greek for 'story.'
Focus meant 'hearth' or 'brazier' in Latin. Crime is
L. crimen^ 'an issue' at law, then any 'charge' or 'accu-
sation ' which one must answer.
Doctrine is ' instruction,' — now specially used in a
theological sense, whence, however, it has been trans-
ferred to scientific and philosophical theories. 3Iansion
is ' residence ' (L. maneo^ mansus, ' remain,' especially ' to
stay over night ') ; cf. tlie German Mesidenz for a city
where the sovereign resides. Pocket meant a ' little bag '
(cf. poke^. Meat was once 'food' of any kind, — a sense
preserved in sweetmeat. Spill is literally ' destroy ' ; the
most effectual way to destroy a liquid is to tip over the
vessel that contains it. Stick was ' piece ' (as in Ger.
Stuck'). Boom was formerly any 'judgment' (cf. deemster
' judge,' the family name Demjjster, doomsman., and to
deem). Adventure is 'that which comes' or 'happens'
to one ; in Chaucer the word often meant simply ' chance,'
being less suggestive than fortune of a personal power.
Coast was ' side ' or ' border,' — not always ' seacoast '
(it is French, from L. costa., ' i"ib,' 'side'). Fahle meant
any 'tale.' Fate is h. fatum (participle oifari., 'speak'),
' that which is said,' — then, ' the utterance of the divinity.'
Chaos is the Greek word for ' yawning ' (from %atW,
ehaino, 'yawn'), and is closely related to chasm. Deer
was formerly any 'animal' (cognate with Ger. Thier).
Lesson (French, from L. lectionem) is a ' reading ' (a mean-
ing which survives in religious services). Fpos (whence
epic) is the Greek for ' word,' then "story' or 'song.'
250 WORDS AND THEIR ]VAYS
Fond is fonned, the past participle of fonnen^ ' to be
foolish,' and once meant ' foolish ' in general ; it was then
specialized to foolish or doting affection, and that sense
has in turn become more general by the gradual evapo-
ration of the idea of 'foolish.' Dote has a somewhat
similar history. It is from an old verb for 'doze,' 'be
stupid.'
Sometimes the specialization is very slight but ex-
tremely significant, and in such cases the change in sense
is bafflinof to the modern reader of our older authors. An
amusing instance is hint, which in Shakspere's time meant
'an occasion' or 'opportunity' (from hent, 'to take'), but
which now carries the special implication of ' the inten-
tional suggestion ' of such an opportunity. Thus, when
Othello says to the Senators, in describing the course of
his wooing, ' Upon this hint I spake,' he means merely
that he seized the occasion unintentionally afforded by
Desdemona's naive remark. Yet modern readers almost
inevitably understand him in the modern sense, as if
Desdemona had been ' hinting ' that an offer of marriage
would not be unwelcome.
The manner in which a word may carry numerous spe-
cialized senses along with its more general meaning, and
yet no confusion arise among them all, appears almost
miraculous when one takes the word by itself, as an
isolated phenomenon. But words are not used by them-
selves. It is their different combination in different con-
texts or circumstances that enables the same term to
symbolize so many different things.
The noun 2)la// (A.S. plega^ seems to have meant origi-
nally ' motion ' (rapid motion) of almost any kind, — a
sense preserved in technical language, as ' The piston-rod
does not play freely,' ' the play of the valve.' The special!-
SPECIALIZATION OF MEANING 251
zation to ' sport ' or ' game ' is natural, and took place very
early, — and this is the regular sense among children, who
require a context of some kind if they are to understand
the word in any other way. The gambler has a still nar-
rower limitation of plai/ as his regular understanding of the
word, — a specialization of the already specialized sense of
'frame.' So has the musician, the base-ball or cricket
player, the actor. This last-mentioned specialization to
the drama is perhaps the commonest of all. ' Are you
going to the plaf/f without any further context, would
first suggest this meaning to almost anybody. Probably
plai/ in this sense is, at least in part, a translation of the
Latin ludus. It affords a good example of the influence
of foreign languages in giving special senses to native
words, even when the corresponding foreign terms are
not actually borrowed.
We can easily study these processes in our own experi-
ence, by noticing what we first tliink of when we hear the
word eiKjine^ or macJdne, or ran<je^ or register. For ' every
man is his own specializer.' Such special senses are de-
pendent, mainly, on our business, profession, or chief inter-
est in life, but in some cases they come from accidental
associations of ideas or from obscure habits of thought.
Machine is a term of general application to all kinds of
mechanical contrivances. To the bicycle-rider, however,
it suggests at first the particular kind of mechanical con-
trivance on which he is in the habit of riding. To the
seamstress, on the contrary, it is likely to suggest at first
the sewing-machine by means of which she gets her living.
The use of the still more general term wheel as a familiar
synonym for bicycle is an even more striking example of
specialization. Pump calls up one picture in the mind of
the country boy, another in that of an engineer in cliarge
252 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
of a great system of waterworks. Stone suggests to the
lithographer the lithographic stone ; to the dealer in jewels,
the mason, the maker of tombstones, the workman on a
macadamized road, the epigraphist, it suggests other and
quite different ideas, though the fundamental basis of
meaning is the same in all cases. Cataract means one
thing to the physical geographer, another to the oculist.
Devil conveys one meaning to the preacher, another to the
printer. The laborer engaged in laying a water-main and
in smoking his ' T. D.' at the same time may be thought
to have both meanings of the word j^ij^e equally present to
his mind ; yet he will seldom hesitate as to what is meant
if the 'boss' tells him that 'the pipe is broken.' Boss,
by the way, means one thing to a workman, another to a
politician. Cras to most people means illuminating gas.
To the chemist it has no such special sense ; for this is but
one of a thousand gases in the midst of which he lives.
As to abstract ideas, we need only mention the specially
limited senses which the fanatic assigns to religion, tlie
ward politician to honesty, the pedant to scholarship, and
Mrs. Grundy to j^ropriety. If men enough happen to
agree in any such specialization, the general meaning may
go out of use, either locally or universally, and we have a
complete specialization of the word itself. 3Iedvum (Latin,
'middle') means 'anything through which an influence is
transmitted.' To the Spiritualist, however, this general
sense is practically obsolete, and the word exists only in
a rigidly limited application to the persons through whom
the spirits manifest themselves to mortals.
Specialization frequently results from the omission of
some adjective or other modifier. Thus undertaker once
meant simply ' one Avho undertakes ' to do a particular job,
a ' contractor ' or the like (cf. Fr. entrejyreneur and Ger.
SPECIALIZATION OF MEANING 253
Unternehmer') .^ The phrase ' funeral undertaker' means,
of course, a ' contractor for funerals.' Usually, however,
the limiting adjective is omitted, so that undertaker has
acquired a very special sense. Other examples are : duties
for port deities ; fall for fall of the leaf (' autumn ') ; ' in a
predicament ' for had predicament; p)light for had j^H^^ht;
success for good success; paper for neivspaper.
It is often impossible to discover that any definite
limiting words have actually been omitted, but equally
clear that specialization has been accomplished by a
similar omission or ellipsis in thought. The omitted
idea need never have been expressed in plain terms; it
is enough that it should have been vaguely present to
the mind in a general way. Thus, suggestion in Eliza-
bethan English frequently meant ' evil suggestion ' or
'temptation'; hroker^ 'a go-between' ; practice, 'a plot';
fact, 'a crime.' So officious, properly 'dutiful' or 'ser-
viceable ' (cf . L. officia, ' good offices '), has come to mean
'too forward in offering one's services.' Wanton, 'spor-
tive' (in an innocent sense), illustrates by its change of
meaning
How mirth can into folly glide,
» And folly into sin.
Revel carries riotous suggestions which it had not in
Chaucer's day.^
Per contra, specialization frequently results from the
omission of the noun and the retention of the adjective
^ This meaning survives in formal language. Tlie special sense of a
'projector' or 'adventurer' (one who risks his capital) seems to have
developed in connection with the colonization of America.
2 It has a good right to them, however, being really the same word as
rehel, from L. rehpllare, 'to renew hostilities.' Eebel is the ' learned ' and
revel the ' popular ' word in French.
25-i WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
word in the sense which the whole phrase was intended
to express. Main means ' strong ' or '• great,' then ' prin-
cipal.' Its Special use for 'the sea' comes from the
omission of the noun in the phrase 'the main ocean.'
Similarly, main was formerly used for mainland, hut
the ambiguity drove out this sense, leaving the clipped
phrase main for 'ocean,' and the full phrase mainland
(made into a compound word) to designate the correla-
tive idea. Thus many adjectives (or nouns used adjec-
tively) have become pure substantives. A natural was
once common for 'a natural (born) fool,' 'an idiot.' A
private is 'a private soldier' ; ix general, 'a general officer.''
The same tendency has given us editorial for 'editorial
article ' or ' leader,' despite all protests against the neolo-
gism. A lyric is ' a lyric poem ' (literally, one composed
for the lyre). The Mediterranean is the ' Mediterranean '
or ' midland ' sea. A meridian in astronomy is ' a meridian
line,' — one crossed by the sun at noon (L. meridiaiius,
from meri-dies, older medi-dies, 'mid-day'). Its use in
geography is due to a transference from the celestial to
the terrestrial sphere. Terrier is for cJiien terrier (L.L.
terrarimn, ' hillock ' or ' burrow,' a burrow always imply-
ing a mound), from the fondness of these dog-s for huntino-
animals that burrow. Planet means ' wandering- ' : the
full phrase was Gr. aarrjp irXav/jTi]'? (aster planetes'),
'wandering star' (as opposed to the fixed stars). Cordo-
van or cordwain was 'leather from Cordova.'
In this way, the material of which a thing is composed
may become the special name of the article itself. Thus,
meerschaum (Ger., ' sea-foam ')i for 'meerschaum pipe,'
irons for ' fetters,' glasses for either ' spectacles ' or ' drink-
1 3Ieerschaum has been thought to be a corruption (by ' popular ety-
mology,' see pp. 330 ff.) for myrsen, the Tartar name for the substance.
SPECTALTZATION OF MEANING 255
ing glasses,' tlie glass for ' the barometer,' brasses for ' brass
tablets,' corduroys (Fr. corde du roi, 'king's corcl').^
India rubber (gum) overshoes are colloquially known as
7'ubbe7's in some parts of America, as gums in others. The
history of this word, ruhber^ by the way, is very curious.
When caoutchouc was first introduced, it came in thick,
heavy pieces, and was used chiefly to rub out pencil
marks. It came from Brazil, which was confounded with
the West Indies,^ and thus originated the name India
rubber, often shortened into rubber. The simple word is
now freely used as an adjective or as the first part of a
compound. Recent slang has coined the word rubber-neck
for a gaping fellow in the street, who turns his head this
way and that ; and still more recently, this term, once
more cut down to rubber, has become a general word of
reproach, used especially to express incredulity. All
this slang has arisen and become obsolescent in so short
a time that it affords us peculiar opportunities for study-
ing linguistic processes.
The omission of the noun is one of the chief means by
which names of places or persons become names of things.^
The object may be called after the place whence it comes
or where it originates, or after its inventor, or a 'fancy
name ' may be applied to it. When the noun that actu-
ally names the object vanishes, the descriptive term be-
comes the name of the object itself. Thus we have
mocha, Java, oolong, madras, calico (from Calicut), japan,
china, Wellingtons and Bluchers (kinds of boots), a mackin-
tosh, a basque (tvaist), n jersey, a polonaise, a brougham, a
1 See p. 15.
^ Observe that West Indies itself is a misnomer, due in the first place
to geogi'aphical confusion.
» See Chapter XXVI, pp. 382-3.
256 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
victoria^ a surrey^ and so on. Often the noun is kept, as
in Concord wctfjon, Wellhir/ton boots, China oranges^ James-
town (corrupted to jimson) tveed, etc., and this enables us
to trace the history of those terms in which it is omitted.
We need not suppose that all such designations are
clipped forms of actual phrases. The type once established
by means of this process of omission, other such names
would inevitably be formed without the intervention of
the phrase. Thus, the sandwich was named directly after
the Earl of Sandwich, and the spencer after the third Earl
Spencer. No one ever said a ' Sandwich lunch ' or a
'Spencer coat.'
One of the commonest transformations in lansfuasfe is
from an abstract meaning to a concrete. Every language
has machinery to make words signifying qualities or
actions in the abstract; but no sooner are these formed
than thousfht tends to consider each case of the occurrence
of the quality or action in the abstract as a separate entity,
and to use its name as a concrete noun. Thus, heat, cold,
magnitude, terror, mercy, Icindness, ojyportuiiity, propriety,
and the like, would seem to be only abstract names of
qualities or actions, and, consequently, not limitable to
a given case or admitting a plural ; but in many lan-
guages we hear of 'the heats of summer,' 'the colds of
winter,' ' greater and lesser magnitudes,' ' the terrors of the
law,' ' the mercies of the Lord,' ' many kindnesses,' ' great
opportunities,' 'the proprieties.' So, also, as every action
may result in a concrete entit}^, the name of the action is
used, by an easy metonymy, for the resultant concrete idea.
Thus, a congregation signifies ' a body of worshippers ' ; a
legion (' levying of troops '), ' a body of men ' ; provisions
('a foreseeing'), the 'edibles' prepared.
One striking use of the abstract for the concrete is tlie
SPECIALIZATION OF MEANING 257
application of the name of a quality to a person or thing.
This may be regarded as the reverse of personification.
In personification a quality is spoken of as a person (' Vice
is a monster ') ; in the use which we are now discussing, a
person is designated as if he were the quality incarnate :
as, — 'My father was goodness itself,' 'She is perfection.'
The Elizabethan poets went very far in applying abstract
nouns to persons. Thus Shakspere uses admiration for
' wonderful creature ' (' Bring in the admiration ' ) ; Polyx-
enes addresses Perdita as eyichantment, meaning that she
has bewitched his son by her beauty. Juliet goes so far
in her excitement as to call her old nurse ' ancient damna-
tion.' Though none of these phrases would be possible in
Modern English, we can still see many cases of the appli-
cation of abstract nouns to persons. So colloquially, a
man may be described as a ' failure,' a ' fraud,' a ' terror,'
a ' success,' an ' awful warning,' an ' inspiration,' one's
'despair,' or 'hope,' or 'dependence,' or 'aversion,' one's
'ruin,' or 'destruction,' or 'salvation'; a child is 'his
mother's joy and his father's hope'; Hamlet was 'the
expectancy and rose of the fair state.'
There is one form of expression which, though not
strictly the use of abstract words for concrete, is yet a
peculiar use of the abstract idea by which it is substituted
for a concrete notion, so that ultimately the same effect
is produced.
The Greek had an idiom by which, when a j'crson was
to be mentioned with special reference to one of his quali-
ties, an abstract noun was used to express the quality, and
the name of the person was put in the form of an adjec-
tive or a genitive. Thus ' the might of Hercules,' or ' the
Herculean might,' was practically equivalent to ' the
mighty Hercules,' but was felt as a more forcible and
s
258 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
picturesque expression. This is really not unlike what
one might write to a friend, ' I hope your exjjerience will
suGfii'est a solution of the problem,' which would be natural
in English.
The Greek idiom was imitated in Latin, but the delicate
elusiveness of the Greek was lost in the coarser Roman
mind. Horace says more crudely, 'virtus Scipiadae et mitis
sapientia Laeli,' ' the valor of the son of the Scipios and the
kindly wisdom of Laelius,' when he really means no more
than ' the valorous Scipio and the wise and kindly Laelius.'
Later the same ' figure ' got into prose, as courtesy or
servility increased, was seized upon for flattery, and took
the form of address : as in ' tua majestas,' ' tua serenitas,'
which finally became actual titles. Such titles multiplied,
and were also transferred to the third person, so that we
have 'his Majesty,' 'your Highness,' 'your Excellency,'
'his Reverence,' 'his Holiness,' 'his Imperial Majesty,' 'his
Lordship,' and so on.
English poetry also utilized the figure, — often with
superb effect, as when Milton speaks of the ' scaly horror '
of the Old Serpent's tail, meaning his ' horrible scaly tail,'
and in Shakspere's 'deep damnation of his taking off.'
The English Bible has an extraordinary example of the
same kind, ' spiritual wickedness in high places.' ^ What
is meant, as appears instantly from the original, is ' wicked
demons of the upper air.' But the translators have sub-
stituted the abstract wicJcedness for wicked, and used
spiritual for ' of spirits,' thus obscuring or completely
changing the sense to the mind of the ordinary reader.
Hardly anything illustrates better the continuity of our
civilization than such survivals in common speech of what
is regarded as a forcible figure in Greek poetry.
1 Ephesians vi. 12.
CHAPTER XVIII
SPECIAL PROCESSES IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF MEANING:
RADIATION, ETC.
Everybody has envied the magician's talent of being in
two phxces at once. Words, in the development of their
several meanings, seem to have mastered the trick.
Power^ for example, is almost ubiquitous in its special
senses. Thus it may signify (1) control over one's sub-
ordinates, sway (' the power of the king ') ; (2) delegated
authority (' the envoy exceeded his powers ') ; (3) physical
strength (' all the power of his muscles ') ; (4) mechani-
cal energy ('water-power,' 'steam-power,' 'the power is
shut off') ; (5) one of the so-called 'mechanical powers'
(as a lever) ; (6) moral or intellectual force ; (7) a per-
son of influence (' a power in the community ') ; (8) one
of the great nations of the world ('•the concert of the
powers ') ; (9) a mathematical conception (' the fourth
power of 6 ') ; (10) an 'army' or 'troop' of soldiers (now
obsolete ; but cf./orce and/or(?es) ; (11) an effective quality
of style in writing or oratory ('a writer of great power').
Yet in all these vagarious specializations, the 'primary
meaning ' of jyoiver^ ' the state of being able ' to do some-
thing (O. Fr. foiier^ modern pouvoi)% ' to be able,' from
L.L. potere^')^ is still present, so that we may almost say
that the word accomplishes the feat of being in eleven
1 Wliicb supplanted the classical posse in Low Latin.
250
2G0 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
more or less widely separated places at the same time
without ceasing to hold its original position.
The phenomenon is familiar enough. One finds it illus-.
trated on every page of a large dictionary. Yet its sig-
nificance is disguised by the necessary limitations of
printing. The lexicographer must put the primary mean-
ing at the head, and arrange the others below it in an
unbroken series. Yet his fifteenth special sense may bear
as close a relation to the primary meaning as the fifth.
It would be more logical to arrange the whole article in
the form of a sunburst or a starfish. Radiation is the
true history of this process. The simplest meaning stands
at the centre, and the secondary meanings proceed out of
it in every direction like rays. Each of them is indepen-
dent of all the rest, and may be traced back to the central
signification as if there were no other derivative meaning
in existence. ^
Thus in the case of poiver, the various senses may be
arranged in a kind of diagram. (See p. 261.)
Each of the derived senses, it will be seen, might easily
have developed from the central meaning ' to be able '
without regard to any of the others. Consequently, any
one of them might go out of use without affecting the
others in the slightest degree.
If we study these radiating senses of power, we imme-
diately perceive that they do not all come from the central
idea by the same process. Thus ' sway ' (of a ruler) is
mere specialization. The sense of 'effectiveness' (in
style) is both specialized and figurative. The writer's
diction is, as it were, personified, and has attributed to it
the ability to move the thoughts or feelings of his readers.
It is actually the writer who has power, but the idea is
iSee A. Dannesteter, La Vie cles Mots, 2d ed., pp. 73-G.
SPECIAL PROCESSES
2G1
easily ascribed (by transference) ^ to the implement by
means of which he exerts it. Again, when a man is called
' a power in the community,' we have the very common
use of the abstract for the concrete. The same is true
when a nation is called a poiver, or when the term is applied
to a lever or a pulley. Some of our special meanings
might be derived from one or another of their fellows
rather than from the central idea of 'be able.' Thus
' mental or moral power ' (No. 6) may be a figurative use
of ' muscular power ' (No. 3), and, more probably, the con-
crete sense of ' lever ' or ' Avheel-and-axle ' (No. 5) may
come from the abstract ' mechanical power ' (No. 4) ; but
we will ignore these minor considerations for the moment.
The word Jiead affords a good example of radiation.
We may regard as the central meaning that with which
we are most familiar, — a part of the body. From this we
get (1) the 'top' of anything, literally or figuratively,
1 See Chapter XIX.
262 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
whether it resembles a head in shape (as the head of a
cane, a pin, or a nail), or merely in position or preeminence
(as the head of a page, the head of the table, the head of
the hall) ; (2) figuratively, ' leadership,' or concretely, ' a
leader ' (the head of the army, the head of the school) ;
(3) the ' head ' of a coin (the side on whicli the ruler's
head is stamped) ; (4) the ' source ' of a stream, ' spring,'
' well-head,' ' fountain-head ' ; (5) the hydraulic sense
(' head of water ') ; (G) a ' promontory,' as Flamhorough
Head^ Beecliy Head; (7) 'an armed force,' 'a troop' (now
obsolete) ; (8) a single person or individual, as in ' five
head of cattle ' ; (9) the 'main points,' as in 'the heads of
a discourse' (also 'notes' of such points); (10) mental
power, 'intellectual force.'
Here again there is no reason for deriving any of our
ten special senses from any other. They are mutually
independent, each proceeding in a direct line from the
central or primary meaning of head.
The main process of radiation is so simple that it is use-
less to multiply examples. We may proceed, therefore,
to scrutinize its operations in certain matters of detail.
In the first place, we observe that any derived meaning
may itself become the source of one or more further deriva-
tives. It may even act as a centre whence such deriva-
tives radiate in considerable numbers, precisely as if it
were the primary sense of the word.
Thus, in the case of head., the sense of the ' top ' of any-
thing immediately divides into that which resembles a
human head in (1) shape, or (2) position merely. And
each of these senses may radiate in several directions.
Thus from (1) we have the head of a pin, of a nail, of a
barrel, of an ulcer, ' a bud ' (in Shakspere) ; from (2) the
head of a table, of a hall, of a printed page, of a subscrip-
SPECIAL PROCESSES 263
tion-list. And some of these meanings may also be further
developed. 'The head of the table,' for instance, may
indicate position, or may be transferred to the person who
sits in that position. From the head of an ulcer, we have
the disagreeable figure (so common that its literal mean-
ing is quite forgotten), ' to come to a head ' for ' to mature '
— as in 'his plan came to a head,' and Prospero's 'Now
does my project gather to a head ' in The Tempest.
Sense No. 2, the ' forefront ' of a body of persons, the
'leader,' cannot be altogether separated from No. 1. But
it may come perfectly well from the central meaning. In
every animal but man the head actually precedes the rest
of the body as the creature moves. At all events, the
sense of ' leadership ' or ' leader ' (it is impossible to keep
them apart) has given rise to an infinity of particular
applications and idiomatic phrases. The head of a proces-
sion, of an army, of a class, of a revolt, of a ' reform move-
ment,' of a new school of philosophy — these phrases all
suggest personal leadership, but in different degrees and
very various relations to the persons who are led, so that
they may all be regarded as radiating from a common
centre.
By a succession of radiations the development of mean-
ings may become almost infinitely complex. No dictionary
can ever register a tithe of them, for, so long as a language
is alive, every speaker is constantly making new special-
ized applications of its words. Each particular definition
. in the fullest lexicon represents, after all, not so much a
single meaning as a little group of connected ideas, uncon-
sciously agreed upon in a vague way by the consensus of
those who use the lansfuage. The limits of the definition
must always be vague, and even within these limits there
is large scope for variety.
264 WOBTJS AND THEIR WAYS
If the speaker does not much transgress these limits in
a given instance, we understand his meaning. Yet we do
not and cannot see all the connotations which the word
has in the speaker's mind. He has given us a conven-
tional sign or symbol for his idea. Our interpretation of
the sign will depend partly on the context or the circum-
stances, partly on what we know of the speaker, and
partly on the associations which we ourselves attach to
the word in question. These considerations conduct us,
once more, to the principle on which we have so often
insisted. Once more we are forced to admit that lan-
guage, after all, is essentially poetry. For it is the
function of poetry, as Sainte Beuve says, not to tell us
everything, but to set our imaginations at work : ' La
poesie ne consiste pas a tout dire, mais a tout faire rever.'
Besides the complexity that comes from successive
radiation, there is a perpetual exchange of influences
among the meanings themselves. Thus when we speak
of a man as the ' intellectual head of a movement,' head
means ' leader ' (No. 3), but has also a suggestion of the
tenth sense, 'mind.' If two very different senses of a
word are present to the mind at the same moment, the
result is a pun, intentional or unintentional. If the senses
are subtly related, so that they enforce or complement each
other, our phrase becomes imaginatively forcible, or, in
other words, recognizable poetry as distinguished from the
unconscious poetry of language.
So, too, the sudden re-association of a derived sense with
the central meaning of the word may produce a consider-
able change in the effect. Head for ' leader ' is no longer
felt as metaphorical, and so of several other of the radiat-
ing senses of this word. Yet it may, at any moment, flash
back to the literal meaning, and be revivified as a conscious
SPECIAL PROCESSES 265
metaphor for the nonce. ' He is not the head of his party,
but their mask ' ; *■ The leader fell, and the crowd was a
body Avithout a head.''
Radiation is a very simple process, though its results
may become beyond measure complicated. It consists
merely in divergent specialization from a general centre.
It is always easy to follow the spokes back to the
hub.
Quite different is the next process that we have to
study, in which a word moves gradually away from its
first meaning by successive steps of alternate specialization
and generalization until, in many cases, there is not a
shadow of connection between the sense that is finally
developed and that wliich the term bore at the outset.
The history of many such words is well ascertained. If
the evidence is fragmentary, however, the etymologist is
often baffled in his attempts to reconstruct it.^
We have already observed that a word may get a new
meaning by the addition of a modifying idea (expressed
or implied) to the old one.^ Thus congregation means
simply an 'assembly' of any kind, but it has developed
the special sense of an 'assembly gathered for worship.'
Here we may represent the first meaning (' assembly ') by
A, and the modifjdng limitation (' religious ') by B ; the
new meaning will be A + B, the sum of the two ele-
ments.
So far the process is simple enough; but the process
may not stop with A -\- B. Thus L. candldatus (whence
our cayididate') meant 'a person dressed in white ' (^);
then, ' a white-robed seeker for office ' (vl + i?), from the
Roman custom of wearing one's freshest robes when ask-
r 1 Cf. A. Darmesteter, La Vie ties Mots, '2d ed., pp. 70 ii.
2 See p. 253.
266 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ing the suffrages of the people ; in our candidate, all idea
of 'white attire' {A} has disappeared, leaving only the
sense of 'an applicant for office' {B), which has no
obvious connection with the first meaning of the word.
Again cheater meant first 'an officer who attended to
escheats,' 'an escheator' (J.); then 'an escheator who
was dishonest ' (A + B); and finally (by loss of J.), a
'dishonest person' (B). Squire is (A) 'shieldman' Qscu-
tarius) ; then (A -\- B) ' shield-bearer ' who attends on a
knight; then (^) 'attendant on a knight' (without ref-
erence to the carrying of a shield). Tally li^ {A) 'cut-
ting'; then {A + B) a cutting of notches to keep an
account ; then (^) ' an account,' whether kept by notched
sticks or otherwise. Score is (J.) 'a notch' or 'cut';
(^A -f B) a notch or mark to indicate a charge or compu-
tation; then (^B) 'a bill or account' (without reference to
cuts or notches).
None of the examples cited lias wandered far from its
first sense. The development is still very simple, and the
chain of meanings is easy to follow. But the process may
continue until all logical connection disappears and we
find ourselves wondering how a single word has come to
stand for such disconnected and even inconsistent ideas.
Treacle is undoubtedly derived from the Greek 0j]piaK6v
(t]ieriak6)i), 'pertaining to a wild beast.' It now means
'sugar syrup' or 'molasses.' If we were ignorant of the
history of the word, we should be at a loss to account for
this peculiar state of things ; but the process which we are
studying explains tlie apparent anomaly as a natural
development. The Greek word theriak6n, ' pertaining to
a wild beast,' may be called A. From this there arises
the modified sense, 'a remedy for the bite of a wild animal
(^A + B). The next step is to reject A altogether, so
SPECIAL PBOCESSES 267
that treacle comes to mean any 'antidote' or 'sovereign
remedy' {B). Now ancient remedies were frequently
put up in the form of electuaries or thick syrups. Thus
B, ' a remedy,' developed into B -\- C, 'a remedy in the
form of a syrup. ^ This meaning is treated precisely as
A + B was treated. B is rejected and only C, ' a syrup,'
remains. By this time there is no connection at all be-
tween C, ' a syrup,' and A, ' pertaining to a wild beast,'
since the middle term B^ 'a remedy,' has vanished alto-
gether, and it was only this middle term that connected
with A.
The process may be graphically represented. Thus: —
pertaining to a wild beast,
remedy for a wild beast's bite,
antidote or remedy in general,
remedy in the form of a syrup,
syrup in general.
At any stage of the process, a meaning is capable of
being treated as if it were the original sense of the word.
Thus when treacle had come to mean ' a remedy ' in general
(^), and people had forgotten that it had anything to do
with the bite of an animal, it was used (1) literally, for
the ' antidote ' to any poison, and (2) figuratively, of that
which relieves one's sorrow, a ' comfort ' or ' consolation ' ;
and finally (3) of a personal comforter. So Chaucer speaks
of Christ as 'treacle of every harm,' i.e. a sovereign remedy
for every grief. Again, the general simplified meaning
'syrup' (O has been affected by radiation, so that, in
modern usage, treacle is a})plied indifferently to the 'spume
of sugar,' to 'maple syrup,' and to 'molasses.'
The paradoxical effects of the A + B process, as well as
the complications that result from its working in combi-
1.
A
2.
A + B
3.
B
4.
B + C
5.
r^
268 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
nation with other linguistic forces, may be studied in the
extremely interesting words parson and pe7^son, which
are simply variants of the same word, like cla?'k and
clerk.^
The Latin i^ersona means properly ' a mask,' such as the
ancient actors wore.^ This meaning we may call A. Such
masks were typical of various jjarts or 7'6les, and thus arises
A+B, 'a dramatic character as indicated by the appropri-
ate mask.' Then A disappears and B remains, so that
persona meana 'a character or roZe in a play.' To ^ is
then added a further modifier (C), 'one who represents,'
and we have ^ + (7, ' one who represents a dramatic char-
acter,' ' one who takes a role.' Next B disappears, so that
persona means merely ' a representative.' is then modi-
tied by the addition of ' the church ' (-Z)), and we get
C + 1), 'the representative of the church Qp>ersona ec-
desiae') in a parish.' Finally the main idea of ('repre-
sentative ') disappears, and p)arson in the seiise of ' parish
priest ' results. The relation between a mask and a cure
would be unintelligible (except on grounds of satirical
humor) if we could not trace the word step by step.
1.
A
mask.
0_
A + B
character indicated by mask.
3.
B
character or role (in play).
4.
B + C
one who represents a cliaracter.
5.
C
representative in general.
0.
C + I)
representative of church in parish.
7.
D
parson.
1 Clark is preserved only as a proper name. Cleric is pronounced dark
in England, but clerk (e as in fern) in America, though the other pro-
nunciation is well known, and may still be heard occasionally from old
people. For the etymology, see p. 44.
-Per-, 'through,' and f^onare, 'to sound,' since the actor 'talked
tlirough' the lai'ge mouth of his mask.
SPECIAL PROCESSES 269
This whole development took place in Latin, whence the
word was borrowed (under French influence) as persoun,
the form which Chaucer uses.
Meantime persona had taken another course. From B,
' dramatic part ' or ' role,' had come (in classic Latin) the
figurative meaning of the ' part ' or ' character ' which one
sustains in the world, and then, by transference and fading
out of the metaphor, a ' personage ' or '■ person ' in the
modern sense.
In English the old persoim has split into two words,^
which are not felt by most speakers as having any con-
nection in sense or etymology. Parson is reserved for the
ecclesiastical sense, and person is used for 'bodily form' or
for ' human being ' in general. It has lately acquired a
somewhat slighting connotation, which, however, is not
always felt. Tlie form person is habitually associated with
persona by everybody who has any acquaintance with Latin,
which in part accounts for its pronunciation. Parson is a
phonetic spelling of the Middle English word. For 'char-
acters in a play ' we have borrowed the Latin phrase
dramatis personae, which is to all intents and purposes
an English term.
Strange transformations of meaning may come by the
simple and natural process of applying the name of an
object to something else which resembles it or is used
for the same purpose. The progress of invention makes
this process very common in the names of utensils and
the like. Pen (L. penna) is originally a 'feather.'
The name was appropriately applied to pens so long-
as quills were used for writing. It is kept, however,
for various modern implements (steel pens, gold pens,
stylographic pens) which have replaced feathers in this
1 Cf. pp. 355-7.
270 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
function. 1 The change is comparatively slight in tliis
instance, since steel pens actually resemble quills. Pencil
is more noteworthy. The word was borrowed from L.
peniciUus, and meant a fine painter's brush, made of fur,
hair, or bristles, like a 'camel's-hair pencil.' Penicillus
is a diminutive of pe7iiculus, 'a little tail,' such as was
used by the Romans for purposes of cleaning, as we use
brushes or brooms. From ' a painter's brush,' the name
pencil was passed along to a marking instrument made of
lead ; hence the term lead-pencil, which we now apply to
a stick of graphite enclosed in wood, where there is really
neither lead nor pencil.
Cliimney comes (through the French) from L. caminus,
a 'forge' or 'smelting-furnace.' It came to be used for
any ' fireplace ' (the earliest sense in English), then, in
particular, for the 'smoke flue.' Lamp-cldmnetj shows a
further narrowing in sense.
Chandelier (from L. candelahruni)., 'a receptacle for
candles,' has been so extended as to include gas-jets and
electric lights. Scales (from L. scala^ ' a ladder ') now
means ' a weighing instrument,' from the graduated marks
on the beam of the balance, which suggest the equidistant
rounds of a ladder. It has also been extended to musical
scales.
A capital example of the shifting process is seen in hand-
kerchief. A small piece of cloth to cover the head was
naturally enough (iQ\\Q(\.iicoverchef {O. Fr. couvre-chef; chef
from L. capuf) or kerchief (cf. curfew'). When fashion
decreed that a somewhat similar piece should be carried in
the hand, handkerchief was coined, with no thought of the
literal sense of kerchief The next step was pocket-hand-
kerchief which is literally, it will be observed, a thing to
1 The same thing has happened to the German Feder.
SPECIAL PROCESSES 271
cover the head, to be carried in the hand, to be put in the
pocket.
The history of raih'oading iUustrates the point in ques-
tion remarkably welL English and American railroads
developed independently, and long after the separation of
the colonies from the mother-country. The special vo-
cabulary, therefore, differs widely in the two countries.
In Great Britain, coaching terms were utilized. Hence
we find coaches, drivers, guards, and booking-offices in
England, but cars, engineers, conductors, and ticket-offices
in the United States. Booking-office is a particularly
interesting transference. It was originally the bureau at
which one entered or 'booked' one's name in advance,
in order to secure a place in the coach. Many of the
differences between the language of England and that of
America depend, in like manner, on the independent de-
velopment of industries or occupations in the two countries.
Compare lift with elevator, tram with horse-car (or electric
car'), parish council with selectmen, and so on. The investi-
gation of such divergences is a matter of much interest,
but has usually been pursued in a somew^hat perfunctory
way, with little regard to linguistic principles. The con-
servative tendency to retain familiar terms in a new appli-
cation is probably stronger in England than in America.
CHAPTER XIX
TRANSFERENCE OF MEANING
The Romans had a proverb, 'Everything has two
handles ' ; and nowhere is this more true than in mental
conceptions and the words that express them. Almost
every conception has two aspects; (1) that of the person
or thing that possesses or exercises it ; (2) that of the
person or thing that is affected by it. This difference
between the active agent and the effect produced, between
the cause and that which it causes, between the subjective
and the objective, is very great indeed. But, obvious as
it seems, it has been slow to arise in the consciousness of
the race. In the Latin vocabulary, to which we are so
deeply indebted, little account is made of this fundamental
distinction, so that the same word is often used indiffer-
ently for either side of the conception. Thus the Latin
opinio means both opinion (from the point of view of him
who has it) and 7'eputatlon (from the point of view of
him concerning whom it is held) ; and the same is true
of the English word opinion in Shakspere. Nothing
could be more natural, for ' my opinion of Richard Roe '
is of course identical with 'Roe's rsputation with me.'
The difference is simply in the person from whose point
of view the conception is regarded. As time goes on,
however, we feel more and more that, although ophiion
and reputation are the same thing, yet they differ widely
in their relations to other ideas which we may wish to
272
TEANSFEREXCE OF MEANING 273
express. The distinction between them seems so im-
portant that we feel the need of making it clear in the
vocabulary. Accordingly, we have limited or specialized
opmion to its modern meaning, and have adopted reputa-
tion (from re-puto^ ' to think over ') to signify the other
side of the same idea. It is to be observed, however, that
there is no inherent difference between these two words,
since both mean properly ' the act or process of consider-
ing,' ' consideration.' Their distinction in our vocabulary
is due merely to the fact that opinion has been specialized
in one direction, reputation in the other, with the result
that we have two carefully discriminated words, which
cannot possibly be confused, even if they have no context
to fix their bearings.
A few examples will make clearer this important point.
In ' shame kept him silent,' the subjective feeling of the
person who is ashamed is meant ; in '• shameful treatment,'
the character of the act is objectively described. Honor
may be the sentiment which a man cherishes in his own
heart and which keeps him true to his better nature, or it
may be the tribute of respect which others pay to such a
man. Compare ' an honorable gentleman,' with ' an honor-
able invitation.' Our odium is the Latin word for 'hatred,'
but it never means 'hatred' in English. It signifies the
objective result of the hatred of others, — something like
'unpopularity' (but in a stronger sense). ^ In odium
theologicum, however, we have borrowed the same word
again, this time in the sense of ' hatred ' pure and simple.
The same confusion between subjective and objective
may be seen in the uses of cases and propositions, and in
1 This was also a Latin meaning, in accordancfi with tlie liabit of that
language, in which almost any abstract noun may express both sides of
an idea.
274 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
other linguistic machinery for expressing the rehations of
ideas. The Latin amor Dei, and our 'the love of God,'
may mean either God's love for us or ours for him. So
caedes Clodiana may mean a murder committed by Clodius
or a murder of which Clodius was the victim ; and such
phrases as ' the Fontenoy forgery case,' ' the Williamson as-
sault ' are equally ambiguous. There is a like uncertainty
in compound words : compare loalking stick with pruning
Jiooh., headsman with head man, ink stain with ink eraser,
lovesick with lovelock, heart-wished with heart-ivhole. The
Elizabethans were very venturesome in the matter of com-
pounds. Thus (in Shakspere), death-marked might be
'marked hy death' or 'marked /or death,' but in 'the
fearful passage of their death-marked love ' ^ it is probably
the latter. The 'death-practised duke'- is Albany, whose
death \^ plotted (to practise = to plot). 'Be simple-
answered'^ means 'Be provided with a simple answer,'
i.e. 'Answer simply.' But fuU-aeorned^ is 'stuffed full
of acorns.' Foolish-compounded^ is 'composed of folly,'
not ' foolishly put together.' Follg-fallen^ is ' fallen into
folly.' '- Neighbor-staiyied steel''' is 'stained by neighbors'
blood.' Hell-hated^ is not 'hated by hell' but 'hateful as
hell.' And so on. The exact relations of the ideas ex-
pressed by the parts of the compound have to be in-
terpreted by the context in each case.
The English infinitive illustrates the point incompa-
rably. To wear, for instance, is active in ' I am to loear my
black coat,' but it seems to be passive in ' My coat isn't fit
to wear! ' In fact, however, wear has no 'voice' in these
1 Prologue to Komeo and Juliet. ^ Henry IV, Part I, act i, sc. 2, 1. 8.
^ King Lear, act iv, sc. G, 1. 284. *> Twelfth Night, act iii, sc. 1, 1. 75.
3 King Lear, act iii, sc. 7, 1. 43. '' Romeo and Juliet, act i, sc. 1,1. 89.
« Cymbeline, act ii, sc. 5, 1. 10. ^ King Lear, act v, sc. 3, 1. 147.
TBANSFEBEXCE OF MEANING 275
sentences. It is really a noun of action. To wear is thus
equivalent to ' for wearing ' ; it includes both the idea of
somebody who wears and of something that is tvorn, and
the application is left to the acumen of the hearer. Com-
pare 'a journey to go,' 'a sight to behold,' 'dreadful to
see,' ' a sad tale to hear,' ' fish to sell (or for sale'),'
'nothing to eat.' The placard 'To Be Let,' sometimes
seen instead of the usual ' To Let,' is a comical specimen
of grammatical prudishness. It shows, however, the
anxiety that we feel to avoid, if possible, all concession to
the ' facing-both-ways ' element in our language.
Now it is precisely in this debatable land between two
aspects of the same conception that some of the most
curious freaks of language take place. Transference, or a
sudden shift in the ' point of view ' (from subject to ob-
ject), is likely to happen at any moment. It may pass
unnoticed ; it may serve only to give point to an epigram
or felicity to a poetical figure, but in countless instances it
has had a permanent effect on our vocabulary.
Adjectives are much affected by transference. Many
adjectives have since been limited to one side or the other
of a conception, as the need for specialization has made
itself felt, that were once equally applicable to both.
There was extreme confusion between active and passive
adjectives. ^ Thus '•feeling sorrows ' in Shakspere means
' sorrows that are deeply felt ' ; ' the unexpressive she ' is
the ' inexpressible " or ' ineffal)le ' lady ; uncomprehensive is
'incomprehensible.' Per contra, tuneable meant 'tune-
ful,' ' harmonious ' ; separable, ' causing separation ' ;
imaginary, ' imaginative ' ; an ' intenible sieve ' was one
1 This comes of course from the fact that most adjectives are in origin
neither active nor passive, but only indicate likeness or relationship in a
vague way. Cf. p. 174.
276 WOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
that could hold nothing ; dcceivnhle was ' deceptive ' ;
reverent and 7'everend were practically interchangeable.
There was a similar uncertainty with regard to adjecr
tives in -ful. Aivfiil meant ' awe-inspiring ' or ' filled with
terror ' ; ' distressfid bread ' in Henry 1 V\s soliloquy on
sleep is not 'bread that distresses the eater,' but 'hard-
earned bread ' won by distressful toil ; dreadful shared
the ambiguity of auful ; hatefid meant ' full of hate ' as
well as ' odious ' ; pahiful was common in the sense of
'painstaking,' 'laborious,' — a 'painful preacher' was a
complimentary phrase in the seventeenth century. Some
of these -ful adjectives are still unsettled. One may be
doubtful about a doubtful question. But in most cases the
die has been cast. Thus pitiful is now seldom used in
the sense of ' compassionate ' ; it signifies either ' proper
to excite one's pity,' or, with a scornful connotation, ' con-
temptible.' In Shakspere's time the three meanings were
about equally common. We no longer say ' a fretful cor-
rosive ' (Henry IV). Our fretful carries only the neuter
or reflexive meaning of the verb, — ' to fret one's self ' to
let one's self be fretted,' and we have almost forgotten
that fret is literally ' to eat away,' or ' devour,' like the
German fressen with which it is cognate. ^
The transference of an adjective from the person who
has the quality denoted to some object (person or thing)
with reference to which he manifests that quality, is one
of the commonest of all linguistic phenomena. Poetry
is full of such instances. The thane of Cawdor resigned
his life 'as 'twere a careless trifle.' Lear's fool 'labored
^ A.S. fretan is for for-etan, like Ger. fressen for ver-essen. Tlie old
sense is seen in ' a moth fretting a garment. ' ' Fret-worTc and fret-saw are
not related to this verb, but come from fra'tican, 'to adorn.' So 'yon
gray lines thai fret the clouds' in Julius Caesar.
TRANSFERENCE OF MEANING 211
to outjest ' the ' heart-struck injuries ' of his master. Of
course, in phiin prose, it was Leai' who was struck to the
heart by the wrongs that his daughters had done him. A
' sleepy language,' in The Tempest, is such a language as
one might speak in one's sleep. ' Trusty business ' in
All's Well is the kind of business that we commit to
trusty agents. ' Drunken prophecies ' is a happy phrase
in Richard III.
But the shift in question is not confined to the poets.
It is characteristic of language itself ; for language, as we
saw at the outset, is the unrecognized and instinctive
poetry of the mass of men. ' Glad tidings,' 'joyful news,'
' hopeless efforts,' ' a malignant speech,' ' a jealous look,'
'a friendly glance,' 'a flattering offer,' 'wise counsel,'
' treacherous plots ' are examples of precisely similar trans-
ference. The colloquial dialect shows the same tendency.
Elegant^ nice, superb, denote a subjective personal quality,
but are transferred in ordinary language to objects with
reference to which the quality is manifested. Thus a
^nice person' is no longer (except in books) a 'fastidious'
person, but one who might satisfy a fastidious person.
Supei'h is the Latin superhus, ' proud,' but it has lost that
meaning by transference and is always applied objectively.
A few additional examples will bring out the impor-
tance of these processes in the development of the English
vocabulary. Curious is the Latin curiosus, ' careful,'
' care-taking.' It retains its personal meaning in the sense
of ' inquisitive.' Transferred to things, it came to mean
'requiring care,' as in '•curious business,' or 'elaborately
wrought,' as in 'a curious tale' (both from Shakspere).
From this to the everyday sense of ' odd,' ' peculiar ' was
but a step. Quaint has a similar history. It is the Old
French cointe, ' cultivated,' ' agreeable ' (from L. cogtdtus,
278 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
'known '). Its development in English is from ' wise ' or
' skilful ' to ' elaborate,' ' well-wrought,' and thence to
'fanciful,' 'odd,' or 'peculiar.' Its special modern con-
notation seems to be ' old-fashioned,' — for the studied
elegance of one generation becomes singularity in the
age that follows.
Secure, with its doublet sure, and their numerous de-
rivatives show a like transference of epithets. Secure is
originally the Latin securus, ' without anxiety ' (from se-,
'without,' and cura), an epithet of course applicable to
persons only ; and in that sense it is constantly used in
Latin and even in early English. But in modern use it
has been transferred (in the main) to the thing about
which one feels secure, and in this senSe we have also
assurance, insurance, and other derivatives. Sure, which
is securus in a French form (O. Fr. seiir, modern swr) is
still usable in the old meaning : as, — ' I am sure of my
ground.' Compare also the derivative surety.
The transference from things to persons, from the objec-
tive to the subjective, is less common, but is found often
enough. Thus pompous is a derivative from L. pompa,^
'a procession,' and denotes properly the splendor and
' pomp ' that characterize a festal march. So the poet
Sidonius has 2)om'posus incessus for a stately or 'proces-
sional ' gait. Transferred to persons, pompous suggests
the same stateliness, with a ridiculous connotation. Solemn
is an excellent parallel. The Latin is solemnls, soUennis,
from sollus, ' whole,' and annus, ' year,' and signifies ' an-
nual,' with special reference to religious celebrations ;
hence solemnize, and a solemnity. '•Ksolem^i person ' shows
a transference of the epithet.
1 The Latin pompa is borrowed from Gr. tto/xtt^ in the same sense (from
Tr^jUTTw, 'to send ").
TRANSFERENCE OF MEANING 279
Other instances are doivnright, straightforward. ' Down-
right speech ' and ' straightforward language ' are easy
figures ; but it is only by transference that we can speak
of a downright or straightforward person. The ' super-
fluous and lust-dieted man ' in King Lear is one who has
more than he needs, a pampered epicure. Other examples
are 'a very literal person,' 'a prolix talker,' 'a navigable
merchant,' 'a logical thinker,' ^ a profound investigator,'
'■mellifluous songsters.'
Transference operates also in verbs, producing many
curious shifts of meaning. To sprinkle is literally to
'scatter.' But in sprinkling we not only act directly on
the liquid but indirectly on some other object : we
''Sprinkle the ivater on the plants,' for example. Hence, by
transference, we speak of ' sprinkling the plants ' them-
selves. In like manner, spatter (connected with spif) has
suffered transference, — so that one may ' spatter blood
upon the floor' or 'spatter the floor with blood.' To
empty is literally to ' make empty,' — ' I emptied the bag
of its contents ' ; but we do not hesitate to ' empty the
silver out of the bag,' or to ' empty the water out of the
glass.' By a still further transference a river may be said
' to empty into the sea,' in which the action of emptying
is said to be done by the river itself. So, with spatter.,
one might say, ' I cut an artery and the blood spattered all
over the floor.'
This last-mentioned kind of transference has had far-
reaching results in our syntax and vocabulary. It enables
us to use a great many verbs not only transitively (' he
poured oil on the flame ') but intransitively (' the rain
poured dismally'). Thus we have, without change of
form or fear of ambiguity, a satisfactor}'' substitute for the
Greek middle and the reflexive verbs of German and
280 WOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
French. 'He turned round' is simpler than 'he turned
himself round,' and equally clear. In Greek ' I turn '
(a thing), transitively, is one form, rpeTrco, trepo (in the
active voice) ; ' I turn (myself),' intransitively, is another
form, rpeiroixai, trepomai (in the so-called 'middle voice,'
i.e. neither active nor passive). The beginner is struck
by the grammatical distinction (which has probably never
attracted his attention in English), as Avell as by the
elegance with which the Greek inflection indicates it.
He may easily infer that the absence of the middle voice
is a defect in our language. A moment's thought, how-
ever, convinces one that no inflectional distinction is
necessary, and that the abandonment of a third ' voice '
(for the Germanic languages once had a ' middle ' too) is
not deterioration, but advance. We accomplish the same
end with simpler means and less trouble. In this respect,
as in certain others, we have gone farther than most lan-
guages of our family. In German, for instance, to 'turn
(anything) ' is wenden ; to ' turn (one's self) ' is ' sich
wenden.' In English, the reflexive is not used, and our
experience proves that it is not requisite. ^
Engage is a good example of the process that we are
studying. It means literally ' to put (a person or thing)
in or under a pledge (eyi gage^,"^ 'to impledge ' in an}'"
manner, literal or figurative: as, — 'I engage my word,'
' He suffered his kinsman to be engaged " (that is, held as
prisoner or hostage), ' He engaged himself to carry out the
plan,' 'He engaged the servant.' But it is now especially
common in an intransitive use : as, — 'He engaged in the
practice of law.' So prove., 'to test' (L. prohare)., may
1 cf. pp. \m-A.
- A gage is a ' pledge ' ; cf. wage^ icayes, wager, • throw down the
gage.'
TRANSFERENCE OF MEANING 281
mean ' to turn out' (so and so, under the test of time) : as, —
' His efforts proved unsuccessful.' Even such verbs as
strengthen, weakest, tighten, loosen, and sharpen, though
they are specially formed with the suffix -en. Ho make or
cause,' are not infrequently heard in the sense of ' become
strong,' etc. Similar instances are innumerable.^ Such
colloquialisms as ' He takes a good photograph ' for ' He
always suoceeds in getting a good photograph of himself,'
and the butcher's encouraging ' This beef will eat well '
may sound grotesque. In fact, however, they illustrate,
as such things uijually do, a governing principle of our
language.
English shows similar freedom in making intransitive
verbs transitive by giving them a causative force. ' To
Jig a kite' is 'to cause it to fly.' So one may groiv
wheat, ru7i an engine, gallop a horse, j^oa^ a corporation,
or stand a man on his head. Like other languages,
English once had its machinery for making verbs of
causation. Thus, io fell is the causative oifall, to drench
of drink, to singe (older se7ige7i) of sing, to quench of
A.S. cwincan ('disappear '), to blench^ of blink. But this
machinery ceased to operate long ago, though some of its
producta are still in stock. Transference has proved a
simpler means of accomplishing the end desired.
In view of all these facts it is not surprising that the
distinction between sit and set, lie and lag, has broken
down in vulgar English, and has not always maintained
itself in literature. In the first half of the last century
lag was pretty common for lie, even in respectable authors.
The sun still sets, and it is excessively difficult (hardly
1 Compare the transitive and the intransitive use of twist, draw, drag,
settle, stall, pt'^'i'<'fy< siihmit, oppose, pretend, warp.
- Bltnch has lost its causative sense.
282 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
desirable) for a poultry farmer to speak of ' a sitting
hen.'
Ill conclusion, a few miscellaneous examples of trans-
ference are given to illustrate the variety of its operations.
An omen^ is a sign that foreshadows calamity, but in
Elizabethan English it is sometimes transferred to the
calamity that is foreshadowed by the sign, — as in Shak-
spere's 'prologue to the omen coming on.' This is a close
parallel to disaster^ which has passed from ' ill-boding-
appearance of the stars' to 'ruin and misfortune.' To
challenge is literally to ' bring a charge against ' a person,
being derived (through the French) from L. calumiiiari,
' to calumniate ' ; hence, by an easy shift, it gets the
sense of 'laying claim to' a tldng or a privilege, — as in
'challenge attention.' Polite is 'polished' (L. politus,
p.p. of polio, 'to polish') ; its application to persons, at
first metaphorical, has ceased to be figurative so far as
English is concerned, and the word is freely transferred
to manners or bearing ; compare courteous and courtly.'^
Crame is 'sport' of any kind ; with reference to hunting,
it means the material result of the sport, — the 'quarry.'
Venison is L. venatio, 'hunting,' and has developed its
meaning in a precisely similar fashion. A ' hollow sound'
is one that sounds as if it were reechoed from a pit or hol-
low ; so 'a hollow roaring,' 'a hollow groan.' There is
transference of the epithet in 'a terrible night,' where the
terror has nothing to do with the night except for the
relation of time, and in ' an anxious week,' since only a
person can be anxious.
1 Of course there are good omens as well as bad, but the word has been
more or less specialized in its disastrous sense.
- Court is an old borrowing from Norman French, It is L. cohors,
cohortis, ' cohort.'
TRANSFEBENCE OF MEANING 283
One can bloio a blast on a horn in actual pneumatical
fact. To blow the horn requires an imaginative transfer-
ence, which, however, was made so long ago that we for-
get that it is imaginative. More recently, a famous lyric
poet could, without fear of criticism (indeed, witli much
force and elegance), exhort a bugle to blow itself. Here,
as always, the individual poet is merely following out,
with the certainty of genius, the path in which the
language guides him.
No poet proceeds more daringly than Milton in this
path: 'Let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow,'
' happier union,' ' dolorous mansions,' ' speckled vanity,'
' like glories wearing,' ' the scaly horror of his folded
tail,' are well-known examples from his Hymn on the
Nativity. But they are, in fact, no bolder than many a
phrase which we habitually employ without a thought of
its logical history.
Thus English is full of happy misapplications of words.
They should serve as warnings to the puristic pedant, and
may, perhaps, encourage aspiring neologists. One caution,
however, must in conscience be added. The only safe
course is to be sure that the misapplication is so happy
that the rest of the world will adopt it. Then, despite
the purists, you have enriched the English language.
Otherwise, — well, you have not !
CHAPTER XX
DEGENERATION OE MEANING
Descent is easy, and words, like people, show a pro-
pensity to fall away from their better selves. The de-
generation is sometimes due to special causes. Usually,
however, the word takes its first step in the downward
path when it is used in slight, perhaps in jocose, dispar-
agement. As time goes on, it gets into worse and worse
odor, until at last it may become a term of extreme con-
tempt or reprobation.
A good example is our word villain (from the French
vilain). Villain originally signified ' a farm-laborer.' It is
derived from the Latin villa, ' farmhouse,' through villa-
71US, 'a slave attached to one's country-place.' In English
it was at first merely a descriptive term for a particular
station in life, replacing the native word churl (A.S. ceorl),
which had the same sense. Soon, however, it became a
term of contempt for one who did not belong to the
gentry. Gradually there was built up a set of ideas asso-
ciating with villain and villany all the qualities opposed to
the comprehensive word courtesy,^ which signified in the
Middle Ages 'the continent of what part a gentleman
would see.' Thus villain was applied to a 'low fellovv^ '
in general, and villany was used for low conduct, or low
1 The injustice wliich Tennyson has done to the cliaracterof the matcli-
less Gawain, 'with his olde curteisye,' comes in part from too limited
and modern an understanding of this fine old word.
284
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 285
language, or low thoughts. From this to the present
meaning is a short step ; the implied moral reproba-
tion has simply been intensified. In this process villain
and villany have quite lost their association with any par-
ticular rank in life. A king, as well as a peasant, may be
described as a villain, if he is morally wicked.^ Several
other words which properly mean ' farm-hand,' or the like,
have become more or less debased. Thus churl no longer
means 'serf,' or 'bumpkin,' but is applied to any one who
is rude in his manners or a curmudgeon in disposition.
But the word is little used ; hooi\ literally ' farmer,' has
taken its place. ^ In this country, /arwer itself is some-
times jocosely applied to a 'greenhorn,' or to a person who
has made himself ridiculous, particularly by awkwardness
or stupidity. If our language were not so fixed by the
conservative forces of literature and education, it is not
impossible that farmer would go the way of its predeces-
sors. Cloivn was perhaps contemptuous in its very origin.
It seems to have meant literally 'a clod.'''^ It appears in
English in the senses of 'rustic' and 'jester' at about the
same date (late sixteenth century), but there is evidence
that the latter is a derived meaning. At all events, the
comic ' clowns ' of the drama frequently represented coun-
trymen who amused the audience by their mingled sim-
plicity and mother-wit.
Knave has had a history similar to that of villain. It
1 When villain was borrowed from the French, it hati both the first and
the second meanings here given to it, so that the development indicated
did not take place in English. Both the more primitive and the more
developed sense were borrowed at the same time.
2 See p. 347.
3 Cf. clod for a gross or stupid fellow. A clodpoll or clotpoll is a man
vsrlio had a sod or a clod of earth for a head (cf. Jdockhead). Cf. Emilia's
' as ignorant as dirt,' in Othello. Clodhopper tells its own .story.
286 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
meant originally (like Ger. Knahe) 'boy'; then servant^
from the habit of calling servants 'boys' (as in Greek and
Latin, and the South before the war). Thus it came to
be used as a general term of disparagement for a person
of inferior station, and finally it developed the sense of
moral worthlessness. Valet and varlet are Old French
diminutives of vassal. They literally meant 'boy' or
'youth,' just as vassal meant 'man.' Specialized in the
sense of 'servant,' however, they tended to deteriorate,
and varlet became, in English, a synonym for 'saucy
fellow.' All such words, as soon as they acquire a
reproachful or contemptuous connotation, tend to go out
of use in their literal descriptive meaning, for the knave
or villain in the old sense refuses to answer to the dis-
credited name. Vassalage is an interesting example of
a word which has been specialized in two directions.
Since the vassal was his lord's inferior, vassalage sank to
the sense of 'servitude.' On the other hand, it rose by
an equally obvious chain of thought to the meaning of
' valorous deeds,' ' splendid service in war,' such as a
vassal performs for his suzerain, and this is its meaning
in Chaucer.
Several words for ' woman ' or ' girl ' have lost caste in
one way or another. Wench was once perfectly respect-
able ; it meant nothing but ' daughter,' ' orphan,' or ' pupil '
(A.S. ivencel, tvencle^ from iveneel., 'weak' and so needing
protection). Queayi (A.S. cwene') is cognate with Gr.
7Uf77 (^Mwe), and meant 'woman.' A related word (A.S.
civeri) has given us queen, and the Sanskrit gnd, another
related term, is even more dignified, since it stands for
'goddess.' Hussy is from houseivife. The German
Dime, ' loose woman,' once meant ' virgin,' and in Old
High German is even applied to the Virgin Mary. It
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 287
would be hard to find a more extraordinary instance of
verbal degradation. Womaji and Ger. Weib have also gone
down in the world (see p. 32(3).
Felloiv, now either contemptuous or else used lightly
for 'man' in general, once meant 'partner.' It was
A.S. feolaga^ — one who laid down his property {fee)
along with yours. Hence came the meaning of ' compan-
ion,' then ' idle companion,' and thus we arrive at the
sliorhtincr modern sense. The literal meaning has also
been preserved, by virtue of certain combinations into
which fellow had entered before it began to lose caste,
such as fellowsMp, fellowfeeling^ yokefellow, and com-
pound words like felloiv- Christian. ^ Felloiv o^ a college'
is a translation of socius ; its academic isolation has pre-
served its dignity.
Companion and mate were also used contemptuously at
one time, probably because they were synonymous with
fellow. Chapman, the native English word for 'mer-
chant,' is obsolete, except as a proper name. The clipped
form chap, however, is still used disparagingly, and in
older English both chapman and merchant were common
terms of contempt for a sauc}' or otherwise objectionable
person. Observe that companion, merchant, and mate have
succeeded in rehabilitating themselves — always a difficult
feat for either a word or a person to accomplish.
Caitiff is an old French word for 'captive' (modern
chetif, L. captivus). It often meant 'poor creature,' since
the condition of captives was peculiarly miserable, and it
was quite as often applied in pity as in contempt. Bor-
rowed by us in both the literal and the developed meaning,
it was later specialized in the peculiarly odious sense of
' coward.' It is now obsolete in common language, though
1 From O.N. filagc, in the same sense.
288 WORDS AXD TUEIR WAYS
it is one of those curious words wliicli everybody knows
but nobody uses. Compare the history of ivretch, the
Ansrlo-Saxon word for ' exile." ^
Abuost any term of reproach or word that suggests
inferiority may come to imply moral badness : as, — loiv,
base, degraded (literally 'put down a step, or grade'),
debased, sunk very low. Rascal means first 'the ral)-
ble,' and probably comes ultimately from L. rado, rasus,
' scrape ' : cf . ' the offscourings of society.' So Chaucer
speaks of Jove, Apollo, Mars, and the other heathen gods,
as 'rascaille.' 2 In hunting-language a rascal was a lean
deer, out of condition and not fit for venison.
The degradation of a descriptive term may tell a sad
story of human frailty. Tax-gatherers are never wel-
come guests, but the mere word suggests no moral tur-
pitude. It was otherwise with the Roman jjuhlicans,
whose business became a synonym for extortion.^ The
English escheators (or cheaters') had a similar fate. They
were officers who looked out for lands that might revert
to the king in default of heirs (French, from e.r- and
cadere, 'fall away'). But their actual or supposed dis-
honesty gave their name an evil sense.
Simple, guileless, and innocent are good words, but they
have not remained so ' in the corrupted currents of this
world.' Even silly * once meant ' l)lessed ' or ' good,' being
1 Wrecca, from ivrecan, ' to drive out or punish,' whence ivrcck and
loreak.
2 O. Fr. rascaille (modern racaille).
3 The modern sense of 'keeper of sl public, house' originated in an
obvious pun, and has never become serious.
4 A.S. sn:-U(/, M.E. sely. Another adjective, seUir, 'strange,' is thought
by some to have become confused with sely, and thus to have helped it
down, but no such contamination is necessary to account for its fall
from grace. The Gi-eek ev-qO-qs, 'good-hearted,' came to mean 'fool-
ish,' and our rjood-nalured often has a slighting connotation.
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 289
akin to the German selif/. Unsophisticated is literally
' unadulterated,' ' unspoiled,' but is almost always a term
of contempt. We have here a long history of degrada-
tion ; for sophist is properly ^ a wise teacher,' and owes its
evil sense to the dialogues of Plato, in which the reason-
ing of these professors was attacked by Socrates.
Cumiing,^ sly, and crafty were also commendatory ad-
jectives at first. Cunning is 'knowing,' hence 'skilful,'
as in ' a cunyiing workman.' Crafty was ' skilful,' especially
in a handicraft (cf. craftsman'). Sly (borrowed from the
Scandinavian) was ' wise ' or ' skilful ' in any way, but
with no evil meaning. All such words deteriorate easily.
Even knoiving has come to have a suspicious sound. Com-
pare keen, sharp, smart (in the American sense), clever,
cute (for acute'), and ' to live by one's tvits' The line
between craft and diplomacy is as hard to draw as that
between piracy and privateering. Sir Henry Wotton
wrote, punningly, that an ' ambassador was a man sent to
lie abroad for his country.' Subtlety is a recognized vir-
tue among primitive peoples, and no civilized nation has
yet climbed high enough to look down on Themistocles.
To counterfeit had at first no evil suggestion. It meant
simply to 'imitate' or 'copy,'^ — hence, a counterfeit was,
among other things, a 'portrait,' — as in 'fair Portia's
counterfeit' {i.e. portrait), and 'the counterfeit present-
ment of two brothers.' To copy another man's hand and
seal, or to imitate the coin of the realm, however, was
1 The innocent sense is preserved in tlie American nursery : ' a cun-
ning cliil^ ' is commendatory.
2 Counter is contra and feit is factum. Counter may imply opposition
or merely comparison. Thus counterpart, which properly means that
which completes or complements anything by supplying contrasted quali-
ties (as the 'stub' or counterfoil, and the check), has acquired, also, the
sense of 'exact copy.'
290 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
felony, and the word soon acquired the sinister associ-
ations which always attend it to-day. Compare coiner and
coining for 'counterfeiter' and 'counterfeiting-.'
Sanctimonious once meant 'devout,' 'holy,' or 'sacred.'
To modern ears it always carries an implication of hypoc-
risy. The case is perfectly typical. Persevering innu-
endo will ruin the reputation of any word, and religious
observances are immemorial targets for sneering suspicion.
Compare pious, saint, smictified, pj^iestcraft, forms and cere-
monies, zealot, devotee. Religious itself once meant 'super-
stitious' (see p. 232). Enthusiasm is a Greek word for
'inspiration,' or possession by a divine spirit (from eV,
en, 'in,' and de6<i, theds, 'god'), — yet in the eighteenth
century it was the regular English term for fanaticism.
Madness and prophetic inspiration, we remember, are
identical in the opinion of savages, among whom all
lunatics are sacred, and the ancient religions had not
outgrown this idea.^ Fanatic is a Latin synonym for
enthusiastic. It is literally ' belonging to the fane ' ; then,
'inspired by the divinity.' The Romans applied it es-
pecially to the frantic priests of Mars and Cybele, and
found no difficulty in extending it to madness in general.
It entered our language in the seventeenth century, and
is always taken in malam partem.
Other examples of words that have deteriorated are
lust, which originally meant simply 'pleasure,' as it still
does in German; lewd, 'belonging to the laity,' then
'ignorant' (since only the clergy were learned), then,
'low' in any sense, as in 'lewd fellows of the baser sort,'
1 Vates, the Latin for 'prophet' (also 'bard,' 'poet'), is properly the
'raging seer.' Genius and madness are thought to be near allied. At all
events, the Anglo-Saxon wod, 'insane,' is cognate witli vates (cf. Ger.
Wuth). Cf. vaticination (borrowed from Latin).
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 291
and, finally, 'lascivious'; vile, literally 'cheap'; vice, lit-
erally 'flaw,' 'defect'; illicit, formerly 'unallowed'; revel,
formerly simply 'joy,' 'festivity'; reckless, once simply
'careless,' now always 'extremely careless,' often used as
a synonym for ' desperate ' ; erring, formerly ' wandering '
(cf. knight errant^, now always in a moral sense ; jjlausi-
hle, literally 'praiseworthy' (from L. plauclo, 'to clap the
hands '), then ' pleasing ' ; rash, literally ' quick,' ' active.'
If we go back to the original sense of a borrowed word,
we frequently find that it was innocent enough but had
become unpleasant or evil before the word entered our
language. In such cases, we have, of course, no right to
cite the original meaning in interpreting the English use.
Thus, pirate has always meant 'sea-robber' in English.
We borrowed it from the Latin in that sense. Nor had
pirata any other signification in Latin, which borrowed it
from the Greek with the same meaning. In Greek, how-
ever, we can easily see that tlie word originally meant
'one who tries' or 'makes an attempt,' and that it acquired
its special denotation through the comparatively harmless
meaning of 'one who goes on an enterprise,' 'an ad-
venturer.' This points to an age when piracy was a
respectable occupation among the sea-going Greeks, as it
was among the Angles and Saxons before they conquered
Britain, and among the Norsemen at a still later period.
The vikings were pirates when robbery was an honorable
profession. They got their name from O.N. vlk, 'bay,'
for piracy loves ' nook-shotten ' coasts, as Pompey found
when he conquered the Cilician marauders. We of New
England should not forget the proverb that 'piracy and
privateering both begin with a p.' The celebrated Captain
Kidd began as a privateer.
So far we have considered pretty serious cases of
292 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
degradation. The words that we liave studied, though
innocent in their origin, have come to express moral
reprobation, or, at the very least, a high degree of con-
tempt. Often, however, the same tendencies have oper-
ated to produce less striking changes, affecting rather
the dignity of the term than its actual signification.
Thus, ivortliy (from wortJi) once meant distinctly 'hon-
orable,' but has acquired a condescending connotation.
Wo7'ship (also from uwrtJi) meant 'honor,' but has been
heightened in sense (except in ' your Worship ') ; ivorshij)-
ful, however, has kept its meaning more exactly, but it
is an old-fashioned word, hardly used except with a half-
humorous suggestion.
Mespectable has fared in the same way. Once a term
of positive honor, it has imperceptibly slid down to its
present apologetic position. It is still dignified, however,
to be a ' respectable author,' — since that fine old-fashioned
phrase is seldom used except by those who feel its full
force, — a writer whose language commands respect, one
who may be cited as an 'authority.'
An amusing instance of verbal degradation is afforded
by a little group of words which should mean ' instantly,'
but to which the procrastinating habit of mankind has
attached an implication of delay. Soon is the Anglo-
Saxon word for 'immediately.' B// and hy once meant
the same thing,^ and so did iire^eyitly and directly. All
four have fallen off in promptitude. ' I will attend to
your business 8oon ' is cold comfort to the waiting peti-
tioner. Presently and directly are better, especially the
1 Bij and hy was oric;inally an adverb of place, meaning ' side by side.'
Tlius, I'alamon and Arcite were found on the battlefield lying ' by and by,'
severely wounded. From adjacent place it was transferred to time imme-
diately future. Compare on the spot in 'Tell me on the spot,'' 'in the
nick of time,' stcr le champ., main-tenant.
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 293
latter, for they are newer words and have not had tune to
break down utterly. But bt/ and hy has become the pro-
verbial motto of the determined procrastinator. Even
immediatelf/ is backsliding a little. Instantly stands firm,
but will doubtless go the way of all the rest.
Sometimes a word shows deterioration in some of its
uses, but maintains itself in others. This may be seen
in the case of execute, which has long been used for put-
ting to death by legal process, but which is still perfectly
familiar in its general meaning of ' carry out,' ' follow out,'
or 'fulfil.' The peculiar sense of execute appears to come
from a kind of ellipsis. The judgment of the court is
executed, that is, ' carried out,' when a murderer is hanged.
Hence, the hanging is called an execution, that is to say,
a carrying out of the judgment pronounced ; and, by
transference, the man is said to be executed as well as the
sentence. This special development has had no effect
whatever on the other meanings of the word, perhaps
because it relates to a class of ideas that are pretty
thoroughly isolated. The executive is still one of the
three coordinate high powers of the government. Ob-
serve that executor, the appropriate term for ' one who
executes ' in any sense, but particularly applied, in legal
lansfuasre, to one who carries out the terms of a will or
testament, was formerly used for the hangman or heads-
man ; but, for the sake of distinction, a new term for this
officer has grown up, formed by attaching to execution the
suffix -er, which designates one's trade or occupation (as
in grocer, money er, etc.). When the electric chair was
substituted for the scaffold in New York, the need of a
special verb was felt, and the monstrosity electrocute was
cobbled together from the first part of electric and the last
part of execute, — the syllable -cute being felt as in some
294 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
sort a suffix indicating ' to put to death by judicial process.'
This uncouth term was much laughed at for a time, but,
although it cannot be said to have taken its place for good
and all in our vocabulary, electrocute (as well as electrocu-
tion) has stood its ground with unexpected courage.
Good or bad, electrocute is a highly instructive phenome-
non in half a dozen ways. Electro- is the stem of the
Greek ijXeKrpov (tlektron)^ 'amber,' and -cute (the sup-
posed suffix) is the Latin participle secutus, ' following '
(from sequor~). Yet the compound signifies 'to put to
death judicially by means of an electric shock.' Every
step of tliis wonderful change is easily followed and may
be paralleled in other cases. The last syllable we liave
already traced. As to electro-, we have but to remember
that the phenomena of electricity were first observed in
amber, and were believed to be peculiar to that substance,
— so that electric, 'pertaining to amber,' and electricity,
'amberness,' as it were, were coined to express the new
'force.' As science advanced, the need of a shorter form
was felt for the purposes of composition, and the Greek
stem electro- was extended to the full sense of the longer
word, electricity, and utilized in numerous formations, like
eleetro-2)hysics, electrolysis, etc. Thus, when an amalgam
of electricity and execution was attempted, electrocution was
the result.^
Even slight changes in connotation may render a word
1 We may compare the equally barbarous, but more natural, electrolier
for an ' electric cliandeZ/Jer.' Here -Her was taken as a termination, though
the I is really a part of L. randela, 'candle,' from which candelabrum (the
original of dtandelicr) is derived. Motoneer, from motor and -necr (a part
of engin-eer), shows a similiar confusion as to the boundary between word
and suffix. These two words are not likely to get a place in the language,
but they illustrate the confusion of suffixes which is constantly manifest-
ing itself in legitimate speech and has produced many new endings (see
p. 187).
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 295
too prosaic or undignified for poetical use, though its real
meaning has not changed at all. This is the subtlest
kind of degradation, and is of peculiar interest to the
student of literature. Again and again have passages in
our older authors been stigmatized as vulgar or out of
taste, when the fault was with the critics, who had not
the grounds of opinion. And not seldom has intentional
incongruity for the sake of humor been suspected where,
in fact, there was actually no incongruity at all, except
that which lapse of time had made. Chaucer says the
friar was ' a noble pof<t unto his order, ' — we should have
to say 2)illar^ or, abandoning the vividness of the figure,
supijort^ iov post has sunk in dignity. The liver is essen-
tially as poetical an organ as the heart, and it was for-
merly much mentioned in poetry, being regarded as the
seat of courage and of passion. Physiology has changed
its opinions, and nobody would venture to mention ' liver,
brain, and heart ' in a line of verse, as Shakspere did.
White-livered^ for ' cowardly,' preserves a trace of the old
physiology. Other words which have lost their place
in tlie poetical vocabulary are blubber, ' to cry hard,' //'?/
(which Spenser applies to the torments of the damned),
brine for 'tears,' crack for 'loud noise' (as in 'the crack of
doom '), spout ('her eyes became two spouts ').^
Occasionally a word has risen in dignity or agreeable-
ness. The ascent, however, is not in obedience to any
general tendency, but occurs in response to some peculiar
cause. Marshal meant ' horse-boy ' ; seneschal, ' old ser-
vant'; constable, 'stall-attendant,' comes stahuli ; cham-
berlain, 'the servant in charge of the chambers.' I'ut
when the king was the master, menial service was digni-
fied, and, as royalty grew more splendid and the life of
1 Shakspere, Winter's Tale, act iii, scene 3, 1. 25.
296 WORDS AND TUEIR WAYS
palaces more ceremonious, the old plain terms became
titles of honor. This process was, in some cases, assisted
by forgetfulness of their original meaning. Marshal and
seneschal are Teutonic words adopted into French from
Old High German. As the Frankish invaders gradually
gave up their Germanic tongue, no one remembered that
-shal was scale (modern Ger. iSchalk'), ' servant,' or that
7nar was 'horse' (akin to Eng. mare'), or that sene-
meant 'old' (cognate with L. senex). Constable has sunk
again in some of its uses. It was once the highest mili-
tary title under the kings of France. Compare the
difference in rank between the stetvard on a steamboat
and the Lord High Steward of England, and observe that
the royal family of the Stuarts got their name from being
the hereditary stewards of the Scottish kings. Other
names of offices or occupations have risen in rank with
changing circumstances or under peculiar influences : as,
— hroker, minister, engineer, ambassador .
A happy figure of speech may dignify a word forever.
Pioneers (earlier pioners) ^ were soldiers who cleared the
way for an army by felling trees, building roads, and
doing all manner of hard and disagreeable work. They
were regarded as the lowest portion of the army: ' the gen-
eral camp,' says Othello, 'pioners and all.' It occurred
to somebody, not so very long ago, that the settlers in a
new country or on the borders of the wilderness are the
pioneers of the great march of civilization. For a time
this pioneer was a metaphor, but it has lost its figurative
character, is usually conceived as the literal sense of the
term, and is employed to make new metaphors, as in
'■pioneers of scientific discovery.'
More than once a derisive nickname has been accepted
^ Fr. pioiinier, ironipion, the same word as the pawn iu chess.
DEGENERATION OF MEANING 297
by those to whom it is applied, and has thus risen to the
rank of an ordinary descriptive term. Yankee^ Hoosier,
and Whig are familiar examples. If some investigators
are to be trusted, many of the early Germanic tribal
names were of this character. There are abundant exam-
ples in religious history : as, Puritan, Quaker, Shaker, etc.
It is possible enough that when the ' disciples were called
Christians first in Antioch,' it was by their enemies, or,
at best, by those who despised them as the dupes of a
false prophet.
The adjective 7iiee is a peculiar example of linguistic
processes. It originally meant ' foolish,' being derived
(through the French) from the Latin nescius. This is
the regular sense in Chaucer. It was gradually special-
ized in the sense of ' foolishly particular about trifles,' or,
as we say, 'more 7iice than wise.' By transference, it
meant ' trivial ' as applied to the objects themselves, —
'The letter was not uiee, but full of charge.' Then the
idea of folly was lost, and ' particular about small things,'
' accurate,' a distinctly commendatory sense, came into
existence. In this sense nice was naturally applied to per-
sons, as ' a nice observer,' or (by transference) to actions
or qualities, as 'nice discrimination,' 'a nice distinction.'
Thence the passage was easy to the colloquial sense of
'excellent,' 'good of its kind,' etc., in which it is applied
to everything in the universe. ' A nice apple,' for exam-
ple, is such an apple as a nice (or discriminating) judge
of apples would pick out for his own eating. In this use
7iice has never risen to the dignity of being a literary
word, yet it has made good its position in respectable
colloquial language in America, in spite of the vehement
opposition of purists. Nor is it merely an Americanism,
as many have supposed. Indeed, it is far from certain
298 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
that the use originated on this side of the water. How-
ever that may be, the passage from ' foolish ' (applied to
persons) to 'excellent' (applied to either persons or
things) seems inexplicable until the history of the word
is known, and gives us one more example of the folly of
appealing to the Stoic etymon. ^
Navghty is a curious example of the ups and downs to
which words are subject, — particularly words of approval
or reproach. It is from naugliU and meant originally
either ' destitute,' or ' good-for-nothing.' In the latter
sense it became a general synonym for 'bad.' King Lear's
fool says ' This is a nauglity night to swim in '; the records
of Plymouth Colony speak o'E 'small and nauglitij canoes'
(16G1). In its application to morals, naughty was perhaps
a euphemism at first, but it soon came to be a term of
extreme reprobation. ' A naughty world ' and ' nauglity
lady ' in Shakspere are exactly equivalent to ' wicked ' in
Modern English. ^ Since his time the word has lost all
dignity on account of its application to the peccadillos of
children. When used of older persons, it is purely sport-
ive, and has far less force than it possessed at the very
beginning of its career.
The whimsicality of affection takes delight in trans-
forming abusive words into caresses. ' Lie still, ye thief ^
says Lady Percy to her husband. Desdemona is Othello's-
'excellent wretch^ before lago springs his snares. The
dead Cordelia is 'my poor /oo^ to King Lear. Rogue^
rascal, toad, tyke (' cur '), and even snake, are pet names
for little children. All this is akin to the employment of
grotesque pet names like cltuck (in Macbeth), honey, haw-
1 See p. 230.
'■^ We may compare the Latin iiequam and uur (jood-fur-nothiwj, 'a
nobodu,'' and the colloquial ' no sort (or kind) of a man.'
DEGENEBATION OF MEANING 299
eock (from beau, ' fine,' or baud, ' bold'), and queer diminu-
tives. Intimacy or familiarity explains these phenomena,
and supplies the common term between abusive language
and the dialect of tender fondness. On the one hand we
have the familiarity of affection ; on the other, the
familiarity of contempt.^
Whenever a word comes to have a disagreeable sense,
some synonym begins to take its place in ordinary lan-
guage. The synonym may be a new word borrowed for
the express purpose, but it is more commonly a word
already established, which may suffer a slight change of
meaning, perhaps by being more generalized. Thus, when
knave began to acquire a disagreeable signification, servant,
from the French, took its place. Servant was already in the
language, but was a somewhat more dignified and special
word than knave. In modern usage, with the spread of
democratic feeling, there has been, particularly in America,
a tendency to abandon this word servant in favor of help,
or domestic, or some other less plain-spoken term.^ This
conducts us directly to euphemism, which will he treated
in the following chapter.
1 Compare fellow (p. 287), in which the influences here described have
made themselves felt.
■- The history of help in this sense is fully discussed by Albert Matthews
in the Transactions of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, V, 225 ff.
CHAPTER XXr
EUPHEMISM
Decency and propriety are powerful forces in changing
the meanings of words, or in driving them out of use.
They are also very ancient forces. Indeed, it is hard to
imagine a state of society so low as to be exempt from
their operations. Prudery may be ridiculous, but it is not
unnatural. It is merely the self-conscious expression of
tendencies that have affected language from the remotest
times, and that have their roots in the most primitive
philosophy of the human race. The propriety of the
Hottentot may differ from the white man's propriety,
but, such as it is, he feels under bonds to observe it, and
the bonds are quite as stringent as those which regulate
our own society. In particular, he is very loath to ' call
a spade a spade.'
The origins of euphemism, then, are to be sought not in
our complex civilization, but in those conceptions of lan-
guage which are common to men in every stage of culture.
We instinctively avoid the mention of death, and take
refuge in such vague or softened phrases as ' he has passed
away,' 'he is gone,' 'the deceased,' 'the departed,' 'the
late Mr. Smith.' The savage feels still greater reluctance.
Sometimes he even refuses to utter the name of a per-
son who is no longer living, or to give it to a child, so that
the name actually becomes obsolete among the tribe. This
300
EUPHEMISM 301
agreement between the civilized man and the savage points
to the solution of the whole problem. It is unlucky to
speak of death or misfortune, for, in all men's minds, there
is a mysterious but indissoluble connection between the
thing and the word. To pronounce the word may bring
the thing to pass. Here we are on familiar ground. The
' power of the word,' as we have already seen,'^ is a concep-
tion that appeals with equal force to the Stoic philosopher
(with his etymon) and the medicine-man with his rigmarole
of senseless charms.
Thus euphemism becomes immediately intelligible.
Nothing that the savage does or says is free from cere-
monial restrictions. The most innocent acts or speeches
may be fraught with tremendous consequences if they vio-
late a taboo or run counter to a religious requirement.
Such and such words are allowable under one set of cir-
cumstances, but forbidden under another. The habit of
linguistic caution is thus formed, and what we call decency
of language is the last result.
The Australian aborigines are very near the bottom of
the social scale. Yet they have many rigid rules of
decency and propriety in speech. They feel no hesitation,
to be sure, in speaking of all sorts of things which we
never mention in polite society. Yet they have two
words for almost every such idea, and they shudder at the
thought of employing the wrong synonym in a mixed
company. In short, the language of these naked savages
is provided with all the apparatus of an elaborated
euphemism.
The Greek word euphemhm itself has ceremonial con-
nections. It comes from ev (eii'), 'well,' and (jirjui {phemi),
'to speak.' Ev(f)i]ixeiT€ (euphemeite'), 'speak fair,' the im-
1 See pp. 228 ff.
302 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
perative of the corresponding verb, was the solemn warning
to the worshipper not to disturb the sacrifice by speaking,
lest he might utter some ill-omened word. The Romans
had a similar formula, — favete Unguis, 'favor with your
tongues. ' ' Utter nothing ominous ' would have been itself
an ominous utterance. Even ' keep silence ' was too sug-
gestive of evil speech.
The superstitious notion involved in these formulce
manifests itself in all languages. Ahsit omen, said the
Romans, when they found it necessary to mention an
unlucky or disastrous thing. ' God save the mark ! ' i
is the nurse's interjection when she describes the wound
in Tybalt's breast and touches her own body in significant
gesture. Our 'Don't speak of it ! ' gives vague expression
to the same feeling.
Death and disaster, then, afford a starting-point for our
study of euphemism. We have already mentioned a num-
ber of euphemistic synonyms, like depart, decease, and pass
aivay. Compare the end, dissolution, expire, go to a better
world, last sickness (or illness), breathe one's last, lifeless, the
silent majority, gone before, fall asleep, among the missi7ig, he
lost fifty men, he is no more, he cannot recover, he fell in battle,
he was lost at sea."^ The French /ew (as in feu roi, ' the late
king') is iovfatutus, hom fatum (cf. 'to meet one's fate').
There are like synonyms for kill: as, 'to make way with'^
1 Nobody knows the origin of this phrase, but its use is clear enough.
The many explanations suggested for its origin are all more or less clever
guesses.
2 The habit of using trivial or slang phrases for death is a coarser
expression of the same feeling.
3 Compare L. tolln, as in the punning epigram on Nero's murdering
his mother (Suetonius, Nero, ^^9) : —
Quis negat Aeneae magna de stirpe Neronem ?
Sustulit hie matrem, sustulit ille patrem.
EUPHEMISM 303
(or 'make away'), 'to put away,' 'to finish,' 'settle,' 'do for,'
or 'remove,' 'he must disappear'' (for 'be slain'), and so on.
The use of a borrowed word may serve the purpose of veiling
the truth, — as mortal or fatal for ' deadly ' ; post mortem^
obituary. The last-mentioned word refers us back to a
well-known Latin euphemism, ohiit^ for ohiit diem supremam^
'he has met his last day.' Compare post obit (for post
obitum^, an agreement to pay money after some one's death.
Suicide (from L. sui, ' of one's self,' and -cidium, ' killing,'
as in liomicidium ; caedo, 'slay') is a milder term than
Hamlet's self-slaughter. And felo de se is also felt as less
plain-spoken, though in fact it embodies the savage legal
doctrine that a suicide is a ' felon against himself ' (or ' in
his own case ').
Misfortune., mischa^ice., accident (literally 'happening'; ac-
. cide7-e, 'to befall'), casualty (L. casus., 'falling,' 'chance'),
disaster ('bad aspect of the planets'), injury (literally
'injustice,' 'wrong'), ruin (L. n<o, 'to fall'), are all
euphemistic in origin, though some of them have ceased
to be so felt. Ill^ as applied to sickness, means literally
'uncomfortable' (cf. disease)., but has come to have a much
more serious sense. ^ Serious itself is often euphemistic
when applied to illness.
So far the superstitious sources of euphemism have re-
vealed themselves unmistakably. We are justified, there-
fore, in assuming a similar origin when, as in some of the
examples that we must now examine, no obvious fear of ill
luck a.ttends the practice. The habit of employing softened
or veiled expressions, once established, si)reads to all the
relations of life, and may at any moment be intensified by
1 Our ancestors used sick for all kinds of disease, grave or trivial, and
ill for tlie discomfort or distress attending them. ' Sick and ill ' v?as a
common phrase.
304 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
special causes, whether of reverence or courtesy or passing
fashion.
Profane hxnguage has long been regarded as not only
irreverent, but vulgar ; yet the propensity to curse and
swear is deep-seated. The result is a singular compromise
which has produced a large body of euphemistic expressions.
Some of these are ordinary words substituted for oaths or
curses ; but others are grotesque distortions, resembling the
originals in sound, but having a different meaning or none
at all. Thus arise darn and dum ; all-fired (for hell fire) ;
ffeeivhUUkens, Jerusalem, 'Jerusalem crickets, geewldz, and
other suggestions of Jesus ; Grodfrey, goodness, goodness gra-
cious, suggesting God. The divine name has been strangely
treated in such expressions. Gosh, golly, gorry, and so on
are mere vulgar distortions. Cox my passion, hy Cock,
Coc^s hones, and the like, are attempts to avoid profanity
by substituting a trivial word. Odd's, as in Odd's hodkins
(' little body '), Odd's pitikins (' pity '), and Odd's my life,
are clipped forms. 'Sdeath, 'slife, zounds (' God's wounds '),
and so on, preserve only the final letter of the genitive
God's. Gad differs from God only in an affected pro-
nunciation of the short o ; yet even this slight change is
enough to satisfy most consciences.^
As refinement progresses, great reluctance manifests
itself to mention various parts of the body in plain terms,
and this avoidance is extended (by association) to differ-
ent articles of attire. The extreme of vulgar prudery is
thought to have been reached in limbs for legs, but the
substitution is not different in kind from many others that
have established themselves in the language. Shift was
originally a euphemism for sinock (of. Italian mutande,
'• drawers '), but it became obsolete because it was in time
1 Cf. p. ni, note.
EUPHEMISM 305
associated with the body itself, and the French chemise
replaced it. Braivers, also a enphemism, is avoided for the
same reason. Even imderelothes is ont of favor (though
underwear is the trade term). Flcmnels or linen have be-
come the general name for such garments, and the French
Unge7'ie (literally ' linen ' collectively) has lately been in-
troduced in a somewhat special sense. Breeches gave
way to smallclothes and knickerbockers. Waist (literally
' growth,' cf . to wax) is a very old euphemism. Corsage
is later. Neck and Fr. gorge are extended beyond their
original sense. Petticoat (literally 'little coat'), in itself
a sufficiently inoffensive term, has shown a tendency to
give way to skirt. By the irony of fate, this substitution
is made in ignorance of the original meaning of skirt^
which is, in fact, merely the Old Norse word for sliirt.^
and less ' delicate ' therefore, than petticoat.
Moral delinquency is the constant object of courteous
euphemism. 3Iisconduct, misguided, misdeineanor, offence
(from offendo, 'to run into one'), fault ('lack,' 'failure,'
from fallo, ' deceive '), a slip, a Icq^se (L. lapsus, ' slip '),
transgression, excesses, immorality (inores, ' manners,' then
' character ') are examples. In Australia a transported
convict used to be called an ' old hand ' ; one who had
served his time and been discharged was an expiree, or
more politely, an emancipist. ' He is short in his accounts '
is often said of an embezzler in this country. Any right-
minded man had rather be called a defaulter than a tliief.
' In trouble ' may be used of a person who is accused of a
crime. One for whom the police are searching is said to
be ' wanted.' ' Sent up ' means ' put in prison ' ; ' executed'
is a politer term than 'hanged..' 'You lie' is an insult,
and there are various less offensive ways of accusing a
man of falsehood, from suggesting that he is ' somewhat
306 WORDS AND THEIB WAYS
distorting the facts,' or 'not making an accurate state-
ment,' to the courteous Elizabethan ' I fear you liave done
yourself some wrong.' So to roma?ice, 'to draw the long
hoiv,^ ' to give a free rein to one's imagination.^ Falsehood^
misrepresentatio7i^ misstatement, and tlie colloquial or slangy
jih, big story, whopiyer, taradiddle, fish story, ^ fairy tale, are
all common euphemisms.
Wayiton is an interesting word both as to structure and
meaning. It is a shortened form of waji-toweti; wan- being
a negative prefix meaning un-, and toiuen (A.S. togeii)
being the past participle of an old verb (A.S. teon'), 'to
draw ' (related with tug, Ger. zieheyi, and L. duco'). Hence
ivanton meant literally 'not (well) brought up,' 'un-
trained,' and was applied (as noun or adjective) to a
'spoiled child.' It is easy to understand the rise of the
meaning 'playful,' 'sportive' (in an innocent way), as
in '■wanton lambs,' and from this the modern evil sense
developed readily. From the ' spoiled child' meaning came
also the sense of ' perverse,' ' without motive,' as in
'•tvanton mischief,' Hvaiitoti malice.' Tlie old literal sense
of 'untrained' led also to the meaning 'rank,' 'luxuriant'
(of vegetation) ; and the sense of ' self-indulgent,' ' luxu-
rious,' came from the ' spoiled child,' who is pampered.
Sometimes a learned or scientific term is used as a
euphemism, and thus becomes popular. We have ejfiu-
vium for stench; perspiration for siveat; intestines for
imvards or insides; indigestion for surfeit or over-eating ;
intoxication for drunkenness; dipsomaniac for sot; idiot
for fool; maniac for madman, and so on.
Euphemism often consists in substituting for a positive
word a denial of the opposite idea. Thus, for dirty we
iFrom the tendency to exaggerate tlie weight of the fish one has
caught.
EUPHEMISM 307
may say untidij or unclean; for lying^ nntrutliful ; for
drunken, intemperate ; for foolish., umvise; for ptcrfidious,
unfaithful; for deceitful, insincere; for abandoned or (7t;-
praved, tvortJdess; for war?, insane (literally ?;o^ healthy
or so2md) ; for dangerous, unsafe; for anxious, uneasy;
for r?fc7e or boorish, impolite or uncivil; for blimdering, inac-
curate, and so on. In most of these cases the euphemistic
word has become quite as severe a reprobation as the more
outspoken term.
Crazy (literally 'cracked') and insane ('unsound')
were at first milder terms for mad, but they now carry
the full force of the idea in question. Disease (properly
'discomfort') is no longer felt as a euphemism. Vile (lit-
erally 'cheap,' of 'small value'), vice ('a flaw or fault'),
base (literally 'low'), caitiff ('a captive,' 'a poor fellow'),
mercenary ('serving for hire'), i^idiscretion ('lack of judg-
ment'), transgression (a 'stepping across' the borders), are
similar examples of the effect of euphemism in degrading
the sense of comparatively innocent words.
Observe that the degeneration of words (Chapter XX)
is often due to euphemism. The mild or decent word,
when applied to the disagreeable or indecent idea, begins
to be shunned by speakers on account of its dubious
meaning, and soon comes actually to express the meaning
which it was intended at first merely to suggest, or even
to conceal. Thus, for dissolute (itself a euphemism) we
have almost every possible word that means ' lively ' or
' sportive,' and hence these words acquire a doubtful char-
acter. Such is iva7iton, just discussed, which has come to
have a distinctly bad sense, and such are gay, lively,
fast, reckless, a sport. This use may be merely slang
at the outset. This was the case with fast, which has
a curious history. Originally, the adjective signified
308 wonDs AND THEin ^yAYS
'fixed,' 'firm.' The corresponding adverb faste (later
fast^ became very common in the sense of ' vigorously,'
'extremely,' and (vaguely) 'very much,' and, when at-
tached to verbs of motion, soon acquired the special sense
of ' rapidly ' : 'to run vigorously ' and ' to run 7-apidly '
mean the same thing. From the adverb the sense of
' rapid ' was early attached to the adjective. The Special
meaning of ' dissipated ' developed first in the expressive
phrase 'to live /a.s^,' — which got into literature about
1700, but must have been colloquial or society slang some
years earlier. Thence came the adjective use in such
phrases as ' a fast life,' '•fast living,' and then, by trans-
ference to persons, ^ ^ fast man.' Recent slang (partly
from euphemism, partly from the tendency of all slang
to achieve variety by means of synonyms^) has substituted
rapid and sivift for fast, in tliis sense, but neither of these
words has yet secured admission to respectable society.
1 See p. 09.
CHAPTER XXII
HYPERBOLE Oil EXAGGERATION
Exaggeration is often regarded as an abuse of lan-
guage, and so, indeed, it may become if it is recklessly
indulged in. But it is a natural and ineradicable tendency
of human speech, and has played its part in the develop-
ment of our vocabulary. The psychology of exaggeration
is simple enough. Strong feeling demands strong words.
If, as often happens, we feel more strongly than the occa-
sion warrants, we use terms which, though not too strong
for our feeling, are disproportionate to the facts of the
case. If others do the like, and employ the same words,
the vocabulary of the language is affected. Our strong
word becomes the sign of a less emphatic idea. It loses
vigor and relaxes its hokl on its original meaning.
Examples will crowd upon the reader's mind. A single
one may therefore suffice in this place. Astonish is liter-
ally 'to thunderstrike ' (L. ex- and touare, 'to thunder'),
and was once common in the physical sense of 'stun,' as
when Fluellen ' astonished ' Pistol by hitting him on the
head with a cudgel. It was also used metaphorically for
the extreme effect of terror or wonder in paralyzing the
faculties for the moment, — a man who was ' astonished '
was in a kind of trance. But the word has gradually lost
its force, till nowadays it is hardly more than an empliatic
synonym for ' surprise ' or ' excite wonder.' Amaze has
behaved in a similar way. In its earliest uses it conveyed
the idea of utter physical stupefaction, or loss of one's
wits. It is still somewhat more emphatic than astonish,
309
310 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
but is far from maintaining its pristine vigor. Surprise^
which meant literally ' to seize ujjon,' ' to capture ' (com-
pare the military sense), has become purely descriptive,
and is as dispassionate as a quadratic equation. When
we wish to express the idea in its full force, we resort to
emphatic adverbs (^utterly amazed,' '•profoundly surprised,'
' unutterably astonished '), or we employ new terms of simi-
lar meaning, like thunderstruck^ or stupefied^ or '■jyetrified
with wonder,' or the colloquial dumhfounded, flabberyasted,
paralyzed. All of these show a tendency to lose force as
time goes on.
Words and phrases of affirmation and negation have
been particularly affected by the tendency to hyperbole,
and sometimes in very curious ways. Yea is the regular
old particle for a simple unemphatic affirmative. It is
related to the pronominal root seen in our yo7i (properly
' that ') and the German jen-er, and must originally have
meant ' in that way,' i.e. in the same way in which the
previous speaker has said the thing happened. Compare
the biblical ' thou sayest it ' as a polite expression of
assent. In Anglo-Saxon, however, yea (A.S. yea') had
become a mere affirmative particle. Yes is also found in
Anglo-Saxon in the form yese or yise, which seems to be a
compound of yea (^yea) and so {sivd). It was a stronger
affirmative than yea, being equivalent to our ' just so ! ' or
' exactly so ! ' or ' yes, indeed.' In time, however, it lost
its emphasis and is now the regular particle of affirma-
tion. We may compare the modern ' quite so,' originally
emphatic (since quite meant 'entirely'), but now a mere
substitute for 'yes.'^ Yea has gone out of use, except in
^ Tliis use of (ptUe so f has grown up in England since the settlement
of America and has never been adopted in this countrj', though it is
sometimes heard in conscious or unconscious imitation
UYPERBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 311
dialectic, poetical, or solemn language. Its unfamiliarity
and archaic quality make it seem more emphatic than
yes, though, as we have seen, the latter was formerly the
stronger term. All sorts of hyperbolical substitutes for
yes have grown up : such as, — by all means, certainly, of
course, to he sure, surely (and in recent slang, sure}. Here
courtesy has been active. It is good manners to make one's
assent as cordial as possible. In time, however, as we have
seen, all such expressions grow weaker till at last they are
hardly distinguishable from a simple ' yes.'
JVo has a somewhat similar history. It is an old word
for neve?', being the adverb ^7, ' ever,' with the negative ne
prefixed. Nay is the related Old Norse tiei, of similar
meaning. Originally, then, no and nay were as strong a
negative as ' never ! ' is to-day. Substitutes have grown
up in plenty, — like not at all, hy no means, and so on.
Courtesy, however, which demands an emphatic yes, sug-
gests, on the other hand, the propriety of softening a
negative answer. Hence we have hardly, scarcely, I think
not, and a score of similar phrases, all of which have come
to have the full negative force.
The tendency to emphasize the negative may also be
seen in a number of figurative expressions with not.
Not itself is merely a clipped pronunciation of naught.,
'nothing,' and meant originally 'not a bit,' 'not a whit.'
Its origin was soon forgotten, and such jjhrases as not a
mite and the like came into use. Our older language has
a multitude of these, some of them very grotesque : as,
not ivorth an oyster, a hen, a leek. Not a jot is scrij^tural :
' One jot or one tittle shall in no wise j)ass from the law '
(Matthew iv. 18). Jot is iota, the Greek letter i (our i):
cf. ' not an iota.'' Tittle means a ' little bit ' ; its etymology
is doubtful. If such a phrase becomes idiomatic, tlie not
312 WOEDS AND THEIR WAYS
sometimes disappears, leaving behind it, however, its full
force attached to a word which has in itself absolutely no
negative sense. We may compare the contemptuous much
in Elizabethan English in the sense of ' 7iot much ! ' as
when Falstaff speaks of men as their fathers' shadows,
adding 'but 7nuch of the father's substance I'^ This
process explains the French ^oz'wf, 'point'; rlen^ 'thing';
and pas^ 'step' (L, passus), in their negative use, and
illustrates in a striking way the truth of the statement
on which we have already insisted, that language is con-
.ventional, and that words mean what the speaker intends
and the hearer understands.
Emphasis is also responsible for the double negative,
which, however much it may make an affirmative in logic,
has rarely any such effect in language.^
The examples which we have studied suffice to illustrate
the effect of hyperbole or exaggeration on legitimate
speech. The same tendencies come out with even greater
clearness in the colloquial dialect and in slang, since here,
as we have already remarked,^ the changes are so rapid
that we can actually see them taking place. For this
reason, the very absurdities of slang and (since the word
must have a feminine) polite inelegance, may throw a
strong light on the processes of legitimate speech, as
monstrosities guide the naturalist in investigating the
normal development of species. We may select the
special category of adjectives and adverbs of degree,
which will be found particularly instructive.
Such words are somcAvhat inexact in themselves, since
the feelings that prompt them are seldom well defined.
1 This use of Much, however, is more likely to be irony. Cf. ' Much
he knows ! ' ' 3IncJi you care ! '
2 See p. 220. 3 gee p. 50.
HYPERBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 313
They are, therefore, peculiarly exposed to the inroads of
slang and fantastic colloquialism. The general tendency
to exaggeration is strikingly exemplified. Take, for
instance, the descriptive terms or ejaculations of pleasure
evoked by a view or spectacle. Beautiful and fine are
natural and simple expressions ; but they soon become
too weak to satisfy the enthusiastic tourist or spectator,
and stronger words are substituted, — such as lovely^
deligliffuJ^ sple7idid^ glorious^ superb, grand, ivonderful,
gorgeous, heavenly, sublhne, magnificent, p>^'>'f^ct, divine^
tremendous, entrancing, stupendous, enchanting. Of the
same sort are the genuine slang words hang-up), rattling
good, tip-top, first-rate, immense (cf. Ger. kolossal), stun-
ning, corking. It is to be feared that csome of these
occasionally force their way into the less vulgar list.
Charming has been omitted from the enumeration because,
though originally referring to superstitious ideas from
which the minds of men have only lately been liberated,
yet the decay of the word has been so rapid that it is now,
in its ordinary use, a pretty tame epithet.^
In accordance with the general habit of language, all
the epithets just mentioned are applied not merely to
beautiful scenes but to other objects of sense, and also to
things that do not appeal to the senses at all. In fact,
they are emj^loyed with so little discrimination that they
^ Enchanting and bewitching have retained more of their force. Take
wasouce synonymous with ' bewitch,' both in the literal and the figura-
tive sense, as in Shakspere : ' No fairy takes nor witch hath power to
charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time' (Hamlet); 'Daffodils
that . . . take the winds of March with beauty ' (Winter's Tale). 'A
Haking person,' however, or ' a taking manner' carries but little of this
old sense. Fetching has been recently substituted for taking in polite
slang, — 'a very fetching costume.' Thus language, legitimate and
illegitimate, insists on novelty. ' Men loven of propre kinde newefangel-
nesse,' as Chaucer says.
314 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
are almost as destitute of thought or defiuite emotion as
the contented purr of a cat on the hearth-rug. A few
simikir terms, however, as mce, dear, siveet, powerful,.
thrilling, are sufficiently discriminated to exclude them
from the list, but even these are made to cover a consider-
able range of objects.
The terms of disapproval in this dialect are also very
numerous, and quite as undiscriminating as those which
express satisfaction. Thus we have nasty, beastly, rotten,
loathsome, shameful, miserable, outrageous, atrocious, dis-
tressiyig, horrid, horrible, auful, dreadful, frightful, hateful,
disgusting. The fondness for coarsish words is note-
worthy ; but since the dialect tliat we are considering is
particularly affected by students, society buds, and other
callow persons, the attractions of the fruit defendu no
doubt have much to do with the matter. Such words,
however, frequently find their way into graver dialects,
and one must infer that the bend of the twig occasionally
reappears in the inclination of pretty well-grown trees.
At any rate, this vulgar tendency may often be observed
in adults not otherwise ticketed as vulgar.
When such adjectives seem too tame (as, from inordi-
nate repetition, they constantly do), an adverb of the
same kind is attached to them, with the like amount
of discrimination. Thus we get 'superlatively fine,'
'ravishingly beautiful,' 'awfully fine,' or, on the other
hand, 'awfully horrid,' 'horridly rotten.'
There is nothing ' modern ' about these tendencies.
Our ancestors succumbed to the same temptation in their
' monstrous fine,' ' vastly pretty,' and the like, whicb
appeal to the modern reader with the factitious charm of
a bygone age.
This hyperbole is occasionally seen in other connections,
HYPERBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 315
as ' extravagantly fond,' ' passionately fond,' and the like.
Sometimes it crosses itself with courteous tendencies,
stealing the livery of the devil to serve heaven in.
Thus one may hear, in sober utterance, monstrosities like
' Thanks ! awfully ! ' and ' Awfully good of you ! ' In
the same dialect the hyperbolic infinite and infinitely have
been replaced by ' no end,' thus giving the somewhat
ludicrous ' Thanks ! no end ! ' and other exaggerated ex-
pressions which embody this jocular substitutionary form.
One method of superlative-making is peculiarly subtle.
It is a general tendency of language to employ absolute
words (like perfect or true) as if they were relative, as
when we 'compare' absolute adjectives: — 'more per-
fect,' 'most perfect,' 'very true,' 'more true.' Per con-
tra, an adjective that is ordinarily relative (like liorrid
or nauseous) is unconsciously assumed to have an absolute
sense, and thus to be capable of expressing a consum-
mate degree of the quality in question. Hence arise
such phrases as '•jjcrfectly horrid,' 'absolutely nauseous,'
'disgusting in the extreme,' 'extremely objectionable.'
The emphatic use of superlatively, extremely, utterly, origi-
nated in this manner; but these, like many overdrawn
words, have lost their force, and become mere synonyms
for very. An extreme case is that of simply, in ' simply
loathsome,' 'simply ridiculons.'
We may compare such expressions as 'fine and wet,'
'good and ready,' 'nice and warm,' where the first adjec-
tive does not logically belong to the subject, but defines
the degree of perfection in which the quality expressed by
the second adjective exists. Thus, ' fine and wet ' is ' finely
wet,' 'nice and warm' is 'nicely warm,' 'good and ready '
is 'well ready.' So, in ''finely cheated,' the adverb refers
to the degree of perfection with which the cheating is done ;
316 WORDS AND rilEIR WAYS
but in '■badly cheated' the case is different. The distinc-
tion may be clearly seen in Latin. Take, for example,
any adverb with a 'bad' signification, like male or misere..
If it is used with an adjective or participle of a similarly
' bad ' meaning, it enhances the degree of the second
member: as, — male mulcatus, 'badly punished'; misere
deeeptus, 'miserably deceived.' But if it is used with
an adjective expressing a ' good ' quality, it contradicts or
neutralizes the second member, and hence is equivalent
to a negative: as, — ojiale saiius, 'imsound.' Contrast, in
English, badlt/ beaten (winch is practically equivalent to
zvell beaten') with badly fed (which is the opposite of well
fed).
One hyperbolical phrase of degree, eve?' so, now firmly
rooted in our language, has a curious elliptical form and
an equally curious histor3^ In the Prayer-book version
of the Psalms occurs the passage, 'Which refuseth to hear
the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.' Mod-
ern English would lead us to expect 'ever so wisely,'
though the pegative form is still occasionally used. In
fact, both are equally logical. 'Charm he' is of course
the old subjunctive, equivalent to 'let him charm,' which
might be followed by '■ever so wisely,' i.e. 'however wisely
he may charm,' or by ^ never so wisely,' i.e. 'as wisely as
no one ever charmed before.' The latter is easily abbrevi-
ated to never so, which sometimes crops up as an isolated
phrase ; the former is abbreviated to ever so, and in this
form becomes an idiomatic intensive, as in, ' I liked it
ever so much,' 'He can run ever so fast.' Considered by
itself, the abstracted fragment seems ludicrous and irra-
tional ; but it is, in fact, equivalent to 'however much (or
fast) you can imagine' or 'as 7nuch (or fast) as possible,'
— a perfectly logical form of expression.
HYPEUBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 317
The examples which we have drawn from ' words of
degree' show coiicliisively how impossible it is to separate
the operations of slang from those that go on in legitimate
speech. Exaggeration permeates this category of words,
and has been active alike in the slow processes of gradual
modification by which our vocabulary is affected in the
lapse of centuries, and in the ' lightning changes ' to which
the dialect of the streets and the jargon of society are
subject. We may now turn to certain special fields in
which the tendency to hyperbole has manifested itself in
a peculiarly interesting fashion. We shall find, as we
have so often found before, that the study of words is
in reality the study of civilization. The investigator of
language has his finger on the pulse of human society.
There is one tendency of speech which, though founded
on a firm basis of psychology, is constantly spoken of by
those who know nothing of the ways of linguistics, as
' new' and vulo-ar in the extreme. This is the inclination
to use words more grandiloquent or more honorable than
the occasion calls for or admits. Such a tendency has
characterized the languages of all cultivated nations, and
seems to be inherent in the human mind. Vanity and
social ambition, on the one hand, combine with courtesy
and servility on the other, to support and enforce this
natural bent, and the disposition to ' magnify one's office '
contributes its share in producing the final result. Con-
trast the 'Men of Athens' of St. Paul (Acts xvii. 22) with
the ' Ladies and Gentlemen ' of a modern orator. Think,
too, how many ages of active and passive snobbery are
involved in giving the title of princeps, the official designa-
tion of the Roman emperor, the master of the world, to a
petty fortune-hunting princelet, without power, money,
brains, or morals, the laughing-stock of his own order
318 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
and the dupe of those Avho pay court to his station. One
might as well call an acolyte an archangel ! But the
tendency is slow in operation, though persistent and un-
ceasing, and we may well be surprised at its effect in a long
lapse of time. We recognize its operations in such queer
phrases as saleslady and ^professor of bootblacking,' but
we fail to see its potency in patriarch and p)atron.
Abundant examples of this tendency are found in the
names of places wdiere peo})le live. If a new quarter or
village is to be laid out, every motive of magniloquence
comes into play. In America, the attraction and dignity
of urban life seem greater than those of the country, and
therefore our new ' residential district ' will be ' in the
vicinity ' of a city, but never ' on the outskirts.' It will be
furnished with some name that has 'smart' associations,
— like, ' Hyde Park ' or the ' Charles River Embankment.'
Perhaps a ' boulevard ' will be laid out, without considera-
tion of the original meaning of that term or its later
derived sense. 'Avenues' will be numerous, and in this
country 'streets.' But in England 'street' smacks of
commerce, which, as Cicero says of Rome, is in disrepute
except on a large scale, and 'road' will be preferred as
more suggestive of the country-loving gentry. Thus, at
Oxford, ' Banbury Road ' is really the old road to Banbury
Cross of famous memory, but ' Bardwell Road ' is a brand-
new side street, leading nowhere in particular, certainly
not to Bardwell, which is miles away in Suffolk.
This matter of road and street is a great curiosity. In
America, where trade is still highly respectable, the ten-
dency to magniloquence has changed many genuine ' roads '
to 'streets,' for the sake of the urban suggestion. But
lately, in blind imitation of the English fashion, little
' roads ' have begun to be laid out over newly improved
HYPERBOLE OB EXAGGEBATION 319
land, in defiance of every topographical principle.
'Squares,' 'places,' and ^circles' are sure to al)oiind;
but ' laues ' and ' alleys ' disappear from the map. A
'park ' will certainly be found, if tliere is a foot of ground
dedicated to the uses of the public. When a man puts
up a house, we hear that the ' residence ' of the Honorable
Mr. Jones is 'in process of erection.' 'Villa' has hardl}'
domesticated itself in America, but is extremely common
in England and on the continent. If houses must be
closely built, 'block' is avoided in favor of 'terrace.'
All this is obviously magniloquence ; but ' cottage ' is
a different matter. The history of cottage in America is
not a little curious. In the strict sense of 'a laborer's
dwelling,' the word has never been adopted into popular
American use. In fact, we have never really had the
thing in America. The conditions of our rustic life have,
from colonial times to the present day, differed essentially
from those in England, and few contrasts are greater than
that between a rural village here and in the mother-
countr}'. Cottage^ then, has always had literary and sen-
timental connotations with us, — like rill and rivulet and
'woodland glade.' Of late years, however, the habit of
spending a part of the summer in the country or at the
sea has become almost universal. Small houses for the
accommodation of 'summer people' called for a special
name, and cottage seemed to meet the demand. It had
precisely the rural and sentimental associations required,
and it served to distinguish these temporary shelters from
the larger and more substantial ' houses ' in the neighbor-
hood. Hence, cottage came to mean a 'summer residence,'
however splendid, like the cottages at Newport, which
are really villas on a very grand scale. Cottager^ which
in England signifies a person of humble condition, has
320 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
thus become in America a term of social distinction in
contrast to those who take up their summer quarters at
boarding-houses or hotels. A somewhat similar develop-
ment of meaning has taken place in England since the
middle of the eighteenth century, so that cottage is freely
applied to a ' small residence ' or • detached suburban
vilhi.' It is not likely, however, that this has had much
effect on the American sense, which has a history easily
traceable on this side of the water. Every one will
remember that Coleridge's devil grinned at the ' cottage of
gentility ' with the double coach-house which he saw in his
walk.
For Ids darling sin
Is pride tliat apes humility.
There is none of this false humility, at all events, in the
American word, which has got its meaning by legitimate
inheritance. Its rise in dignity is not deliberate or self-
conscious, but due to changed circumstances, like the rise
of marshal and seneschal.^
The derivation and original sense of some of the words
which we have just examined will show how far tliey have
wandered in obedience to the magniloquent tendency.
Boulevard is a French corruption of the German Boll-
tverk, 'bulwark.' It means, therefore, a street laid out on
the site of an ancient fortification. As this is never done
until a city has far outgrown its walls, a boulevard is gen-
erally in a thickly settled quarter and has no suburban
associations. On the contrary, an avenue (from Fr.
avenir, 'arrive') is properly an 'approach' to a city or to
some conspicuous part of it. A road is properly a way by
which one rides or travels, a 'highway,' and is naturally
1 See p. 295.
HVPEBBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 321
named from the place to which it leads (as ' the London
lioad') or its direction ('the Northern Road').
Street is a very old word for a 'paved way,' — L. strata
(yia^. It was first applied to the great military roads of
the Romans. It is now, however, associated with towns,
since cross-country roads are seldom paved.
Way is the most general term for any kind of road or
street or passage. It is connected with the Latin via, and
means literally, 'that over which one moves.'
A la}ie is a narrow country way, not a highroad. The
term is crowded with poetical associations, which are lost
in the dismal reality of city surroundings. A narrow way
is seldom pleasant in a city. Hence the term is not in
favor in urban nomenclature.
An alley (Fr. allee) has long been a rather disparaging
name for a means of transit. Surviving or revived asso-
ciations, however, may preserve its respectability.
Villa is the Latin name for a ' farmhouse ' with its
accompaniments, and from the nature of Roman land-
holding might be used of a very splendid estate. Many of
the houses in our suburbs would be properly ' villas.' As
we have said, the word has never made itself at home in
America. When this country was settled it was not used
in English except in speaking of the villas of the Italian
nobility, — that is, it was still a foreign word confined to
its proper application. Thus Evelyn in his Diary (Nov.
12, 1644) speaks of walking ' to Villa Borghesi,' which he
describes as ' a house and ample garden ' appearing ' at a
distance like a little town,' and again (Nov. 10) : ' We
went to see Prince Ludovisio's villa. . . . The house is very
magnificent, and the extent of the ground is exceeding
large considering that it is in a city.' The extensive use
of villa in England, and its magniloquent application to
y
322 WORDS AND TFIEIR WAYS
cheap suburban houses, have had uo effect on American
English. We did not inherit this application and liave not
imported it.
From the magniloquence of vulgar display we raa}^ pass
to a subtle influence of the same general kind, though
different in its motives, — the exaggeration that comes
from courtesy. The extension of lad^ and gentleman to
all human beings is often unthinkingly ascribed to push-
ing self-assertion. In fact, however, it comes rather from
politeness than from bumptious democracy. A woman in
humble circumstances compliments her neighbor b}^ call-
ing her a ' lady ' ; the attention is reciprocated, and, the
usage once established, the kindly feeling of social superi-
ors prompts them to employ the same term in their
intercourse with those below them. It is the courtesy of
democracy, not its assertiveness, that brings about the
results which amuse us in saleslady/ or ivasherlady or the
gentleman who sweeps the crossing.
We can study these tendencies in our ordinary terms
of courteous address. These depend first on the institu-
tion of slavery,! second, on respect for age, and third, on
apprenticeship and education. From the first relation
come all the words that represent dominus and domina,
such as don, dame, etc. ; from the second, all that repre-
sent senior, such as sir/nor, sieur, and sir ; from the third,
all that represent ynagister, such as Blister and Miss. The
word lady is of the same kind, but is of native origin, and
has had an independent development, as we shall see
hereafter.
The progress of the magniloquent tendency in two
1 White, of course, because generally the social effects which we are
coi]si(lering can only be produced where there is no permanent physical
(Jistiuction between maste-r and slave.
nrPERBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 323
thousand years is well illustrated by a French speaker's
address to his audience, 'Messieurs et Dames,' literally
'My Elders, and Mistresses,' which has become a mere
courteous equivalent for ' Men and Women.' It is unneces-
sary to follow all the steps which this example implies.
We must rest content with mentioning enough of them to
establish the general tendency and to indicate the result
as we see it to-day.
In the society of the Roman Republic, a man who owned
slaves was addressed by them as dominus. This term
implied rather ' ownership ' than mastership. For the
latter idea there was an old word (Ji)erus^ which was
gradually displaced by dominus, no doubt for the reasons
that we are now considering. The wife of the dominus
was called domina, — a mere courtesy title (like Frau Pro-
fessorin in German), since no woman could be properly
domina unless she held slaves in her own right. At all
events, it had become customary for a household to address
its female head as domina, — a title which marks the social
superiority of the Roman lady over her Greek sister. Of
course a slave could never be addressed as dominus by
anybody except a slave of his own ; but many slaves were
manumitted and grew rich, and when this was the case, a
freedman might be dominus to a large circle of depen-
dents. When the establishment of the Empire made all
Romans virtual slaves of the court, the terms donmius
and domina were regularly used by the whole population
as titles of the highest respect, and became more and more
common, until finally we get the Spanish don and dona,
the Italian donna, the French dame and madame, and (from
the French) the English dame (once common as a title, as
in 'Dame Quickly,' 'Dame Trot') and madam. It will
be observed that the application of the feminine forms is
324 WORDS AND TUEIB WAYS
more general than that of the corresponding mascnlines,
as might be expected from the greater courtesy that is
habitually shown to women. All women are dames in
France and donne in Italy, while the masculine is still
slightly restricted. This is precisely what is now happen-
ing with the English lady^ but no one ascril^es the change
to democratic self-assertion among the Italian peasantry.
Magister is in classical Latin more nearly equiva,lent to
' boss ' than to any other word, and has to do with joint-
stock companies, or other associations for trade, commerce,
and the arts. Probably its first ennobling use comes from
ludi marjister^ ' schoolmaster,' which appears in early clas-
sical times, and still survives in its English form ; but we
have master ivorkman and past master as well, which sug-
gest the sense which was mentioned at the outset. The
Anglo-Saxons borrowed magister without real change (as
mcegister')^ but this was afterward replaced by the French
form maistre (our master^ modern Fr. maUre\ which be-
came to all intents and purjjoses a native word, and was
therefore employed to translate domine. Hence we have
Master as a term of respectful address, later corrupted to
Mister^ always written 3Ir. except in imitation of vulgar
English. The fully pronounced master^ however, is still
kept as a title for boys, as well as in the various uses of
the word as an ordinary noun. This splitting of one word
into two is a familiar phenomenon. ^
The feminine magistra was early used in the school
sense. Low Latin developed a new form magistrissa,
whence O. Fr. maistresse (modern maitresse') and our
mistress. The latter was later corrupted to 3Irs. (pro-
nounced missis, but never written at length), which was
long used as the title of both married and unmarried
1 See pp. 355-7,
HYPERBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 325
women. Finall}^ however, the abbreviated 3Iiss was
applied to the hitter. Both 3L\ and 3Irs. have ceased to
be specific titles of honor. They are applied to all men
and women of whatever rank. But they are still titles
merely. They have never become ordinary synonyms for
'men ' and ' women.' The reason is, in part, that we have
other courteous designations for this purpose, namely,
gentlemen and ladies, which we shall examine in a moment.
In the development of titles of courtesy from the senti-
ment of respect for age, magniloquence is not so obvious,
but it appears on a moment's consideration. Senior, 'elder'
(the comparative of senex), does not regularly appear as a
form of address in classic Latin, but we find it now and
then as a respectful designation for an individual (as in
Virgil's senior Acestes^, and the use of similar words in
other languages is common enough. The Greek Trpea^v^
(preshus^, ' old,' and its derivatives are familiar examples.
St. Isidore informs us that '• i^reshyter in Greek and setiior
in Latin indicate not mere age or the decrepitude of j^ears,
but are used for honor and dignity.' At all events, senior
had established itself in the sense of ' lord ' or " master '
as early as the sixth century, and it has given us the
Italian sicf7iore, sir/nora, and signoriria, the Spanish seTior,
the Portuguese senJior, the French sieur, sire, and seigneur,
and the English sir and sire (both borrowed from the
French). It is certain, then, that this word had become
a title of distinction (opposed to vassal), and that courtesy
extended it beyond its proper boundaries, with the result
that we have already observed in dominus and magister.
AVe may compare the slang use of old man for 'boss' or
' employer. '
Lord and lady have developed their meanings some-
what differently. Lord was originally ' bread -conserver'
326 WOBBS AND THEIR WAYS
or 'guardian of bread' (from lildf, 'bread,' and weard,
'guardian'), and lady is thought to mean 'bread-kneader '
(though the last part of the word is doubtful). From
their etymology, then, lord and lady seem to have signi-
fied ' husband ' and ' wife,' or, perhaps, to have been dis-
tinguishing terms for a husband and wife of some rank.
At all events, lo7'd occurs early as a translation of Dominus
and the Greek Kupto? (^Kurios)^ as applied to the Supreme
Being, and lady is also found in respectful address and
appellation : observe especially ' Our Lady ' for the Vir-
gin. But, unlike the other terms which we have exam-
ined, lord has never been generalized. ^ It remains a kind
of title to the present day. With lady, however, the
case is different. This has resolutely gone through the
generalizing or vulgarizing process, in spite of every
attempt to confine its application.^ The effect of this on
the word ivoman is well known. Of late, however, a reac-
tion has set in, and ivoman seems likely to be restored to
its full rights as a self-respecting word. Meantime jyer-
son has suffered an amusing deterioration. It has been
more or less employed as a substitute for ivoman by those
who did not wish to countenance the vulgar abuse of lady
and yet shrank from giving offence. The result has been
to give a comically slighting connotation to one of the
most innocent words imaginable. ^
The adjective gentle (whence gentleman) is from the
1 The French milord for 'gentleman' and the modern Greek lordos
(for Kvpios), ' Mr.,' illustrate what might well have taken place in English.
'■^ The substitution of Fran fur Wcih in German affords a precise paral-
lel. ' Washerlady ' for ' washerwoman ' is not different from Waschfrau
for Wnschioeih, except that in German the change has been accepted in
legitimate speech. Fran is a highly honorable word in its origin, being
cognate with A.S. frea, 'lord,' 'prince,' and the Old Norse Freyr and
Freyja, the names of a god and a goddess respectively.
" For the etymology of person see p. 268.
HYPEBBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 327
Latin [/ens, and means properly ' belonging to one of the
great families or gentes of Rome.' It implied, therefore,
in its first use in English, high station and what we may
call ' gentle breeding,' and came, in England, to be applied
to a definite rank in society, corresponding to that of the
'lower' or untitled nobility of the Continent Q ye gentles
all'). The adjective ^g?^«^?g, however, had acquired a sec-
ondary meaning in French before it was taken into our
language. It liad been applied, by association of ideas,
to the characteristics supposed to accompany higli birth
(exactly as in the case of tiohle, generous, courteous, and
the like), and this sense, still further limited, has pre-
vailed in English. Gentleinan, however, has not gone
quite so far. In England it has retained its literal mean-
ing of 'a man of good family.' Still, even there, the
extension of the word has been so great that the phrase
' gentleman by birth ' has often to be employed to prevent
ambiguity. Indeed, the moral or ethical sense of gentle-
man was insisted on long ago by Chaucer, who defined
the true gentleman as one who always tries to ' do the
gentil dedes that he can.'i Pope's famous line 'Worth
makes the man and want of it the fellow,' points the same
distinction between /eZ^oz^; and man which many now make
between man and getitleman, and Pope's verse correctly
represents the usage in this country fifty years ago.
Courtesy, however, has affected gentleman exactly as it
has affected lady and many other terms of respect. It has
become, in vulgar use, a mere synonym for man, without
regard to birth or breeding. A young woman once spoke
1 The definition did not originate with Chaucer. Discussion of tlie true
nature of gentility and courtesy, as opposed to tlie accident of birtli, con-
siderably antedates his time. There is a line passage of tlie kind in the
Roman de la Rose, which inspired the well-kuown homily of the lady in
the Tale of the Wife of Bath.
328 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
of a room in an art museum as ' the room where all those
gentlemen are,' referring to the casts of antique statuary.
Tlie incident is significant enough. It illustrates the ten-
dency to call all men (even in plaster) ' gentlemen.' But
it does more. It shows how free such language is from
self-assertion. The same lesson may be learned from the
respectful formula ' Gentlemen,' which is freely employed
in addressing one's audience, even by speakers who would
never be guilty of the vulgarism of making yeiitleman a
mere synonym for 'male human being.' Courtesy, not
democratic push, is the explanation of the kind of mag-
niloquence which we have been studying. There is
nothing ' new ' or essentially vulgar in the process as
demonstrated by the facts that we have presented. Tlie
history of the commonest forms of address in our family
of languages is precisely parallel to the latest and most
amusing extensions of lady and gentleman.
Thus we have examined the tendency to exaggeration
in several of its most striking manifestations. We have
seen its effect in weakening strong words like astonish and
amaze ; and we have followed its operations in Avords of
degree, in self-assertive magniloquence, and in terms of
courteous address. It has certainly made good its claim
to be regarded as a considerable motive power in the
development of our vocabulary.
Hyperbole is a favorite object for the animadversions of
critical rhetoricians. It is undoubtedly necessary to con-
trol this tendency in 'forming a style.' But the same is
true of metaphor, or simile, or antithesis, or alliteration —
indeed, of every linguistic tendency that can be men-
tir)ned. Ne quid 'nimis is tlio most elementary of stylistic
rules. To point the moral, however, by calling attention
HYPERBOLE OR EXAGGERATION 329
to the weakening effect wliicli continuous liyperbole has
had on this or that English word in the course of centu-
ries, is ill-considered. For this effect is no more deplora-
ble than any other linguistic change. Language can
never stand still so long as it is alive, and hyperbole is
merely one of the many causes which operate to alter it
from age to age. Any loss is at once made good by the
employment of less used synonyms, by fresh figures of
speech, or by the coinage or borrowing of new words.
Extravagant hyperbole is ridiculous because it is extrava-
gant, not because it is hyperbole.
CHAPTER XXIII
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY
Systematic etymology is a high mystery, requiring of
its initiates long and painful preparation, and cultivated
by its adepts at the price of eternal vigilance. But
scholars are not the only etymologists. Curiosity about
the make-up of words and about their sources is univer-
sal. We are continually proposing to ourselves problems
in derivations, and solving them to our own satisfaction
without regard to the dictionaries. Many words, to be
sure, are passively accepted without inquiry. It seldom
occurs to us to ask why a stone is called a stone^ or why
bread goes by the name of bread, — and so of most of the
very familiar words in our vocabulary. In such cases we
accept the name as belonging to the thing by nature. But
we are not always so easily satisfied. We are aware that
a vast number of words are actually derived from some-
thing else. Kindness and kindly are manifestly formed
from kind, friendshij) from frie^id, blackish from black.
Many compounds also tell their own story : as, knifeblade
and dogivJdp and schoolboy and breakfast and fisherman.
Further, we see that words are gregarious, that they live
and move in groups, larger or smaller, and many such
groups are always present to our minds : as, — true, truth,
untrue, untruth, truthful, etc. ; strong, strongly, strength,
strengthen; fill, full, fulness, fulsome, fulfil.^ Hence we
1 Cf. p. 193.
330
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 331
unconsciously attempt to associate every strange word
with its group, or at all events with some other word
whose company shall preserve it from utter loneliness.
Thus every speaker of any language is to some extent his
own etymologist. Children, even, have their theories of
etymological relations. A little girl who had heard
many stories about the mischievous doings of an imagi-
nary ' Wilhelmina,' asked whether this personage was not
so called because she was so mean. The question was
typical of a process which is always active in linguistic
history, and which goes by the name of folk-etymolo<jy.^
In its simplest operations, folk-etymology merely asso-
ciates together words which resemble each other in sound
and show a real or fancied similarity of meaning, but
which are not at all related in their origin : as, — liag and
haggle; lumk (the bird) and hawker; raven (the bird) and
ravening; horse and hostler. Often, however, the erro-
neous association has a perceptible effect on the form or
the sense of a word, so that folk-etymology becomes a
transmuting power in language.
The change may be very slight, affecting only the or-
thography. Thus surloin (from sur-, ' above ') is usually
spelled sirloin, as if from sir. A ludicrous anecdote tells
how an English king once knighted a loin of beef in en-
thusiastic appreciation of the national dish. So ' Welsh
rabbit ' is often spelled rarebit (and even so pronounced),
from a whimsical notion that it is compounded of rare and
bit. In fact, however, ' Welsh rabbit ' is merely a joke,
like ' Cape Cod turkeg ' for codjish, the Australian ' colonial
1 An adaptation of the German Volksetymologie. ' Popular etymology '
is an attempt to translate the same word. In fact, our language is some-
what at a loss for a graceful and convenient term under which to classify
the phenomena.
332 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
(joosc ' for a leg of mutton with savory herbs, and the old
' French of Norfolk ' for the Norfolk dialect of English. ^
Sloivworm is not from sloiv. The Anglo-Saxon form is.
sid-ivi/rm, probably related to slean^ ' strike,' ' slay ' (akin
to Ger. schlageyi). Though quite harmless, the creature
has always been regarded with terror by the people.
Shmorin would regularly give do-worm in Modern English.
Hiccough is variously spelled in older English {hichip,
hlcock, hickef) and is doubtless an imitative word ; it is
certainly not derived from cough.
A recent French novelist renders teetotaller by totaliseur
du tht% as if it were tea-totaller? though in fact it is from
teetotal^ which is merely a reduplicated form of total (cf.
mishmash, tittle-tattle, hihhle-hahhle, the German Wirrtvarr^
and the like). Recent slang gives the name teetotum to a
tea or coffee-house conducted by the charitable as an offset
to the dramsliop. This is merely a poor pun, and nobody
ever thought that teetotum and teetotaller were etymologi-
cally connected, but its coinage differs from folk-etymology
merely in being jocose and intentional. Teetotum, by tlie
way, is T totum. When used for gambling, the teetotum
had a T on one of its four sides, standing for ' take all the
stakes.'
But changes in spelling come oftener from scholars than
from the people, and the learned have done their part in
disguising English words. Rhyme, for instance, is the
Anglo-Saxon rim, ' measure,' and would naturally be rime
in Modern English. But scholars attempted to derive it
1 Cf. 'peddlers' French' ior the uryut of vagabonds (thieves' shuig).
- Tliis derivation has often been seriously entertained. The opposite
l)henonienon is seen in tea-tree, the name of various Australian shrubs
whose foliage has been used as a substitute for tea. This is sometimes
written ti-tree and even ti-tri, under the mistaken inipressioji that it is an
aboriginal word.
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 333
from the Greek rh/jthmos (^whence rh^thyn comei^), awd the
absurd spelling rhjjjne is the result of their efforts. Jii7)i('
is now preferred by many writers, and is steadily gaining
ground ; but printers are stubborn, and it is hard to resign
the hard-won spoils of our youthful campaigns in the
spelling-book. The adoption of the ' learned ' spelling
rhyme had of course had no effect on the pronunciation.^
In many instances, however, a new spelling has changed
a word considerably. Thus perfect was parfit or pa7fet,
being derived not directly from the Latin perfectus but
from the Old French parft^ parfet (modern paifaiV).
Scholars, however, substituted tiie form perfect in the
sixteenth century, and for some decades the word was
thus spelled, though still pronounced parfit or perfetP- In
time, however, the spelling carried the pronunciation
with it, and we have the modern word.
But we must return to popular etymology, from which
the parallel phenomenon of learned error has diverted us
for a moment.
Folk-etymology ordinarily affects more than the asso-
ciations of a word or its spelling. It transforms the word,
in whole or in part, so to bring it nearer to the word or
words with which it is ignorantly thought to be con-
nected. The process is not confined to any single con-
stituent part of our vocabulary, but its eft'ects are most
1 Other examples of spelling influenced by erroneous etymology may be
seen in scissors, whicli is not from L. scissor, 'cutter,' but from 0. Fr.
cisoires (modern cisecmx), from L. caedo ; style, whicli is L. stilus, not
Gr, (TTvXos; searcloth for cerecloth, 'waxed cloth' (L. cerum 'wax');
and the obsolete satyr(e) for satire, adopted under the impression that
the word came from satyr, whereas it is really the Latin [/awx] satura,
'full plate,' a name given by the Romans to an 'olio' or 'mixed dish,'
and transferred in Latin to a ' poetical medley ' and (somewhat later)
to ' satire ' in the usual sense.
■^ See Campion, \m>. Works, ed. Bulleu, p. 250.
334 WORDS AND TTIEin WAYS
commonly felt in foreign derivations. The reason is clear,
and may be seen in a familiar example : — the corruption
of asparagus to spa7'7'ow grass, wliicli is now regarded as
vulgar but which was in good use in the eighteenth and
early nineteenth centuries. Such a word as asparagus
stands alone in our vocabulary. The learned knew that it
was the Latin asparagus,^ borrowed intact, like so many
other terms from that language, and the fact that it had
no relatives in English 'made no difference to them, for
they associated it with the Latin. To the people, how-
ever, who knew nothing of its origin, it was an English
word like any other; and their minds unconsciously
attempted to associate it with some other word or words
with which they were familiar. It was long enough to be
a compound. Its last syllable sounded like a slovenly pro-
nunciation of gi-ass. There were already many plant names
in which grass was the last syllable. A- is easily lost, and
sparroiv is vulgarly sparra. The result was inevitably
sparrowgrass, — a form which immediately satisfied the
popular conscience. True, the plant had nothing to do
with sparrows, but one cannot have everything in this
world. What has dog-grass to do with dogs? In gen-
eral, the etymologizing tendency which we are studying is
easily satisfied. Half a loaf is better than no bread.
Take cutlass, for instance. It is the French coutelas
(from L. cuUellus, 'knife'), but owes its present form
to a fancied connection with cut."^ Lass seemed to be
English enough already, and suffered no change at first,
though lasses have nothing to do with swords. Half of
1 The Latin took the word from the Greek aavapayo^ (perhaps con-
nected with cTirapyav, ' to swell with sap').
■■^ The I of cultpJlns would regularly disappear in French. Chit has
nothing to do with either French or Latin, but is thought to be of Celtic
FOLE-ETYMOLOGT 335
the word had an appropriate meaning, at all events, and
for a time the popular feeling was content. And it has
remained content except among sailors, who did not like
to call their favorite weapon by a name that was not com-
pletely intelligible. Cutlass seemed wrong, somehow, and
accordingly they made it into cutlash, both parts of which
were eminently satisfactory, just as they made the old
man-o'-war Bellerophon into Bully Ruffian.
Often there is only the slenderest connection in sense,
or none at all, between two words that are thus associated
by popular etymology. In such cases we think it enough
to give the strange term a familiar sound. Sense may
take care of itself, as it does in so large a part of our
vocabulary. Thus lanyard is the French laniere, ' thong '
(L. lacinia^, transformed by association with yai^d. The
first syllable is left undisturbed. Lutestring, a kind of
silk, is for lustrine/, itself a corruption of Fr. lustrine (from
the gloss or lustre of the material). Nowadays the name
is practically confined to ribbon, perhaps because this
resembles string.
But popular etymology is not confined to foreign bor-
rowings. It affects native words as well. Sand-blind, for
instance, is for samhlind, in which sam- is an Anglo-Saxon
prefix, meaning 'half (akin to L. semi-'). So long as
this prefix remained intelligible, there was no temptation
to change it. But sam- became obsolete, and was therefore
as tantalizing to the etymological consciousness of the
folk as if it had been exotic. Sand in the eyes would
cause temporary blindness : cf . ' throw dust in one's eyes '
for 'deceive.' A very pretty song describes with much
particularit}^ the function of 'the Sand-\n?a\'' who puts
babies to sleep.
Shamefaced was formerly shamefast. The second sylla-
33G WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ble was the adjective /as^, literally 'confirmed,' which was
used in Anglo-Saxon to make adjectives. Shame meant
' modesty ' and shamefast was merely ' modest ' in a good
sense. When the old termination went out of use, popu-
lar etymology got hold of the word, and, in its eagerness
to make things intelligible, transformed it into shame-
faced. In this instance (as in many otliers) the new
associations of the word, consequent on its new ety-
mology, have somewhat modified its sense. Shamefaced
now means not so much ' modest ' as ' bashful ' or ' discon-
certed,' — showing shame in one's face.
A number of examples of native and foreign words
that have been distorted by folk-etymology will now be
given without any attempt at classification. The reader
will see that in some instances the change has been slight ;
in others, thoroughgoing. The whole word may be af-
fected, or only a part of it. When two syllables are
equally unintelligible to the popular mind, one may be
changed and the other remain as inscrutable as before.
Sometimes there is an obvious appropriateness in the new
form ; at other times, there is not the remotest connec-
tion in sense between the word and its supposed etymon.
Indeed, the result of the etymologizing instinct may be
a conglomerate of incongruous words, each meaning some-
thing by itself, but having no possible relation to its
fellows or to the idea which the term expresses as a whole.
Everywhere, however, the principle is the same. The
effort is to make the word sound familiar, and, if possible,
to give a meaning to that which was meaningless before.
If both ends are achieved, so much the better. If but one
is accomplished, we make the best of a bad matter.
Craivfish or crayfish is not from fish., but is a distorted
form of an older English crevis from O. Fr. crevice (mod-
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 337
ern ecrevisse), itself derived from the Old High German
krebiz (modern Krebs), which is cognate with the English
ci'ab.
Pentliouse, ' lean-to,' has nothing to do with either j^ent
or house. It was once pronounced pentus (Ben Jonson
rhymes it with the Latin juventus') and pentis, and comes
from the French appentis (L. appendicium).
Rahe, 'a debauchee,' is a shortened form of the old
word 7'aheU 'reckless,' perhaps from O.N. reikall, 'va-
grant,' which is from reika, 'to rove,' whence the old
verb rrt/re, 'wander.' Popular etymology made rakel into
rakehell and slang shortened it to rake. To rake in the
sense of ' live dissolutely ' is from the noun.
Belfrey is not connected with bell. It is O. Fr. bcr-
fray., from M. H. Ger. ber^e^vrit (modern Bergfriede^,
'place of safety,' from bergen, 'conceal,' and wtMe (modern
Friede), 'peace,' 'protection.' Its original sense was 'a
kind of tower.' The bells came later and are unessential.
Primrose is M.E. and O. F.r. primerole, L.L. primula,
a diminutive of primus, 'first.' It comes in the prime or
spring of the year. Compare 'a violet in the youth of
primy nature' (Hamlet). We may observe that the
^ prime of life' once meant the 'springtime of life,' that
is, ' youth,' and not, as it now does, the fulness of manly
strength.
Clove and its longer form, clove gillyflower, have a strange
history. The starting-point for English is the Old French
clou de girofle or girofre, that is a ' nail of girofle,' applied
to the dried bud of the clove-plant, which resembles a nail
in shape and is used as a spice. Clou is the Latin clavus,
'nail.' Girofle is worn down from the Greek Kapv6(j)vXXov
(Jmru6p]mllo7i), 'nut-leaf,' the name of the plant, — from
icdpvov (kdi'uon}, 'nut,' and (f)v\\ov (^phillon), 'leaf,' cog-
z
338 wonns and tueib ways
nate with the Latin folium, whence our foliage and folio.
By popular etymology, girofre became gillyfloiver, a
name still applied to the 'pink.'
Cassimere is the French casimir, which, like our cash-
mere, is simply the name of the Indian state Kashmir,
though the fabrics in question are different. Kersey is
still another kind of woollen cloth, named from the town
of Kersey in Suffolk ; but folk-etymology has transformed
cassimere into Kerseymere.
A sackbut was lengthened or shortened in playing, like
the modern trombone. Hence its name (Fr. saquehute')
from sachier or saquier, 'to pull,' and houter, 'to push.'
Curiously enough the popular etymology would here be
in the right place. For to lutt (with the horns) is from
houter, and sachier was perhaps originally 'to pull out of a
sack.''
Touchy is not from touch. It is a corruption of techy,
'peevish,' literally 'faulty, vicious' (cf. 'a vicious horse'
for one of bad temper). Teche (now obsolete) is O. Fr.
tache, teche, 'spot,' 'blemish,' and so 'fault.' The change
from techy to touchy is instructive. Touch is often vul-
garl}^ pronounced tetch, and it was therefore easy to infer
that techy was a mispronunciation of touchy. Folk-ety-
mology is often a corrector of errors that are not errone-
ous.
Curmudgeon is of unknown derivation, but cur suggests
popular etymology. The word recalls one of the most
famous of etymological blunders. Dr. Johnson recorded
it as from the French coeur mechant, adding ' unknown cor-
respondent' to indicate that this (truly preposterous)
conjecture had been sent to him by some person to him
unknown. Ash copied tlie etymology in the form '-coeur,
"unknown," mechant, "a correspondent."'
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 339
Many have doubtless wondered why a tuberose is so
called, since it resembles not a rose, but a lily. In fact,
the name is merely tuberosa, ' tuberous,' from the tuberous
root of the plant. (^Tiiher is the Latin word for 'knob' or
'swelling,' adopted as a botanical term.) Rosemary was
formerly rosmarine, from L. 7'os mari?ius, ' sea-dew,' ' sea-
foam.' The Australians have corrupted tarantula into tri-
antelope, which they employ as the name of a large native
spider.
Warlock is A.S. wcerloga^ literally 'one who proves false
to his pledge (or faith),' from «wr, 'pledge,' and loga,
'liar.'
Pui'lieu has been assimilated to Fr. lieu^ ' place '
(L. locus"). It is O. Fr. puralee, poralee, L.L. peram-
hulatio, so called because of the ' perambulation ' or ' sur-
vey ' by means of which the land adjoining a royal forest
and improperly included therein was disafforested and
restored to its owners. The usual modern sense is ' out-
skirts ' or ' suburbs,' commonly with a suggestion of dis-
repute, since the suburbs of a town were, in old times, the
haunt of debauched and desperate persons.
Battledoor can hardly be from battle and the last syllable
is certainly not the noun door. Tlie earliest sense is 'a bat
employed by washerwomen.' The derivation is extremely
uncertain. Spanish batallador, ' hero of man}^ battles,' has
been suggested, and also Provencal batedor, 'little bat.'
Panther has been subjected to folk-etymolog}^ more than
once. The Latin panthera., which gave panthere in French
(whence our word), was adapted from the Greek TrdvOrjp
{pdntJier^. In Greek, irav- (pan-') means 'all' (as in
'- Pan-Presb}jterian Council,' Pavi-American., etc.), and O^p
{the}''), 'wild beast'; l)ut there is little doubt that the
word is the Sanskrit pundrtka, ' tiger,' borrowed by the
340 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Greeks and transformed so as to make sense in their
language. The hunter's name for the American panther
is painter. Tliis also looks like popular etymology, biit
perhaps it also preserves a suggestion of the older English
form pantere.
Pennyroyal is a compound of translation and folk-ety-
mology. The Latin is puleium (or pulegiuni) regnim,
from pulex^ 'flea,' the plant being thougiit to be efficacious
as a flea-bane. Tlie Latin name, partly adapted and
partly translated, gave Eng. puliall royals which was not
like anything else in the language, and was promptly
rationalized to pennyroyal.
Artichoke comes directly from the Italian (articiocco.,
probably from Arabic) ; the last syllable was formerly
pronounced clioch, but has been respelled and repro-
nounced under the influence of the verb choke. A still
better example of popular etymology is seen in Jerusalem
artichoke., which has nothing to do with Jerusalem, but is
corrupted from It. girasole (' turning with the sun '), the
name of a plant with an edible root resembling the arti-
choke.
Walnut is not related to ivalh but to Welsh. The first
syllable is the Anglo-Saxon ivealh., ' foreign,' which, how-
ever, is not a native word, but comes from the name of the
Celtic tribe of Volcae, whence also Welsh. The Teutonic
race regarded the Celts as ' foreigners ' par excellence. In
some parts of America the name walnut is given to the
' shagbark,' a kind of hickory nut, and the true walnut is
known as the ' English walnut,' — a term which involves
a curious etymological contradiction.
Mandrake is a corruption of mamlragoras, the Greek
(and Latin) name of the plant. The Anglo-Saxon man-
dragora., a direct borrowing, has also survived. Drake is
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 341
an Old English word for dragon (A.S. draca from L.
draco'). There is no connection between the plant and
dragons, but folk-etymology is careless about trifles. At
all events, the mandrake was a mysterious thing, popu-
larly supposed to be endowed with life, and to shriek so
terribly when it was torn from the earth ' that living mor-
tals, hearing it, run mad.' Perhaps the mere fact that
dragons were also uncanny was enough to satisfy the
popular mind. Doubtless the first syllable was identified
with our 7na/i (with which it has no connection). The
mandrake has a forked root, which often startlingly resem-
bles the human figure. In this word one may see the
action and reaction of popular superstition and popular
etymology in a remarkable degree. The idea that the
mandrake was alive did not spring from the accidental
identity between the first syllable of its name and the
name of a human being ; but we cannot doubt that it was
strengthened by this identity.
Standard is O. Fr. estendart (modern etendard}^ 'that
which is spread out' (L. extendo). As soon as the word
entered our language, however, it was associated with
stand, so that the form standard appears in the twelfth
century.^ The supposed connection with stand has not
only changed its form, but has given it the meaning of
'that which stands firm,' or 'is fixed.' Thus we have the
^standard of weights and measures,' 'the staiidard bushel,'
'■tYiQ standard ol morals,' 'not up to the standard.^ The
notion of 'extension' or 'spreading' has quite vanished.
Purhlind is pure blind, i.e. 'absolutely sightless.' Its
commoner meaning of ' near-sighted ' seems due, in part,
to the erroneous idea that the first syllable is a cor-
^ In the Peterborough Chronicle (cited by Skeat), and also in Henry
of Huntingdon (v, 7) : ' fixo Standard, id est I'cgio insigni.'
342 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
ruption of j^ore. The form pore-blind actually arose under
the influence of this idea.
Abominable (formerly spelled abliominable^ seems to owe
its special implication of ' unnatural ' or ' inhuman ' con-
duct to the mistaken derivation from ab hoonine, ' away
from or contrary to a man.' The word is really from ah
and omen. The Latin abominari is literally ' to deprecate
anything as an evil omen,' and then ' to abhor.' The con-
nection with liomo, ' man,' is a very old error and antedates
the adoption of the word into English.
Pantry and buttery are associated with ijan and butter
by most speakers. In fact, pantry comes (through the
French) from L. panis^ ' bread '; and buttery was originally
the place where the butts and bottles were kept (L.L. botaria^
from bota, butta^ 'cask ').
Reindeer does not mean a deer tliat is guided by reins.
It is the Old Norse name of the animal, hreinn, with a
superfluous English deer added. The German name for
the creature, MenntJiier, is also from the Norse, but is con-
nected in the popular mind with renyien^ 'to run.' The
Scandinavian word was no doubt borrowed from the Lapps
or the Finns.
Tweezers is vaguely associated in our minds with
squeeze and with pinchers or piyicers. But the name means
simply ' implements carried in a tweeze or case ' (Fr.
etuis').
In Jieadlony., flatlony, and sidelony the old suffix -liiiy
(preserved in darkliny) has been confused with long.
Endlong (in Chaucer endelong) is the A.S. andlang
(cf. Ger. eyitlang) in which and- is an adverbial prefix
akin to Gr. avri (anti). Our noun end is the A.S. ende,
which is cognate with anti.
In foremost, nether-most, etc., an old superlative suffix
FOLK-ETYMOLOGY 343
-mest has been supplanted by the adverb most^ so often
used with adjectives (as in most beautiful).^
In all these examples of folk-etymology we have simply
been observing strong cases of the operation of analogy,
— a force which pervades all speech, as it pervades all
thought, and which has caused far-reaching changes in
the structure of our language. Confusion of grammatical
constructions and inflectional and derivative forms is
largely due to this force, which has operated with peculiar
energy in English. ^ Countless instances might be given,
but two or three will sufficiently illustrate the point.
Burial is for an older buriels, ' tomb,' in which the s
was not the plural ending, any more than it is in corps and
corpse (vdiicli are the same word pronounced in two
ways). The form looked like a plural, however, and
so burial was formed (like the vulgar corp^.^^ The spell-
ing -al is after the analogy of manual^ casual, and other
Latin derivatives in -al(is).
Syllable is O. Fr. sillabe (L. sijllaba)^ It owes its I to
association with the numerous English words in -able.
In Anglo-Saxon there were several declensions of nouns,
differing greatly in their inflection. Modern English
reduces these to the simple scheme with which we are
familiar, partly through deca}^, but largely through the
influence of analogy. The nouns which made their
genitive singular in -es, for instance, have attracted to
themselves those that had other genitive endings. The
old differences between the singular and the plural
in the preterite of strong verbs have disappeared ; some-
times the singular form has carried the day, and
1 See pp. 200-1. 2 Sec pp. 181 ff. ^ gge p. 130.
* Gr. ffuWajSri, 'something taken together,' from jvp-, 'together,' and
\afx[idvu, \a[i€iv, ' take.' The Modern French syllahc is a learned spelling.
344 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
sometimes the plural. The confusions of analogy are
bafHing to the philologist, but its effect has been, in
the main, in the direction of simplicity, — and increased
simplicit}^ as we have already remarked, is an advance in
the usefulness of language.^
1 See pp. 18;j-4.
CHAPTER XXIV
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS
The borrowing habits of the English language have
filled our vocabulary with 'doublets,' as they are called,
— that is, with different words which go back, by diverse
courses, to the same original form. For example, dainty
and digyiity are both derived from the Latin dignitas, but
the former entered our language through the French (O.
Fr. deintie), the latter was adapted directly from the
Latin (or perhaps from the French dignite, a learned de-
rivative from dignitas). Thus dainty and dignity are
doublets. They were taken into English at difterent
times, have distinct senses, and are not felt as related
words except by the etymologist.
Again, guest is a native word, cognate with L. hostis, —
that is, a word meaning ' stranger ' in the Lido-Europcan
parent-speech has survived in Latin as hostis, in English
as guest. Neither of the two is derived from the other.
Possessing guest by right of inheritance, we have bor-
rowed hostile (a derivative of hostis') from the Latin. The
native guest and the borrowed hostile are therefore doub-
lets in English, — both going back to an Lido-European
word, but by different paths.
iShirt and skirt are also doublets. They are both de-
scended from the same Germanic word, but shirt is native
English, whereas skirt is Scandinavian, and its presence
in our language is due to borrowing. Sometimes the
345
346 WOIiDS AND THEIR WAYS
doublets are both of native origin. Thus, zvhit and wight
are both descended from the Anglo-Saxon wiht, though
they have become differentiated in the period that inter-
venes between the Anglo-Saxon times and the present
day.
The development of doublets is one cause of the rich-
ness of our vocabulary. Sometimes they are synonymous.
More often, however, they have received special meanings,
which, as well as their diversity of form, tend to con-
ceal their original identity. Though we have studied a
number of these words incidentally in previous chapters,
their importance will justify us in examining several
typical specimens by themselves.
Yerdigris is the French vert-de-gris, ' green of gray.'
The latter, however, is corrupted from L.L. viride aeris,
'green of brass.' Ambergris, on the other hand, really
means 'gray amber' (Fr. amhre gris) ; cf. Milton's gris-
amher. The last syllable of the English word has been
sometimes confused with grease or with Greece^ whence
the obsolete forms amhergrease and amber -de-grece.
Turtle (^dove') is A.S. turtle, which was, however, not of
native origin, but a very early borrowing from L. turtur,
a reduplicated form (like murmur} that seems to go back
to first principles, being an imitation of the bird's note.
Dove was added to distinguish the bird after the name
turtle had been applied to the tortoise. The latter appli-
cation is comparatively late. English sailors of the six-
teenth or seventeentli century, becoming acquainted with
the sea tortoise under its Spanish name tortuga (cf. the
islands called Tortugas) or its Portuguese name tartaruga,
corrupted the strange term into one with which they were
familiar, though there was no resemblance between the
tortoise and the dove. These foreign names were derived
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS 347
from L. tortus^ ' crooked ' (in allusion to the creature's
queer feet), whence came O. Fr. toi'tis and our tortoise.
Booth is probably from the Old Norse hath (or con-
nected with it), which is from 5/2«, 'to inhabit' (A.S.
buan, Ger. haueii). Thus booth is connected with bower
(A.S. bur'), ' sleeping-})lace ' (preserved in poetry), and
with boor^ 'peasant.' Boor is the Dutch boer^ 'farmer';
recently introduced afresh in the pure Dutch form as
a proper name for the Dutch in South Africa. BusJc^
'to prepare,' is from the same Old Norse verb (-sA; being
an old suffixed reflexive pronoun), and boun, ' ready,' is
the Anglo-Saxon participle Q/eynln, ' prepared,' from the
corresponding Anglo-Saxon verb btlaii. Bound (on a
journey) is the same boun, with d added under the influ-
ence of the participle of bmd. Boiver, for the ' knave ' at
cards, is the German Bane?'., ' peasant,' from the corre-
sponding High German verb bauen. Thus, in tliis group
of words, our language has laid under contribution not
only its native stock but the related words in three Teu-
tonic tongues, — Old Norse, Dutch, and High German.
Lien is the French form of L. ligamen^ 'bond' (liyare,
'bind'). Ligament is a direct borrowing from the same
Latin word, influenced by the numerous French and Eng-
lish words in -nt. League., ' alliance,' is the French ligue
(from L.L. liga~)., also from ligare.
Our ordinary utterance is from the verb utter, which
comes in its turn from out. But the old phrase ' to the
utterance ' for ' to the death,' said especially of duels or
other combats, is the French a outrance (from L. ultra,
'beyond'). The change from outrance to utterance was
no doubt due, in part, to the emphatic sense wliich the
adjective utter (really a comparative of out ; cf. outer) had
acquired, — as in 'utter misery,' etc. It is one of the
348 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
countless freaks of linguistic fortune that outrance, bor-
rowed from the French, and utterance, of native origin,
should resemble each other so closely both in form and.
sense, and yet should have no etymological relationship.
The former goes back to L. ultra, the latter to Eng. out,
and these two adverbs are in no way akin.
From the Latin dominus, ' lord, master,' we have bor-
rowed almost every conceivable formation.^ The vocative,
applied as a title, we have taken in bodily as doinine (or
dominie^, for a schoolmaster or a parson. Dan, as in
Spenser's ^ Ban Chaucer,' is an Old French shortening
of doiyiinus, and corresponds to Sp. don and Port. dom.
Don is jocosely used of a university dignitary in England,
but never (except by imitation) in America. Dame is
domma, — also French. Dotnain and demesne are really
one and the same French word, from L. dominicum,
demesne being Anglo-French (the s was simply a bad Law
French spelling).
Do7ijon or dungeon means properly the ' master-tower '
or ' keep ' of a castle, — from L. L. dotmiio, for dominio (the
source of Fr. dommion, which we have also borrowed).
Donjon-keep is a tautological compound. The shift of
meaning in dungeon is easy to understand.
The Latin verb dominari (from dominus^ became dorni-
ner in French, and this was taken into Dutch as domineren
(with infinitive ending -cw). In the fifteenth century,
apparently, the Dutch word furnished us with our domi-
neer. Dominate, dominant, and donmiation we borrowed
directly from the Latin.
Dominican is from St. Dominic, who founded the order.
His name is the Latin dominicus, ' belonginc: to the Lord.'
Domino is a modern word in English. It is found in
1 Cf. pp. 323-4.
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS 349
French, Spanish, and Italian in this same form, and was
applied originally to a canon's hood, and then to a mask-
hm habit. How the word was formed is matter for
conjecture. The suggestion that it was a jocose applica-
tion of a fragment of the Latin 'benedicamus Domino''
is not improbable. At all events, it must have lieen in
the first instance a bit of slang. The game of dominos is
said to be named from the garment, because the pieces
with which it is played have black backs — again a bit
of humorous slang, which has established itself in the
language. But all this is guesswork, as is so often true
in the case of slang and cant.
Danger means originally ' mastership,' and comes from
L.L. dominarium (through the French). So when Portia
says to Antonio, ' You stand within Ms danger, do you
not?' she means not 'in his debt,' as some have thought,
but 'in his power,' 'absolutely under his control-.' So, too,
dangerous often meant ' offish,' ' distant,' ' defiant,' which
are closely connected with the idea of 'lordliness' of de-
meanor. In the medifeval love allegory, Danger, one of the
lover's fiercest opponents, typifies the lady's coldness.
Cross, in all senses, as noun, verb, adjective, and adverb
(^across, cf. athwart), comes ultimately from the Latin crnx,
crucis. Its introduction into our language depends on
the crucifixion of Christ ; hence, there is attached to it
the whole history of the conversion of Western Europe.
But that is not all. The noun cross did not reach Eng-
land in any simple way. It is the Norse cros, Ijorrowed
from the Irish, which in turn borrowed it from Latin.
Its proper English home is the North, where Scandi-
navian settlements greatly affected our language ; but
it spread into other dialects, and has finally become the
universal form. Our texts of Chaucer have both cros and
350 WORDS AND TIIEIB WAYS
crois, the latter being from the French modification of L.
crucem (O. Fr. crois, modern croix). Thus, in this single
word, we have a trace of the early Christianity of Ireland
(' the Isle of Saints ') and of the conversion of Northumbria
by Celtic missionaries. The pure Latin form appears in
cruci-al, cruci-fix, cruci-form, and other borrowed words
of a learned character, and we have taken in crux intact
for 'a difficult question or passage in an author.' We
have also crusade (from Sp. cruzada), crusado, 'a coin'
(Port, cruzado'), and cruise (from D. kruisen, a verb made
from the noun krms~), all of which go back to the Latin
cr7ix.
An instructive case of successive borrowing of the same
word is that of reason, ration, and ratio. The Latin ratio,
'reckoning,' became resoun in Old French (modern rafsow),
and this gives us reason. Later, ratio7i was borrowed by
French directly from Latin, and by English from French,
in the special military sense; and, finally, we have also
the Latin word, unchanged, as a technical term in mathe-
matics. Compare fjentile, gentle, and genteel, all from L.
gentilis, — the first directly, the second and third, by suc-
cessive borrowing, through the French gentil.
The Latin ca^nera, 'vault,' 'arch,' later 'chamber,' be-
came chambre in French. We have borrowed both words,
as well as another derivative camber (O. Fr. cambre},
used as a technical term in shipbuilding and architecture.
Rose was adopted from L. rosa by the Anglo-Saxons.
Rosa is doubtless related to the Greek p68ov {rhodon),
which we have in rhodo-dendron, a Greek word meaninp"
' rose-tree,' taken into English bodily. Green vitriol was
called by the alchemists ' rose of copper,' cupri rosa, which
became couperose in French, and this latter Avord was
gradually corrupted into copperas in English. The sue-
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS 351
cessive corruptions point to the fact that copperas has
been much used in the arts. Words wear out like coins.
Tavern and tabernacle have very different associations ;
yet they are the same word at bottom. L. taberna, 'a
booth,' ' shop,' ' tavern,' became taverne in French. English
borrowed this word from French : and also, directly from
Latin, the diminutive tabernaculum, 'tent.' The biblical
use of tabernacle has given sacred associations to the term,
so that it is often used in special senses, — e.g. for a cano-
pied seat in the choir of a church.
Bench., bank (in all senses), banco, and bunco., are, to all
intents and purposes, the same Germanic word. Bench is
the native Englisli form (A.S. bene). French borrowed
the word from Old German in the form banc, and this
gives us 'a bank of oars' (from the rowers' 'bench') and
the legal phrase in bayik (of the terms of a court). The
Scandinavians had the Germanic word in a slightly differ-
ent form, and from them we borrowed, at an early date,
bank, in 'sandbank ' or the 'bank of a river.' The Italians
had also adopted the Germanic word, and used banca or
banco for the bench or table of a money-changer. From
banca the French made banque, which gives us bank in
the financial sense ; while we have also taken in the other
Italian form banco intact. The Spaniards had correspond-
ing forms banca for ' (money) bank ' and banco for a cer-
tain game at cards. The latter term has recently passed
into American English, giving us bunco (or bmiko') for a
swindling card-game or mock-lottery, — whence the slang
verb to bunco, for 'to cheat,' 'chouse,' or 'defraud' in
almost any manner : as, — ' He was buncoed out of his
seat in the House of Representatives.' It would be
hard to find a better example of the omnium-gatherum
character of the English vocabulary. We liad this word
352 wouds and their ways
bench by right of inheritance, yet we have, at different
times, taken in the same word, in different senses, four
times, — once from Old Norse, once from Spanish, and
twice from French. Besides this, we have mountebank
and bankrupt. The former is the Italian montimbanco,
'a qnack' (who gets upon a bench to proclaim his nos-
trums). Bankrupt has been twice borrowed, — from
It. banca rotta., ' broken bench,' and from Fr. banque-
route (which is also from Italian). Hence the older Eng-
lish banke rota and bankrout. Rotta is the Italian form
of the Latin participle rupta., and hence, in the ' learned
times ' of the sixteenth century, the English word was
brouglit nearer to the classic languages, and took the
form bankrupt^ which we now have. Observe that all
the financial senses of ba7ik go back to Italy, the cradle of
modern banking.
Arch and arc are both from L. arcus, ' bow%' — the
latter directly, the former through the French.
Hyejia and soiv are really the same word. The Anglo-
Saxon had s?7, 'pig,' and sugu., 'sow,' and these are cognate
with L. siis^ Gr. (Tv<i (s?ts) or 5? {hits). From v<i comes hy-
aena (which is merely the Latin spelling of Gr. vaiva,
huaina., ' sow ') . Swine is A. S. su with a diminutive ending,
though its diminutive force vanished utterly long ago.
Star is a general Indo-European word. The English
form (A.S. steorra) is cognate with L. sfella (short for
sferula) and Gr. acny'ip {aster'), d<npov (dstron). Besides
having the native word, we have borrowed freely from
Greek and Latin: stellar, stellate, stelUfy, constellation;
aster, 'the star-flower,' disaster, 'a bad star'; astrology,
astronomy, asteroid.
The Romans had a word cancer, 'a crab,' perhaps old
enough to be cognate with the Greek KapKivo<i (Jcarkinos),
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS 353
but, from its appearance, more likely to be corrupted from
it. Cancer has continued to be the name of a constellation
for more than two thousand years. It was also applied
in Greek to a disease, from a fancied resemblance of the
swollen veins to a crab's claws, and, in its Latin form, has
been borrowed by later civilizations, giving rise to the
two English words cancel' and ca7iker, now very different
in sense. Modern science has distinguished various forms
of cancer, and, feeling the need of exacter terms than those
which satisfied the old physicians, has accordingly bor-
rowed the Greek name carcinoma in a special sense.
Cancer had a Latin diminutive canceUi, ' a grating ' (once
more from the resemblance to a crab's claws), especially
a structure separating a part of a large hall from the rest
when used as a court or audience-room. Hence, through
the French, we get the chancel of a church. A derivative
of it in Latin gives chancellor, and later developments
give chancery. Directly from the Latin comes the verb
cancel, literally to ' cross out ' writing by means of lines
like the bars of a grating. In chancery came to have
a sinister sense from the delays and expenses incident to
suits in the chancellor's court. It was picked up by pugi-
listic slang, and has reentered the colloquial vocabulary
with the associations of the prize-ring.
Legal, loyal, and leal are all from L. legalis, 'according
to law.' Legal is directly from the Latin. Loyal and
leal are from O. Fr. loial (modern loyal) and leial respec-
tively, the former being Central and the latter Norman
French. The general currency of 'Land of the Leal'(2.e.
of those who have ' kept the faith ') for ' heaven ' is due
to the Scottish poem of that name.
Sire and sir are variant forms of Fr. sire which is
from L. senior, 'older.' For their use as terms of respect,
2-v
354 WOBDS AND THEIR WAYS
see p. 325. Sirrah seems to be the dissyllabic result of
an angry or scornful pronunciation of sir-r-r, with a
prolonged r (cf. Irish sor-r-rf). The derivation from
O.N. sira, 'sir' (later used scornfully), itself a borrowing
from French, must be rejected. 'No, sir-ree!' common
a few years ago in jocose or vulgar speech, is doubtless
a variant of sirrah, or at all events a parallel phenomenon.
Clench and clinch are dialectic variations of the same
word, and were formerly interchangeable. In present
usage, how3ver, there is a strong inclination to distinguish
them. We '■clench our fists,' but '•clinch a bargain.'
Chaw is a dialectic variety of chew, and does not appear
in literature before the sixteenth century. For a time it
was interchangeable with chew in dignified speech. Wit-
ness Spenser's Phaon, who describes himself as 'chawing
({.e. ruminating) vengeaunce.'^ At this moment, chaiv is
contemptuously used for violent or vulgar chewing (cf.
chatvbacon'), and is therefore regarded as itself a word of
dubious character. 2 The distinction between chew and
chaw, however, is very much like that between essen and
fressen in German, which, however, has established itself
in the literary language. Chetv itself is sometimes euphe-
mistically avoided in favor of masticate, — a curious Latin
word which seems to come from Gr. fiaarixv (jnastlche'),
' mastic,' a resinous gum used for chewing. No essential
dignity attaches to masticate ; its elegance consists in its
being a Latin word used in technical language. In the
figurative sense, again, chew is out of favor. A modern
Brutus would not advise Cassins (as in Shakspere) to
'chew upon this.' He would say ruminate, which is sono-
1 Faerie Queene, ii, 4, 29.
2 It is common, however, in various dialects, as the ordinary verb for
• masticate.'
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS 355
rous enough, but is after all only the Latin for ' chew the
cud' (ivoro. rumen^ 'throat,' 'gullet').
The two pronunciations of gallant (as gallant and as
gallant') are really doublets of a peculiar kind. The Old
French adjective galant passed into English in the four-
teenth century, and is now accented on the first syllable.
Some three hundred years later, the same word was bor-
rowed again in the sense of ' polite or attentive to ladies,'
and this gives us galldnt. The French adjective is a
present participle of the old verb galer^ ' to make merry,'
which is of Germanic origin. Tlie Italian gala (which we
have also borrowed) is from the same source. It corre-
sponds to O. Fr. gale^ 'merriment,' with which it is almost
impossible not to connect the phrases ' a gale of laughter,'
'a gale of merriment,' 'to be in a perfect gale' (i.e. 'a state
of great hilarity'). This use of gale is old in New Eng-
land, and is not confined to this side of the Atlantic.
Our language often shows considerable diversity of
usage in the pronunciation of the same word, especially
with regard to accent. This is likely to be the case with
borrowed words, which, as they become established in our
vocabulary, conform more and more closely to our habits
of speech. Thus, Tom Moore knew only halc6ny (from
It. halcdne')., and there are still persons who would say 'you
was' as soon as hdlcony, though this has come to be the
usual pronunciation. Occasionally, the language has taken
advantage of such diversity to make two words out of one
by attaching different meanings to the different pronunci-
ations, as in the following examples.
In the Elizabethan time, mettle was simj)ly a phonetic
spelling of metal. There was no difference in sense, —
both forms being freely used both in the literal sense and
in the figurative meaning of ' one's composition,' ' the stuff
35G WOEDS AND THEIR WAYS
out of wliich one is made,' 'one's nature." In Modern
English, wo no longer even associate mettle with metal, —
the two forms have become perfectly distinct words with
widely different meanings.
Conjure and c6njure are not distinguished in Shak-
spere. Either accentuation is used for either sense. To-day
they are different words : to conjure is ' to use charms or
incantations ' ; to conjure is ' to call upon one solemnly,'
as it were with an oath.
Many dissyllabic adjectives like profound., supreme, com-
plete, and the like, which are derived from Latin adjec-
tives accented on the penult (^jjro/"*^?!*:^?!.?, supremus,
computus) had in the Elizabethan age a variable accent,
profound or profoihid, etc., according to their position with
respect to other stresses in the verse or sentence. As time
went on, the accent became settled. In some instances,
however, both pronunciations were retained, each with a
special set of meanings, and thus the single term split into
two distinct words. Human carries the literal sense of the
Latin humanus ; humdne, the other pronunciation, is
specialized to the ethical meaning. Antique is literal ;
dntio, simply another accentuation of the same word, means
first 'fantastic' (as old things seem to the moderns), and
then 'a fantastic caper.'
Neg7'o and nigger are interesting examples of the ten-
dency to utilize variant pronunciations for the increase of
our vocabulary. Negro, ' black,' was borrowed from the
Spanish (or Portuguese) as a descriptive term for the black
race proper. It is pronounced negr by many, in accordance
with the tendency to develop a vowel r from r + vowel
(cf. cJiamhre from camera^. Then negr becomes nigger,
much as cliamhre becomes chamber. Negro is retained as
the true racial designation, while nigger is utilized as a
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYM IS 357
term of contempt or abuse not only for an 'Ethiopian'
but, especially in England, for a member of any dark-
skinned race.^
Sometimes the tendency to differentiate asserts itself in
different inflectional forms of the same word. So espe-
cially in the so-called irregular verbs. We say ' the pirate
was hanged^'' but ' the crane httng in the fireplace'; 'he Itove
the lead,' but ' heaved a sigh.'
It is a familiar fact that our vocabulary includes many
pairs of Avords which, thougli entirely distinct in origin and
meaning, are pronounced alike, and sometimes spelled in
the same way. Such words are called 'homonyms.' Their
presence in our language is often wondered at, but comes
about in a perfectly natural way. It may be ascribed, in
the main, to mere coincidence. Two different words may
happen to sound alike, just as two persons who are not
related may show a striking 'family resemblance.' The
chances of coincidence are greatly increased by our habit
of borrowing from every possible quarter. Sometimes,
however, both homonyms are derived from tlie same
language or belong to the native stock. Pure accident is
not the sole cause of the existence of homonyms. Folk-
etymology has often assisted in bringing into accord two
words which have nothing in common except a slight
reseml)lance of sound.
The study of homonyms is not altogether a matter of
linguistic sport. It illustrates what we have so often
remarked, — the varied history of our language and the
complex civilization wliich it mirrors so accurately. A few
^ The derivation of nigger from Fr. nhjrr is far less likely. The
scholars who ui)lioUl it are unacquainted with the form npfjr, which is
often heard in the South. Ncjjer and ni(jer are found (as serious designa-
tions) in the sixteenth century.
358 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
examples of these verbal curiosities will therefore be of
interest.
Weed, 'a wild plant,' has nothing to do with the weed in
a man's hat or a widow's weeds. The latter word is the
A.S. waide, 'garment,' which we have specialized to
'mourning garments,' while weed, 'plant,' is A.S. iveod,
from quite a different root.
Yearn, 'to desire,' is A.S. geornian, akin to Ger. gerne,
'gladly.' Yearn, 'to mourn,' as in Pistol's
Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yaarn therefore, —
is corrupted (under the influence of the former word) from
an older erm, from A.S. yrman, which is akin to Ger. arm
(A.S. earm^, 'poor,' 'miserable.'
Vice, 'fault,' is Fr. vice (L. vitiuni); vice, 'a clutching
instrument,' is Fr. vis, 'screw' (L. vitis, 'vine'). Vice- in
vice-president is the Latin ablative vice, ' in the place of '
(from vicis, 'turn'), and so is different from either.
The Tartars are more properly Tatars, but their name
was connected by the Europeans with Tartarus, because
of their supposed fiendish nature. This points to the
terror roused by the Tartar conquests of the thirteenth
century. 1 Cream of tartar comes from the tartar that
forms on the inside of wine-casks. It is Fr. tartre, and is
thought to be of Arabic origin. At all events, it has no
connection either with Tartarus or with Tartary. For
argol, another name for this tartar, no plausible etymology
has been suggested.
Temple, a part of the head, might easily be regarded as
a figurative use of temple, a place of worship. But, in
1 See Wiener, The Tartar Myth, iu the Moderu Language Quarterly,
III, 25.
DOUBLETS AND HOMONYMS 359
fact, the former is from L. temjms, which means both
'time' (properly 'the fit time '), ami 'temple' (perhaps, 'the
fitting place' i e. for a fatal blow). From tempus, the
French took temps, ' time ' (our tense in grammar), while
from the plural tempora they formed tempe, ' temple of
the head.' A by- form in Old French, temple, determined
the English word. The term for a place of worship is
from L. templum, which was borrowed as tempel in the
Anglo-Saxon period. Templum is from a root meaning
'to cut,' and signified originally the 'sacred precinct'
rather than the building.
A sorrel horse gets his name from Fr. saure (older sore},
probably a Germanic word (akin to sere) indicating the
color of withered leaves. The plant sorrel is Fr. surelle,
from sur, ' sour,' also of Germanic origin and identical
with our English sour.
When we speak of a hog as rooting, we doubtless think
we are using a verb from the noun root, as if the animal
were seeking for roots to eat. In fact, however, though
the words may be remotely connected, the verb is properly
to wroot, being the A.S. ivrotan, and is connected with
ivrot, 'snout'; whereas the noun root is the Scandinavian
rot, akin to ivort, 'a plant' (as in t]ioroughivort~) .
Angle, 'fishhook,' is a native word (A.S. angel') ; but
angle, 'corner,' is from L. angulus (through Fr. angle).
Yet the two words are near akin, since both the Latin
and the Anglo-Saxon word come (independently) from
the same Indo-European root ank, 'to bend.'
Ancient (earlier aimeien), in its ordinary sense, is Fr.
aneien from L.L. antiamis (from ante). But lago was
Othello's ancient, and Falstaff's soldiers were 'more dis-
Iionorable-raG^jTfed than an old faced ancient.'' Here we
have a corruption of ensign (Fr. enseigne, from L, insignia).
360 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
Tattoo, ' drum-beat,' was formerly tapto. It is the Dutch
tap-toe, ' tap to ! ' i.e. ' drinking-house shut ! ' ^ The tattoo
is the signal for the soldiers to go to their quarters. The
tattooing of the flesh is another matter. This tattoo is a
South Sea Island word, imported, with the custom, by
sailors. The chances that a Dutch military term and a
Polynesian custom should independently give to the
English vocabulary two words identical in form would
seem unlikely enough, were not language full of such
coincidences. A similar instance is squash (sec p. 189J.
Haggard, ' a wild hawk,' is French from Old German,
and means literally 'of the Jiedge.^ The ending is like
that in drunkard, coward, etc. (see p. 141). Hagged,
' haunted by a hag or witch,' was confused in form with
this word, and hence we have our common adjective hag-
gard. Hag itself seems to be related to hedge, and thus
to mean originally 'a wild creature.'
Perminlde, the plant, and periwinJde, the shell, have ex-
changed influences. The plant is L. 2)ervinca, adopted by
the Anglo-Saxons as pervmce. This provides the per- of
both words. The shell is A.S. pine-ioincla, from h. piua
(^pinnd), 'mussel,' and winch, 'winkle' (a shellfish).
This has furnished the second jxirt of both names.
1 Compare our ' Shut the door tu ' and tlie German su in Thiire su!
CHAPTER XXV
WORDS FllOM THE NAMES OF ANIMALS
Cue language has a great quantity of words and phrases
in which the names of animals are figuratively used to de-
scribe human qualities. Several linguistic processes which
we have been studying are well illustrated in this category,
and there are, besides, interesting historical considerations
attaching to the group.
In the first place, expressions of this type are of abso-
lutely popular origin. They point to a time when
everybody was familiar with out-of-door life, and when
comparisons with animals lay, therefore, close at hand.
The type once formed, literature would inevitably extend
it by including the names of exotic or even fabulous
animals ;i but, in their beginning, the phenomena in ques-
tion are intensely popular. More than this, they go back
to a very primitive psychology. We now make a sharp
distinction between man and the 'lower animals,' as we call
them. To primitive man, however, it did not occur to
classify the world in this fashion. He never doubted that
beasts could talk and that it was possible for us to learn
their language. He believed that men were frequently
transformed into animals and animals into men. Indeed,
it is still a tradition among many tribes that their ancestors
had the forms of beasts or birds. Furtlier, instead of
denying reason to the lower animals, primitive man often
1 See p. 117.
361
362 WOllDS AND THEIR WAYS
ascribed to tliein intellectual faculties superior to his own.
All these beliefs survive among savages, and may be ob-
served as well in young children. Nursery tales and.
classic mythology alike embody them, and what we call
' fables ' spring from the same root. Long after such
naive conceptions had ceased to be seriously entertained
by civilized races, they were still utilized in literature and
art ; and hence they form, in one way or another, a com-
ponent part of every grade of language, from slang to the
most elevated poetry.
English has a considerable stock of po]Dular compari-
sons which illustrate these points in a very simple way.
A man may be ' blind as a bat ' (physically, morally, or
intellectually), 'sly as a fox,' 'cross as a bear,'i 'bold as
a lion,' ' stubborn as a mule,' ' gay as a lark,' ' dumb as an
oyster,' 'busy as a bee,' 'hungry as a wolf,' 'gray as a
badger.' He may 'work like a beaver,' 'puff like a
grampus,' or ' drink like a fish.' Nowadays a talkative
person ' chatters like a magpie.' In the fourteenth
century he 'jangled as a jay.' 'Gentle (i.e. well-bred)
as a falcon' is a pretty comparison of this kind, often
applied to ladies in the clays when hawking was a fashion-
able sport.
Still more primitive is the practice of designating a
person, metaphorically, by the name of some animal whose
qualities he is thought to exemplify. Thus a crafty
fellow may be called a fox; a glutton, a |>/^; a surly
person, a hear. A shrewish woman is a vixen., that is, a
' she-fox.' 2 Hamlet speaks of Osric, the fantastic, feather-
1 Slang, which delights in elaborating simpler expressions, carried out
the figure : 'as cross as a bear with a sore head.' Hence, apparently,
the American word sorehead, for 'a disappointed politician.'
2 See p. 204.
WORDS FROM THE NAMES OF ANIMALS 363
brained courtier, as a waterfli/. Caterpillar (or ' cater-
pillar of the commonwealtli ' ) was an expressive old term
for one who devours what other men earn, — that is, for
what we sometimes call, in the language of political
economy, an 'unproductive consumer.' Other similar
terms which need no explanation are sheep^ monkey^ duck,
goose, viper, cat (for a spiteful woman), jjarro^, 7nole, skunk,
snake, serpent, wolf, drone. Few of us have ever seen the
little grub which bores through the leaves and bindings
of books, yet hookworm, in a figurative sense, is familiar to
everybody and has literary associations. Dog, hound, cur,
tyke, and puppy, are terms of contempt, and worm or insect
is sometimes used in the same way. Such surnames or
sobriquets as Coeur de Lion and 'the Wild Boar of
Ardennes ' may also be mentioned, and the hulls, hears,
and lambs of the stock exchange must not be forgotten.
The names of various stupid birds have been used at
different periods for ' fool ' or ' dupe ' : — gull (properly a
'young bird' of any lun^X),'^ pigeon, daiv, dodo, dotterel, and
rook. Rook affords a curious instance of transference.
From the noun rook, 'a dupe,' comes the verb rook, 'to
cheat,' and from this verb the noun rook was rederived in
the sense of 'swindler.' Thus we have the same word
in two opposite senses: the blackleg and his victim. 'To
pluck a pigeon ' (or simply to pluck') is an obvious figure.
A stool pigeon, used figuratively for a ' confederate in some
swindling operation,' is a ' decoy pigeon,' so called from
its being tied to a stool. Dotterel itself means ' silly
thing' (from dote); and dodo is the Portuguese doudo,
'simpleton.' These three words have turned a complete
somersault, returning, in their figurative application to
stupid mortals, to the posture which they held before they
1 See p. 3G5.
364 nouns and theib ways
were applied to the birds. If the I'ortuguese doudo is
really a corruption of the provincial English dold (our
doW)^ the whirligig of etymology is dizzy enough.
Loon for 'fool' is not the name of the bird. It is the
Scotch loun, and is apparently identical with English lown^
' a worthless fellow,' which is perhaps akin to lame. Any
physical defect may give rise to an abusive epithet: as, —
absurd ('very deaf,' L. surdus), Mind, purblind, '•scald
knave.' 1 Yet the popular feeling associates loo?i with
loony, — which is lunatic, ' moonstruck,' from the supposed
effect of the moon on insanity. Woodcock was once a
s^uionym for ' silly creature,' for this bird was thought to
liave no brains and to walk into the snare with its eyes
open. Indeed, old books on fowling assert that it catches
itself, as it were, by examining the snare in idiotic curi-
osity. Compare the words of Laertes, who has been
wounded with the poisoned rapier which he prepared for
Hamlet: —
Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric,
I am justly kill'd with my own treachery.
Bull, for 'an absurd blunder,' particularly in speech,
might well come from the bull's habit of charging with
his head down so that he appears not to see where he is
going : but the etymology is not known, and the word
may have nothing to do with the animal.^
Horse is used as a kind of prefix to indicate size or
coarseness : as in horse-radish, horse-purslain, horse-mussel,
horse sense. Compare sow-thistle, dog-7'ose, and the Creek
use of /SoO? Qbous), as in ^ov-avKov (bod-sukoii), ' a large
' ' He that repreveth his neighebor, outher he repreveth him by some
harm of peyne that he hatli on his body, as mesel, crolced haiivt^ or by
som sinnc tliat he doth.' Chaucer, Persones Tale, § 42.
'•^ Compare hull luck for good fortune which a man blunders into.
WOEDS FROM THE NAMES OF ANIMALS 365
kind of fig.' Horse chestnuts, however, are so called from
being fed to horses.
JNIany adjectives (of tlie nature of similes, and closely
comparable to the phrases cited on p. 362) exist in the
language. Such are lionlike, dogged, wolfish, cattish, cur-
rish, sheepish, elephantine (for ' clums3^' often used of
literary style), hoggish, piggish, heai^ish, omdish, apish. We
speak of 'mulish obstinacy' and 'owlish commentators.'
Shakspere has cowish for ' cowardly,' probably because the
cow is not valiant ; but also, no doubt, under the influence
of coivard, which has really nothing to do with coio (being
O. Fr. couard, from coue, L. coda, cauda, ' tail,' with the
ending -ard^^. Observe that many of these adjectives
end in -ish, a termination meaning simply 'like' or 're-
sembling,' but frequently implying contempt (boyish,
childish, mannish, wo^nanish} . Foxy is a colloquial term
for 'shrewd'; compare the 'learned' vulpine (L. vul-
pinus') .
A few verbs belong to this class of animal names. They
come easily from our ability to use almost any noun as a
verb. 2 To ape is to ' imitate ' (especially in a ridiculous or
ineffective way). To gull is to 'cheat.' Gull formerly
meant 'a young bird' of any kind. In Elizabethan English
it was applied to an unsophisticated youngster who wished
to be thought knowing. To monJcey with is slang for to
' meddle with,' monkeys being proverbially unable to let
anything alone. A vulgar but expressive American
warning is 'Don't monkey with the buzz-saw.' We may
' dog one's steps,' or ' hound a man,' or ' worm our way into
his confidence ' (cf. insinuate, 'to wind in,' from L. sinuo').
To rat is an expression for deserting one's party or associ-
ates, as rats are said to forsake a ship that is unseaworthy.
1 See p. 141. 2 See p. 192.
36G WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
It is common in England, but only imitative in this coun-
try. To gawk is to ' stare about ' like an awkward green-
horn. A gmvk is properly a cuckoo and comes from the
Old Norse. Cuckoo itself was once used for ' simpleton,' as
by Falstaff in addressing Prince Hal. To badger is to
'abuse Avith words ' (as a badger is baited with dogs). To
craivjish is an expressive American slang term for to ' back
out' of an ao-reement or 'back down' in a contention.
Two verbs of this class are illustrated by the omen in
Macbeth : —
A falcon, towering in lier jwide of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawJc'd at and kill'd.
The ' tame villatic fowl ' has supplied our language with
the verb heyipeck (now commonest as an adjective, lien-
pecked)^ for which Leontes, in The Winter's Tale, uses
the ferocious synonym womaii-tired^ that is, 'torn' as a falcon
tears its prey. ' Cock of the walk,' ' cock of the school,'
to crow over (Shakspere's overcrow, as in Hamlet's 'the
potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit') are not from
the barnyard, but from cock-fighting. ^
Caprice comes (through the French) from the Italian
capriccio, which seems originally to liave meant the skip-
ping movement of a goat (L. caper^. Capriola (from L.
capra, ' she-goat ') means ' fawn ' in Italian, and this has
given us capriole (perhaps also through the French),
shortened to caper. Caper (for sauce) comes from L.
eappari% (Gr. Kd7T7rapL<;^, the name of the plant, and is
probably of Oriental origin.
Tools, utensils, or pieces of machinery are frequently
named after animals. Battering ram (or simply ?-«???)
explains itself. The llomans called such an implement
J Cf. p. 57,
WORDS FROM THE NAMES OF ANIMALS 367
aries, ' ram,' and sometimes made the end of it into the
shape of a rani's head. A warship provided with a beak
for ramming is also called a ra7n. A croivhar (or croiv') gets
its name from the fancied resemblance of its bent and flat-
tened point to the bill of a crow. A frying-pan is called a
spider in some parts of New England. The cock of a gun
and coch^ ' a spigot,' are probably from some fancied resem-
blance to the comb of a cock. It is curious that the Ger-
man Hahn (though not related to our word cock) has both
of these senses. SawJiorse and Jio7'se are pieces of wooden
framework used for carrying or supporting logs and the
like. Che veaux-de-f rise, ' Frisian horses,' are pieces of tim-
ber set with long iron spikes and used as a defence, espe-
cially against cavalry. The name (now a technical
military term) was, like many such words, originally
slang, and came from the use of this device by the Frisians
in the seventeenth century. The Roman ecideus, 'little
horse,' was an instrument of torture. An English reli-
gious poet of the fourteenth century describes Christ on
the cross under a similar figure : ' on stokky stede [steed]
he rode.' Other implements which bear names of ani-
mals are dogs, canting dogs, fire-dogs, a mule (in spinning),
a summer beam (also called a summertree ; that is, the beam
which bears a burden on each side of it, as a sumpfer mule
or horse), culverin (from L. coluber, ' snake,' because the
figure of a serpent was frequently engraved on ordnance
of this kind; cf. basilisk'^ for a kind of cannon), j^y (for
a light carriage), tvorm (for the spiral part of a still),
'a rat-fail file.' Similar figures are the medical lupus,
'wolf,' and cancer, 'crab,' as names of diseases. ^
There are many proverbial or idiomatic phrases contain-
ing the names of animals, and sometimes embodying
1 See p. 368. « See p. 353.
368 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
a bit of popular wisdom or rude satire. Such are bee-line,
'as the crow flies,' 'bird's-eye view,' 'wild-goose chase,'
' calf love,' ' wildcat linaneiering,' ' to send him away with
a flea in his ear,' ' nine lives like a cat,' ' as wise as a Walt-
ham calf,' 'as honest as Cooper's cow.' Most of these
are perspicuous, but others allude to jests or anecdotic nar-
ratives that have suffered the iniquity of oblivion.
Blind bayard, literally ' bay horse,' ^ is an old term for a
heedless man. Its use and meaning are well explained by a
passage in Chaucer's Canon's Yeoman's Tale (11. 860-1): —
Ye ben as hold as is Bayard the blinde,
That bkmdreth forth and peril casteth [imagines] noon.
A ' spread-eagle speech ' comes from the old style of
Fourth of July oratory in this country, in which the orator
seemed to spread his wings like the national bird.
The Middle Ages possessed a great stock of fantastic
natural history, derived in great part from Pliny the
Elder, from the works of Aristotle and ^lian, and
from a Greek treatise of the second century A.D. known
as Physiologus, or ' The Naturalist.' Such lore was highly
valued, and has been much utilized by literary men
of all periods. A great deal of it became popular and
traditional. Hence come several linguistic curiosities.
The basilisk, 'royal serpent' or 'king snake ' (Gr. ^aac-
XiaKo^, basilisl'os, from /3a(ri\€v<i, basileus, 'king'; cf.
basilica, Basil) caused death by a subtle poison that em-
anated from its eyeballs. Hence 'to glare like a basilisk '
means to stare at one with a petrifying or annihilating
glance, like Tennyson's gorgonize. A person who can en-
1 The termhiation -ard is that seen in drunkard, braggart, etc., and is
cognate with tlie adjective hard. Liard, 'gray horse,' shows the same
ending. (See p. 141.)
WOEDS FROM THE NAMES OF ANIMALS 369
dure much heat is called a salamander, since this animal
was supposed to live in the element of fire. Phoenix may
denote a person of unique excellence, a ' nonpareil,' since
there was never more than one phcenix in the world at a
time. More commonly, however, we use the word in allu-
sion to the legend that the phoenix rose from its own ashes
to a new life. In former times, pelicayi was a symbol both
of parental self-sacrifice and of filial ingi\atitude. The
mother pelican was thought to feed her young Avith her
own blood, which the nestlings were so eager to taste that
they sometimes wounded the old bird with their beaks.
The dove was supposed to have no gall, and hence to be
incapable of resentment. Scorpion for ' flatterer ' comes
from the action of this reptile in curving its tail over its
body in the act of stinging. Hence the scorpion (which
was represented with a human countenance) was said to
flatter with its face while it stung with its tail.^ In addi-
tion to these conceptions, most of which were common
property, countless other bits of unnatural history are
scattered through the pages of our older writers. The
Elizabethan Euphuists were fond of such figures and
developed them with wearisome formality. ^ ' Deaf as an
adder ' is biblical and alludes to the old idea that the adder
either could not or would not hear the music of the
charmer. It was even asserted that in order to avoid
the sound of the charmer's voice and pipe, the adder
pressed one ear to the ground and inserted its tail in the
other. Crocodile tears, for ' hypocritical weeping ' alludes
to the story that the crocodile shed tears over the prey
which it devoured. Compare ' He plays with his victim
as a cat plays with a mouse.' Tlie chimera and the eha-
1 Sec Chaucer, Man of Law's Tale, vv. 401-G.
2 See p. 117.
2b
370 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
meleon may also be mentioned. 'An unlicked cub ' alludes
to the belief that young bears are born as formless lumps,
and have to be 'licked into shape ' by their dam. The
phrase is popularly associated with lick, ' to beat,' on the
principle that to spare the rod will spoil the child.
We have already mentioned fables. These have a com-
plicated history, into which it is impossible to enter. Their
origin, however, goes far back in the history of our race,
suggesting a stage of civilization in which the psycho-
logical differences which we feel between man and the
lower animals were not recognized. The stories of ' Uncle
Remus ' illustrate a developed form of this type. As civil-
ization advanced, naive beast-stories, founded on such primi-
tive conceptions of animated nature, grew slowly into the
literary apologue which we know as the -iEsopic fable.
These fables have given us a number of proverbial phrases,
of which 'to cry wolf,' 'to nurse an adder in one's bosom,'
and ' the lion's share ' are perhaps the most familiar and
picturesque. 'A wolf in sheep's clothing' is biblical
(Matthew vii. 15). In addition to this, the Middle Ages
had a well-developed beast-epic or beast-romance, partly
based on the literary jEsopic fable and j^artly on tradi-
tional stories about animals. In this epic, the leading
characters had various names, two of which have main-
tained themselves in our language : reijnard, for the fox,
and chanticleer, for the cock. Isegrim, ' the wolf,' is lost in
English, and Bruin, ' the bear,' entered our language from
a Dutch form of the epic at a comparatively late period.
Dame Partlet for the hen (and figuratively for a bustling
or fussy woman) has been traced no farther back than
Chaucer's tale of the Cock and the Fox (The Nonne
Prestes Tale).
In taking leave of the interesting category of words and
WORDS FEOM THE NANTES OF AXTMALS 371
phrases derived from tlie names of animals, we must once
more emphasize the distinctly ' popular ' character of this
part of our vocabulary. Even such of them as owe their
presence in it to literary treatment are derived, in the last
analysis, from primitive man's naive conception of the
world about him. So modern a word as the colloquial
foxy, 'sly,' leads us straight back, by an unbroken clew,
to the infancy of the race. Here is the explanation of the
pertinacity with which animal symbolism has held its
ground in the most cultivated tongues. The fox is a syn-
onym for ' craft ' with thousands of persons who have
never seen reynard in propria persona, — to whom, indeed,
the fox is as literary a character as the behemoth or the
leviathan.
CHAPTER XXVI
WORDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS
One of the most entertaining chapters in the histor}-
of our vocabulary deals with words from proper names.
These are of every conceivable kind. Some are mere nick-
names, originating in slang or the humors of the hour, and
perpetuated either because they seem to fill a gap in the
language or l)ecause they suggest allusions or anecdotes
which it tickles our fancy to remember ; others are serious
technical terms, coined in honor of an inventor or a dis-
coverer. They may come from history or from literature,
indifferently. Sometimes their origin is obscure, because
the story or the incident to which they allude, though
striking enough to attract attention at the moment and
thus to give rise to a new word or phrase, has not proved
of sufficient importance to be put on record.
The process that we are considering may go no farther
than to transfer the name of a well-known personage to
some one who resembles him. Thus, we may call a great
orator ' a Demosthenes' or 'a Burke ' or ' a Webster,' a great
general ' a Wellington' or ' a Marlborough,' a cruel tyrant
' a Nero,' the assertor of his country's liberties ' a Wash-
ington.' This happens every day and calls for no remark.
A further step is taken when the name of such a character
is used for all who resemble him. It is then a pure com-
mon noun, and, if our coinage passes current, the language
has gained a word. Perhaps the most impressive example
372
]VOEDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 373
is Ccesar which, origiually the name of a Roman family of
no great distinction, has become a synonym for ' emperor '
in languages so widely different as German {Kaiser) and
Russian {Tsar}.^
Examples of such nouns are : hector, 'a bully,' from a
wrong conception of the great Trojan's character ; mentor,
' a wise counsellor,' from the sage adviser of Telemachus
in the Odyssey ; Nestor, ' a veteran,' from the aged hero in
the Iliad, who had ruled three generations of men ; Solon,
from the Athenian lawgiver (one of the Seven Wise Men),
'a sage,' often used jocosely of a person who has an ha-
bitual air of sagacity ; Skylock, ' a merciless usurer,' or, in
general, ' a grasping money-getter ' ; Judas, ' a traitor,' or,
in particular, ' a false friend ' (cf. ' a Judas kiss ') ; paudar
(or pander), from the part played by Pandarus (^Pan-
dare) in Chaucer's romance of Troilus and in Shakspere's
Troilus and Cressida ; ^ Bai/ard, ' a knight without fear
and without reproach,' then, generally, 'a high-minded
and chivalrous gentleman ' ; Braggadocio (from a character
in Spenser's Faerie Queene), formed from hrag and a quasi-
Italian termination, 'a cowardly boaster' ; Brawcansir, 'a
swashbuckler,' from a character in The Rehearsal, tlie
famous burlesque play written to caricature Dry den ;
Mcecenas, ' a patron of literature,' from one of Augustus's
ministers, who favored literary men ; dunce (from Bmis
Scotus, a celebrated scholastic philosopher), 'a stupid
^ The Anglo-Saxons had the word in the form cdse.re, whence kaser ni
Middle English, but kaiser, another Middle English form, shows High
German influence. Spenser's kesar is an intentional archaism.
2 Pandarus is a Trojan hero in the Iliad, but his activity as a go-between
dates from the Middle Ages. Chaucer's Fandare is a development from
Boccaccio's Fandaro, but is very different from his prototype, being,
indeed, the most remarkable character-study ia our literature before the
Elizabethan age. Shakspere's Paudar is Chaucer's, utterly debased.
374 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
person,' first applied in contempt to the schoolmen who
opposed the new or humanistic learning ; Timon, ' a misan-
thrope,' from a celebrated Athenian whose life was written
by Plutarch and dramatized by Shakspere ; Lucretia, ' a
virtuous woman,' from Collatinus's wife, whose tragic fate
forms a part of the legendary history of Rome ; Benedick
or Benedict, 'a newly married man,' from a character in
Much Ado About Nothing, who rails against wedlock, but
finally succumbs to the charms of Beatrice;^ Satan, 'a
person of diabolical wickedness' (cf. devil), or, jocosely,
' a little Satan,' ' a mischievous child' ; Termagant, ' a scold,'
from a supposed god of the Saracens, whom the IMiddle
Ages regarded as idolaters. ^
The Bible has given us a number of similar terms : as,
— a JosejjJi, a Job, a Samson, a Solomon, a MethusalaJi, an
Ishmael, a ' doubting Thomas,' a ' Good Samaritan,'' a Dives,
a lazar (from Lazarus), 'to raise Cain.'' Jezebel has con-
tributed her name to our vocabulary in two senses. In
accordance with the wicked queen's true character, every
haughty woman may be called a Jezebel, and it is with this
in mind that Sir Andrew Aguecheek applies the name,
with fine disregard of gender, to the strutting Malvolio.
But Jezebel more commonly means 'a flaunting jade,' —
especially in the phrase ' a painted Jezebel,'' from the pas-
sage in which we read that ' Jezebel painted her face, and
tired her head, and looked out at a window' (II Kings
ix. 30).
A pasquinade is a lampoon, such as used to be attached
to a mutilated statue in Rome called Pasquin, from Pas-
1 The word is used with particular allusion to a passage iu which Bene-
dick is jeeringly greeted by Don Pedro as 'Benedick, the married man.'
- Hence Saracen in Middle English is frecjuently 'pagan,' and some-
times is substituted for ' heathen Dane ' (as in one version of the romance
of King Horn).
WORDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 375
quino, a cobbler celebrated for his wit, who lived and
worked near the place where it was exhumed. A lovelace
is a person like the rake in Richardson's Clarissa Harlowe ;
a gay Lothario gets his name from a similar character in
Rowe's Fair Penitent ; Don Juan was a Spanish liber-
tine, whose adventures were traditionally current in Seville
before they received literary and musical treatment at the
hands of Tellez, Moliere, Goldoni, Gllick, and Byron.
Paul Pry is a character in a comedy by John Poole.
Simon Pure is a Quaker in Mrs. Centlivre's Bold Stroke
for a Wife. Tartuffe for ' hypocrite ' is from Moliere.
Squire of Dames is a character in Spenser's Faerie Queene
(iii, 7, 51). Fidus Achates is ^Eneas's friend in Virgil.
A Mrs. Harris for a ' non-existent person,' a ' myth,' is
from Mrs. Gamp's fictitious patron in Martin Chuzzlewit,
and practical Crradgrind is in Hard Times. 3Irs. Grrundy
is often referred to as a standard of propriety by Dame
Ashfield in Morton's Speed the Plow. Dulcinea was
Don Quixote's ladylove. The Rev. Dr. Dryasdust is a
device of Sir Walter Scott's. Roorback, ' a campaign lie,'
is named after The Travels of Baron Roorback, a fiction
intended to injure Polk when he was a candidate for the
presidency in 1844. Rip Van Winkle needs no interpreter.
' The driving is like the driving of Jehu, the son of
Nimslii, for he driveth furiously ' has given us, jehu, ' coach-
, man.' As for Nimshi, his father, his name is still used in
New England for a mischievous child — ' a regular little
Nirnshi. ' ^ Nimrod was ' a mighty hunter before the Lord ' ;
Achitophel led Absolom astray by evil counsel ; ' a Daniel
come to judgment' is Shylock's allusion to the story of
Susannah.
There are also an abundance of classical proper names
1 A similar use of Jebusite is more iutellii^ible.
376 WOEDS AND THEIR WAYS
that are used in the same manner : as, — an amazon, a Juno^
a Circe (cf . ' Circean wiles '), ' a perfect Adonis,'' ' an out-
and-out Xanthippe.''
Now and then the name of a town or the like is used in
the same way: as, — 'a babel of sounds,' from the confu-
sion of tongues at the Tower of Babel ; Mecca, for a place
of pilgrimage, or, even the goal of one's aspirations ;
' one's Capua,'' for an easy position which tempts to neglect
of duty, from the enervating effect of Hannibal's winter
quarters in this luxurious town. The Land of Nod, for
'slumber-land,' is a pretty pun (see Genesis iv. 16).
The constellation Ursa Minor was called ' Dog's Tail,'
Kvv6<i ovpci Qcun6s ourd^, by the Greeks. It was a guide
to mariners (like the Pole Star), and this has given us
cynosure, for 'the observed of all observers.' A j)assage
in Milton's L' Allegro has done much to keep the word
alive. Palace is palatium, the house of Augustus on the
Palatine Hill.
The adjective maudlin, 'ridiculously tearful or senti-
mental,' comes, through the French, from Magdalen. This
was the surname of Mary of Magdala (a town in Palestine),
one of the early disciples of Christ. She was identified
(without good grounds) with the ' woman who was a sinner '
(Luke vii. 36), whence 3Iagdalen, 'penitent.' The adjec-
tive use of maudlin was doubtless suggested by pictures of
the weeping Magdalen.
Some of the words that we have mentioned have had
a further development of meaning. Judas is applied to
a peep-hole in a gate or door. Braggadocio has been
transferred from the person to the quality, and "usually
signifies 'empty boasting.' So chimera, the name of a
fabulous monster composed of diherent parts of incon-
gruous animals, has become a synonym for a ' wild fancy '
WORDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 377
or 'grotesque idea.' 3IaIiomet has had a strange history,
lu the Middle Ages it was thought that the Mohammedans
worshipped idols. Thus, the name of their prophet, in
the form Maumet, became a synonym for 'idol,'^ and then
for '-image' in general, and hence we have mammet for
a child's 'doll,' or even for a 'baby.' Old Capulet up-
braids Juliet as a 'whining mammet.'' An interesting
transference has taken place in Frankenstein. In Mrs.
Shelley's novel, Frankenstein is a young German physi-
ologist who manufactures a human being out of fragments,
endows it with life by some mysterious process, and is
forever haunted by the creature, who finally causes his
death. Hence, a Frankenstein is properly one who is
'hoist with his own petard.' Yet one hears the term used
for ' a creature that torments his creator,' as if it had been
the name of the monster that Frankenstehi made.
Tawdry^ 'vulgarly fine,' is a corruption of Saint Audrey,
that is, Saint Ethelreda, and was first applied to what was
called a 'tawdry lace,' that is, a kind of lace bought at
Saint Audrey's Fair. The initial t is all that is left of the
adjective Saint. Compare Brummagem (from Birming-
ham) and pinchbeck (a man's name).
Now and then a proper name is used as a verb.^ Thus,
to Hector is ' to play the bully,' or, in a slightly generalized
sense, 'to torment' or 'tease.' T\\q ^eih pander is com-
moner than the substantive. It is figuratively used of
almost any kind of base subserviency. Thus, one may
pander to the vices of another or to his prejudices or to
his love of flattery. From one Burke, an Edinburgh
1 'What difference is bitwixe an ydolastre,' asks Cliaucer's Parson,
'and an avaricious man, but that an ydolastre, per aventure, hath but o
{i.e. one) mawmet or two, and the avaricious man hath manye ? For
certes, every florin in his cofre is his mmomet.' The Persones Tale, § 04.
'■^ As may be the case with almost any English noun (see p. 192).
378 WOEDS AND THEIR WAYS
criminal, who murdered many persons in order to sell
their bodies to surgeons for dissection, comes the verb
to burke (always figuratively used), 'to smother,' 'to pass
over in silence': as, — 'His book was burked by the
critics.' Burke and his gang used to smother their vic-
tims in order that the bodies might show no marks of
violence. To ' out-Herod Herod ' is from Hamlet's de-
scription of a ranting player. It alludes to the furious
demeanor of the Herod of the old religious drama, v\^hose
raging was not confined to the scaffold on which such
plays were presented, but extended to the street as well.
' Here Herod rages,' says an old stage direction, ' in this
pageant, and in the street also.' To boycott is said to be
from Captain Boycott, who was the first boycotted land-
lord in Ireland. The term has extended far beyond the
limits of its original application. A guy, for a ' queer-
looking person' (especially one who is badly dressed),
and the verb to guy, ' to make fun of,' come from the
efhgy of Guy Fawkes, carried in procession on the fifth
of November, the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot.
To meander comes from the winding course of the river
Mceandcr in Phrygia.
To lynch is something of a mystery. '■Lynch law' has
the air of being named after a person, and there have been
various claimants, but the original Judge Lynch is still
unidentified. The phrase is singularly parallel to the Eng-
lish ' Lydford law,' which is mentioned by William Browne
as already proverbial in the seventeenth century : —
I oft have heard of L yd ford lau-,
How in the morn they hang and draw,
And sit in judgment after.
The reference is to the stannary courts at Lydford in
Devonshire, which were extremely arbitrary in their action.
WOBDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 379
But the phrase 'law of Lydford,' for summary justice,^
has been traced as far back as the fourteenth century,
which seems to be too early for the tinners, but may refer
to the severity of the forestry laws ; for Lydford was the
seat of (xovernment for the ancient Forest of Dartmoor.
The ending -ize (or -ise) is sometimes used to make a
verb from a proper name. It is an adaptation of the
Greek -izo, Avhich had a similar function (as fxtjEi^o), mcdizo,
'to Medize,' 'to favor the Medes"). Thus we have tanta-
lize, from Tantalus, — now commonest in the adjective
use, as 'a tantalizing sight.' So bowdlerize, 'to expurgate'
(always with a contemptuous suggestion of prudery),
from Dr. Bawdier, who published a ' family Shakspere '
in 1818. Two years before, J. L. Macadam liad intro-
duced the plan of macadamizing roads. ^ To liarvey or
harveyize steel is an American invention; the process is
named after the discoverer, H. A. Harvey. Maud's lover
in TQl-myisO\\^Y?i■s, (jorgonized 'with a stony British stare.'
Names of tribes or nations have often become common
nouns, usually in a sense according with supposed na-
tional characteristics. Thus Goth may designate a rude
or barbarous man ; Vandal (whence vandalism'), a wanton
destroyer ; Turk, a ferocious person ; Jew, a usurer or one
who drives a sharp bargain ; Yankee, a keen or tricky
trader. ' The myrmidons of the law ' preserve the name
of the ferocious tribe that followed Achilles to Troy.
Tartar, for a ' peppery person ' or ' tough customer,' still
carries a faint suggestion of the terror inspired by the
Tartar invasion of Europe in the thirteentli century.
The change from Tatar (the native name) to Tartar
1 Cf. the American phrase 'Jersey {i.e. New Jersey) justice.'
- The noun macadam., for the 'surface' of such a road, is a back-for-
mation from the verb macadamize.
380 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
(from Tartarus') is more impressive testimony. Ogre is
'■ Hungarian,' — through a confusion of the Magyars with
the Huns, and of both with the dreaded Tartars.^ Gyi^sy .
is Egyptian^ and is used in half a dozen derived senses.
Bohemian was often substituted for '- Gypsy ' (by an easy
etlmological mistake) ; hence the modern social Bohemiari^
— a coinage of Thackeray's. /Street Arab is also a recent
term for a particular variety of nomad. Slave is Slav,
since the Germans reduced many of this race to servi-
tude. We have the word from the French, which bor-
rowed it from the German ; but it is the national name
of the Slavonian people. A blackamoor is a 'black Moor,'
that is, by another blunder in ethnology, an ' Ethiopian '
or negro. The Assassins were a fanatical Eastern sect
who, like the Thugs, committed murder for the glory
of their divinit3\ The name is an Arabic derivative of
hasJdsJi, — to the use of which the Assassins were addicted.
The Zouaves are a tribe of Algerian mountaineers (cf.
Croat for any 'irregular' soldier).
Derivatives from personal, national, or local names have
also become common in special senses. The boasting Gas-
cons have given us gasconade and gasconading. Compare
''Roman firmness,' ^ Punic faith' (for 'perfidy,' L. Ptmica
fides; cf. the Frenchman's 'perfidious Albion'), '•Attic
salt ' (for ' wit,' L. sal Attieuni), and Thackeray's version of
Persicos odi puer apparatus, — ' I hate all your Frenchified
stuff. ' A ' Parthian shot ' was very literal to Crassus, who
found to his cost that the flight of the Partliians was more
to be dreaded than their onset ; to us it is only an elegant
and pointed synonym for one method of ' having the last
word.' Romance is an Old French word for the ' vernacu-
lar ' (the lingua Romanica. or vulgar Latin, as opposed to
1 Wiener, in Anglia, XXIII, 107.
WOBDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 381
the learned tradition of the schools), and was easily trans-
ferred to a 'tale' or 'story' in the vernacnlar. Most of the
Middle English romatices are translations from the French.
The development of the word has been of the mnltifarious
kind. Observe the variety of suggestion in ' a romantic
girl,' ' nineteenth-century romanticism,' ' the Romance
languages,' ' he gave a romancing account of his journey.'
Sir Thomas More's Utopia.} a fanciful sketch of the
ideal commonwealth, has given us the adjective Utopian.
Atlantis was a fabled continent in the Atlantic Ocean,
which Plato and others mention. Bacon's Neiv Atlantis
supplied Milton with Atlanfean, in the same sense, but this
has never got into general use, perhaps because we already
had atlas (from the giant's name). The Earthly Paradise
was often sought in mediaeval times. The Spaniards of
the sixteenth century believed that a golden country
existed somewhere in South America, and Raleigh thought
he could find it in Guiana. This is Ul Dorado, ' the gilded'
(Spanish, from L. de-aurare, 'to gild,' from aumm, 'gold' ),
— a kind of romantic equivalent of ' the Promised Land '
of the Israelites.
Castles in the air tells its own story. Castles in Spain,
however, we should not understand, if we did not know
that it is a mere translation of chateaux en Espagne.
' Across the Pyrenees ' is a natural outlook for a French-
man, but not for a native of England. When the trans-
lated ' castles in Spain ' crosses the sea, and is used by
Americans or Australians, its rationale seems still less
obvious. In other words, the whole phrase has become a
^That is, 'the land of Nowhere,' from Gr. oi, 'not' and totto';,
'place' (as in topngrnphy, topical). Compare Carlyle's Weissnirhtim
( 'I know not where'), the city where Teufelsdrockh was professor of
'science in general' (Allerley-Wissenschaft).
382 WOBDS ANT) TTIETB WAYS
mere symbol, and we do not think of analj'zing it any more
than if it were a single word.
From persons, real or fictitions, we have thrasonical,
'boastfnl,' from Thraso, the braggart in Terence's Eunu-
chus ; quixotic, from Don Quixote ; 'in a Pickivickian
sense,' from an amusing passage in the records of the
Pickwick Club ; magic, from the Persian Magi or ' wise
men'; stoical and stoicism for 'unruffled fortitude,' 'insen-
sibility to pain' (see p. 39); epicurean, from Epicurus;
cynical, from the C3aiic (i.e. ' currish' )i philosophers,
especially Diogenes ; '•platonic love,' from an attempt to
adapt the doctrine of Plato to modern social life; machia-
vellian, in a sense of unscrupulous craft that Machiavelli
would certainly have repudiated; mosaic, from the Muses,
but perhaps confused with Mosaic from Moses (cf. Jeivs''
work for arabesque^) ; simony, from Simon Magus, who
offered money for a share in the apostles' mysterious
powers (Acts viii.); jeremiad, 'a mournful or denunciatory
speech,' from the Lamentations of the prophet Jeremiah ;
panic, for ' panic fear,' literally such unreasoning terror as
the god Pan was supposed to inspire by his sudden appear-
ance to a solitary wanderer ; stentorian, from Stentor, the
herald of the Greeks before Troy ; morris dance, from the
Spanish morisco, 'Moorish.'
Frequently the name of a person is applied to a thing,
because he invented, discovered, or introduced it, or
because the inventor named it after him. Thus boots may
he, Wellingtons,^ or Bluchers; a mackintosh is a kind of
waterproof cloak ; broughams and victorias are carriages ;
1 Greek kwikI)^, from kvwv, kvi>6?, ' dog' (as in cynosure, see p. 370).
2 Chaucer, Sir Thopas, v. 1 53.
^ For the omission of the general term (as boots, coat, etc.) in such
cases, see p. 255.
WOBDS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 383
shrajmel was invented by General Shrapnel of the British
army ; a phaeton is so called from the unlucky son of
Phoebus, who drove a chariot so disastrously ; a roquelaure
(eighteenth century) was named after a French duke of
the time of Louis XIV. Every rank in life is represented.
Thus we have orrery^ ' a machine to represent the motions
of the solar system,' from the Earl of Orrery ; and derrick,
for ' a hoisting apparatus,' from Derrick the hangman.
Derrick 'flourished' about 1600, at Tyburn. His name
is an anglicised form of Dierryk or Diederik, which
is the Dutch for Thcoderic, — the great king of the
Ostrogoths. Theoderic is, being interpreted, 'mighty
among the people." This brings us to the conundrum of
the gravedigger in Hamlet, who insisted that the hangman
'builds stronger than the mason or the carpenter.' Noth-
ing is more democratic than language, or conducts one to
more preposterous conclusions.
A sandwich is so called from the Earl of Sandwich, a
passionate gambler, who is said once to have saved time at
a game by stratifying the bread and meat which his servant
brought to the card-tal)le. An amusing instance of this
kind of derivation is the word spencer. The Earl of
Spencer, a celebrated dandy about 1800, once made a bet
that he could introduce the fashion of wearing an overcoat
so short that the tails of his coat would appear beneath it.
He won his bet, and the name spencer was given to short
coats of this style, and has since been transferred to a
woman's garment.
The language of science is full of similar terms, which
sometimes get into common use. Naturalists like to ticket
new species of plants and animals with queer Latin desig-
nations formed from the names of the persons whom they
delight to honor, — their patrons or predecessors, their
384 WORDS AND THEIE WAYS
colleagues or personal friends, or, perhaps, the explorer
who brought home the specimen. Thus we have dahlia
(from Da III), fuchsia (from Fuchs)^ wistaria (from Wista)-),
— all three well-known flowers ; cinchoyia^ from the Count-
ess Chinchon^ who introduced Peruvian bark into Europe ;
and so on ad infinitum. Modern electrical science has
applied to particular units of measurement the names of
ohm, volt (from Volta ; cf. voltaic'), ampere, watt, thus cele-
brating the services of a German, an Italian, a French, and
a Scotch investigator. St. Vitus' dance and St. Anthony^s
fire ('erysipelas') are named from the saints invoked to cure
them; cf. kinr/s ^-vzV for ' scrofula.' '• ffermetically sesded''
celebrates the fame of Hermes Trismegistus, the supposed
founder of alchemical (or hermetic') philosophy, — Milton's
' thrice great Hermes,' the fabled Egyptian prophet, priest,
and king.
Articles of commerce are often named after the place
from which they come or are supposed to come: as, — Java,
mocha, oolong, champagne, sauterne, sherry (older shei'ris,
from Xeres, in Spain); camhric (from Iuimerik,i.e. Cam-
hrai) ; gin (from Greneva) ; china, japan ; cashmere, madras^
tweed, muslin (from the Mesopotamian town of Mas-
soul or Mausil) ; damask (from Damascus) ; fustian (from
Fustdt, i.e. Cairo); morocco; cordovan or cordwain (from
Cordova) ; landau, herlin, surrey ; ai^ras, ' tapestry hang-
ings' (from Arras, in France) ; fez (from Fez, in Morocco) ;
macassar (from a district in the Celebes Islands).^ Com-
pare basque, polonaise, jersey, newmarlcet, italics.
Latakia is a kind of tobacco, from a town of that name ;
1 Byron's 'thy incompafable oil, Macassar.' Coin pare antimacassm',
a word redolent of a bygone age. Tkhj, the usual term in America, is
surely a ' nicer ' word. The knotting of antimacassars replaced the ' ply-
ing of samplers ' and, to some extent, ' the teasing of the housewife's
wool.
WORDS FRO.V PLACES OR PERSONS 385
a Laodicean is a lukewarm person, from the reproof of the
Revelation to the Church of the Laodiceans, who were ' nei-
ther cold nor hot.' Latakia, however, is only the Turk-
ish form of the ancient Laodicea.
Most of the words just noted are obviously place-names
and still recognizable as such. But there are many other
similar terms whose origin is seldom thought of. Thus
spaiiiel is a ' Spanish dog ' (O. Fr. espapiol) ; pistol is
from Pistoja (^Pistola, through Fr. pistole} ; milliner
is Milaner, one who imported fal-lals from Milan ; jet is
from G-agas, an ancient town in Asia Minor ; pheasant
is from the river Phasis in Pontus ; copper (L. cuprum^
was aes Cyprium^ ' bronze from Cyprus ' ; finnan Jiaddie
(Jiaddock~) is from the Scotch village of Findon or the
river FindJiorn, or, more likely, from both together ; cur-
rants are ' raisins de Corinthe ' ; a canter is a clij)ped form
of ' Canterbury gallop,' an easy pace such as pilgrims rode
on their way to Saint Thomas's shrine.
3Iapiet is ' Magnesiaii stone,' from the district of Mag-
nesia in Thessaly (whence also the chemical names
magnesia and 7nanganese^}. The mystery of the load-
stone has been a constant temptation to theorists of one
school or another, and thus magnetic and magnetism have
not only renounced their Thessalian connections, but have
turned their backs on mineralogy. The modern figurative
uses of the words — as in ' a magnetic personality,' ' he
lacks magnetism ' — might easily have come straight from
the magnet. In fact, however, they are derived from
Mesmer's speculations on ' animal magnetism ' (about
1775). As Mesmer's theory of a physical force akin to
that of the magnet became discredited, the phrase was
1 Manganese is a doubtful form, but is thought to be a corruption of
Jj. magnes, 'magnet.'
2c
386 WORDS AND THEIR WAYS
replaced by mesmerism^ which was popular until very
recently. But Mesmer was felt to be something of a
charlatan. At all events, investigators repudiated his
views with unanimous enthusiasm. It was not tolerable,
then, that his name should remain attached to a great
class of psychic phenomena. Hypnotism was accordingly
coined and has become rapidly popular. Perhaps this
will hold the field, for, coming as it does from Gr. v7rvo<i
(JiUpnos')^ 'sleep,' it is vague enough to cover any dis-
coveries that may be made in the future.
Sometimes a common ' Christian name,' in a diminutive
form, is jocosely given to a tool or other implement,
apparently because the tool is looked upon as a pet
or fellow-Vv^orkman. Thus we have the spinning -j enny ;
jimmy and hetty for burglars' implements ; hilly for a
policeman's club, or (in Australia) a bushman's kettle.
The habit is essentially the same as that of using diminu-
tives for the names of tools (see p. 60), and is near akin
to the trick of personifying inanimate objects by calling
them he or she. A ship is always she, and the same
pronoun is often applied to a locomotive by the engineer
('driver') who has it in charge. A miller may also use
she of his mill.^ A gardener has been known to call his
favorite ivy he. The word jack., which means ' fellow ' as
being the commonest of masculine diminutives, has re-
ceived a very wide extension. Sometimes, as in jackass,
it simply implies the masculine gender ; usually, however,
it carries the meaning of strength, size, or coarseness.
1 Cf. Phillips Brooks in a familiar letter to a friend describing the fire
in which Trinity Church, Boston, was destroyed in 1872 : ' Old Trinity
seemed safe all night, but towards morning the fire swept into her rear,
and there was no chance. She went at four in the morning. I saw her
well afire inside and out, carried off some books and robes, and left her.'
A. V. G. Allen, Life and Letters of Phillips Brooks, 1900, II, 67.
WORDS FROM PLACES OE PERSONS 387
Thus we have jack-knife for a hirge pocket-knife, bigger
than a pen-knife ; jackscreiv for a very strong screw used
to raise buildings and the like ; jackstrmvs, originally large
straws used in playing a game which is known by the
same name. Compare such terms as jack-in-the-box, jack-
in-the-pidpit, jackanapes.'^ The word jack is also used alone
for certain kinds of implements and utensils, in particular
for a device to raise the wheels of a carriage from the
ground (cf. boot-jack'), for a leather coat, and for a kind
of hottle {black jack; cf. demijohn').'^
Demijohn is a corruption (by popular etymology) of
the French Dame Jeanne, apparently a jocose name for
a big bottle, like Toby for a kind of beer-mug shaped like
a stout man. Dame Jeanne itself looks like a popular
etymology of something else ; but all efforts to settle the
question have been fruitless. The Arabic damajdna, which
appears to conduct us to the Persian glassworks at Dama-
ghan, is thought to be a modern borrowing from the
Romance.
Here may be mentioned such jocose names as jack for
'fellow'; Jeames for 'footman'; 'Any for 'a London
rough'; Jack Tar ov jacky, for 'a seaman'; Bridget or
Biddy for 'an Irish maidservant'; zany (It. zanni, for
Giovanni, 'John') for 'a buffoon' or ' merry-andrew.'
The words that we have studied in this chapter illus-
trate a considerable variety of linguistic processes.^ But
they are even more significant as documents in the history
of civilization. They cover the map of the world with
1 With the discussion of this word in the Oxford Dictionary should be
compared the remarks of IJr. Scott, in Trans. Amer. Philol. Assoc.,
XXIII, 189 ff.
2 See p. Gl, note 1.
3 In particuhxr, they enforce what was said of the identity between
slang and ordinary language in all essentials of linguistic behavior.
388 WOBDS AND TnEIR WAYS
well-marked dots and boundary lines. They pervade the
tables of the chronologist from the earliest times to the
instant of writing. A single word, like bedlam, has stood
for thousands of years and thousands of miles. Bedlam
(a clipped form of Bethlehem') is now jocosely used for any
great confusion : as, — ' It was a perfect bedlam of dis-
cordant opinions.' l^he generalizing process in this word
is curiously connected with religious history. There was
in Palestine a religious establishment dedicated to Saint
Mary of Bethlehem, that is, the Virgin. In early times, a
branch of this establishment existed in London. Attached
to the church was a hospice or house of entertainment,
meant, in the first instance, for the use of members of the
fraternity who might be temporarily residing in that city.
Gradually the ecclesiastics of this house gave their atten-
tion to a special form of charity, — the reception and
treatment of lunatics, and Bedlam, that is, 'the London
hospice of Saint Mary of Bethlehem,' became an insane
asylum. When the violent measures of Henry VIII
abolished so many monastic houses, this particular hospice
was given to the city of London and continued to be used
as a refuge for the insane under the name of Bethlehem
Hospital or Bedlam. Hence the word bedlam was applied
to any insane asylum, and from this use its modern em-
ployment for any kind of tumultuous assembly or any great
disturbance was easy. It is interesting to observe that
in the history of this word we have involved the founding
of the Christian religion, the passing of the Holy Land
into the control of the Saracens, the Crusades, which
restored it to Christianity, the continued relations be-
tween the Latin Orient and Western Europe, the whole
theory and practice of monOvStic institutions and fraterni-
ties, with their labors in behalf of the poor and sick, the
WOMBS FROM PLACES OR PERSONS 389
Reformation in general, and, in particular, the Reforma-
tion in England under Henry VIII, with its confusion of
religious and secular motives. Incidentally, this involves
the personal history of Henry VIII, and, in particular,
his quarrel with the Pope over the question of his divorce
from Katharine of Aragon and his marriage to Anne Boleyn.
In other Avords, the history of the single word bedlam cannot
be completely understood without some knowledge of the
history of Europe and Asia for more than fifteen hundred
years. It would be hard to find a more striking instance
of the absurdity of regarding the study of words as a
narrow^ and trivial diversion of pedants. Words are the
signs of thoughts and thoughts make history.
APPENDIX
P, 6. We have said that the origin of language is undiscov-
erable. If, however, philologists ever do solve the great prob-
lem, we may conjecture that natural cries (natural in the same
sense in which kicking and working the fingers are natural),
common alike to men and the higher animals, each after its
kind, will be found to be the material, and that the alternate
building-up and breaking-down of words (the eternal systole
and diastole of speech) will be found to be the means, of the
growth which has produced as well the root-system of the Indo-
European (with its puzzling determinatives), as the Semitic
triliteralism, the elements of aggregative languages, and the
extreme complexity of Chinese monosyllables. Such a theory
would probably be nicknamed the ' goo-goo theory.' All that
is requisite for the beginning of language proper is that any
one sound should come to be purposely uttered, however
vaguely, and actually understood, and we have the promise
and potentiality of the most cultivated human speech. The
initial understanding, indeed, may perhaps come from the lis-
tener and be reflected back to the person who utters the sound.
When the first step has been taken, the processes which we
see going on around us every day will do the rest. The ' goo-
goo theory' includes all that can be true in the 'ding-dong
theory ' ; for it is only in such natural cries, produced by the
mere purposeless activity of the vocal organs, that it can justly
be said that ' everything that is struck, rings.' It covers the
ground of the 'bow-wow theory,' since it admits the possibility
of imitation, holding, indeed, that the natural cries referred to
are the only sounds in language that are not imitative. It also
391
392 APPENDIX
includes the ' pooh-pooh theory,' since the cries in question are
the only interjections that are actually spontaneous and do
not like j^ooh ! and hah ! require to be learned, like other words.
The 'goo-goo theory' meets alike the views of a Sayce, who
finds in language a progress of decay, and a Brugmann, who
finds in it a progress of growth.
A readable account of various theories of the origin of lan-
guage may be found in A. H. Sayce, Introduction to the Science
of Language (2 vols., Lond., 1880), Chap. I. See also Max
Miiller, Lectures on the Science of Language (2 vols., Lond.,
1861-4; revised edition, N.Y., 1891); Whitney, Language
and the Study of Language (5th ed., N.Y. [1875]); Whitney,
The Science of Language, in his Oriental and Linguistic
Studies (N.Y., 1873); Whitney, Max Miiller and the Science
of Language (N.Y., 1892). On language in general see H. Paul,
Priucipien der Sprachgeschichte (3d ed., Halle, 1898), translated
from the 2d edition by H. A. Strong, Principles of the History
of Language (N.Y., 1889); Strong, Logeman, and Wheeler,
Introduction to the Study of the History of Language (Lond.,
1891).
Pp. 34 ff. A useful handbook of philosophical terms is
R. Eisler's Worterbuch der Philosophischen Begriffe und Aus-
driicke, quellenmassig bearbeitet (Berlin, 1899).
P. 48. For biblical words see J. Eastwood and W. Aldis
Wright, The Bible Word-Book (Loud., 1866).
P. 54. On women's languages see Crawley, Journal of the
Anthropological Institute, XXIV, 233-5.
Pp. 55 ff. Among collections of English slang may be men-
tioned John Camden Hotten's Slang Dictionary (new ed.,
Lond. [1874]) ; Barrere and Leland's Dictionary of Slang,
Jargon, and Cant (2 vols., 1889-90); Farmer and Henley's
Slang and its Analogues (4 vols., A-MYZ, Lond., 1890-6);
H. Baumann's Londonismen, Slang und Cant (Berlin, 1887).
The ordinary large dictionaries also contain a considerable
number of slang words.
APPENDIX 393
P. 80. On the development of the literary language see
Lounsbury, History of the English Language (revised ed., N.Y.,
1894) ; 0. F. Emerson, History of the English Language (N.Y.,
1894); Skeat, Principles of English Etymology, First Series
(Oxford, 1887) ; Kluge, Geschichte der englischen Sprache, in
Paul's Grundriss der germanischen Philologie, Vol. L
On dialects see the publications of the English Dialect
Society, and the great English Dialect Dictionary, edited by
Joseph Wright. Cf. Sheldon, ' What is a Dialect ? ' in Dialect
Notes, published by the American Dialect Society, I, 286 ff.
The modern English dialects have been classified by A. J. Ellis
in Part V of his Early English Pronunciation (Lond., 1889). A
minute study of a single dialect is Joseph Wright's Grammar
of the Dialect of Windhill in the West Riding of Yorkshire
(Lond., 1892). For Scottish see Murray, Dialect of the South-
ern Counties of Scotland (Lond., 1873) ; Jamieson, Dictionary
of the Scottish Language (5 vols.. Paisley, 1879-87).
P. 81. There is no satisfactory treatment of ' American
English.' Material may be found in Bartlett, Dictionary of
Americanisms (N.Y., 1848; 4th ed., Boston, 1877); Scheie de
Vere, Americanisms, the English of the New World (2d ed.,
N.Y., 1872) ; J. S. Farmer, Americanisms Old and New (Lond.,
1889) ; the publications of the American Dialect Society and
the Modern Language Association of America. For bib-
liography, see Dialect Notes (published by the American
Dialect Society), Vol. I. On the history of American pronun-
ciation, see especially Grandgent, From Franklin to Lowell,
a Century of New England Pronunciation, in the Publica-
tions of the Modern Language Association of America, XIV,
207 ff. On Australian English, see E. E. Morris, Austral
English : a Dictionary of Australasian Words, Phrases, and
Usages (Lond., 1898), and J. Lake, Dictionary of Australasian
Words and Phrases (in the Australasian Supplement to
Webster's International Dictionary). On Anglo-Indian, see
Colonel Henry Yule and A. C. Buruell, Hobson-Jobson; be-
394 APPENDIX
ing a glossary of Anglo-Indian Colloquial Words and Phrases
(Lond., 1886).
Pp. 93 ff. The Latin contingent in Anglo-Saxon has been
studied by A. Pogatscher in a very distinguished monograph :
Zur Lautlehre der griechischen, lateinischen und romanischen
Lehnworte ini Altenglischen (Strassburg, 1888), Quellen und
Forschungen, No. 64. See also Sievers, Zum angelsachsischen
Vocalismus (Leipzig, 1900), where different grades of ' popu-
larity ' in words are discriminated with great subtlety.
P. 107. For Old Norse words in English, see Kluge in
Paul's Grundriss der germanischen Philologie, I, 785 ff. ; Skeat,
Principles of English Etymology, I, 453 ff . ; E, Bjork-
man, Scandinavian Loan-Words in Middle English (Halle,
1900).
Pp. 108-9. On these miscellaneous borrowings, see Skeat's
Principles of English Etymology, II, 342 ff., and compare the
lists in the revised edition of the same scholar's Concise Ety-
mological Dictionary (Oxford, 1901).
P. 114, note. See also Kellner, Abwechslung und Tautolo-
gie : zwei'Eigenthumlichkeiten des alt- und mittelenglischen
Stiles, in Englische Studien, XX, 1 ff. (1894).
P. 116. Love allegory. See W. A. Neilson, The Origins
and Sources of the Court of Love, in Studies and Notes in
Philology and Literature, V (Boston, 1899).
P. 117. On Euphuism, see Landmann's edition of Lyly's
Euphues (Heilbronn, 1887) ; the same author's Shakspere
and Euphuism, in the Transactions of the New Shakspere
Society for 1880-5, Pt. II, pp. 241 ff. ; and especially C. G.
Child's monograph, John Lyly and Euphuism (Erlangen,
1894).
P. 123. Romantic revival. See W. L. Phelps, The Begin-
nings of the English Eomantic Movement (Boston, 1893).
Pp. 183-4. On decay of inflection as an improvement, see
0. Jespersen, Progress in Language, with Especial Reference to
English (Lond., 1894),
APPENDIX 395
Pp. 185 ff. For details with regard to prefixes and suffixes,
see Haldeman, Affixes in their Origin and Application (Phila.,
1871); Skeat, Principles of English Etymology; Sweet, New
English Grammar, Pt. I (Oxford, 1892).
P. 219. On the conventional character of words, see espe-
cially Whitney's Language and the Study of Language.
Pp. 219 ff. On semasiology or ' the science of meanings,' see
A. Darmesteter, La Vie des Mots, 2d ed. (Paris, 1887), and M.
Breal, Essai de Semantique (Paris, 1897). Breal's book has
been translated by Mrs. Henry Gust, Semantics, Studies in the
Science of Meaning (Lond., 1900). Cf. also Hey, Die Semasi-
ologie, in Archiv f ilr lateinische Lexicographic, IX, 19o ff.
P. 228. On the magic power of the name, see Child, English
and Scottish Popular Ballads, Index of Matters, under 'Nam-
ing'; K. Nyrop, Navnets Magt (Copenhagen, 1887).
P. 297. National nicknames. There is an interesting list
in Notes and Queries, 9th series, IV, 212-4.
P. 301. Australian aborigines. See W. E. Roth, Ethnologi-
cal Studies among the North-West-Central Queensland Abori-
gines (Brisbane, 1897), p. 184.
P. 304. On disguised and distorted oaths, see A. E. H.
Swaen, Figures of Imprecation, in Englische Studien, XXIV,
16ff., 195ff.
P. 330. On folk-etymology, see K. G. Andresen, Ueber
deutsche Volksetymologie (6th ed., Leipzig, 1899). Much
valuable material for English is collected by the Rev. A.
Smythe Palmer in his Folk-Etymology (Lond., 1882), but the
author's derivations are not always to be trusted.
P. 345. Doublets are treated by Skeat, Principles of Eng-
lish Etymology, I, 414 ff. The largest collection is Sheldon's,
in his etymologies in Webster's International Dictionary,
P. 357. There is a long list of homonyms in Skeat's Etymo-
logical Dictionary.
P. 3G1. On primitive ideas with regard to animals, see Tylor's
chapter on Animism, in his Primitive Culture, Vol. I.
396 APPENDIX
P. 370. On fables, etc., see Jacobs, History of the ^sopic
Fable, Vol. I of liis edition of Caxton's ^sop (Lond., 1889) ;
Kittredge, Beast-Fables, in Johnson's Universal Cyclopsedia,
I, 545-8.
P. 378. On Lydford Law, see S. Eowe, Perambulation of
Dartmoor, 3d ed. (1896), pp. 423 ff.
INDEX OF MATTERS
Abbreviations, Latin, 104 f., 140.
Ablative absolute, 104 n.; degree of
difference, 20'2.
Abrasion, ISOff.
Abstract and concrete, 2oG ff.
Abusive language, 3()4.
Academic terms, 287.
Accent, variable, 355 f . ; of dissyl-
labic adjectives, 356.
Accountants' terms, 102.
Accusative as adverb, 195.
Address, terms of, .322 ff.
Adjective stem-forms, 174 f.
Adjectives, 185 f. ; in -ly, 15; in
slang, 73; adverbs from, 17'J, 198 f. ;
as adverbs, 199; become nouns, 253 ff.,
382 n., 384 f. ; transference of meaning
274 ff., 282 f.; participles in -en as,
203; of material in -en, 203; dis-
syllabic, accent of, 35G; from names
of animals, 3f)5; from proper names,
37(; f., 379, 382 ; ellipsis of, 252 f., 265 ff.
See Degree, words of; Comparison.
Adverbs, in -e.y, 19() ff. ; in -p, 198 ff. ;
in -0,198; without ending, 198 ff. : in
-ly, 199; case-forms as, 182, 195 ff. ; as
prefixes, 188; with copula, 238 n. See
Words of Degree.
.(Elian, 368.
^sopic fable, 370.
AfMxmation, words of, 310 f.
Alaska, 79 n.
Alchemical terms, 108, 350, 384.
Alfred, King, 83.
Allegory of love, 116.
Allusion, literary. 111.
Amber, 294.
Americanisms and American usage,
13n., 58, 61 n., <;5, 66. 71, l.'SO, 134, 1.".6,
138 f., 140 f., 144, 165 f., 207, 214, 244,
255, 268 n., 271, 280, 297, 299, 310,
318 ff., .321 f., 331, .340, 347, 3,51, 355,
356 f., 362 n., 365, 366, 374, 378 f.
Analogy, 343 f.
Andrewes, Bishop, 104 n.
Angles, 82.
Anglo-Saxon, its relations, dialects,
and development, 81 ff., 163; borrow-
ings from Latin, 43ff.,93ff. ; ecclesi-
astical words, 43 ff.; inflection, 182 f.,
195 ff., 201 f., 343 f.; words replaced
by foreign words, 25 ; style, 82, 84,
113 f. ; poetry, 82, 84; culture, 84, 137.
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 145, 341.
Anglo-Saxon Conquest, 81 f., 145.
Anglo-Saxons, conversion of, 43,
349 f.
Animal names, 336, 339, 352; used
figuratively for human qualities, etc.,
361 ff. ; beliefs of savages with regard
to animals, 361 f . ; nursery tales and
fables, 362; popular comparisons, 362;
metaphors, 3()2f. ; surnames, 363;
verbs of this class, 365; tools, etc.,
366 f.; idiomatic phrases, .367 f.; fan-
tastic science, 368 ff.; Physiologus,
368; Uncle Remus, 370; ^sopic fable.
370 ; primitive nature of these con-
ceptions, .371.
Animals, speech of, 3; reason as-
cribed to, 362 ; words from the names
of (Chap. XXIV), 361 ff.
Aujou, Counts of, 86.
Antithesis, 16.
Antonomasia, 16.
Aphetic forms, 63 f .
Approval and disapproval, terms
of, .313 f.
Arabic, in medicine, etc., 45. 108;
i other words, 57, 108, 128, 380, 387.
97
398
INDEX OF MATTERS
Archaisms, in poetry, 2G; mistaken,
in Spenser and elsewhere, 118 f.; mis-
taken or mauufactured, 118 f. See
Obsolete.
Architecture, 214, 350.
Areopagus, 118 u.
Argot, o.")n.
Ariaus, 15() f .
Aristotle, 34ff., 4Gf., 3G8.
Armor, 153.
Art, dialect of, 42 ff., 51 £. ; Italian
in,51f., 242.
Article, confused witli following
word, 197 f.; Arabic in English, 108.
Aryans, home of, IGl.
Ascent of words, 295 f.
Ascham, Roger, 57, 100.
Ash, lexicographer, 338.
Assimilation of sounds, 132.
Associations of words, 224 ff . ; con-
stantly shifting, 225. See Degenera-
tion ; Euplieraism ; Hyperbole.
Astrology, words from, 31, 33 f.,
282.
Astronomy, 376.
Athens, 37.
Augural terms, 359.
Aulus Gellius, 232.
Australian words, 49, 50, 7G, 109,
141, .305, 331, 332 n., 380; aborigines,
109, 301.
Baboo English, 226.
Baby talk, 44 (papa), Gl, G3, 298.
See Pet names ; Diminutives.
Bacon, Lord, 115, 244, 381.
Ball, John, 89.
Ball play, 5(if., 59.
Banking, from Italy, 351 f .
Base-ball, 59.
Basque, 59.
Beast epic, 370.
Beast tales, 362, 370.
Becoming, words for, 233.
Bede, Venerable, 83, 113.
Beresarks, 228.
Bible, 44, 48, 57, 108, 152, 237, 258,
311, 317, 351, 369 f., 374 f., 376, 385.
Birds, names of, 129 f., 340 f.; as
synonyms for stupidity, 3G3 f .
Black Death, 88.
Boccaccio, 89, 363 n.
Body, parts of, 304 f.
Boers, 112, 347.
Book of Common Prayer, 114.
Borrowed words distinguished from
cognates (Chap. XII), 159 ff.
Borrowing, 9 ; learned words, 21 ff. ;
from French and Latin, 22 ff., 29ff.,
43 ff., 85ff.,93ff., 117f.; from Greek,
23 ff., 29 ff., 44 ff.; from Celtic, lOGf. ;
from Scandinavian, 107 ; from Arabic,
45, lOS; from Hebrew, 108; from Ital-
ian, 51 f. ; from Spanish, 58, 107 f.,
112; from miscellaneous sources,
108 f.; from Dutch and Low German,
108 f., 112; complexity of our vocabu-
lary, 128 ff. ; unity of our vocabulary,
147 ff. ; cognates and borrowed words,
159 ff. ; successive, of same word, 350.
Botany, 384. See Plants, names of.
Bowling, 56.
Bow-wow theory. See Origin of
language.
Britain, Anglo-Saxon conquest of,
81 f.
Brooks, Phillips, 386 n.
Browne, 'William, 378.
Building, figures from, 56.
Burns, 58.
Business terms, 13, 42 ff., 59, GGn.,
102, 287, 351 f.
Butler, Samuel, 36, 147.
Byron, 375, 384 n.
Cabal, the, 68.
Citidmon, 83.
Cresar, 227, 372 f .
Campion, Thomas, 333 u.
Canada, 68 n.
Card playing, 347.
Carlyle, Thomas, 127, 381 n.
Cases, names of, 13; and preposi-
tions, subjective and oljjective, 274.
Catachresis, 16.
Catechism, 69 n.
Causative verbs, 281.
Celtic. 106 f., 142 n., 153, 161.
Celts, 130, 142; Latin words adopted
by, 83.
INDEX OF MATTERS
399
Centlivre, Mrs., 375.
Central French, its relations to
English, 86 f.
Charles II, 08.
Charms and incantations, 228 f .
Chaucer, 22, 27, Go, 94, 90, 118, 150,
189, 196, 206, 214, 253, 267, 28S, 2!)2u.,
297, 313 n., 327, 342, 348, 349, 304 n.,
368, 369 n., 370, 373, 377; his relations
to English, 88 iT. ; character of his cen-
tury, 88 ff. ; his career, tK) ; his dialect
88 ff., 92n., 203; his inflections, 182f.,
198, 202.
Chaucerisms in the Elizabethans,
118.
Chemistry, 108, 350; Arabic in, 108.
Child, F. J., 119 n.
Children's language, 29, 44, 61, 03, 243.
Chinese, 109.
Choice of words, 27, 52, 70 ff., 328;
neologisms, 78.
Christianity, 71, 244, 349ff., 3SSf.;
conversion of the Germans, 150 ff. ; of
the Anglo-Saxons, 43, 349. See Bible ;
Religious.
Church. See Arians; Christianity;
Religious.
Cicero, 36 f., 39, 232.
Civilization and language, 41, 93 ff.,
108 f., 128 ff., 144 ff., 147 ff., 156 ff.,
183 f., 230 ff., 242, 246, 286, 287, 290 f.,
295f., 300 ff., 304. 317 ff., 348ff., 357 ff.,
300 ff., 372 ff., 387 ff.; and inflection,
183 f.
Class dialects (Chap. V),42ff., 53 f.
Clerical language. See Religious.
Clipped words in slang and in legiti-
mate speech, 01 ff., 385 ; phrases, 70ff.,
252 ff.
Clothing, 44, 152, 153, 190, 304 f,, 338,
383.
Cnut, 144.
Coaching, 271.
Cock-fighting, 57.
Cognates and borrowed words (Chap.
XII), 159 ff., .345.
Coinage, 49, 89, 140 f .
Coleridge, 320.
Colloquial language, 25 n., 28, 02 ff.,
74, 99, 102, lllf., 149, 189, 202, 225,
238 n., 297, 304, 300, 302 ff.; ironical,
221 f. See Slang; Fashion ; Hyperbole. '
Colonization, 108 f.
Comedy of humors, 33.
Commerce, 287. See Business.
Comparative grammar, 159ff., 165f. ;
its limitations, 105 f.
Comparison of adjectives and ad-
verbs, 199 ff.; double comparison, 17,
200 f.; terminations multiplied, 17 n.;
folk-etymology in, 200, 342 f.
Comparisons, popular, to animals,
362.
Complexity of the English vocabu-
lary (Chap. X), 128 ff.
Composition, 108 ff.; of roots and
stems, 108 ff.; of words, 177, 179f.,
185 ff., 294; endings, derivation of,
185 ff.; origin and history of, 185 ff.;
living suffixes, 180 ; prefixes, 187 ; ad-
verbial prefixes in verbs, 188; vague
syntax of composition, 120, 172 ff. See
Phrase-corn posi t ion .
Compound words, 177 ff. ; disguised,
152, 210; hybrid, 154; obsolete" words
in, 210ff. ; obscured compounds felt
as simple words, 210 f . ; variety of
meaning, 274; Elizabethan, 274.
Congregationalism in New England,
121.
Connotations of words, 224 ff. See
Degeneration; Euphemism; Hyperbole.
Conservatism in language, 77 f .
Constructions, old, survival in a few
phrases, 204 ff.
Contempt, words of, 284 ff.
Conventional character of language
(Chap. XVI), 21 9 ff., 73.
Cooper, F. T.,61n.
Copula, 2.38.
Correctness of style and grammar,
122 f.
Corruption by folk-etymology, 330 ff .
See Analogy.
Cotgrave, 67.
Courtesy, mediaeval conception of,
284, .327 ; in language, 310 f . ; euphem-
ism in, 304 ff. ; in titles, 322 ff. ; hyper-
bole in, 311, 317 ff., 322 ff.
Covent Garden, 244.
400
INDEX OF MATTERS
Creech, 67.
Criticism, literary, 14 ff., 40 f., 76.
See Choice of words ; literature.
Cromwell, 100.
Cross iutluences, 194, 'MO.
Crusades, 388.
Currency. See Money.
Danes in England, 107, 144 f.
Darmesteter, A., 2G0n., 2(;5n.
Dartmoor, stannary and forestry
courts, 378 f.
Dative, singular, 195, 201; plural,
195; as adverb, 195.
Death, euphemisms for, 300, 302.
Decay of inflections, 85, 181 ff., 195,
201 , 205.
Declension, Anglo-Saxon, 195 ff., 201,
343 f.
Degeneration of meaning (Chap.
XX) , 284 ff . ; due to euphemism, 307 f.
See Hyperbole.
Degree, words of, 312 ff.
Democracy in language, 322 ff .
Demons, 152.
Derivation and composition (Chap.
XIV), 185 ff.
Derivative endings, 174 ff., 185 ff.,
201 f . See Composition ; Inflection ;
Comparison ; Diminutives.
Development of words, I. Roots,
stems, and inflections (Chap. XIII),
lG8ff. ; II. derivation and composition
(Chap. XIV), 185 If.
Dialect, distinguished from literary
language, 80 f . ; of Chaucer, 88 ff . , 203 ;
of modern English, 92, 203; dialectic
variations in English, 354; dialect and
provincial words, 13 n., 61 n., 128, 132,
139 n., 149, 188 n., 203, 304 ; in slang, 58.
See Americanisms; Australian.
Dickens, .375, .382.
Digest, the Roman, 222.
Dignity of words, 354. See Associa-
tions.
Diminutives, 136 n., 137; as names
of familiar objects or tools, 60 f., 386 f.
Ding-dong theory. See Origin of
language.
Diseases, 31, 384.
Disgui.sed oaths, .34 n., .304.
Diversity of the English vocabulary,
128 ff.
Divinity. See Religious.
Docked words. <S'ee Clipped forms.
Dog-Latin, 51.
Double comparison, 17.
Double negative, 220, 312.
Doublets and homonyms (Chap.
XXIV), 345 ff., 44.
Dutch, 81, 83, 109, 149, 153 ff., 160,
163, 227, 348, 350, 360, 370, 383; in
South Africa, 112, 347.
Dwelling places, 142 ff., 319 f.
Eastern question, 89.
East Germanic tribes, 1.56.
Ecclesiastical words in Anglo-Saxon ,
42ff.,93. See Religious.
Edward HI, 89.
Electrical terms, 384.
Electricity, 293 f.
Elizabeth, Queen, 100.
Elizabethan style and language,
116 ff. See Euphemism; Shakspere;
Spenser.
Ellipsis, in thought or expression,
2.52 ff .
Emerson, O. F., 114 n.
Enipedocles, his four elements, 36.
Endings, derivative. See Deriva-
tive.
English, Old. See Anglo-Saxon.
English language, history of, 80 ff. ;
its place in the Indo-European family,
163. See Language.
English vocabulary, extent and va-
riety of, 7ff., 108 f., 128 ff.; learned
and popular words in, 19 ff. ; technical,
42 ff . ; place of slang and colloquialism
in, ::5 ff'. ; sources of, 80 ff., 93 ff ., 128 ff.,
147 ff.; fashion, 110 ff.; unity of,
147 ff.; fossils in, 193 ff.; euphemism,
300 ff.; hyperbole, 309 ff.; doublets,
345 ff; ; homonyms, 357 ff. ; words
from names of animals, 3(;iff.; from
proper names, 372 ff. See Words ;
Meaning.
Epithets, transference of, 275 ff. ; in-
discriminate, 314 f.
INDEX OF MATTERS
401
Etymology, false, its effect on words,
227; Stoic etymological doctrines,
229 f. See Folk-etymology.
Etymon, Stoic, 230.
Euphemism (Chap. XXI), 300 ff.;
decency and propriety, 300 f . ; origins
of decency in langnage, 300; found
among savages, 301 ; avoidance of
ill-omened words, .301 ff . ; death and
disaster, 302 f.; profane language,
304; courteous euphemisms, 305;
scientific terms used euphemistically,
306; degeneration of words from
euphemism, 307 f.; litotes, 17.
Euphuism, 117 ; animal similes, .3G1,
369.
Evocation, formula of, 229.
Exaggeration. See Hyperbole.
Execution of criminals, 293.
Existence, verbs of, 237 ff.
Fables and beast-tales, .3(52, 370.
Fading of meaning, 235 ff . ; because
of hyperbole, 309 ff.
Falstaff, (>7, 210.
Family names, .361 ; from obsolete
nouns, 209 fT.
Farming, language of, 42, 284 f.
Fashion, in language (Chap. IX),
110 ff. ; in literature and common
talk, 110 f . ; literary allusion and
quotation. 111; school, university,
and profession, 112; influenced by
special events, 112; by di.scovery,
invention, etc., 112 f.; Anglo-Saxon
tautology, 113 f.; similar double
phrases in more modern Englisli,
114 f.; allegory of love, 110; man-
nerism in the Elizabethan age,
IKiff. ; Euphuism, 117; ink-horn
terms, 117 f.; archaisms, 118 f.; pun-
ning, 119 f.; freedom of the Eliza-
bethan age, 120; Puritanism, 120 f.;
eighteenth century, 121 f . ; Romantic
Revival, 123; nineteenth century,
124; permanent element in language,
121 ff.
Fawkes, Guy, 378.
Feminine terminations, 204.
Fencing, 56.
2d
Figurative language, 9ff. ; negative,
.311 f.
Figures of speech, 14 ff .
Finance, 89, 1.39.
Fire-arms, 244.
Fishery, language of, 42.
Flemish, 81.
Fletcher, J. B., 118 n.
Folk-etymology (Chap. XXIII),
330 ff.; 69, 150, 207, 246 n., 254 n.,
346, 347, 365.
Foreign words, attempts to expel
them from the vocabulary, 26 f. See
Cognates; Native words; Borrowing.
Forestry, terms, 339; courts, -379.
Fossils (Chap. XV), 193 ff.
Fourteenth century, character of,
88 ff.
Frankish, Okl,81, 163.
Frankish kings, 152.
French, Germanic element in, 1.30,
151, 296; French words in music, 52;
French and Latin, their relation to
each other and to English, 94 ff. ;
Sprachgefiihl, 126.
French ; Central
French.
Frisian, 81, 163.
Fruits. See Plants, names of.
See Norman
French ; Law
Gallic Latin, 9Gf.
Gamliling terms, ,57.
Garter, Order of the, .34.
Gems, names of, 136 f.; properties
of, 1.37.
Gerider, 386.
Genei'alization and specialization of
meaning (Cliap. XVII) , 234 If. ; special
processes (Chap. XVIII), 259 ff.
Genitive, 274, 343; as adverb, 195 ff.
Genius of a language, 125, 147 f.
Gentility as defined by Chaucer, .327.
German, its relation to English, 81,
1.59; words, 51, 64, 66 f., 70, 107, 119,
129 f., 1.32, 136, 140, 142f., 1.51 f., 160,
189, 197, 199, 204, 208, 210, 214, 230 f.,
24;!, 249, 2.53, 270 n., 276 n., 2S0, 2S6,
289, 290 n., 290, .300, 310, 3i;'>, ,320, .323,
.326 n., 331 f., 337, 342, 347, 358, 360,
307, 373.
402
INDEX OF MATTERS
Germanic languages, IGOf., 103;
element in French, see French.
Gerry, Elbridge, G8.
Gerund, Latin, in English, 102,
103 f .
Gods, heathen, become demons
under Christianity, 152.
Goldsmith, 64.
Goodel!, A. C, 121 n.
Goo-goo theory. See Origin of Lan-
guage.
Gothic, ir)6f.,lGl, 182 ff.
Gower, John, 91, 95.
Grandiloquence. See Magnilo-
quence.
Greek, slang in, GO, G7n.; English
words from, 21 ff., etc.; in the lan-
guage of science, 23; in philosophy,
34 ff.; in medicine, 45; Arabic words
from, 108; idiom ('might of Hei'-
cules ') in English, 257 f . ; middle voice,
279 f.; religious ceremonial, euphem-
ism in, 301.
Greek Church, 15Gff.
Greenough, J. B., 60 n.
Guevara, 118.
Gunpowder Plot, 378.
Gypsies, 380.
Hall, Fitzedward, 200 n.
Hamann on language, 5.
Hart, J. M., 114 n.
Hastings, Battle of, 83.
Haytian, 1.3G, 138.
Hebrew, thought to be the primitive
tongue, 3; words in English, 68, 108,
133, 1.37, l.W.
Henry VIII, .388 f.
Henry of Huntingdon, .341 n.
Herder, on the origin of language,
3 ; on language as poetry, 5.
High German. See German.
Hindoo, 59.
History, words illustrative of, 68f.,
71 f., 93ff., 112, 120f., 128ff., 144ff.,
1.52 f.; 156 ff., 288, 348 ff., 358, 372 ff.,
.387 ff . ; of English language, see Eng-
lish language.
Hoccleve, Thomas, 91.
Homer, 61, 190, 3.73,377.
Homonyms, 1.39, 345 ff., .357 ff.
Horace, 37, 67 n., 258.
Horn, Romance of King, 374.
Horsemanship, 5G, .59, 75, 111, 210 f.
Houses, names applied to, 143 f.,
319 f.
Hudibras, 36, 147.
Humor in language, 16 f., 34, 35n.,
40, 48 f., 51, 55 ff., 68 f., 102, 119 ff., 135,
141, 211, 224, 230, 255, 298, .302 n., 304,
3U, 313, .331 f ., .332, 339, 349, .354, 362 ff.,
373 ff . , 378, 386 f . See Colloquialisms ;
Slang.
Hungarian, 109.
Hunting terms, 57, 62, 75, 111, 288.
Huss, John, 89.
Hybrid words, 68 f., 105, 108, 129,
1.33, 135, 153 f., 166, 293 f., 331 ff.
Hyperbole or exaggeration (Chap.
XXII), 309 ff.; natural tendency of
speech, 16, 309; its causes, 309 ff.; in
words affirmative and negative, 310 f. ;
figurative negative, 311 f.; double
negative, .312; exaggeration in slang,
312 f . ; schoolgirl dialect, 312 f . ; words
and phrases of degree, 312 ff. ; terms
of disapproval, 314; grandiloquence,
317 ff . ^ in local names, 318 ; in courtesy,
322 ff . ; terms of courteous address,
322 ff.
Iberian, 153.
Icelandic. »S'ee Old Norse.
Idioms, English, 16. 17,-35 n.,49, 51 ff.,
114 L, 173, 180. 190, 197, 204 ff., 220 ff.,
227, 235, 237 ff., 257 f., 274 f., 311 f.,
315 f., .349, 369 f., 381; euphemistic,
301 ff. ; from quotations, 21()f. ; irony
in, 222 ; French, 103, 150, 173, 312, 381 ;
Greek, 257 f.; Italian, 173; Latin, 13,
102 ff., 173, 230, 302, 303, 316.
Imitation of the sounds of nature, 3.
Imitative words, 16, 155.
Imperialism, 89.
India, 76.
Indians, North American, 66.
Indo-European family of languages,
161 ff.; inflection, 181 ff. ; parent-
speech, 345.
Indo-European migration. 162.
INDEX OF MATTERS
403
Infinitive as noun, 173 n. ; active and
passive, 274 f.
Inflection, development of, ISO If. ;
English, 182 if. ; Gotliic, 182 ft". ; Greek,
279 f. See Anglo-Saxon ; Verb.
Ink-horn terms, 117 f.
Insanity, inspiration and, 290 ; effect
of moon on, oi'A; care of, 388 f.
Inspiration and madness, 290.
Instrumental case, 202.
Interjectional theory of language,
3f.
Interjections, 3f., 234 f.
Invocations, 228 f.
Irish missionaries, 349.
Irony, 16, 221 f., 312.
Isolation, 195.
Italian, 58, (J4, 70, 131, 154 f., IGO,
173, 189, 239, 242, 244, 323 ff., 340, 351 f.,
355, 366, 374, 387; literature, 22, 107:
words in art and music, 51 f . ; effect
on Elizabethan style, 118.
Jacquerie, 89.
Jargon, 42 ff., 75.
Jocose words and phrases. See
Humor.
John of Gaunt, 89.
Johnson, Dr., 238, 338.
Jouson, Ben, 337.
Jutes, 82.
Kentish dialect, 82.
Labor question, 29, 88 f.
Language, origin of, 1 ff., 391 ; natu-
ral rhythm of, 5 ; is poetry, 4 ff ., 11 ff .,
264 ; cultivated and uncultivated, 19 ff. ;
technical and class dialects, 42 ff.. Ill ;
women's, ,54 ; slang, .55 ff . ; secret, ,55 n. ;
conservatism and innovation, 7()ff. ;
literary language and dialect, HOff. ;
fashions in speech, 110 ff.; families of
languages, 159 ff.; language and i-ace,
162; language of a people given up,
162 ; machinery of, KiS ff. ; variety and
consistency, 128 ff., 147 ff., 192 f. ; petri-
faction, 195 ff., conventional charac-
ter, 72 f., 219 ff . ; Stoic theory of , 229 ff. ;
euphemism, 300 ff. ; hyperbole, 309 ff. ;
confusion in language, 330 ff. See also
Ta})le of Contents ; Choice of words ;
Comparative grammar ; Englisli ; Lit-
erary language ; Magic ; Meaning ;
Sprachgefiihl ; Words, etc.
Latin, slang in, 57, GO ; Sprachgefiihl,
126.
Latin in English (Chap. VIII) , 93 ff. ;
before the Saxon Conquest, 93 ; in the
Anglo-Saxon ]3eriod, 93 f. ; in the Mid-
dle English period, 94 ff.; a second
vernacular, 94, 100 f.; French and
Latin borrowings distinguished, 96 f. ;
vulgar, 96 f . ; learned borrowings,
98 f . ; Latin words and phrases adopted
without change, 99 ff . ; Latin abbrevia-
tions, 104 f.; Roman numerals, 105.
See French.
Latinization of English, revolt
against, 27.
Latin literature, 22.
Latin Orient, 388.
Law, Roman, 222.
Law French, 45 f., .348.
Law Latin, 45 f., 102 f.
Law terms, 45 f., 64, 71, 75, 102 f.,
154, 208L, 212f., 214, 217u., 222, 247,
353.
Laws of sound change, 163 ff .
Learned words and popular words
(Chap. Ill) , 19 ff . ; learned words
often of foreign origin, 21 ; some-
times native, 23 ff . ; learned words
become popular (Chap. IV), 29 ff.,
157; scientific and technical, 30 ff. ; old
physiology, 30 ff.; astrology, 33 ff.;
philosophy, 34 ff.; technical or class
dialects, 42 ff.; learned and popular
words in French and English, 96 ff . ;
learned and popular terms affected by
euphemism, .30().
Length of words, 175 n.
Letters, formula' in, 221.
Literary language (Chap. VII),
80 ff.; distinguished from dialects,
80 f.; developed from a dialect. 80 f. ;
history of the development , 81 ff.
See Choice of words; Colloquialism;
Slang.
Literature, poetry precedes prose,
404
INDEX OF MATTERS
4f.,82; study of, 14; figures of , 14 ff. ;
vocabulary of, 19 ff. ; criticism of, 40;
slang gets into, 55 I'f. ; technique of,
Tfiff. ; oral, 82, ;370 ; Anglo-Saxon,
82 ff. ; Middle English, 84 ff. ; Chaucer
and his contemporaries and successors,
88 ff . ; fashion in literature, 110 ff . ;
tendencies of Anglo-Saxon, 113; of
Middle Ages, 116 ; of Elizabethan time,
116 ff. ; of seventeenth century, 120 ff. ;
of eighteenth century, 121 ff. ; of ro-
manticism, 12.3; of nineteenth century,
124; beast-epic, 370 ; fables, 370. See
Learned words ; Literary language ;
Poetry.
Lithuanian, 61.
Litotes, 17.
Local names, hyperbole in, 318.
London, 65 f., 88.
Louis XIV, 155.
Love, allegory of, 116.
Low German, 81. 109, 140, 163.
Lumbering, 56, 214 n.
Lydford, 378 f.
Lydgate, John, 91.
Lyly, John, 117.
Machinery of language, 9, 168 ff.,
192.
Macrobius, 229 n.
Magic, 119, 141 f., 313; power of
words, 228 f.
Magnetism, animal, 385.
Magniloquence in language, 134,
317 ff .
Mandrake, superstition about, .340 f.
Mathematics, Ai-abic words, 108.
Matthews, Albert, 244 n., 299 n.
Meaning, conventional, 219 ff. ; Stoic
theory, 229 ff.; root-moaning, 2.32 f.;
generalization and specialization,
234 ff.; radiation, 259 ff.; the a + b
process, 265 ff. ; new applications,
269ff. ; transference, 272 IT. ; degen-
eration, 284 ff.; euphemism, .300 ff.;
liypcrbole, 309 ff . ; affected by sup-
posed etymology, 336 ff .
Medical terms, 13, ,31, 101, 128 f., 15.3,
213, 26(;, .352 f., 367, 384; Greek, 45;
Arabic, 45.
Mercantile words. See Business.
Mercian dialect, 82 tf .
Mesmer, 385.
Metamorphosis, .361 f.
Metaphor, Off., 14; in .slang, 55.
Metonymy, 15.
Middle English, 84 ff., 116, 182f.,
195 ff. See Chaucer.
i\Iiddle voice, 279 f .
Midland dialect, 87 ff.
Military terms, 56, 58 f., 60,61, 63n.,
99, 112, 154, 155, 189, 227, 296, 350, 3(50,
366 f., 380.
Milton, 100, 1.30, 141, 143, 229 n., 258,
283, .376, .381, .384.
Mining, figures from, 56.
Miracle plays, 67.
Misfortune, euphemisms for, 302 f.
Moliere, 71, 375.
Monasticism, 44, 245, 388 f.
Money, 49, 89, 139 ff .
Moon, effect on insanity, 364.
Moore, Thomas, 355.
More, Sir Thomas, 381.
Morton, John, 375.
Miiller, Max, on origin of lan-
guage, 3.
Municipal government, 146.
Musical terms, 51 f., 57 n.
Mythology, 222, .326 n. ; animals in,
3(i2.
Name, of person, used as common
noun, 16, 129L, 141, 372ff. ; of dead,
avoided, 300; of persons or places ap-
plied to things, 1.54, 255 f. ; magic
power of, 228 f.; of God, distorted in
oaths, 34 n., .304.
Names, family. See Family names.
Names of animals, birds, etc. See
Animals; Birds, etc.
Nashe, Thomas, 67.
Native and foreign words contrasted
as to popularity, 21 fi. ; native words
driven out, 25 ff.; attemiit to oust
foreign words, 26 ff.; learned words
become popular, 29 ff. ; native word.s
in technical dialects, 42 f., 48, 49, 51 ;
borrowing, 85 ff., 93 ff.; cognates and
borrowed words, 159 ff .
INDEX OF MATTERS
405
Natural history, fantastic, 117, 361,
3G8ff. See Animals; Birds; Plant
names.
Negation, words of, 30Gf., 311 f.;
affected by hyperbole, 311 ; double
negative, 220, 312; figurative nega-
tive, 311 f .
Neologisms, 78.
New England dialect, 165 f. See
Dialect.
New p]ngland Puritanism, 121.
New York, 293 f.
Nicknames, 65 f., 297.
Nineteenth Century, style and lan-
guage, 124.
Nobility, titles of, 144 fif., 258, 317 ff.,
322 ff., 348.
Nobles, coinage of, by Edward III,
89.
Nominal stems, 172 ff .
Norman Conquest, 22, 83 ff., 145.
Norman French, in the law, 45; its
relations to English, 85 ff., 94, 353.
Norse. See Scandinavian.
North American Indian, 109. 1.39.
Northern dialect of English, 87,
149.
Northumbrian, 82 ff.; the first liter-
ary English, 83 ; succeeded by West
Saxon, 83; Scottish language, 92;
inrtuence of Norman French, 85 ff; in-
Huence of Central French, 8(1; re-
lations of English and French in
England, 84 ff. ; East Midland becomes
the literary dialect, 88 ff. ; decadence
of French, 86 ff.; characteristics of
Chaucer's age, 88 ff.
Noun-stems. 6'ee Nominal.
Numerals, 196 ; Roman, 105.
Nursery tales, animals in, 362.
Oaths, 240; disguised, ;54n., 304.
Obsolete, native words made so by
borrowing, 25, 28; words in poetry,
2G ; archaisms revived, 26, 78 f., 118 f.,
123 ; surviving as fossils, 195 ff . ; in a
few phrases, 209 ff . ; meanings surviv-
ing, 212 ff.
Obsolete science, 30 ff.
Occleve. See Uoccleve.
Occuimtions, names of, 133 f.; as
proper names, 209.
Offices, names of, 144ff., 222, 295 f.
353.
Old English. See Anglo-Saxon.
Old Frankish, 81, 1G3.
Old French. Sec French.
Old High German and French. See
French.
Old Norse in English, 107, 144 f.,
202, 345.
Old Saxon, 81, 163.
Omens, 232, 302.
Ouomatopo-ia, 3, 16, 155.
Oral literature, 82, 370.
Orient, names of spices from, 133;
of gems, 137 ; Latin Orient, 388.
Origin of language, 1 ff. ; bow-wow
theory, 3, 6 ; ding-dong theorjs 3, (> ;
pooh-2)ooh theory, 3, 6 ; goo-goo theory,
6n., 391 ; Stoic theory, 229 f.
Oxford, 88.
Oxymoron, 16.
Parisian dialect, 132.
Parisian French. See Central
French.
Parliamentary formula, 229.
Parsing as a test of correctness,
206.
Participles in -en, 203.
Patriarchal institutions, 146.
Payne, John Howard, 143.
Peddlers' French, 55 n.
Percy, Bishop, 119.
Peripatetic philosophy, 34 ff.
Periphrasis, 17. Sec Euphemism.
Persian, 109.
Personal endings, 180 f., 182 f.
Personal pronouns, 180, 202 f., 204.
Personification, 257.
Persons, names of. See Names.
Peterborough Chronicle, 145, 341.
Pet names, 60 f. , 63, 135, 298 f ., 386 f .
See Diminutives.
Petrarch, 89.
Petrifaction in language, 180. See
Fossils.
Philosophy, ;!4ff., 46 ff., 382.
Phrase-composition, 35 n., 50, 70 f.,
40G
INDEX OF HATTERS
103, 187 ff., 201, 292 n., 301, 310, 332,
350, 352, 367.
Physiologus, 3(58.
Physiology, 30 ff., 129, 213, 293.
Piracy, 81, 291.
Place-names, 60, 01, 71, 93, 129, 131,
l.ifjf., 140f., 142n., 338; hyperbole in,
liO.
Place.s aud persons, words from
(Chap. XXVI), 372 ff.; nicknames or
serious technical terms, 372; names of
persons used figuratively, 372 ff. ; from
the Bible, 374: f. ; from the classics,
375 f . ; names of places similarly used,
37G; corruptions of such names, 377;
verbs from proper names, 377 ff . ; verbs
in -ize, 379; names of tribes or nations
as common uouus, 379 f.; derivatives
of, in special senses, 380 f.; fanciful
names, 381 ; adjectives from proper
names, 382; names of persons ap-
plied to things, 382 f.; in common
talk, 383 f. ; in science, 383 f. ; articles
named from places from which they
come, 384 ff.; diminutives applied to
tools, 386 f. ; signiticauceof such terms
in the history of civilization, 387 f.
Plants, names of, 138 f., 210 u., 337,
340 f., 360, 364 f.
Plattdeutsch, 81, 109, 163.
Pleiade, 118 n.
Pleonasm, a universal tendency of
speech, 17. See Comparison ; Tau-
tology.
Pliny, Natural History, 368.
Pliny the Younger, 54 u.
Plural, singular in s mistaken for,
132 f., 139, 343; irregular, 201 f.; in
verbs, 343.
Plutarch, .';74.
Poetical and unpoetical words, 295.
See Slang, 55 ff.
Poetic faculty, 7 ff., 176.
Poetry, language is, 4ff., 7ff., 176;
figures of, compared with ordinary
language, 9ff'., 14 ff.; archaisms in,
26, 118 f., 123; precedes prose, 4, 82;
pathos, 40; bathos, 40 f. ; doggerel, (i5;
bombast, 67.
Polish, 109.
Political economy, 112 f.
Political slang, 68 f., 112, 362 n.,
365.
Polynesian in English, 109, 360.
Pooh-pooh theory. See Origin of
language.
Poole, John, 375.
Pope, 40.
Popular etymology. See Folk-ety-
mology.
Popular origin of figures from ani-
mals, 361, 371.
Popular words and learned words,
19 ff. See Learned words.
Portuguese, 108, 160, 325, 346, 348,
350, 3(53 f.
Prefixes, 151, 187 f.
Prepositions, compounded with
verbs, 187 ff . ; subjective and objec-
tive use, 273 f.
Primitive man. See Savages.
Printers' language, 214.
Prize-fighting, 56, 75, 353.
Procrastination in language, 292 f.
Profanity. See Oaths.
Professional dialects (Chai). V),
42 ff. /See Law; Medicine, etc.
Progress of language, 183 f., 344.
Pronominal roots, 169 f.
Pronoun, demonstrative, 202; per-
sonal, 202 f.; dative aud nominative
confused, 204.
Pronunciation, various, 355 f.
Proper names as common uouus.
See Names.
Propriety in language, 300 f. See
Choice of words.
Provencal, 248 n., 339.
Proverbs and proverbial phrases, 71,
214, 216, 367 f .
Provincial English. See Dialect.
Psychology of primitive man,
361.
Puns, 49, 68 f., 141, 264, 288 n.,
302 n., 332; Elizabethan, 119 ff. See
Humor.
Purism, 77.
Puritanism, 120 f.
Purity iu language, 76 ff . See Choice
of words.
INDEX OF MATTERS
407
Quotation as a meaus of introducing
words into tlie language, 70 f., 75 f. :
idioms from, 21Gff.
R, vocalic, 356.
Race and language, 162.
Radiation of meaning, 259 ff.
Railroading, 130 f.; vocabulary in
England and America, 271.
Reduplication, 132, 173, 346.
Reflexive verbs, 27'Jf.
Reformation, 8'.), 3<S8f.
Rehabilitation of words, 287.
Religious establishments abolished
by Henry VIII, 388.
Religious words, clerical language,
etc., 33n., 43 ff., 45 ff., 71, 72, 76, 93,
116, 120 f., 152, 212, 268 f., 2!)0, 297, 326,
349f.,351,353, 388. 6'ee Bible.
Repetition of synonyms, 113 ff.
Reproach, terms of, 284 ff.
Restoration of Charles II, 121.
Revival of Learning, 23, 98.
Reynard the Fox, 370.
Rhetoric, function of, 76 f. ; figures,
14 ff.
Rhythm of language, 5f.
Richard II, 89.
Richardson, Samuel, 375.
Roman de la Rose, 327 n.
Roman formula for evocation, 229;
for silence at sacrifice, 302.
Roman law, 222.
Roman slavery, 323 ff.
Romance languages, 160.
Romances, 381.
Romans in Britain, 93.
Romantic revival, 123.
Rome, name kept secret, 229.
Root, growth of words from a single,
12 ff .
Root-meanings, 220, 232 f.
Roots, meanings of, 12 ff., 171;
verbal, 169 ff.; pronominal, 169 ff.;
examples, 12 f., 170 ff., 175, 177, 223,
231 n., 2.38 f., 3.59; reduplicated, 173.
Roots aiul stems, 168 If.
Rowe, Nicholas, 375.
Rowlands, Samuel, 117 f.
Russian, 161.
Sacrifice, 302.
Sailors' terms. See Sea-terms.
St. Dominic, 348.
St. Isidore, 325.
St. Martin, 152.
St. Paul, 57 n., 317.
San Domingo, 79.
Sandwich, Ear! of, 256.
Sanskrit, 161 f., 286, 339.
Saracens, 129, 374, 377.
Satire, 333 n.
Savages, eighteenth-century idea of,
5; superstition as to language, 228;
euphemism, 300 ff. ; subject to religious
restrictions, 301 ; belief as to animals,
361 f .
Saxon . See Anglo-Saxon ; Old
Saxon.
Scandinavian, languages, 81, 160,
163; words, 107, 140 n., 144 f., 150 f.,
160, 202, 207, 209, 236, 287 n., 291, 311,
326 n., 337, 342, 345, 347, 349, 354, 359.
Scholastic philosophy, 35 ff., 46 f.
Schoolgirl dialect, 16, 312 ff.
Schoolmen's Latin, 35 ff., 46 f.
Science, terms of, 29 ff., 49 ff., 112 f.,
203n.,234,294, 383 f.
Scott, C. P. G., G() u., 198 n., 387.
Scott, Sir Walter, 238, 375.
Scottish, language, 92; words, 58,
149, 353, 364.
Scriptural language. iS'ee Bible.
Sea-terms, 48 f., 103, 108 f., 150, 153,
1,54 f., 291,335.
Secret languages, 55 n.
Semitic languages in English, 108.
Sense and sound, 331ff. ; sense af-
fected by supposed etymology, 336.
Sentiment of words, 143 f .
Separative compounds, 190.
Serfs in England, 89, 284.
Shakspere,"lOf., 34 n., 36, 46, 57, 67,
69, 119n., 1.35, 151, 155, 204, 207, 208,
210, 212, 216 ff., 226, 2;?4, 238n., 250,
257, 258, 263, 274 ff., 279, 285 n., 289,
295, 296, 298, :302, 312, 313 n., 323, 337,
349, 362 f., 364, 365, 366, 373, 374, 375,
377, .'i78.
Sheldon, E. S., 137 u.
Shelley, Mrs., 377.
408
INDEX OF MATTEUS
Shortened forms. iSee Clipped
words.
8idoiiius, 278.
Simile, 15; adjectives comparable
■with, 365.
Singular iu s mistaken for plural,
132 f., 13!», 214 u., 343.
Skeat, Professor, 341 n.
Slang (Chap. VI), 55 ff. ; phenomena
parallel to those of legitimate speech,
55 ff . ; how made, 55 ff. ; from games
and sports, oGff. ; from provincialisms
or foreign words, 58 f . ; ancient slang,
56, 59 ff.; use of diminutives and the
like, 60 f. ; clipped words, Gl ff. ; Swift
on clipped words, 62 f.; clipping pro-
cess :iatnral in our language, 63 f.;
fantastic coinages and distortions,
64 ff.; substitutions and variety in
slang, 69 f.; phrase-composition in
slang, 70 ; fragments of phrases, 70 ff. ;
reasons for avoiding slang, 72 ff.; all
slang not on the same level, 74 ; use of
slang under special circumstances,
74 ff.; elaboration of, .362 u.
Slang words, 99, 102, lllf., 119n.,
141, 155 n., 189, 192, 207, 211, 2.55, 304,
306, 307, 312 ff., 332, 349, 351, 353, 354,
356 f. See Words from the names of
animals (.361 ff.), and from places or
persons (373 ff.) ; Colloquial lan-
guage ; Hyperbole ; Fashion.
Slavery, 89, 284 ff., 322 f.
Smith, C. A., 2.37 n.
Society, jargon of, 53 f.; phrases
from French, 99 ; conventional plirases,
220 f.
Soldiers' slang. See Military terms.
Song and language, 5.
Sophocles, 23S.
Sound, sinnlarity of, 331; effect,
331 ff.
Sound and sense, 4, 194, 226.
Sound-change, laws of, 164 ff.
South African Dutch. 112; War, 112.
Southern dialect of English, 87.
Spanish, 58 f., 66, 107 f., 136, 138,
160, 164, 207, 323, 3.39, 346, 348. 3,50 f.,
381 f. ; effect on Elizabethans, 118.
Spanish War, 112.
Specialization, 247 ff.; cause of,
248 ff. ; sliglit change, 250; every man
his own specializer, 251 f . ; results from
ellipsis, 252 ff. ; names of articles,
254 ff . ; in pnjper names, 255 f. ; ab-
stract to concrete, 256ff. ; radiation,
259 ff . ; the « + b process, 265 ff. See
Generalization.
Spelling, affected by etymology, true
or false, 149, 331 ff.
Spencer, Earl, 256, 383.
Spenser, 118, 295, 354, 363 n., 375.
Spices, 133, 337 n.
Sport, words from, 56 ff.
Spracbgefiihl, 120 f., 147 f., 181,
2.33.
Stage-terms, 58, 223, 246, 251, 268 f.
Stem-composition, 176 ff., 185 ff".
Stem-endings, 174 ff .
Stem-formations, vagueness of, 175f.
Stems, reduplicated root as, 173.
Stems and roots, 168 ff.
Stoic philosophy, 37 ff.; theory of
the etymon, 229 ff., 301.
Straw, Jack, 89.
Style, as affected by the rejection of
foreign words, 26; artistic, 70; ten-
dencies of, 110. See Choice of words ;
Fashion.
Subjunctive, 204 ff.
Sublime, bathos the opposite of,
40 f.
Substantive verb, 238.
Suetonius, 302 n.
Suffixes, 135, 141 n., 174ff., 185 ff.,
201 f.; confused, 187, 294. 6'ec Com-
parison ; Inflection ; Diminutives.
Suggestion in language, 264.
Sumner, Charles, 78 f.
Superlatives, 315, 342 f. See Com-
parison.
Superstitious opinions about words,
228f.,300ff.
Surgery, 13.
Surnames, from animals, 363. See
Family names.
Swearing. See Oaths.
Swift, on slang, 62 f., 65.
Symbols, 105.
Synecdoche, 15.
INDEX OF MATTERS
409
Synouyms,8; learued uud popular,
20 ; iu slaug, (J9 f .
Syutax, 172, 178; of composition,
172 ff., 177; English, regularity of
modern, 122. 6'ee Dative; Infinitive;
Subjunctive; Inflection; Idioms;
Phrase-composition.
Syriac, 44.
Tamerlane, 89.
Tartars, 254, 358, 379 f.
Tatler, The, on slang, 02 f., 65.
Tautological compounds, 153, 348.
Tautology, 209, 212 f.; in Anglo-
Saxon, 113 f. ; in the Book of Common
Prayer, 114; in Bacon, 115, 209. See
Pleonasm.
Technical dialects (Chap. V), 42 ff.;
their relation to ordinary speech, 52 f.,
75 ; technical words become popular,
29 ff., 42 ff. See Law; Medicine;
Science, etc.
Tennyson, 4n., 9, 283, 284 n., 3G8,
379.
Tense-endings, 180 f., 182 f.
Terence, 382.
Termiuatious. See Derivation; In-
flection.
Thackeray, 380.
Theatrical language. -See Stage.
Theology. See Religious.
Thieves' slaug, 55 n.
Titles of honor, 134, 144 ff., 258,
317ff.,322ff., 348.
Tmesis, 191.
Tools, etc., GOf., 366 f., 386 f.
Tournaments, 57 f.
Trade, dialect of, 42 ff. See Busi-
ness.
Trades, names of, 133 f., 209.
Transference of meaning, subjective
and objective (Chap. XIX), 272 ff.;
from persons to things, 276 ff., 297;
from things to persons, 278 f.; in
verbs, 151, 279 ff.; in names of ob-
jects, 269 ff.
Transitive and intransitive verbs,
190, 279 ff .
Translation, Greek words into Latin ,
34 ff., 242 ; Latin into English, 48, 251 ;
of foreign phrases, 103 ff. ; difliculty of
rendering English into French, 148.
Trapping, figures from, 56.
Travel and colonization, 108 f.
Turkish, 17, 66.
Turko-Russian War, 71.
Turks in Europe, 89.
Twain, Mark, 148 n.
Tyler, AVat, 89.
Tyndale, 72 n.
Umlaut in English, 136 n., 199 f., 204.
Uncle Remus, 370.
Understatement or litotes, 17.
Uniformity of language, 124 ff .
Unity of the English vocabulary
(Chap. XI), 147 ff.
Universities founded, 89.
University slang, ()4, 67.
Usage, standard of, 77, 217 f., 233.
See Americanisms ; Dialect.
Vague words, 2.35 ff.
Van Helmont, 51.
Vehicles, 130 f .
Verbal roots, 169 ff. ; stems, 176 f.
Verbs, inflection, 92 n., 180 f., 182 ff .,
204 ff. ; separative, 190 f. ; interchange-
able with nouns, 191 f., 363; transfer-
ence of meaning in, 279 ff. ; transitive
and intransitive, 279ff. ; causative,
281; from names of animals, 365 f.;
from proper names, 377 ff . ; in -ize
i-ise), 379.
Vine culture, 13.
Virgil, 238, 325, 375.
Vocabulary. See English vocabu-
lary.
Vocalic r, 3.56.
Volksetymologie, 331 u. See Folk-
etymology.
Vulgarity in language, 72.
Vulgar Latin, 96 f.
Ward, Artemas, 239.
Ware, W. R.,69n.
Ways, names of, 318 ff.
Werewolves, 228.
West Germanic, 83, 93, 1.-36.
Wiener, Leo, 358 n., 380 n.
410
INDEX OF MATTERS
Wit. See Humor.
Witchcraft, ;ii:3 ii.
Women's hiuguage, 54.
Words, learned aud popular, 19 ff . ;
coiiveutional character of, 72 f.; de-
velopiueut of (Chaps. XIII, XIV),
KiSff., 185 ff.; essential or root mean-
iugs of, 220; connotations or associa-
tions, 224 ff.; magic power of , 228 f.,
301 ; words are not formula}, 234; fad-
ing in particular phrases, 231) f . ; trans-
formed by folk-etymology, 330 ff . ;
doublets, 345 if. ; homonyms, 357 ff.;
two words developing from one by
variety of pronunciation, 213 f., 355 ff. ;
from names of animals, 3G1 ff. ; from
places or persons, 372 ff. See Lan-
guage ; Learned ; Meaning ; Native.
Wordsworth, 9 f.
Wotton, Sir Henry, 289.
Wrestling, 57.
Writing, \yords connected with, 136,
230.
Wyclif , 88 f .
Zeno, the Stoic, 37.
INDEX OF WORDS
A 1,59.
aback, 49, 04.
abalieuate, 46.
abandoned, 307.
abbot, 44.
abed, 201.
ab(b)omiuable, 342.
-able, 187.
aboard, 49.
absit omen, 302.
absolutely, 315.
absurd, 304.
abuse, 213.
accident, 303.
ace, 57.
Acbitophel, 375.
across, 349.
acute, 289.
adamant, 1.37.
ad captandum, 71.
adder, 11)8, 3U9 f.
adjust, 214.
admiral, 108.
admiration, 257.
admonish, 139.
Adonis, 37G.
adown, 63.
adventure, 249.
affection, 248.
affidavit, 46, 99.
against, 197.
agate, 137.
age, 152.
ageynes, 197.
agitation, 10 n.
ago, 199.
agone, 199.
aid, 212 f.
aid and abet, 216.
aid-de-camp, 189.
air, castles in the, 381.
-al,214n.,343.
alack, 188 n.
alack-a-day, 188.
alamodeness, 188.
alarm, 70, 189.
alb, 44.
alderman, 144 ff.
alembic, 108.
algates, 197 n.
algebra, 108.
alias, 46.
alibi, 4(), 99.
alive, 201.
alkali, 108.
allegro, 51.
alley, 319, 321.
all-fired, 304.
All Hallows, 207.
allspice, 133.
aloft, 107.
alonges, 197.
alongst, 197.
alphabet, 136.
always, 197 u.
am, 238.
amanuensis, 230, 239.
amaze, 309 f., 328.
amazon, 370.
ambassador, 63 u., 290.
amber-de-grece, 346.
ambergrease, 340.
ambergris, 346.
amiddes, 196.
amidst, 196.
amonges, 190.
amongst, 196.
ampere, 384.
ampersand, 105.
Amphitryon, 71.
ampulla, -or, L., 58u.,
67 u.
411
amputation, 13.
ancient, ' ensign,' 359.
ancient, ' old,' 359.
andante, 51.
anger, 151.
angle, ' corner,' 359.
angle, ' fish-hook,' 359.
angry, 237.
animadversion, 59.
animal, 99.
animal spirits, 33.
annexion, 78, 79,
-ant, 187.
ante up, 56.
antic, 356.
antimacassar, 384 n.
antique, 350.
-anus, L., 194 n.
anxious, 282, 307.
anyhow, 240.
apathy, 39, 240.
ape, 305.
apish, 365.
appetite, 13.
apple, 138.
appose, 04.
apron, 198.
Arab, 380.
arabesque, 382.
arbitrate, 29.
arbitration, 29 .
arc, 352.
arch, .352.
-ard, -art, 141, 305, 308 n.
argol, 358.
armiger, 172.
army, 25.
arrange, 103.
arras, 384.
'Arry, ;;87.
artichoke, 340.
412
INDEX OF WORDS
article, 103.
as, as now, etc., 215.
ascendant, 34.
aslnuan, 178.
asparagus, 334.
aspect, 33.
assail, 59.
assassin, 246, 380.
assault, 59.
assize, 64.
assurance, 278.
aster, 33, 352.
asteroid, 33, 352.
astonish, 309, .328.
astrology, 33, 352.
astronomy, 352.
-ate, -ation, 193.
at fault, 75.
athwart, 349.
Atlantean, 381.
Atlantis, 381.
atlas, 381.
atrocious, 314.
attach, 153.
attack, 153.
attend to, 59.
Attic salt, 380.
auceps, L., 177.
auction, 248.
augur, 142.
auncien, 359.
auto, 61.
avails, 64.
avenue, 318, 320.
away ward, 64.
awe, 151.
awful(ly),276, 314f.
babel, 376.
back, adv., 64.
badger, n., 362.
badger, v., 366.
badly, 316.
bah, 3.
balcony, .3,55.
ballad, 248.
bam, 05.
bamboozle, G3, 65.
banco, 351.
bandy, 56.
bang-up, 313.
bank, 351.
banke rota, 352.
bankrout, 352.
bankrupt, 352.
bannock, 107.
banter, 63, 65.
bard, 107.
barouche, 132.
base, 288, 307.
Basil, 368.
basilica, 368.
basilisk, 367 f.
basket, 107 n.
basque, 255, .384.
bas-relief, 189.
bat, 362.
bate, 63.
Bath chair, 131.
bathos, 40, 67 n.
battalion, 63 n.
battering ram, 366.
battle, 339.
bawcock, 299.
baxter, 209.
Bayard, 368, 373.
bazar, 109.
be, 239.
bead, 151.
bear, .362 f .
bearable, 187.
bearish, 365.
bea.stly, 314.
beautiful, 135, 313.
beauty, 1.35.
beaver, .362.
become, 237.
bedlam, 388 f.
bed rock, 56.
bee-line, 368.
beet, 138.
belfrey, 337.
bell, .337.
Bellerophon, 335.
belles lettres, 189.
belt, below the, 56.
bench, 351 f.
Benedict, 374.
beuigne, L., 222.
berliu, 131, 384.
berry, 138.
beside(s), 188, 197 n.
bestead, 207.
betimes, 188, 197 n.
better, 153.
better world, 302.
bettor, 153.
betty, 61 u., 386.
bewitching, 313 u.
bi-, 132.
bias, 56, 59.
bibble-babble, 332.
bicycle, 132.
bid, 151.
Biddy, 387.
big story, 30(3.
bilboes, 15.
bile, 30.
bilious, 31.
-bills, L., 187.
bill, 141.
billy, 61 u., 386.
bind, 347.
binnacle, 108.
bird's-eye view, 368.
bishop, 44, 93.
bishopric, 207.
bit, 331.
biz, 61.
bizarre, 58.
blab, 225.
black, 330.
black jack, 387.
blackamoor, 66, 380.
blackball, 192.
blackguard, 66.
blackish, 330.
blackleg, 6(5.
blench, 281.
blind, 362, 3(34, 368.
block, 319.
blockhead, 285 n.
blood, .30.
blow, 283.
blub])er, 295.
Bluchers, 255, 382.
blue, 62.
blues, 62.
bob, 141.
bobolink, 16.
INDEX OF WORDS
413
bodkin, 107 n.
body, 24(J f .
body politic, 247.
Boer, 347.
bog, 107.
Bobemian, 380.
bombast, 67.
bona fide, 102, 104.
boons, 99, 102.
boodle, 74.
book, 136.
booking office, 271.
bookworm, 363.
boomerang, 109.
boor, 108,285, 347.
boorish, 307.
booth, 347.
bootjack, 61 u., 387.
boss, 252.
bottle, 342.
bonghten, 203.
boulevard, 318, 320.
boun, 347.
bound, 347.
bow-wow, 3.
bowdlerize, 379.
bower, ;347.
bower (card term), 347.
bowl over, 56.
bowyer, 209.
box, 71.
boycott, 378.
boyish, .'565.
bracelets, 69.
brackish, 108.
brag, 225, 373.
braggadocio, 373, 376.
braggart, 141, .'i()8 n.
brass, 69.
brasses, 255.
bravado, 58.
brazen, 69, 203.
bread, .".30.
breakfast, 330.
break ground, r>C>.
breathe one's last, .302.
breeches, .305.
Bridget, .'iS7.
bridle, 227.
brine, 29.5.
brock, 107.
brogue, 107.
broker, 2.53, 29().
brother, 159.
brougham, 255, 382.
Bruin, 370.
brummagem, .377.
bubble, 63.
bug, 51.
Inill, 363, 364.
bully, 63, 66.
Bully Ruffian, 335.
bunco, 351.
buncombe, 71.
bunko, 351.
burgh, 69.
burial, i:i9n., 214 n., 343.
buriels, r>43.
burke, 377 f .
'bus, 61.
busk, 347.
butt, ?i.,342.
butt, v., 338.
butter, 342.
butterball, 177.
butterfingers, 178.
butterfly, 177.
buttermilk, 178.
buttertub, 178.
butterwoman, 178.
buttery, 342.
buzz, 16.
by-and-by, 188, 292 f.
cab, 61, 131.
cabal, 68.
cabbala, 68.
cabriolet, 131.
cad, 61.
cadence, .57 n.
f!iT>sar, 373.
caitiff, 287, .307.
calash, 131.
caleche, 131.
calf love, .368.
calico, 2.55.
call, 107.
camber, 3.50.
cambric, .381.
camera, .350, .356.
cancel, 3.53.
cancer, 3.52 f., 367.
candelabrum, 270, 294 n.
candidate, 265 f.
candy, 128, 225.
canker, 353.
can't, 62.
cantankerous, 149.
canter, 385.
canting dogs, 367.
cap, 152 f.
cape, 152.
Cape Cod turkey, .331 .
cajier, ' antic,' 366.
caper sauce, 366.
caprice, 366.
capriole, 366.
captain, 1.55.
Capua, 376.
car, 130, 134, 271.
caravau, 109.
carcinoma, .353.
careless, 276.
cargo, 49.
carnival, 59.
carouse, 70, 189.
carpenter, 1.34.
carriage, 1.30.
cart, 130.
cart-wheel, 141.
case, 13, 240.
cash, 69.
cashmere, 3.3S, .384.
cassimere, .3;!S.
cast, 107, 243.
castaway, 49.
-caster, 93.
castle, 94.
castles in Spain, in the
air, 381 f .
casual, 343.
casualty, 303.
cat, 62, .3()3. 3(;8.
cataract, 2.52.
catchbasin, 190.
catchpoll, 190.
category, 47.
caterpillar, .")63.
cathedral, 132.
Catoun, 96.
414
INDEX OF WOBDS
cattish, 305.
caustic, 136.
cela va saus dire, 103.
ceut, 140.
cereelotli, 333 n.
certainly, 311.
chaff, 71.
chaise, 132.
chalk, 93.
challenge, 282.
chamber, 330, 35G.
chamberlain, 222, 205.
chameleon, 3G9f.
champagne, 384.
champerty, 45.
chance, 57.
chancel, 353.
chancellor, 353.
chancery, 353.
chandelier, 270, 294 n.
change, 69.
chant, 142.
chanticleer, 370.
chaos, 51, 249.
chap, 62, 287.
chape, 152.
chapel, 152.
chapelet, 153.
chaperon, 153.
chaplain, 153.
chaplet, 153.
chapman, 62, 209, 287.
character, 8.
charm, 248.
charming, 313.
chasm , 249.
chaw, 3.")4.
chawbacon, 354.
cheap, 198.
cheater, 266.
cheator, 288.
cheek, 69.
chemise, 305.
cherub, 108.
-Chester, 93.
cheveanx-de-frise, 367.
chevy, 71.
Chevy Chace, 71.
chew, 354.
chickadee, 16. .
chieftain, 155.
childish, 365.
childlike, 15.
chimera, 369 f., 376.
chimney, 270.
china, 255, 384.
chivy, 71.
choir, 152.
choke, 340.
chouse, 17, 66.
Christian, 297.
chuck, 298.
chum, (>7.
church, 157.
churl, 284 f.
cicycle, 132.
cinchona, 384.
cinnamon, 1.33.
cipher, 108.
Circe, 376.
Circean, 376.
circle, 319.
circumstances, 236.
circumvallatiou, 63 n.
circus, 59.
cit, 61.
citizen, 194.
city, 142 f.
Clark, 268 n.
clean, 14.
clear the decks, 49.
cleave, 25.
clench, 119n., 354.
clergy, 44 f.
clergyman, 178 f.
clerical, 44 f.
clerk, 44 f., 268.
clever, 289.
clinch, 119 n., 354.
cloak, 152.
clod, 285 u.
clodhopper, 285 n.
clodpoll,285n.
clotpoll, 285 n.
clove, 3.37.
clown, 285.
coach, 131, 271.
coast, 49, 249.
coat, 382 n.
cock, 56, 366 f.
cock (for God) , 34 n. , 304.
cockney, 65, 66 n.
cockpit, 49.
Conn- de Lion, 363.
coiner, 290.
colonial goose, 331 f.
comfort, 212 f.
common, 54.
communication, 63 n.
companion, 154, 287.
comi^anion-way, 154.
competition, 13.
complete, 356.
complexion, 31 f.
compulsion, on, 215.
computation, 13.
concerto, 51.
conclusion, foregone, 216.
Concord wagon, 131, 256.
condition, 212, 235.
conduct, 245.
conductor, 271.
confab, 62.
confound, 212.
congregation, 256, 265.
conjure, 142, 356.
conjure, 356.
conjurer, 142.
connection, 216.
considering, 104 n.
consols, 62.
constable, 295 f .
constellation, 352.
continence, 150.
contort, 46.
contradict, 29, 215 f.
convey, 45.
conveyance, 45.
conveyancer, 45.
convoy, 45.
coon, 62.
Cooper's cow, 368.
cope, 152.
copper, 385.
copperas, 350 f.
copperbottom , 192.
cordovan, 134, 254, 384.
corduroys, 2.55.
cordwain, 134, 254, 384.
cordwaiuer, 134.
INDEX OF WORDS
415
corking, 313..
corn, 135 f.
corp, 132, 139, 343.
corps, 343.
corpse, 132, 139, 343.
corpus juris, 247.
corsage, 305.
cosmos, 247.
cottage, 319 f.
cottager, 319 f.
couch, 191.
cough, 332.
count, 144 f.
countenance, 1.50 f .
counter, 57, 289 n.
counterfeit, 289.
counterpart, 289 n.
countess, 94, 144.
country put, G3.
county, 144.
court, 94, 282 n.
courteous, 282, 327.
courtesj', 284.
courtly, 282.
cousin, 67.
cousining, to go a-, GS.
coverchef, 270.
cow, 365.
coward, 241, 360, 365.
cowish, 365.
cowl, 44.
coxcomb, 66.
Cox my passion, .304.
cozen, 67 f.
crab, 337.
crack, 295.
cradle, 107 n.
craft, 289.
craftsman, 289.
crafty, 289.
cramp, 138.
crate, 130.
crawfish, 336 f., 366.
crayfish, 336 f.
crazy, .307.
cream of tartar, 358.
crestfallen, 57.
crevis, 3.'56.
crime, 249.
Croat, 380.
crock, 107 n.
crocodile tears, .369.
crois, 350.
croon , 58, 149 n .
cropper, .56.
cross, 129, .349 f .
cross swords, 56.
crow, 367, .368.
crowbar, .367.
crown, 141.
crow over, 57, 366.
crucial, 350.
crucifix, 350.
cruciform, .350.
cruise, 350.
crusade, 350.
crusado, 350.
crux, 350.
cryptograph, -30.
cry wolf, 370.
cuckoo, 3ti6.
cui bono? 217 n.
culverin, 367.
cunning, 135, 289.
cur, 338, .363.
curfew, 270.
curious, 277.
curmudgeon, 338.
currants, 385.
currency, 141.
currish, 365.
curst, 129.
curves, 56, 59.
cut, 63, 3.34.
cute, 62, 289, 293 f.
cutlash, 335.
cutlass, 334 f.
cycle, 62, 132.
cynic, 382.
cynical, 382.
cynosure, 376, 382 n.
d., 104, 140.
dago, 66.
dahlia, .384.
dainty, -345.
dale, 140.
damask, .384.
damo,.322f.,.348, 370.
damn, 212, 210.
damnation, 257.
dan, 348.
dander, 153.
dandruff, 153.
danger, 349.
dangerous, .307, 349.
Daniel, 155, 375.
daredevil, 190.
darkling, .342.
darn, 304.
daw, 363.
Day, 209.
days, 196.
dead-eye, deadman's eye,
49.
deaf, 369.
dear, 314.
death-marked, 274.
death-practised, 274.
debased, 288.
decease, 302.
deceased, 300.
deceitful, 307.
deceivable, 276.
deceive, 96.
deck, 49.
deem, 249.
deemster, 249.
deer, 249, 342.
defaulter, 305.
degraded, 288.
deliberate, 140.
delightful, 313.
demesne, 348.
demijohn, .387.
demon, 152, 158.
Dempster, 249.
denizen, 194.
depart, 302.
depend, 11.
depraved, .307.
deputation, 14.
derrick, 383.
derring-do, 118.
desire, 60.
detach, 153.
devil, 156 ff., 252, .374.
devil-may-care, 188.
devotee, 290.
diagnosis, 101.
416
INDEX OF WORDS
diamond, ir.7.
dictum, 9'.).
dignity, 345.
diplomacy, 28!t.
dipsomaniac, oOG.
directly, 292 f.
Dime, Ger., 286.
dirty, 306.
disabuse, 213.
disappear, 303.
disaster, 33, 282, 303, 352.
disease, 248, 303, 307.
disgusting, 314 f.
dispensation, 216.
dissolute, 307.
dissolution, .302.
distemper, 31 f.
distort, 46, 151, 306.
distressful, 276.
distressing, 314.
disturb, 10 n.
Dives, .374.
divide, 25.
dividers, 102 f.
divine, 313.
divisor, 102 f.
divorce, 46.
doc, 63.
doctor, 134.
doctrine, 249.
dodo, 108, 363.
do for, 303.
dog, 363.
dogged, 365.
doggerel, 65.
dog-grass, 334.
dog-Latin, (i5.
dog-logic, 65.
dcfg-rose, .364.
dogs, .367.
dogwliip, 330.
dold, 364.
dollar, 140.
dolt, 'M'A.
-dom, 179, 187.
domain, 348.
domestic, 299.
dominant, 348.
dominate, 348.
domination, .348.
domine, 324, 348.
domineer, 348.
Dominican, 348 f.
dominie, 348.
dominion, 348.
domino, 348'.
dominos, 349.
don, 322 f., 348.
donjon, .348.
donjon-keep, 348.
Don Juan, 375.
do-nothing, 190.
don't-ee,203.
don't speak of it, 302.
doom, 179, 187, 249.
doomsman, 249.
door, 339.
dote, 250, 363.
dotterel, 363.
double a cape, 216.
doubtful, 276.
doubting Thomas, 374.
dough, 210.
dove, 130, 346, 369.
down, adv., 63, 64, 107.
down, 71., 64.
downright, 279.
dragon, 340.
draike, 64, 340 f.
dramatis personae, 269.
Drawcansir, 373.
drawers, 305.
draw the long bow, 306.
dray, 131.
dreadful, 276,314.
dreadnaught, I'.H).
dredge, 131.
drench, 281.
drill, 12.
drink like a fish, .362.
driver, 271.
drone, 363.
drnid, 142.
drunkard, 141, 360, .368 n.
drunken, 277, .307.
drunkenness, 306.
Dryasdust, .375.
duck, 363.
dudgeon, 208.
duet, 52.
duke, 145.
Dulcinea, 375.
dum, 304.
dumb as an oyster, 362. -
dumbfounded, 310.
dump, 141.
dun, 107.
dunce, 373 f.
dungeon, 348.
durance, 216.
dust in one's eyes, to
throw, .335.
dustman, 178.
duties, 253.
-e, 201.
eagle, 130.
earl, 144 f.
earn . . . salt, 60.
earthen, 203.
eat, 173 n., 281.
eatable, 187.
eccentric, 32.
eculeus, L., 367.
-ed (-d, -t), 182.
Edda, 107.
edible, 187.
editorial, 254.
education, 231 f., 239.
effect, 2.36.
effluvium, 30().
eft, 198.
e.g., 105.
egregious, 11.
-el, 136 n.
elder, -est, 199, 200.
El Dorado, 381.
electric, 293 f.
electricity, 294.
electro-, 294.
electrocute, 293 f.
electrocution, 294.
electrolier, 294 n.
electrolysis, 294.
electro-physics, 294.
elegant, 277.
element, 36.
elemental, .37.
elementary, 36.
elephantine, 365.
INDEX OF WORDS
417
elevator, '271.
elixir, 108.
-els, 214 n.
'em, 202.
emancipist, 305.
embankment, .ilS.
embonpoint, 189.
emerald, 137.
emotion, 10 n.
emporium, 134.
empty, v., 279.
-en, adj., 203.
-en, causative, 281.
-en, /em., 204.
-en, participial, 182, 203.
-en, plural, 182.
enchant, 248.
enchanter, 142.
enchanting, 313.
enchantment, 257.
end, .302, 342.
endlong, 342.
energy, 8.
engage, 280.
engine, 131, 223, 251.
engineer, 271, 294 n.,29G.
England, 83 n.
English, 83.
English walnut, 340.
enkindle, 10 f.
enrolled, 00.
ensign, 359.
entail, 45.
enthusiasm, 290.
enthusiastic, 290.
entrancing, 313.
envy, 15').
ephthianura, 50.
epic, 249.
epicurean, 382.
epi.scopal, 44.
epos, 249.
equanimity, .38.
-er, comparative, 179,
201.
-er, n., 153, 29.3.
erm, 358.
errata, 99.
erring, 291.
erus, L., .32.3.
2b
-es, (jcnitive and adv.,
182, 196 ff., 343.
-es, plural, 182, 202.
-es, 3. personal ending,
182.
-es, 2. perti'l endinc/, 180.
escheator, 288.
essen, Ger., 276 n., 354.
essence, 37.
-est, superlative, 179, 200.
-est, 2. pers'l ending, 180.
estate, 235.
etc., 105.
etymology, 230.
euphemism, 117 n,, 301 f.
euphony, 117 n.
event, 240.
ever so, 316.
everybody, 188.
evet, 198.
exactly so, 310.
exam, 01.
ex cathedra, 103.
excellency, 258.
excesses, .305.
exclusive, 104.
execute, 293, 305.
execution, 293.
executioner, 293.
executive, 293.
executor, 293.
exempli gratia, 105.
exercised, 210.
exist, 239.
exorcise, 156.
exorcist, 142.
ex parte, 102.
expedite, 00.
expedition, (iO.
expire, 302.
expiree, .305.
explode, 223.
expression, 150.
extempore, 189.
extravagantly, 315.
extremely, 315.
ey, 05, 0() n.
fable, 02, 249.
fact, 236 f.,253.
factor, 134.
factory, l'>4.
I factotum, 71.
I fain, 210.
fair play, 57.
fairy tale, 300.
falcon, 164, .StW.
fall, «.,253.
fall, v., 302.
false Iiooil, .306.
falsetto, 51.
familiar, 175.
familiarity, 175.
fanatic, 290.
far, 200.
farmer, 285.
farmstead, 207.
farther, 17 n., 200.
farthing, 140.
fast, adj. and adv., 198,
307 f., 336.
-fast, 336.
faste, 308.
fatal, 303.
fate, 249.
father, 163, 227.
fault, 305.
favete Unguis, 302.
favor, 214.
feather, in high, .57.
feather, white, 57.
feature, 151.
fee, 165.
feed, 225.
feeling, 275.
fell, V. trans., 29,\.
fellow, 287, 299 n., .327.
fellowship, 287.
felo de se, .303.
fence, 56, 61.
'fess, 63.
fetching, 313 n.
feu. 'late,' Fr., 302.
fez, 384.
fiasco, .58.
fib, (!2, 306.
fibble-fabble, 62.
tidus Achates, ;175.
figure, 8, 52, 95.
figurine, 52.
418
INDEX OF WOT^D.'i
liliiis, L., IfiO.
tinale, 51.
fine, 313, 3ir».
fine, in, 20(j f.
finely, 315.
finish, 303.
finuan liaddie, 385.
fire, v., 11, (iO, 243.
fire-dogs, 3G7.
first, 200.
first-rate. 313.
fish, 1G3, 1G5, .33G, 3G2.
fislierman, 178 f., .330.
fish story, 30G.
fisnomy, ()2.
fist, 224.
fiabbergast, 74. 310.
fiannels, 30.1.
fiat long, i?42.
ilea in his ear, 308.
rietcher, 209.
flexure, StG. n
float, 281.
floor, v., 74.
florin. 141.
flotilla, 107.
fly,?t.,51,3G7.
fly, z;., 281.
focus, 249.
foliage, 3.38.
folio, 99, 102.
folk-etymology, 331.
folk(s), 25.
follow-me-lads, 190.
folly-fallen, 274.
fond, 2,50.
fonned, 250.
fonnen, 250.
fool, 298, 30G.
fooli.sh, 307.
foolish-compounded, 274.
foot, 202.
fop, GGn.
for-, 151.
forbid, 151.
force, 113, 2,59.
foregone conclusion, 210.
foremost, .342 f .
forgf't-me-not, 190.
forlorn hope, 227.
forms, 290.
forth, 200.
fortliright, 188.
fortune, 249.
foul play, 57.
founder, 49.
fourth, 140.
fox, 129,204, .3G2, 371.
foxy, 175, .305, 371.
Frankenstein, 377.
fraternal, 159.
frau, 320 n.
free rein, 300.
Frencliified, 380.
French of Norfolk, 00,:;:!2.
fressen, G'cr., 270, ."■54.
fret, 'adorn.' 270 n.
fret, 'consume,' 11, 270.
fretful, 27G.
fret-saw, 270 n.
fret-work, 270 n.
Freyja, 320 n.
Freyr, 320 n.
friend, 330.
friendship, .3.30.
frightful, 314.
fro"^, 199.
front, 11.
froward, 154.
fry, 225, 295.
fuchsia, 384.
-ful, 270.
full, adv., 199.
full-acorned, 274.
full tilt, .58.
further, 18 n., 200.
fustian, 07, 384.
Gad, ;Un., 304.
gage, 280 n.
gain.say, 29, 215.
gait, 207.
gala, 3.55.
gale, 355.
gallant, 3,55.
gallop, 281.
game, 282.
gargle, 173n.
gargoyle, 173 n.
garlic'. 210.
gar-pike, 210.
gas, 51, 2.52.
gasconade, 380.
gate, 207.
gawk, .'100.
gear, 23().
geewhillikens. .304.
geewhiz, 304.
gem, 137.
general, 254.
generally speaking, 103 f .
generate, 223.
generous, 327.
genteel, 350.
gentile. 350.
gentle, 320 f., 3,50, 302.
gentleman, 322, 325 ff.
genus, 223.
gerrymander, OS f.
gesture, 1.50.
get, 237.
get-at-able, 1S9.
ghost, '248.
ghostly, 212.
gill, (>i.
Gillian, 01.
gillyflower, 338.
gin ^01, .384.
ginger, 133.
gingiver, 133.
gladsome, 135.
gl.ass, 153, 2.55.
glasses, 254.
glaze, 1.53.
glen, 107.
ghjaming, 149.
glome, 149.
gloom, 149, 153.
gloomy, 149.
glorious, 313.
glow, 149, 153.
go, 237 ; go at, .59.
go-ahead-itive-ness, 189.
go-between, 190.
goat, 105.
Godfrey, 304.
gold, 1.3() n.
golden, 203.
golly, 304.
gone, 300.
INDEX OF WOEDS
419
good and ready, '■'•li'>.
good-for-iiothiii.u, 2'.)S n.
good-natured , 288 n .
goodness, o04.
(iood Samaritan, ".74.
goods, 'J4!l.
goody goody, 17-''>.
goose, 3(i;?.
gore, ' triangular piece,'
210.
gore, 'blood,' 210.
gore, v., 210.
gorge,/'/'., •>05.
gorgeous, olS.
gorgonize, 3()S, :170.
gorry, .'504.
gosh, 34 n., :;04.
Goth. .•^7!).
Gothamite, (10.
gral), l-'!8.
Gradgrind; .375.
grain, 1 ■'!.").
gramarye, 119.
grampus, ;»()2.
grand, .'!13.
grandee, 107.
grape, 138.
-graph, 30.
grapple, 138.
grass, 3.34.
grease, 34(i.
greenhorn, (>5.
grief, 94.
gris amber, 34ti.
grit, G9 f .
grocer, 133, 293.
grow, 237, 281.
Grundy, INIrs., ;'.7.").
guard, GO, 271.
guest, 1()3, 'Mry.
guileless, 288.
guinea, 141.
gull, 303, 3()ri.
gums, 25.').
gurgulio, L., 173 n.
guy, 378.
gypsy, .380.
habeas corpus, 40.
hal)itable. 187.
hack. 01.
had, /iifcctioii, 183 f.
had better, etc. , 198, 205 f .
haddock, 385.
hag, 331, 3()0.
haggard, 'gaunt," ;!<;0.
haggard, ' hawk," .'100.
bagged, 300.
haggle, 331.
half-, 187.
hallelujah, 108.
hallow, 207.
Hallowe'en, 207.
hamlet, 143.
hand, 211,230, 2.39.
handicraft, 211.
handiwork, 211.
liandkerchief , 270 f .
handsome, 135.
hang, hanged, hung, .357.
hangdog, 190.
hansom, 131.
harbor, 49.
hard, 141 n., .308 n.
hard-favored, 214.
hardly, 311.
Harpies, 1.54.
harpoon. 1.54.
Harris, Mrs.. ;!75.
harvey, 379.
harveyize, 379.
hateful, 270, .314.
hath, 200.
hatred, 207.
hautboy, .52.
have, 182 ff., 205 f. See
had, hath,
hawk, ?/., .331.
hawk, v., 300.
hawker, 331.
hazard, .57.
he, 02, 202, .".S*;.
head, 201 ff.
head-flaw, 49.
headlong. -342.
head man. 274.
headsman. 274.
headway, 49.
heap, 227.
boart-struck. 277.
heart-whole, 274.
heart-wished, 274.
heave, heaved, hove, 357.
heavenly, 31"i.
heavenward, 180.
hector, v. and v., .373.
hedge, .3()0.
hell-hated, 274.
helm. 49.
help, 299.
hem, pron., 202.
hemiptera, 51.
hen, 311.
hence, 197.
henceforth, 188.
hennes. 197.
hen peck. .3()0.
bent, 250.
here, pron., 202.
hereabouts, 197 n.
hermetically, 384.
he's, 02.
hiccough, 332.
hicket, .332.
bickup, .332.
hicock, .332.
hideous. 151.
higgledy-piggledy, 74.
high, 198.
highness, 258.
himself, 188.
hint, 2.50.
hipps, 02.
hire, p?'0?i., 202.
his, 61.
hit or miss, 74, 190.
hoax, 51, 70, 189.
hocus, 189.
hocus pocus, 51, 70, 189.
hodman, 178.
hoggish, 305.
hohiback, 190.
holdfast, I'.X).
holey, 49.
Holiness, his, 2.58.
hollow, 282.
holocaust. 130.
holy dollar, 49, 141,
Hoiy Ghost. 212.
holvstones. 49.
420
INDEX or WORDS
home, 14.". f., 227.
homelike, IS.").
homely. 18(i.
homestead, 207.
hominy, lOi).
honesty, 2r)2.
honey, 298.
honor, 27:5.
houorahle, 27.3.
-hood. 1S7.
lK)ok or crook, 74.
Hoosler, 2!>7.
horoscope, 34.
horrihle, 314.
horrid, 314 f.
horridly, 314.
horse, 331, 3()4f., ,367.
horse-car, 271.
hostile, 345.
hostler, 331.
hound, 303.
honnd, i\, '.M)5.
hove, 3,j7.
hue and cry, 209, 21().
hug the shore, 21(1.
hug-me-tight, 190.
human, ■■>~)C).
humane. 3.56.
humor, .30 ff., 129, 248 n.
humorous, 32.
hung, 3,'>7.
hussar, 109.
hussy, 286.
hustle, 108.
Hyde Park, 318.
hyena, 352.
hypnotism, .38f).
hypo, 62.
hyps. See hipps.
i-, 211.
-ic, 187.
-ical, 187.
I'd, 62, 205.
idea, l.")6.
idiot, :'.06.
idol, m>.
i.e., 105.
ignoramus. 58.
ill, 129, 3.03.
ill-conditioned, 212.
ill-favored, 214.
ill-humored, 129.
illicit, 291.
ill-tempered, 129.
imaginary, 275.
immediately, 293.
immense, 31.3.
immoral, 242;
immorality, .305.
impassibility, 40.
impassive, 39 f.
impeachment, 216.
impetus, 1,3.
impolite, .307.
imprimis, 102 n.
improliity, 59.
imputation, 14.
inaccurate, 307.
in articulo mortis, 103.
in bank, .351.
incantation, 142, 248.
incentive, 11.
inclusive, 104.
incog, 63).
India rubber, 2,55.
indigestion, 30().
indiscretion, 307.
indomitable, 1.37.
inertia, 99.
inlinite, 315.
infinitely, 315.
influence, 33 f.
-ing, 173, 180, 182, 187,
192.
injunction, 46.
injury, 245, 303.
ink, 1.36.
ink eraser, 274.
ink stain, 274.
innocent, 288.
innuendo, 99, 102.
insane, 307.
insect, .363.
inside out, 188.
insides, 3)06.
insignia, 3.59.
insincere, 307.
insinuate, .'>65.
instantly, 293.
instead of, 207.
instigation, 11.
insult, .59.
insurance, 178.
intem]ierate. 3,07.
inteniljle, 275.
interim, 99.
intestines, 30<).
intoxication, 306.
invidious, 1.56.
iuM'ards, 306.
iota, 311.
irons, 254.
is, 2.38, 240.
-ise, 379.
Isegrim, .370.
-ish, 186 f., 36.5.
Ishmael, .374.
isinglass, 108.
it, 170.
italics, 384.
item, 99, 102.
iteration, 170.
itinerary, 170.
iwis, 119.
-ize, .'OT.
jack, 61 n., 1.54, 386 f.
jackanapes, 387.
jackass, .386.
jacket, 153 f.
jack-in-the-hox, .387.
jack-in-the-pulpit, 387-
jackknife, 387.
jack-of-all-trades, 71.
jackscrew, :W7.
jackstraws, 387.
Jack Tar, 387.
jacky, .387.
jade, 137.
Jamestown weed, 256.
Japan, 255, 384.
Java, 255, .384.
jay, .362.
Jeames, .387.
Jehusite, .'')75 n.
jehu, 375.
jenny, 61 n., .386.
jeopardize, 189.
jeopardy, 70, 189.
INDEX OF WORDS
421
jeremiad, 382.
jersey, 255, 384.
Jersey justice, 37',ln.
Jerusalem, 304.
Jerusalem artichoke, ;i40,
Jerusalem crickets, 304.
jet, 137, 385.
Jew, 379.
jewel, 137.
Jew's work, 3S2.
Jezebel, 374.
jimmy, (il n.. 3H6.
jimsou weed, 25().
jiugo, 71.
Job, .374.
Johnuy-jump-up, VJO.
Joseph, 374.
jot, 311.
jovial, 31.
Judas, 373, 37().
Judas kiss, .')73.
juggler, 142.
jump on,5it.
juncture, 21G.
Jungles, GGu.
Juno, 37(5.
junta, 107.
jupartie, IS'J.
just, 214.
just so, 310.
justicer, 46.
justiciar, 4().
justiciary, 46.
justify, 214.
Kaffirs, 6(>n.
kaiser, 373 n.
kangaroo, 109.
kaser, 373 u.
keen, 289.
kerchief, 270.
kernel, 135.
kersey, 338.
kerseymere, 338.
kosar, 373 n.
kicker, rA).
kickshaws, 189.
kiduey, ()3.
kill. .302.
killjoy, 190.
kilo, 01.
kind, 330.
kindly, 330.
kindness, 330.
kindred, 207.
kingdom, 179.
king's evil, 384.
kink, 108.
kis.s-me-quick, 1!K).
knapsack, 108.
knave, 285 f., 299.
knee, 103.
knickerbockers, 305.
knifeblade, 330.
knight errant, 291.
knock-out, 50.
knowing, 289.
kyrie, 72.
Kyrie eleison, 72.
lackadaisical, 188.
lack-a-day, 188.
lady, 210," 317, 322, 3241'.,
327 f.
lamb, 303.
lame, 3()4.
landau, 131, 384.
Land of Nod, 370.
landscape, 109.
lane, 319, 321.
language, 2.
lanyard, 335.
Laodicean, 385.
lapse, 305.
large, 25.
last, 302.
latakia, 384 f .
late, 209 n., 300.
Latimer, 209.
law, 104.
lay, 151, 281.
layman, 245.
lazar, 374.
lazaret, 48.
leaden, 203.
lead pencil, 270.
league, 347.
leal, 353.
lee shore, 49.
leek, 210 n., 311.
leeway, 49.
leg, 01, 304.
legal, 353.
legion, 250.
lenger, -est, 200.
lesson, 249.
let, n., 213.
let, ' hinder,' 209.
let, ' permit,' 209; to let,
275 ; let's, 180.
level, 140.
lewd, 290.
Hard, 308 u.
liberal, 215.
lick, 370.
lie, 151, 281.
lie, mentlri, 254, 305 f.
lief, 190.
lieu, 347.
-lier, 294 u.
lieu, 207, 339.
lieutenant, 189.
lifeless, 302.
lift, v., 58.
lift, ?i.,271.
ligament, 347.
like, 15, 179, 185 f.
like, v., 204.
lily, 226.
limb, 304.
linen, 305.
-ling, 187, 342.
lingerie, 305.
lionlike, 305.
lion's share, 370.
liqueur, 248.
liquor, 248.
list, 214.
listless, 214.
lists, 58. .
litter-egg, (55.
little, 01.
livelong, 21(5.
lively, 20, 307.
liver, 225, 295.
livery, 154.
lives, 19(i.
loaf, 210.
loatlisome, 314.
loch, 107.
422
INDEX OF WORDS
locomotive, 131.
locum teueus, 18!).
logic, -ili.
loiter, 100.
long, l-'OO.
-long, 3412.
long l)Ow, 306.
loo, ()1.
look, 151.
loou, 3(i4.
loouy, 61, 364.
loosen, 281.
loot, m.
lord, 210, 3125 f.
lordship, 258.
loriaier, 209.
l.)se, lo.st, 302.
Lothario, 375.
louis, 141.
loun, 364.
love, 135.
lovelace, 375.
lovelock, 274.
lovely, 135, 313.
lovesick, 274.
low, 198, 288.
lown, ;3()4.
loyal, 353.
lucifer, 177.
Lucretia, 374.
ludi magister, 44 u., 324.
lunatic, 31, 3(>4.
lupus, 367.
lust, 214, 290.
lust-dieted, 279.
lustring, 335.
lutestring, 3.'55.
-ly, 15, 179, 186f., 199.
Lydford law, 378 f .
lynch, 378.
lyric, 254.
'm, 202.
macadam, .379U.
macadamize, 379.
macassar, .384.
machiavellian, .382.
machine, 251.
mackintosh, 255, 382.
macrocosm, 247.
mad, 307.
madam, 323.
madding crowd, 216.
madman, 306.
madras, 255, 384.
madrigal, 52.
Mitceuas, 373.
Magdalen, 376.
magic, 141, 382.
magnesia, 385.
magnet, 385.
magnetic, 385.
magnetism, 385.
magnificent, 313.
magpie, 362.
mahogany, ()9.
main, 216, 254.
mainland, 254.
maintenant, Fr., 292 n.
maize, i;>6.
Majesty, his, 258.
makeshift, 190.
make way with, 302.
mam met, 377.
man, 327, 341.
-man, 178 f.
mandrake, 340 f.
manganese, 385 n.
maniac, 306.
manna, 108.
mannish, .365.
mansiiin, 249.
manual, 343.
mar, 211.
marching order, 60.
marc, 296.
niariage de couveuance,
103.
mark, God save the, ',i02.
mark, to hit the, 57.
marline, 109.
marquess, 145.
marsh, 211.
marshal, 295 f., 320.
martinet, 155.
mass play, .'56.
master, 324.
mastheaded. 192.
masticate, 354.
mate, 287.
mater, L., 160.
matter, 236.
matter-of-fact, 188.
mattock, 107 n.
maudlin, 376.
maumet, 377.
meander, 378.
meantime, 188.
meanwhile, 188.
meat, 216, 249.
Mecca, 376.
Mediterranean, 2.54.
medium, 252.
meerschaum, 254.
melancholia, 31 n.
melancholy, 30 f .
mellifluous, 128.
memorandum, 99, 102
menage, 191.
mentor, .373.
mercenary, 307.
merchant, 287.
merci, /'/•., 222.
mercurial, 31.
meridian, 2.54.
mermaid, 211.
mesel, 3(54 n.
mesmerism, 386.
Messiah, 108.
-mest, 200, 343.
metal , 355 f .
metaphysical, 46.
metaphysics, 46.
mete, 209.
Methusaleh, 374.
mettle, 355 f .
mew up, 216.
microcosm, 247.
mid, 61.
middy, 61.
might and nuiin, 216.
mile, 202.
milkman, 178.
mill, 140.
milliner, .385.
milord, 326 n.
minimum, 99.
minister, 248, 296.
minster, 44.
mint, 139 f.
INDEX OF WORDS
423
mischance, 303.
misconduct, 305.
miscreant, 245.
misdemeanor, 30.").
miserable, 314.
misfortune, 30.'!.
misguided, 305.
mishmash, 332.
misrepresentation, 30().
miss, Gl.
Miss, 322, 325.
missing, 302.
misstatement, 30(5.
Mister, 322, 324.
mistress, 324.
mite, 311.
mob, 01 ff.
moccasin, 109.
mocha, 255, 384.
molasses, 12S.
mole, 3()3.
Moll, (i3.
monarchy, 44.
monastery, 44.
money, 139 f.
moneyer, 293.
monitor, 139.
monk, 'monaclius,' 44,
93.
monk, ' monkey,' (il.
monkey, 3()3.
monkey with, 305.
monologue, 44.
monotone, 44.
monstrous, 314.
moo, 3.
moor, 212.
mop, 107 n.
mope, 225.
moral, 242.
morass, 211.
morliid, 39 n.
morocco, 384.
morris dance, '■'>'6'1.
mortal, 303.
mortgage, 45.
mortmain, 45.
Mosaic, .■!82.
mosaic. .382.
most, 201.
-most, 343.
mother, l(jl, 227.
motoneer, 294 n.
motormau, 178.
mountebank, 352.
mousing, 3(i(j.
Mr., .324 f.
Mrs., 324 f.
Mrs. Grundy, 375.
Mrs. Harris, 375.
much, 312.
mule, .302, 307.
mulish, 305.
murmur, 173, 340.
muslin, 384.
mutaude, Ital., 304.
myrmidons, 379.
myth, 249.
uaddcr, 198.
uagent, 197.
nankeen, 109.
napoleon, 141.
uapple, 197.
napron, 198.
nasty, 314.
natural, 254.
natural spirits, ;!3.
naturally, 149.
naught, 298.311.
naughty, 298.
nauseous, 315.
navy, 25, 311.
near, -er, 17 u., 200.
neck, 305.
uccrf>mancer, 141.
nedes, needes, 190.
ne'er-do-well, 190.
neger, 357 n.
negro, 149, 350 f .
neighbor-stained, 274.
nephew, KiO.
nequam, L., 298 u.
nerve, 213.
nervous, 213.
-ness, 180 f.
nest, 209.
Nestor, 373.
nethermost, 17 n., 200 f.
342 1.
never, 311.
never so, 310.
nevvmarket, 384.
newspaper, 253.
newt, 197.
next, 200.
ney, 0(in.
nice, 54, 277, 297 f., 314 f.
nick of time, 292 u.
nig, 207.
nigger, 357 u.
nigger, (10, 350 f.
nigh, 200.
night-horse, 211.
nightmare, 211.
nights, 19i;.
nil, 204.
Nimrod, 375.
Nimshi, 375.
nincompoop, 51, 07, 70.
nip and tuck, 74.
no, 311.
no end, 315.
no kind (sort) of, 298 n.
no more, 302.
noble, 327.
nobody, 188, 298 n.
nonce, 197.
non compos mentis, 51,
07, 70.
non-con, 02.
non obstante, 104 n.
nonplus, 103.
noon, 44.
Norn, 107.
nosethril, 12.
nostril, 12.
nostrum, 99, 101.
not, 311 f.
note, 141.
iiotemuge. 1.3:'..
notwithstanding, 104 n.
nowheres, 197 n.
nun, 44, 93.
nut, 1.33.
nutmeg, 13.3.
ol)., 101.
obiit, L., .">03.
obituary, 30,3.
424
INDEX OF WOIWS
oboe, 52.
Odd's, ;504.
Odd's bodkins, o04.
Odd's my life, 304.
Odd's pitikins, 304.
odium, 273.
of course, 311.
offence, 305.
offhand, 188.
olticious, 253.
ofteutiuies, 188.
ogre, 380.
oh, 3.
ohm, 384.
old, -er, -est, 152, 1<»9.
old hand, 305.
old man, .325.
omen, 282.
on, 215.
once, 19G f.
ones, 19G.
oolong, 255, 384.
opera, 51.
operations, f)3n.
operetta, 51.
opinion, 272 f.
opposal, 64.
oppose, ()4.
-or, 153.
orphan, 211.
orrery, 383.
-osity, 193.
oust, 197.
out, 347 f.
out-, 187.
outdoor, 188.
outer, 347.
out-Herod, 378.
outlaw, 188.
outrageous, 314.
outrance, 347 f .
outskirts, 318.
overcrow, 57, 3*36.
overlord, 188.
owlish, .3(;5.
oyster, 311.
pad, ()1.
Paddy, 00.
iiuin, 245.
painful, 270.
painter, 340.
palace, 370.
pall, 03.
pallisadoes, ()3n.
palming, 03.
pan-, 342.
pandar, 373.
pander, 373, 377.
panic, 382.
pantere, 340.
panther, 339 f.
pantry, 342.
papa, 44.
paper, 130, 245, 253.
par, 74.
paralyze, 310.
parchment, 130.
parfet, -tit, 333.
parish council, 271.
park, 319.
parole, 71.
paroquet, 129 f.
parrot, 129, 303.
parry, 50.
parsley, 138.
parson, 208 f.
part, 236.
Parthian shot, 380.
pas, Fr., 312.
pasquinade, .")74 f.
pass away, .'^00, .')02.
passion, 39, 41, 47.
passionately, 315.
passive, 39 f.
pasteboard, 69.
past master, .'524.
pate, 225.
patent, 39.
pathetic, 40.
pathos, 40.
patriarch, 318.
patron, 318.
Paul Pry, 375.
pauper, 155.
pawn , 290 n .
pay the scot, or shot, 140.
pea, 132, 139.
pea-jacket, 153.
peach, 138.
pear, 138.
pearl, 137.
pearline, 203 n.
peculiar, 175.
peculiarity, 175.
pedagogue, 44 n.
peevish, 149, 155.
pelican, 369.
pen, 13, 136, 209 f.
pencil, 270.
penny, 140.
pennyroyal, ^340.
penthouse, 337.
pentis, 337.
pepper, 133.
per cent, 01, 140.
l)erfect, 313, 315, 333.
perfectly, 315.
perfidious, .307.
perfidious Albiou, 380.
periwinkle, plant, 300.
periwinkle, shell, 300.
perpendicular, 09.
persely, 138.
persil, 1.38.
person, 54, 208 f., 326.
perspiration, 300.
pert, 01.
pese, 139.
Peter, 138.
peter out, 50.
petition, 13.
petrel, 130.
petrified, 310.
petticoat, 1:505.
petulant, 13.
phaeton, 222 f., 383.
pheasant, 129, 385.
phiz, 02.
phlegm, 30.
phlegmatic, 31.
phoenix, 3(i9.
'phone, 02.
phonograph, 30 n.
phosphorus, .30.
photo-, 30.
pliotogra])li, 29 f.
phthisis, 50.
physical, 239.
physician, 117 u.
INDEX OF WORDS
425
physics, 117 n.
physiology, 117 n., 'J39.
piauo, 51, (jl.
piazza, 244.
piccolo, 51.
pickers and stealers, 6'J.
Pickwickian, 382.
picture, 244.
pig, 3G2.
pigeon, 130, 3(33.
piggish, 365.
pike, 62.
pillar, 295.
pilot, 149.
pincers, ;542.
pinchbeck, 377.
pinchers, ;M2.
pin-raoney, 60.
pion, 290."^
pioneer, 296.
pipe, 252.
piracy, 289.
pirate, 291.
piratical, 49.
piscatorial, 165.
pistol, 385.
pitiful, 276.
place, 94, 239, 244, 319.
planet, 254.
platonic, 382.
platypus, 49.
plausible, 291.
play, 250 f.
please, 204.
plenipo, 63.
plight, 253.
pluck, ;>03.
plum, 138.
pocket, 249.
pocket handkerchief, 270.
pocket pistol, 69.
poet, 248.
point, <X;, 312.
poison, 96.
poke, 249.
polite, 282.
polka, 109.
polonaise, 255, 384.
pompous, 278
ponder, 140.
poor, 155.
pope, 44, 93.
pore-blind, 342.
port, 93.
port duties, 253.
portly, 225.
pose, 64.
poser, 64.
position, 235.
possum, 62.
post, 295.
post mortem, 102, 303.
post obit, .303.
posture, 235.
potato^ 138.
pother, 225.
pound, n., 140,202.
pound, v., 119 n.
power, 259 If.
powerful, 314.
pozz, 62.
pp., 104.
practice, 253.
practise, 274.
prsemunire, 71.
precious, 222.
precocious, 11.
predicament, 47, 253.
predominant, 31.
preliminaries, 63 n.
premium, 102.
presbyter, 44.
presently, 292 f.
pretty, 135.
priest, 44.
priestcraft, 290.
prime of life, .'537.
primerole, 337.
primrose, 337.
prince, 317 f.
prison, 94.
prithee, 203.
private, 254.
privateering, 289.
probity, 59.
prof, 63.
professor, 318.
profound, .■!,5().
l)rof()und]y, ."dO.
Promised Land, 381.
pronunciamento, 107.
propaganda, 71.
property, 8.
prophet, 142.
prophylaxis, 101.
propriety, 252.
pros and cons, 62.
prove, 280 f.
provisions, 256.
pruning hook, 274.
pshaw, 4.
pub, 62.
publican, 288.
puliall royal, 340.
pump. 251.
pun, 119.
Punic faith, 380.
puppy, 363.
purblind, 341 f., 364.
Puritan, 297.
purlieu, 339.
purpose, on, 215.
put, n., 63.
put away, 303.
putative, 14.
puzzle, 64.
pyro, 62.
quaint, 277 f.
Quaker, 297.
quality, 35.
quantity, 35.
quartet(te), 52.
quean, 286.
queen, 286.
quench, 281.
quibble, 35 u.
(piick, 198.
quiddity, 35.
quillet, 35 n.
quinine, 203 n.
quinsy, 64.
quintessence, 37.
quip, 35 u., 119 n.
Quirites. /.., 227.
quirk, 119 n.
quite so, 310.
quixotic, 382.
raccoon, t)2.
rag, 67.
426
INDEX OF WORDS
ragaiuuffin, (57.
railroad, i'., 187.
raise, 15(5.
raise Cain, .'574.
rake, n. aiul v., oSl.
rakebell, 337.
rakel, 337.
ram , 3(5(5 f .
ramrod, liX).
range, 251.
rapid, 308.
rarebit, 331.
rascaillc, 288.
rascal, 288,298.
rash,2!)l.
rat, v., 305 f.
rate, 240.
ratio, 350.
ration, 350.
rat-tail tile, 3(57.
rattling, 313.
raven, 331.
ravening, 331.
ravishiugly, 314.
re-, 187.
read, 214.
reason, 3.50.
rebel, 253 n.
recalcitrant, 5i).
recipe, 9'J, 101.
reckless, 291, 3(J7.
recognizance, 21(5.
regard, 14, 232.
regarding, 104 n.
register, 251.
reindeer, 342.
religion, 231 f., 239, 244 f.,
252.
religious, 245, 2'.K).
remove, 303.
renegade, 1(J7, 207.
renege, 207.
renig, 207.
rep, 62.
repeat, 13.
reputation, 14, 272 f.
residence, 319.
Kesidenz, Ger., 249.
respect, 14.
respectable, 292.
restive, 194.
restless, 194.
revel, 253, 291.
Reverence, his, 258.
reverend, 27(5.
reverent, 27(5.
revise, 150.
reynard, 370.
rhododendron, 350.
rhyme, 332 f .
rhythm, 333.
rickshaw, (52.
riddance, 21(5.
riddle, 214.
rien, Fr., 312.
right, 199.
rill, 319.
rime, 332 f.
Rip \'an Winkle, 375.
rival, 222.
river, 222.
rivulet, 222, 319.
road, 1(55, 318, 320.
roadstead, 207.
roar, 15(5.
robin, 130.
rogue, 298.
romance, 30(5, 380 f.
Roman tirmness, 380.
romantic, 381.
rook, n. and v., 3(53.
roorback, 375.
root, i\, 359.
roquelaure, 383.
rose, 350.
rosemary, 339.
msmarine, 339.
rotten, 314.
rough-and-ready, 74, 188.
rubber-neck, 255.
rubbers, 255.
ruby, 137.
rude, 307.
rug, (57.
ruin, .'>03.
rum, (51, 128 f.
rumbullion, 128.
ruminate, 354 f.
run, 207, 281.
run aground, 49.
run counter, 57.
runagate, 207.
rush, 154.
rush the growler, 75.
s., 104, 140.
-s, in nouns, 182.
-s, in verbs, 92 u., 182.
sack, 59.
sackbut, 338.
sage, 38.
sail, 24(5.
saint, 2!K), 377.
St. Anthony's tire, 384.
St. Vitus's dance, 384.
sal Atticum, 380.
salaam, 108.
salamander, (59, 309.
salary, (JO.
saleable, 187.
saleslady, 318, 322.
salvage, 150.
salvages, 149.
Samson, 374.
sanctified, 290.
sanctimonious, 290.
sand, 70, 335.
sandblind, 335.
sandwich, 25(5, 383.
sanguine, 31.
sapphire, 137.
Saracen, 374 n.
sardonic, 00.
Satan, 374.
satire, 3.>.3n.
Saturnalia, 59.
saturnine, 31.
sat yr, 333 n .
satyr(e), 333 u.
sauterue, 384.
savage, 149.
savvy, 58.
sawhorse, 307.
Sawney, (56.
scald, 3(54.
scales, 270.
scape, (53.
scarcely, 311.
scene, 24(5.
school, 44.
INDEX OF WORDS
427
schoolboy, o30.
scilicet, 105.
scissors, 3ooii.
scold, 12'J.
score, 260.
scorpion, ;j(jl).
scot, 140.
scratch, come to the, .j().
scuttle, I'., 4!>.
'sdeath, 304.
searcloth, 333 n.
secure, 278.
security, 97.
sedau chair, 131.
seer, 142.
seigneur, 325.
seisiu, 154.
seize, 154.
selectmen, 271.
self-slaughter, 303.
sely, 288 n.
semi-, 187, 3,)').
seneschal, 2!t.j f., 320.
senior, 322, 325, 353.
seiior, 325.
sent up, 305.
separable, 275.
sequelae, 101.
seraph, 108.
sere, 350.
serious, ."503.
serpent, 3(13.
servant, 25, 28(), 2!)!».
.set, 151, 154, 200, 281.
settle, 303.
seven, 1(53.
sever, 1)7.
Shaker, 207.
sham, 03, ()5.
sliamc. 273, 330.
shamefaced, 235 f.
shamefast, .335 f .
shameful, 273, 314.
shamrock, 107.
shan't, 02, 204.
sharp, 28! I.
sharpen, 281.
shay, 132.
she, ;;8().
sheep, 303.
sheepish. 305.
shekel, 108.
sherbet, 108.
sherris, 384.
sherry, 384.
shift,' 304 f.
shilling, 140.
shilly-shally, 204.
ship, *•., 40.
shipmaii, 178.
shipwreck, 49.
shirt, 305, 345.
shop, 134.
shoplifter, 58 u.
short, .305.
shot, 140.
shrapnel, 383.
shrew, 129.
shrewd, 129.
shuttling, O:;.
shut ... to, 3(>0.
Shylock, 373.
sick, .303 n.
sick bay, 49.
sidelong, 342.
siesta, 108.
signer, .322, 325.
silent majority, 302.
silly, 288.
Simon Pure, 375.
simony, 382.
simple, 288.
simple-answered, 274.
simply, 315.
since, 197.
sine die, 103.
sinew, 213 n.
singe, 281.
singsong, I'.K).
sink or swim, 74.
sir, 322, .325, 331, 353.
sire, .323, ."25, 353.
sirloin, 331.
sirrah, .■)54.
sir-i-ee, 354.
sit, 151,200, 281.
sithenes, sithence, 197.
situation, 235.
si.v, lO.'i f.
sizar, 04.
size, 04.
skald, 107.
skirt, H., 305, 345.
skirt, v., 210.
skunk, 303.
sky, 107.
sky-pilot, (J9.
slantin', 09.
slantindicular, 09.
slave, ;'.S0.
sleepy, 277.
slender, 109.
"slife, 304.
sling, 243.
slip, 305.
slogan, 107.
slough, 107 u.
slow, 198, 332.
slowworm, 332.
slubber, 225.
slug, 141.
sluggard, 141.
sly, 289, 302.
smallclothes, 305.
smalls, (i2.
smart, 289.
smock, 304.
smug, 225.
snake, 298, 303.
sneaking fondness, 210.
snow, 104.
so, 310.
sofa, 108.
soft impeachment, 210.
soldier, 140.
sole, 12.
solecism, 00.
solemn, 278.
solemnity, 278.
solemnize, 278.
Solomon, 155, 374.
Solon, 155, 373.
-some, 135.
some-place, 188 n.
somewhat, 188.
somewhere, 188.
somewheres, 197 n.
son, KiO.
soon, 198, 292.
sooth, 142.
428
ixDEx OF wonns
soothsayer, 142.
sophist, 28!l.
soprauo, 51 .
sorehead, o&2 n.
sorrel, adj., 351).
sorrel, n., 359.
sortilege, 141.
sot, 66 n., 3()(i.
sound, adv.. 1'.I8.
sound in, '214.
sour, o5fl.
sovereign, 141.
sow, '352.
sow-thistle, o(i4.
space, 153.
Hpaiu, castles in, 3.sl i.
span, 153.
spaniel, 385.
sparrow grass, 334.
spasin, 153.
spasmodic, 1.53.
spatter, 27S>.
specie, 133.
species, 133.
specs, 62.
speculations, 63 u.
speeil, 214.
spencer, 256, .383.
spendthrift, liX).
spice, 133.
spider, 3()7.
spill, 249.
spin, 1.53.
spinning jenny, 61 n.,.586.
spirit, 33 u.
spiritual wickedness in
higli places, 258.
spit, 279.
splendid, 313.
spoil, 11.
sport, 62, .307.
spot, 292 u.
spout, 295.
spread-eagle, 3()8.
sprinkle, 279.
spur, 11.
square, 319.
squash, n., 139, .3(iO.
squash, v., 139, .360.
squaw, 109.
squeeze, 342.
squinaucy, 64.
squire, (i3, 26ti.
squire of dames, 375.
-St (-est), 200 f.
stand, 207, 239 f., 28 J,
341.
standard, 341.
stanza, 51.
star, .352.
stars and garteis, 34.
start in, .56.
starvation, 192.
state, 2.35.
status, 235.
stead, /(. and c, 207.
steer clear of, 49.
stellar, 352.
stellate, 352.
stellify, 352.
stench, .'HXi.
Stentor, 382.
stentorian, 382.
step-, 211.
stepchild, 211.
stepfather, 211.
stepmother, 211.
stepson, 211.
-ster, 209.
steward, 29(i.
Stewart . 296.
stick, 249.
stien, 211.
.still, 198.
stimulus, 99.
stirrup, 210.
Stocks, ou the, .51).
Stoic, 37.
stoical, .39, 382.
stoicism, 39, .382.
stone, n., 252, 330.
stoue, ;j^, 202.
stool pigeon. .363.
store, 13>4.
stove, 109.
straightforward, 279.
Stratford French, 60.
straw, 71.
street, 93, 246, 318, 321.
street Arab, 380.
strenger, -est, 200.
strengthen, 281.
strong, 200.
stunning, 313.
stupefied, 310.
stupendous, 313.
sty, n. and r., 211.
style, 15, 333 u.
sublime, .313.
Sublime Porte, 71.
suborn, 208.
subpcena, 46, 103.
success, 253.
sugar, 128.
suggestiou, 253.
suicide, 303.
sullen, 12.
summer beam, 367.
Sumner, 20fl.
sumpter, :5()7.
superb, 277, 313.
superfluous, 279.
superior, 99.
superlatively, :)14f.
support, 295.
supreme, 356.
sur-, 3.31.
sur le champ, 292 u.
sure, 278, 311.
surely, 311.
surety, 97, 278.
surfeit, 306.
surloin, 331.
surprise, 310.
surrey, 256, 384.
sweat, 30().
sweet, 314.
sweetmeat, 249.
sweets, 62.
swift, ,308.
swine, 352.
swing, 69.
syllable, 343.
sylvan, 149.
Sylvauus, 149.
tabernacle, 351.
taboo, 109.
tack, 1.53.
tailor, 45.
INDEX OF WORDS
429
takp, 107, 281, Win.
taken ab.u'k, 4'.i.
taking, ;!i;!ii.
tally, 45, 2(i(j.
tame, 137.
tanner, 141.
tantalize, 379.
tar, 15.3.
taradiddle, 30<i.
tarantula, 339.
tarnal, (il n.
tart, 153.
tartar, .'5.58.
Tartar, .358, .379 f .
Tartuffe, 375.
Tatar, 3.58, 379.
tatter, 153.
tattoo, 'drum-beat,'
tattoo (of the flesh),
tavern, 351.
tawdry, 377.
tea, 109.
tear, 153.
tea-totaller, .'i.32.
tea-tree, :>;>2 n.
teche, 3.38.
techy, 338.
teetotal, 332.
teetotaller, .332.
teetotum, ;>32.
telegraph, 30n., 50.
telephone, 30 n.
telltale, 190.
temper, ;>2, 129.
temperament, 31 f.
tiunple, 'part of
head,' 358 f.
templ(>, ' place of
sliip," .358 f.
tenner, 141.
tense, 359.
termagant, 129, .'!74.
terrace. 319.
terra cotta, 51.
terrible, 282.
terrier, 254.
terror, 151.
Tervagant, 1*29.
tetter, 15.3.
texture, 95.
3(iO.
■MO.
the
-th, compared I re, 200 f.
-th, personal ouJinf/. 92 n.
thank'ee, '203.
that, '202.
tlie, 202.
thee, 203.
their, 202 f.
them, 202 f.
then, 197.
thence, 197.
thereabouts, 197 n.
thereby, 182.
therefrom, 182.
therein, 188.
thief, '298, .305.
thing, 235 f .
thorough, 213.
thoroughfare. 214.
thorough-lighted, 214.
thoroughly, 213.
thorough-shot, 214.
thoroughwort, .359.
thou, ISO.
thrasonical, ;'>82.
thrice, 19(; f.
thrill, 11,314.
throstle, i;'.0.
through, 21.">.
throughand throngli. 188,
214.
throughout. 188.
throw, 1.5:?, '241, '24;!.
thrush, 1.30.
thryes, 19(;.
thug, 24(1.
thunderstruck. 310.
tick, on, 02.
: ticket, 02.
ticket-ottice, '271.
tide, v., 150.
tidings, 150.
tidy, .384 n.
tighten, '281.
tilt at, .57 f.
times, the, 152.
Timon, 374.
tip-top, .31;?.
ti-tree, 332 ii.
ti-tri, .3.32 n.
tittle, 311.
tittle-tattle, :!:;2.
to-, 1.54.
to, ;'iiio.
to and fro, 199.
to be let, 275.
to be sure, 311.
to let, 209, 275.
to .wit, 1.5(1.
toad, '298.
toby, .387.
toe the mark, 5(J.
Tom, (k'i.
tomahawk, 109.
tooth and nail, 74. 188.
topical, 381 n.
topography, 381 n.
torsion, 40.
torso, 51. .
tort, 40, 151.
tortoise, 347.
Tortugas, :')40.
tortuous. 151.
torture, 40, 151.
total, .332.
touch, 338.
touch of nature, 217.
touchy, 338.
toward, 154.
towards, 188, 1<>7 n.
tower, 94.
town, 142 f.
trace, .57.
track, .57.
tram, 271.
transgression, .">05. 3,07.
traps, pack uj) one's, .5().
treacle, 1'28, '20(1 f.
tree, 1.53.
tremendous. .'>1.'>.
triantelope, 3;)9.
trice, 210.
trio, 51.
trip up, 57.
trouble, .305.
trough, 15.">.
trow, 119.
true, tru-th, tru-ly, etc.,
9, 315.
truss u[) yowY trinkets,
5ti n.
480
INDEX OF wnnn.'^
trusty, 277.
tsar, oTo.
tuber, .'539.
tuberose. 338 f.
tuberous, 339.
tug, ;;of;.
tuneable, 275.
Turk, 129, 379.
turkey, 129.
turn, 280.
turncoat, 190.
turnstile, 190.
turtle, ' dove,' SW.
turtle, 'tortoise,' 34Gf.
tweed.. 3S4.
tweeze, :U2.
tweezers. 342.
twice, 19(;f.
twicet, 197.
twit, 15(;.
twitch, ir)3.
-ty, 187.
tyke, 298, 3(53.
typo, 62.
tyrant, 248 f.
urn, 202.
umbrage, 208.
umpire, 198.
un-, 187, .300.
uncivil, .">07.
unclean, 307.
uncomprehensive, 27.").
underclothes, 305.
undershot, 188.
undertaker, 252 f.
under way, 49.
underwear, .305.
uneasy, .307.
unexpressive, 275.
unfaithful, ;>07.
unlicked cub, .370.
unsafe, 307.
unship, 49.
unsophisticated, 289.
untidy, 251.
untoward, 154.
untruthful, ■">07.
unutterably, 310.
unwelcome, 150.
unwise, 3,07.
uppermost, 17 n.
up to you, it is, 5(i.
upwards, 197 n.
Utopian, ;;81.
utter, .347.
utterance, .347 f.
utterly, 310, .".15.
V, 141.
vacuum, 99.
vails, 04.
valet, 280.
Valkyrie, 107.
vamoose, 58.
van, 61.
Vandal. 379.
vandalism, 379.
varlet, 28(>.
varsal, 61 n.
'varsity, 61.
vasa colligere, 56.
vaseline, 203 n.
vassal, 286, 325.
vassalage, 28().
vastly, 314.
vaticination, 290 n.
vehicle, 130.
velocipede, 132n.
venge, 96.
venison, 282.
ver-, Ger., 151.
veranda, 244.
verdigris, 346.
vernacular, 2.39.
verse, 44.
very, 25, 315.
veto, m.
via, 99.
vice, 'fault,' 242, 291,307,
358.
vice, ' instrument,' 358.
vice-, 358.
vice-president, 358.
vicinity, .318.
victoria, 256, 382.
victory, 25.
vie, 156.
vigorously, .308.
viking, 107, 291.
vile. 291.307.
villa. 143 n., 319, 321 f,
village, 143.
vilhUn, 284 ff.
villany, '284 f.
vim, 1)9.
violence, 10 n.
violin, 51 f.
viper, 363.
virago, 1*29.
virtu, .".1, '242.
virtue, 241 f .
visage, 156.
vision, 156.
visnamy, 62.
visor, 15.3, 156.
vital spirits. .33.
vivacious, 20.
vixen, 129,204,-362.
viz., 105.
volt, 384.
voltaic, 384.
voyage, 9(i.
vulpine, .365.'
wag, 61.
wage, 280 n.
wager. 45, 280 n.
wages, 45, '280 n.
wag(g)on, 130.
wain, 1.30.
waist, 305.
walking stick, 274.
wall, 93, 246, .340.
walnut, 3i40.
Waltham calf, .368.
wan-, 306.
wanted, 305.
vv-anton, 2.53, 306 f.
ward, -wards, 180, 197 n
warlock, 339.
warp, 243.
was, 239.
washerlady, 322, .326 n.
washerwoman, 326 n.
wassail, 189.
watch and ward, 216.
watertly, '■'<('>'.'>.
watt, .384.
wax, '237 u., 3,05.
INDEX OF WOTIDS
way, 130, 154, 321.
wliy, 202.
worshipfnl, 292.
v.;\yward, (14.
wight, 34(),
wort, 359.
weaken, 2S1.
wigwam, 109.
worth, acJj., '292.
wear, 274 f.
wildcat llnanciering. -"OS.
worth, v., 2.37.
weasaiicl, 207.
wild-goose chase, 3()8.
worthless, 307.
weather, ?'., 49.
will, '204.
worthy, 292.
Webster, 20').
Will,0;!.
wot, 15().
wedlock, 207, 248.
willy nilly. 190. 204.
would better, 200.
weed, 'garment,'
358.
wink, 214 f., 225.
would rather. 290.
weed, 'plant,' .358
winsome, 135.
wreak, 288 n.
Weib, (Jer., 287, 3
21 ill.
winters, 190 n.
wreck, '288 u.
welcome. IHO.
Wirrwarr, Go-., 332.
wren. 1.30.
welkin, 208.
wise, 141, 150.
wrestle, 57.
well-favored, 214.
wist. 1.50.
wretch, 288, 298.
well-groomed, 5(5.
wistaria, .384.
write, 13().
Wellingtons, 2.">r)f
, 382.
wit, wits, 141, 156, 289.
wrong, 107, 300.
well-to-do. 1S8.
witch, 141.
wroot. .3,59.
Welsh, ;wo.
with, 215.
Welsh rabbit (rarebit).
withers, 215 n.
Xanthippe, 37G.
.-531.
withhold, 215.
wench, 28('..
withisay, 29, 215.
-y, 180 f.
were, 239.
withstand, 215.
yacht, 109.
werewolf, 152.
wizard, 141.
Yankee, 0(i, 297, 379
whale, 51.
wol, 204.
yard, 335.
what, 202.
wolf, 303 f., 370.
yea, 310 f.
what's what. ;'.5.
wolfish, 305.
year, 201 f .
wheedle, (h.
wolt, 204.
yearn, ' desire,' ■">58.
wheel, 2.-)l.
woman, 287, 320.
yearn, ' mourn,' ;'>58
wherewith, 188.
womanish, 305.
Yengees, 00.
wherewithal, the.
210.
woman-tired, 306.
yes, .310 f.
Whig, 297.
wonderfnl, 313.
yoke, 103.
while, 195.
won't. 204.
yokefellow, 287.
whiles, 190.
woodcock, 304.
yon, 310.
whilom, 195.
wooden, 203.
yore, 198.
whilst. 19<i.
woodland glade, ."il9.
you, 204.
whip, 02.
woo't, 204.
whit, .340.
workman, 179.
zany, 387.
white-livered, 295
world, 152.
zealot, 290.
whiz, 10.
worm, 71., 51, .30:'.. .■!()7.
zoo, 01.
who, 202.
worm, r., 305.
zouave, :!80.
whopper, 300.
worship, 292.
zounds, 304.
431
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