r*> < < i #> Mm ..'.w'A th^ THE LIBRARY OF 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 Ft C'., 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 €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 \6yom-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 {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 .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 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^//) 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/ ('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 ranersona 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^'>'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. 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/^; 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\€v6?, ' 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. v7rvo7, 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'.), 3C>. 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, 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;>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. 19rr- UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. M . . * «29t mvp: ni 3 -87 REC'D c.t . D^C 6'87REC'DC.L RK'O C 4{<. m Jut 7' Book Slip- UCLA-College Library PE 1574 G85w L 005 697 480 1 PE g85w UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 347 929 2 :;:::::!;i • *>* m: .».>.> *.» •■.*!* * • *^* '^>.>.^»>:» » >_* ^^mm '•►>>X>X>> wmmmm