TmMiirai r ^
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 SEELEY W. MUDD 
 
 and 
 
 GEORGE I. COCHRAN MEYER ELSASSER 
 
 DR.JOHN R. HAYNES WILLIAM L. HONNOLD 
 
 JAMES R. MARTIN MRS. JOSEPH F.SARTORl 
 
 to tht 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SOUTHERN BRANCH 
 
 JOHN FISKE
 
 RAMBLES AMONG WORDS. 
 
 f'^ o .
 
 USEFUL WORKS. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF LANGUAGE; 
 
 Comprising UNIVERSAL GUAMMAR AND GLOSSOLOGY. By Sir 
 John Stoddakt, LL.D. Crown 8vo., 8s 6tl, cloth. 
 
 n. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND 
 
 LITERATURE* 
 
 By GEORGE L. CRAIK, LL.D., Professor of English Literature, Queen's 
 College, Belfast. Nearly ready. 
 
 in. 
 THE VOCABULARY OF PHILOSOPHY; 
 
 MORAL, MENTAL. AND METArilYSICAL. Ky Wm. Fleming, D.D., 
 Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Glasgow. Secona 
 Edition, revised. Fcp. 8vo., 7s 6d, cloth. 
 
 IV. 
 
 MENTAL SCIENCE; 
 
 Comnrisin" THE SCIENCE OF METHOD, by S. T. CoLF.KiDnE; and 
 AKCIIBISHOP WHATELY'S TREATISES ON LOGIC AND 
 RHETORIC. Crown 8vo., 5s, cloth.
 
 RAMBLES IN WORD LORE 
 
 THE 
 
 POETRY. HISTOEY AXD WISDOM 
 
 OF 
 
 W K D S 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM SWINTON 
 
 
 f r t ' •* 
 
 o a J -> 
 
 
 LONDON 
 GIIIFFIN, BOHX AND COMPANY 
 
 1863
 
 « « 
 • t 
 
 (C C*.4.ttC4<4 
 
 t O €
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 These pages present some fifteen hundred illustrations of 
 the Poetry, History, and Wisdom of Words. For it has 
 dawned on the thought of modern times that Language, 
 too, is a living organism. Language is indeed the grand 
 spiritual fact of humanity. In speech man incarnates 
 himself. It paints humanity, its thoughts, struggles, 
 longings : paints them on a canvas of breath, in the colours 
 of life. 
 
 Some of the themes of the Rambles I have already 
 impinged on in a series of papers in Putnam's Monthly 
 for 1854:. These papers I have not incorporated in the 
 present volume. I may mention, though, that the whole 
 book was written half-a-dozen years ago ; and how often 
 L does one find after that lapse of time that his pages have 
 ( but a biogi'aphic significance ! 
 
 V Of the themes around which I have clustered my illus- 
 ^ trations, those on the Work of the Senses, the Ideal- 
 *> ISM OF Words Words of Abuse, and the Fanciful 
 AND Fantastic in Words, will be found new construc- 
 tions of the philosophy of the English Language. Finally, 
 in the exploration of regions already in a measure entered
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 on, as in tlie Historical and Ethical element in Words— I 
 have dh-ectcd my researches into new fields ; and of the 
 fifteen hundred Words which the Rambles illustrate, the 
 vast majority have never been used in the way of etymo- 
 logic illustration. I have laboured all along under the 
 embarras des richesxes, and many things I Lave been com- 
 pelled to leave over to a little volume now in preparation 
 on ' The Unworked Mines of the English Language.' 
 
 New York, 1859.
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 Peemositort, 
 The Woek of the Senses, 
 The Idealism of Wobds, 
 Fossil Poetries, . 
 Fossil Histoeies, 
 WoEDS OF Abuse, . 
 
 Fancies and Fantastics, 
 v'erdal Ethics, .... 
 riEDALS IN Names, 
 
 • TNONTMS ANDTHEIB SuGOESIlONS, 
 
 HE Growth or Wobds, 
 NGLisu vn America, . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9 
 21 
 SI 
 54 
 70 
 103 
 130 
 165 
 186 
 213 
 24.5 
 2C4
 
 RAMBLE FIRST. 
 
 PEEMONITOEY. 
 
 John Sterling records that when about nine years 
 old he was struck that the word sincere was derived 
 from the practice of tilling up flaws in furniture 
 with wax, whence sine cera came to mean pure, 
 not vamped up. This explanation, he says, gave 
 him great pleasure, and abode in his memory, as 
 having first shown him that there is a reason in 
 AVords as well as in things. 
 
 I suppose many of us are conscious of having 
 made similar pleasurable discoveries. With what 
 exultation have I many a time welcomed the 
 flashing across my mind of the interior import 
 of a word, revealing some deep analogy or subtle 
 beauty, or furnishing a new and pungent pointing 
 to some old moral. Nor can I imagine it possible 
 to awaken without a thrill of delight to the first 
 consciousness of such meanings as are wrapt up 
 ,in 'WRONG,' which is just something v)rung or 
 distorted from the right — 'heaven,' tlie firma- 
 ment heaved or hcuccn up over us — 'SUBTLE,' 
 
 B
 
 1 ^ PKEMONITOEY. 
 
 whose primaiy meaning is iine spun— ' misee,' 
 wliieh is just miserable ; or learn M^ithout a glow 
 of lively satisAxctiou tliat 'absued' imjilies a 
 malappropriate reply such as might come from a 
 siirdas or deaf man, who, knowing nothing of the 
 auteceilents of the conversation, would of course 
 be apt to answer ahmrdl/j; that a 'cloavn' is 
 simply a colons or tiller of the ground; that 
 'scoundeel' conceals in its composition a soldier 
 who absconds at muster-7-o//; that 'EiVALs' are, 
 etymologically, dwellers on the banks of the same 
 rivulet or stream — a circumstance so apt to give 
 rise to quarrels and bickerings; or that 'syco- 
 phant' shuts up a curious piece of Greek history, 
 and alludes to persons informing on individuals 
 exporting i\gs—sijea — from Attica. 
 
 The copiousness of meaning which Words 
 enwrap, is indeed more than all that was said or 
 thought. Children of the mind, they reflect the 
 manifold richness of man's faculties and affections. 
 In language is incarnated man's unconscious 
 passionate creative energy. There is an endless 
 indefinable, tantalizing charm in Words. They 
 bring the eternal provocations of personalit} 
 They come back to us with that alienated majesty 
 which a great writer ascribes to our own thoughts. 
 They are the sanctuary of the intuitions. They 
 paint humanity, its thoughts, longings, aspirations, 
 struggles, failures— paint them on a canvas of 
 breath, in the colours of life.
 
 WOEDS — aiEDALS OF THE MIND. 1 1 
 
 To the illustration of the opulences of Words J 
 design these pages : with Eunic spells to evoke 
 the pagan wanderers from their homes in the 
 visionary eld — to read some of the strange lessons 
 they teach, to catch of the wit and the wisdom, 
 the puns and the poetries, the philosophies, the 
 iancies and the follies that lurk in and flash out 
 from them, and to seize, flaming down, as it were, 
 from the ' firmament of bards and sages,' some of 
 the deep analogies, the spiritual significance, the 
 poetic beauty, and the rich humour that sport and 
 dwell in even our common, every-day words and 
 plirases. 
 
 Of course we sliall ramble, now chasing some 
 gay etymologic butterfly, anon lingering 'neath the 
 palm and plantain of genius, or lonely wandering 
 'mid 
 
 Tlie int(.'lli<,Mble forms of ancient poets, 
 
 Tlie fair luuManities of old religion, 
 
 The power, the beauty, and the majesty 
 
 That have their haiiiits in dale or piny mountains, 
 
 Or forest, by slow stream or pebbly spring,', 
 
 (Jr chasms and watery deptlis. 
 
 Medals of the mind we may call words. And 
 as the medals of creation from the Geologic world 
 reveal the workings of creative energy and the< 
 successive developments of the divine idea, so 
 "Words present a humanitary Geolog}'- wliere his- 
 tories, pliilosophies, and ethics lie embodied and
 
 12 PREMONITORY. 
 
 embalmed. Eut this is a spiritual Geology, its 
 strata built up of the rich deposits of mind. With 
 passionate fervour man pours himself on nature. 
 An irrepressible longing to express his secret sense 
 of his unity with nature possesses him: and from 
 the consciousness, all plastic and aglow, rush 
 Words, infinitely free, rich, and varied, laden with 
 l)athos and power, with passion, poetry, humour, 
 thought. 
 
 Of course Language is a living Original. It is 
 not made, but grows. The growth of language 
 repeats the growth of the plant. At first it is only 
 root, next it puts forth a stem, then leaves, and 
 finally blossoms. ' One must not,' writes William 
 Von Humboldt, ' consider a language as a product 
 dead and formed but once: it is an animate beintr, 
 and ever creative. Human thought elaborates 
 itself with the progress of intelligence; and of this 
 thought language is a manifestation. An idiom 
 cannot therefore remain stationary: it walks, it 
 develops, it grows up, it fortifies itself, it becomes 
 old, and it reaches decrepitude.' 
 
 Language must move with the movements of 
 mind, as the ocean obeys siderial influences. A 
 petrified and mechanical national mind will cer- 
 tainly appear in a petrified and mechanical 
 language. But the provisions are perfect. The 
 renovation of language is provided for, as the 
 renovation of the races is provided for, by a subtle 
 chemistry. The sublime democracy of speech!
 
 THE EN'GLISH LANGUAGE. 1 3 
 
 When a tongue Las become dead and effete, the 
 inind walks out of it. With an advance in the 
 national mind — with tlie influx of a nobler spirit, 
 comes a renovation of its language : by a passion- 
 ate propulsive movement it ejects its old dead 
 speech, and rises to larger and freer expression. 
 Like the ^yaters in spring, the rising spirit sweeps 
 away the frozen surface of an effete society, 
 literature, language and thought. 
 
 The great tidal movements in a nation's life are 
 repeated in great tidal movements in its language. 
 With new creations, thoughts and hopes emerge 
 new demands on the horizon of its speech. The 
 English language shows in its growth crises that 
 mark real upsurgings from the spontaneous depths 
 of liuman nature. In Chaucer is embalmed that 
 rich primitive sensuous preception of English life, 
 when the language became so opulent in expres- 
 sions of sensible objects and simple feelings. The 
 flood-tide in the national mind that came with the 
 Sixteenth Century finds expression in the Eliza- 
 bethan literature, especially in Shakespeare, in 
 whom Engli.sli reached its truly Japhetic mould. 
 And the va.st billowy tendencies of modern life, too 
 — the new political, social, scientific births — are 
 making new demands on the English idiom. 
 It is for America especially to evoke new realiza- 
 tions from the English speech. Always waiting 
 in a language are uiit<^)ld possibilities. On the 
 lips of t)je peoj)k', iu ilie free riclj unoonscion.s
 
 1 -i PREMONITORY. 
 
 utterance of the popular heart are tlie grand 
 eternal leadings and suggestions. 
 
 Of all the heritages Avhich America receives the 
 English language is beyond all comparison the 
 mightiest. Language of the grand stocks, language 
 of reception, of hospitality, it is above all fitted to 
 be the speech for America. There is nothing 
 fortuitous in language. It is for reasons the Eng- 
 lish idiom is here. In the English, more than all 
 others, was concentrated the spirit of the modern, 
 brealdng up the old crystal ine classic mould. It 
 is for America grandly to use this grand inheritance. 
 No language has, no language ever had, such 
 immense assimilation as the English. Freely it 
 absorbs whatever is of use to it, absorbs and 
 assimilates it to its own fluid and flexible substance. 
 This rich copious hospitable flow is to be 
 encouraged. 
 
 In the growth of Words all the activities of the 
 mind conspire. Language is the mirror of the 
 living inward consciousness. Language is concrete 
 metaphysics. What rays does it let in on the 
 mind's subtle workings ! There is more of what 
 there is of essential in metaphysics — more of the 
 structural action of the human mind, in ^^'ords, 
 than in the concerted introspection of all the 
 psychologists. 'In language,' observes Frederick 
 Schlegel in a profoundly suggestive passage, ' all 
 the principal powers have a nearly equal part and
 
 TREASUEES HOAEDED IN WORDS. I -J 
 
 share. The grammatical structure is furnished 
 by the reason. From the fancy, on the other 
 hand, is derived whatever is figumtive ; and how 
 far does not this reach, extending into the primary 
 and natural signification of words, which often no 
 longer exists, or at least is rarely traceable? And 
 so also that deep spiritual significance, that 
 characteristic meaning, which, in the original 
 stem-syllable and radical words of some rich old 
 language, invariably is regarded as a beauty, must 
 be ascribed to the understanding, which so pro- 
 foundly seizes and precisely designates whatever 
 is peculiar, unless perhaps it is preferred to assign 
 it to an immediate feeling which wonderfully 
 harmonizes with or responds to it.' 
 
 In our studies on Woixis, then, a simple logic 
 is mdicated for us in the several mental activities 
 that work in the mechanism of speech. Tln-ough 
 the portals of the Senses enter the vivid presentings 
 of nature. On these the constructive Keasou, the 
 idealizing Imagination, the ethical Conscience 
 work. Of this working Avords are the records. 
 Hence their warranty. This it is that gives them 
 their authority as profound moral teachers, and 
 amber-like, embalms within them great and noble 
 poetries, histories and pliilosophies. 
 
 It may not be amiss to throw out a few illustra- 
 tions of the treasures hoard(;d in Words. Such 
 intimations may serve the office of the overture — 
 that i.s, may strike fundamental chords.
 
 IG 
 
 PREMONITORY. 
 
 A law tliat runs through the warp and woof of 
 hmgunge is the familiar principle of a translation 
 of sensible perceptions into the realm of ideas, 
 into metaphysics and morals. 
 
 We are all conscious of a psychologic state 
 when the mind is balancing between conflicting 
 possibilities; when, as Dante has it, 
 
 II si e il no ncl capo mi tenzoni, 
 
 when 'Yes and No contend within the head.' 
 Now how faithfully has the common intuition 
 embodied this condition in our ' suspense,' which 
 IS indeed the being— suspensus—^im^ up, balanc- 
 ing in deliberation. Audits analogue 'deliber- 
 ation/ which I have just used, follows a like 
 figure— it being just the action of that mental 
 7;rt/a)7ce— libra— into which possibilities and pro- 
 babilities are thrown. Our word 'auspicious' 
 embalms a curious reminiscence of the good omens 
 of the ausjyex, or bird-inspector, whom the old- 
 world nations were wont to consult as oracles ; 
 whde 'fiscal' carries a reminder of the fiscm or 
 wicker basket which in primitive times contained 
 the revenue of the state. So 'frugal' is strictly 
 fruit-bearing, 'candour' is just whiteness, and 
 'SERIOUS' (sine risus) is the being unable to raise 
 a laugh. 
 
 History, too, and vivid and vital history records 
 itself in Words. The coal in my grate is pictured 
 with ferns that flourished untold millennia a^ro.
 
 HISTORY IN WOEDS. 17 
 
 With equal fidelity national customs, historic 
 events, and mighty social revolutions, are idelibly 
 stamped on word-medals. 
 
 What a curious piece of history does 'pectjniaey' 
 record ! The Latin jiecunia, wealth, property, gives 
 it to us. Unwrapping it still farther we come to 
 2)ecus, cattle, herds: so that, flocks and herds being 
 in primitive and pastoral times the chief wealth, 
 IJecunia became afterwards the expression for all 
 the representatives of property. What a strange 
 tale, too, does ' saunter' tell ! The Crusades rise 
 at the spell. Saimt and Tcr re— the holy land— is, 
 the composition of the term: and so, literally, a 
 going to the holy hand. But as this originally 
 meritorious performance soon degenerated in many 
 cases into the mere pretence for idling and mendi- 
 city, the claim of going to the Saunt tcrre came to 
 be regarded as a mere ruse, and ' saunter' took 
 the opprobrious burden it now bears with it. I 
 have here but space to mention the word ' wife,' 
 whose e<-ymologic connection with vxave, web, 
 etc., records an interesting piece of primitive 
 socialism. 
 
 Nor less has the informing fancy interwoven its 
 fairy imaginings in Words. The Grotesque and 
 Arabesque are here too. ' Ilocus-pocus,' for in- 
 stance, is said to be a monkish muddle for Hoc est 
 corjnis Chrisii (the formula, This is the hody, etc.) 
 A ' nostrum' preserves the claim of the IVIediajval 
 quacks to their specifics as being — nostrum — ours,
 
 18 PREMONITORY. 
 
 that is, remedies iiiiknowu to all the rest of the 
 world: and to be in a ' quandaey' is just to be in 
 a pickle where you may well ask, qu'en dira-t-on 
 — what will they say to it? 
 
 Marvellous are the modes in which the word- 
 forming faculties have laboured to give to terms 
 burdens of abuse. The very anatomy of the human 
 passions is to be found here. I may instance 
 'RASCAL,' whose primary signification is, in the 
 words of Verstegan,* an 'ill favoured leane and 
 woorthelesse deer,' and then, by a ' strayned sence,' 
 applied to a mean, vile fellow — the worst of the 
 herd. Genial old Eoger Ascham has a pungent 
 illustration of the primary meaning of rascal : 
 
 'A fatlicr tliat doth let loose his son to all experiences 
 is most like a fond liiuiter [that is, a foolish hunter] that 
 letteth slip a whelp to the whole herd; twenty to one he 
 shall fall upon a rascall [that is, "a leane woorthlesse 
 deer"] and let go the fair game.' 
 
 The ScJidhynoslcr. 
 
 'Fanatic,' too, is well worth exploring. The 
 T^omanfanaticm was simply one ardently attached 
 to the fana or temples. But as these devotees 
 carried their superstitious observances to out- 
 rageous lengths, as lacerating themselves with 
 knives, and so forth, the terra naturally came to 
 assume the opprobrious meaning it bears with us. 
 As to ' VIXEN,' that is just a fox-en— she fo.x, and 
 
 * Restitution of Decayed Intelligence.
 
 MOEALS IN WOEDS. 
 
 19 
 
 'BLACKGUARD' sliiits up a curious piece of English 
 history, of which more anon. 
 
 The Morals in Words ! Language is man's own 
 judge. Minos and PJiadamanthus are here. 
 Terrible the tales they often tell of human frailty 
 and depravity; grand often are they in their 
 beautiful scorn of the mean and ignoble. How 
 fine the allusion conveyed in 'worship,' which is 
 indeed just one's loorth-ship ! ' Decent,' too, tells 
 us how hccominfj—decens—is the quality. And 
 what a teiiible sentence is heaped on all pride, on 
 
 Tlie boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 
 in the fact that 'vanity' (vaiiiias, vaims, emi^ty) 
 is but emptiness ! 
 
 I find, however, I am running these premoni- 
 tory thoughts into the very pith of the book, so 
 liere I shall abruptly close. But I read the other 
 day in the Cratylus of Plato an utterance of that 
 old Socratic brain, so subtle, so genial ; and which 
 I find after the lapse of these twenty-odd cen- 
 turies still so authentic and intelligible that I 
 cannot resist transferring it to my page. 
 
 ' nermogenes, son of Hipponicus, there is an 
 (jld proverb, that beautiful things are somehow 
 difficult to learn. Now the learning relating to 
 naracs happens to be no small alTair. I would not 
 myself, Cratylus, confidently assert a single point
 
 20 PREMONITORY. 
 
 of what I have said above. But I have considered 
 with normogencs in the way it seemed good to 
 me, so that on this account, at least, speak boklly, 
 as I am ready to receive it, if you have anything 
 l)etter to say than this. Nor shall I wonder if 
 you liave something to say better ; for you seem 
 to me to have considered things of this kind 
 yourself, and to have learned them from others. 
 81ioukl you, then, say anything better, write me 
 down as one of your disci^iles respecting the 
 meaning of Words'
 
 KAMBLE SECOND. 
 
 THE WOKK OF THE SENSES. 
 
 ♦ Speech is the perfect expression of the Senses. Words 
 
 are but the representations of the disintegrated body of 
 
 Man.' 
 
 Ok EN. 
 
 Sydney Smith has somewhere an amusing pas- 
 sage illustrative of the radical sensualism that 
 underlies our most superseusual terms, wherein 
 alluding to our aesthetic application of such 
 expressions as 'taste,' 'tact' (from the Latin verb 
 to tomh), 'eye,' etc., he observes that we will 
 doubtless soon come to speak of a man with a fine 
 'nose' for this or that province of physics or 
 philosophy. 
 
 Extravagance aside, the Senses have certainly 
 left their seal and superscription, sharp, unmis- 
 takable, on the words of our language. The role 
 they 1111 in the body forthshadows their part and 
 play in speech. Eoots of man's nature — outlets 
 and inlets of the world — their vivid, strong- 
 flavoured presenthigs run spine-like through Ian-
 
 "^'2 THE AVOKK OF THE SENSES. 
 
 o-uage. ' Sensible' is but a lively condition of tlie 
 sc/u^cs or feelings, 'apathy' is want of feeling — 
 'OUSTO' is an idealization of rich juicy taste — 
 'tact' is delicacy of touch, the 'tangible' is what 
 can be touched— ' i^km^i' and 'nasty' have both a 
 far-off genesis in terms implying the nose — and 
 ' ACUTEness' is properly just sharpness of hearing. 
 How copiously, too, has the Eye contributed! 
 ' Ciecumspection,' for instance, is a careful looking 
 (specio) around on all sides (circum), hence mental 
 wariness— 'PEESPicuous' is what is readily to be 
 seen through — and 'envy' finely seizes that 
 askance looh ^vhich is the natural manifestation of 
 this passion. 
 
 Everywhere man finds himself Himself, him- 
 self! He darts responsive rays to nature. Civil- 
 ization is but the crystallization into fact of the 
 human faculties and functions. The piactical 
 arts are but an expanded Hand: telescope and 
 microscope are realizations of the structure of the 
 Eye : he adds boots of swiftness to his feet in 
 railroads and steam navigation ; and his nervous 
 system is repeated, after sublime proportions, in 
 the electric threads with whicli he is now reticu- 
 lating the planet. 
 
 All words are primarily sympathetic. Words 
 are born of a passionate yearning. And it is 
 through the Senses that the mind goes out to 
 nature: these the filaments and outreachings— 
 these the subtle threads that link phenomena and
 
 THOrGHT "SVITS — SENSES. 23 
 
 tlie mind. I find an impressive testimony to this 
 primary law of language in the word ' thought.' 
 E\'idently enough it is an abstraction from the 
 verb to think (Saxon, thencan, past part, thoht), 
 which Home Tooke* deduces from thing — I am 
 tkinff-ed, Me thiuketh, that is Me thingcth — pre- 
 cisely analogous to the Latin ' EEOR ' from res — 
 derivations that may intimate the extent to which 
 tilings colour thoiujlits. 
 
 It is an interesting illustration of how intellec- 
 tual conceptions are but a translation of sensible 
 perceptions that the word 'wits' was formerly 
 used as synonymous with 'senses,' a meaning 
 which we can appreciate from the phrase, to be 
 'OUT OF one's wits,' that is, to be out of one's 
 senses. It also intimates a curious piece of meta- 
 physics : as though the sole 'source' of wit and 
 'wisdom were through the avenues of the senses. 
 In Chaucer I find the following instance of its 
 employment : » 
 
 'Tliou bast don sinnc again onrc Lord Crist, for certes 
 
 the three enemies of mankind, tliat is to sayn, the flesh, 
 
 tlie fend, and tiio -world, thou hast snffred liom eiitre inio 
 
 thin herte wiirully by the windowes of tliy body, and iiast 
 
 not defended thyself suffisantly agein hir assr.utes and hir 
 
 temptations, so that they han wounded thy sonic in five 
 
 places, this is to sayn, the dodly sinnes that ben entrcd 
 
 into thya herte by thy five zr^V/e-s,' etc. 
 
 Tale of MeUlcn$.\ 
 
 • Diversions of Purley, p. 608. 
 t Tyiwhitt's Chaucer, vol. ii. p. 28i.
 
 24- THE WORK OF THE SENSES. 
 
 And how terribly does this passage find realiz- 
 ation in our ' sensual,' that is, a devotion of all 
 the powers to the service of the senses — a devotion, 
 which Goethe has embodied with such terrific power 
 in the creation of ^lephistophiles. 
 
 On the other hand, what a noble redemption is 
 found in the word ' SENSE,' which simply means 
 feeling, as though only a man of feeling were a 
 man of ' sense.' And certes between the man of 
 noble heart and he of great good sense, there is a 
 close enough connection. To what lofty statement 
 of this thought did Swedenborg rise in his august 
 and oracular utterance that ' the quality of one's 
 life is the quality of his love!' And perhaps 
 there is a profounder veracity than we might be 
 apt to suppose in the old maxim : Quantum aimmis 
 scimus. At least it might do us no harm to have 
 a little more faith in heart-tellings, and a little 
 less in the mere dictates of mortality. 
 
 ♦ We live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; 
 111 feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
 "We should count them by heart-throbs.' 
 
 So saith Festus. And so did the Boy through 
 childhood's long, various, agonizing years, away 
 far up in the 'green, airy Pentlands,' lulled by the 
 mellow music of thy dashing waters, thou loveliest 
 waterfa' of Habbies How. Then he measured 
 time, not by the rigid exactitude of days, and 
 weeks, and months, and years ; but years by the
 
 THE SENSE OF TASTE. 25 
 
 springing of the primroses on tlie sun-kissed 
 braes ; and months, and weeks, and days, by the 
 exuberance of his emotions, — and that was bound- 
 less. 
 
 The gustatory propensities of mankind have left 
 significant seals on Words. Thus we express one 
 of our strongest mental repugnances by ' disgust,' 
 that is just 'DISTASTE;' while everything that is 
 unsystematic and chaotic in intellect finds expres- 
 sion in 'CRUDITY,' whicli is simply the being — 
 crudus — uncooked. ' Palate,' also, we employ in 
 the same sense as taste: thus, 'men of nice palates 
 could not relish Aristotle as dressed up by the 
 schoolmen.' How utterly sensuous! Shakespeare, 
 however, follows in the same direction : 
 
 'Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 I have no relish of them.' 
 
 Now, of the force of ' relish,' we all have a 
 keen enough appreciation ; but our unexpressed, 
 passive understanding of it is brought out in alto 
 relievo by ^linsheu's etymology thereof, from 
 relechcr — that which is so pleasing to the palate 
 as to tempt one to lick his li'ps ! 
 
 'Caustic,' 'mordant,' and 'piquant' have also 
 
 a like reference to the sense of taste, and sufficiently 
 
 explain themselves, in their hurninrj, hiting and 
 
 stinfjiiifj allusions. 'Saucy' is just salsus, salted : 
 
 'saucy' talk is therefore talk too highly 2>c2')percd 
 
 with salt — in general, too 'spicy.' And 'racy' 
 

 
 20 THE WORK OF THE SENSES. 
 
 always reminds us of the root whence it springs. 
 Thus Cowley's 
 
 ' Rich, racy vcrsc3 in which we 
 The soil from which they come, taste, smell and see.' 
 
 'Savory' and 'insipid' are both from one root 
 — ^srt^no, to taste : the one signifying 'tasty' and 
 the other 'tasteless;' while the highest intellectual 
 endowments can result in nothing more exalted 
 than a man of ' sapience,' which is also just a 
 man of taste. So, too, our Parisians have 
 .sublimated their conceptions of all that is highest 
 in modes or morals into their ' BON gout.' But 
 this is not much to be wondered at, since they are 
 constitutionally rather Epicurean in their philo- 
 sophy ; and it is so natural, with the smack of 
 Clos-Vougeot or Chatcau-Lafitte on the lips, to 
 transfer the figure, not without gusto, to one's 
 a'sthetic judgments. However, so be it : sincere 
 yustibus non est dispiUa7idum. 
 
 Now besides all this, we are acquainted with at 
 least one northern European nation (not to men- 
 tion the Chinese), who hold that the soul lies in 
 the abdomen, and in whose language those two 
 distinctly divergent facts — soul and stomach, find 
 expression in one and the same term. Moreover 
 the Greek for mind— Phren— is (what is remark- 
 able for so introspective a race) that which also 
 expresses midri^ or dicqihragm ! 
 
 What a lesson do these words read us on the
 
 THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 27 
 
 gastronomic proclivities of our race ! Should we 
 uot join in the pious ejaculation of Dan Chaucer ? 
 
 ' Adam, our father, and his vrU also, 
 Fro Paradls to labour and to wo. 
 Were driven for that vice, it is no drede. 
 For while that Adam fasted, as I rede, 
 He was in Paradis, and whan that he 
 Ete of the fruit defended on a tree. 
 Anon he was outcast to wo and peine. 
 O glotonie, on thee well ought us plaineP 
 
 The Pardoneres Talc* 
 
 The contributions from the sense of Sight are 
 numerous and interesting. Nor will they, if ques- 
 tioned, yield less significant replies than such as 
 have just engaged our attention. 'Fancy,' 
 'phantasy' (fantasy), 'fantastical,' 'phantom,' 
 
 'PHANTASM,' 'PHASE,' and 'PHENOMENA,' are all 
 drawn from the Greek verb to see, to seem, to 
 appear — -pliaino : ' fancy,' and ' phantasy,' being 
 the image-forming faculty ; ' phantom, ' and 
 ' phantasm,' mere images, spectres (specie, to see) ; 
 ' PHASE,' an aspect, and ' phenomena,' being but 
 the apparent, the seeming, in oj)position to the 
 absolute, the real (realis, having relation to things 
 — res.) 'Theoey' and 'speculation' have an 
 analogous origin, both of them implying a con- 
 templating abstractly, without reference to the 
 practical. Shakespeare furnishes an instance of 
 
 * Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, vol. ii. p. 182.
 
 28 THE WOEK OF THE SENSES. 
 
 tlie use of ' SPECULATION ' in its primary sense of 
 sight : 
 
 ' Thou hast no speculation in those eyes ;' 
 
 and ' SPECULATION ' in its commercial application 
 has reference to the keen look-out that is required 
 to take advantage of ups and downs of the market. 
 'Visionaky' should be mentioned in the same 
 connection, implying as it does the being given to 
 indulging in mere vague visions. And 'peovi- 
 OENCE ' is precisely fore-sight : while, applied to 
 deity, it is indicative of Him whose luminous 
 glance penetrates the farthest abysses of the com- 
 ing time, and in whose divine scheme all is pro- 
 vided for. 
 
 'Intuition' finely expresses that mental insight, 
 that ' mind's EYE ' that reads omens where it goes, 
 and lights up nature with luminous provocations. 
 ' Idea,' too, is just an image or picture formed in 
 the mind through perceptions of sight. But that 
 was a splendid translation which the term received 
 in the hands of Plato, when he raised Ideai to 
 mean the archetypes or patterns existing in the 
 Divine mind, and of which aU material forms and 
 embodiments are but projections. 
 
 1 have already referred to the word ' envy ' a» 
 finely picturing that side-long, covetous glance 
 that this passion inspires. 'Invidious' is pre- 
 cisely the same, with a Latin origin. Nor less 
 pictorial is ' eespect,' which its analogue ' eegaed'
 
 THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 29 
 
 will well interpret for us. For our ' eegaed ' pri- 
 marily implies a looking at, an observing; so, 
 ' RESPECT ' is properly just — respectus — a looking 
 hack. The metamori^liosis they undergo is curious. 
 For a ' respectable ' person is just one so worthy 
 of ' regard ' as to cause us to look hack again at 
 him ! ' Eespectable ' has, however, been sadly 
 degenerating these late years, being now chiefly 
 employed to designate decayed gentility or mental 
 mediocrity. 
 
 ' Seer,' again, is simply one who sees — a see-er — 
 whose Eye has been unsealed to the 'open secret' 
 of the universe, in Fichte's grand thought— a 
 secret hidden from the wise and prudent (in their 
 own imaginings), and yet 'revealed' — revelo — 
 unveiled to those e.x:ercising the faith and the 
 humility of babes. Nor does there exist the 
 problem for which benign Nature will not give 
 the response, will we but wisely and trustingly 
 interrogate her. For we know that she 
 
 ' Never did betray 
 The heart that loved her.' 
 
 'The a;iswer lies around, written in all colours and 
 motions, uttered in all tones of jubilee and wail, in 
 thonsand-figured, thousand-voiced, harmonious nature ; 
 but where is the cunning eye to whom that God-written 
 apocalypse will yield articulate meaning? We sit as in a 
 boindless phantasmagoria and dream-grotto; boundless, 
 for the faintest star, the remotest century, lies not even 
 nearer the verge therjof sounds and varied-coloured
 
 30 THE "WOEK OF THE SENSES. 
 
 visions flit around our sense ; but Him, the unslurabering, 
 •whose work both dream and dreamer are, we see not — 
 except in rare, half-waking moments, suspect not.' 
 
 Sartor Resarlus. 
 
 Sight is the most spiritual of the senses. 
 Through Sight the structure of the world is 
 revealed. Through it the perception of identity, 
 growths, processes, vistas. Hence the breadth of' 
 the significance of this sense in the nomenclature 
 of Science. If Sight carries with it the architec- 
 ture of the world, Sound brings the universal sol- 
 vent which whirls matter back to primal sether. 
 In melody Nature whispers to man the secret 
 confessions of her plan. Oken asserts that melody 
 is the voice of the universe whereby it proclaims 
 its scheme or its innermost essence. They at 
 least know this who have felt the mystical o'er- 
 mastering of IMusic. Music is a passionate 
 yearning after more primeval natures. 
 
 The contributions of the Senses to "Words are lay 
 no means exhausted. But the principle does not 
 lead far. It is when the creative Eeason, the 
 idealizing Imagination begin their work, loading 
 words with new burdens of meaning, that the 
 master-workings of the mind in speech appear. 
 And for a theory of speech somewhat progressiva 
 is required.
 
 RAMBLE THIED. 
 
 THE IDEALISM OF "WOEDS. 
 
 * Rendering apparent the images of nnapparent natures, 
 And inscribing the uuapparent in the apparent frame of 
 the world.' Zoroaster. 
 
 !Man is an idealist. Of this idealism Language is 
 a primitive expression. For Nature, too, is 
 emblematic. There is that subtle consanguinity 
 between Xature and the Soul, that the laws of 
 man's mentality have the power to unlock the 
 phenomena of the world. There is a saying re- 
 ported of Zoroaster, and coming from the deeps of 
 forty centuries, that ' the congruities of material 
 forms to the laws of the soul are divine allure- 
 ments,' and that was a sublime audacity of Para- 
 celsus, that 'those who would understand the 
 course of the heavens above must first of all 
 recognize the heaven in man.' 
 
 With passionate profusion Xature pours her 
 splendid solicitations on man. Flood and firma- 
 ment, light and night, bird and flower, woo him 
 with their sweet eternal persuasions :
 
 o2 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 ' A rainbow, a snnbeam, 
 A subtle smell that spring unbinds, 
 Dead pause abrupt of midnight winds, 
 An echo or a dream,' — 
 
 all speak to the listening soul a strange yet unmis- 
 takable language ; and to me, even 
 
 'The meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.' 
 
 This idealism of language rests on no whim, 
 but is a primary and necessaiy fact. Up from 
 the core of nature comes this wondrous symbolism. 
 Words are emblematic because things are emble- 
 matic. And as Nature stands the splendid fable 
 of spirit, so the informing Imagination converts 
 the language of outward phenomena into types of 
 the mind. There is no term applied to a meta- 
 physical or moral fact, but which, when opened 
 up, is found to be the translation of some fact in 
 nature. ' rEEVOUR ' simply means heat ; ' teact- 
 ABLE,' that may be drawn along; 'abundance' 
 images an overflowing cup, and ' teansgeession ' 
 is the crossing of the line that divides right from 
 wrong. In like manner, when we speak of one's 
 taking ' umbeage,' wc simply idealize a shadow — 
 umbra — the dark sliade that passes over one's 
 mind. 'Supeecilious' is a picturesque translation 
 of the act of raising the eyebrows, or supercilmm — 
 the natural expression of hauteur. And a 'sceuple' 
 (of conscience) is a vivid rendering of the scmpidus
 
 HUMAN PASSIONS. S 
 
 o 
 
 or little bits of gravel that used to get into the 
 very open shoes of the Eomans, and produce 
 trouble and hesitancy. 
 
 This allegory runs through the warp and woof 
 of language. It is a primary act of the word- 
 forming faculties, which t-ake up a natural symbol 
 and enshrine for ever within it a thought. Let 
 us trace some of the workings of this wondrous 
 law. 
 
 "What an image of fractious human passions 
 must have filled the mind of that poet who first 
 spoke about 'eefeaening' therefrom — that is 
 i'eiiiinrj (froenum) them in, curbing them with bit 
 and bridle ! How faithfully, too, is the subtract- 
 ing one part from a fault and subduing another, 
 thus, as it were, thinning it out, expressed in our 
 'extenuate' (tenuis, thin): and how deep was 
 his knowledge of human nature who first charac- 
 terized that peering into another's faults and 
 failings as 'suspicion.' Could aught be more 
 descriptive, and at the same time convey a better 
 moral, than does 'scandal,' especially when 
 viewed in connection with the Greek scandalon, a 
 stumbling-block, or indeed, primarily, a tmp- 
 spring, a snare ? or ' peecocious' whose composi- 
 tion implies cooked before the time, as 'peematuee' 
 means ripe before the time ? or ' obvious,' which 
 is simply so apparent as to meet us — ob vias — in 
 our very way, or 'insinuate,' which is just to 
 steal — in sinus — into the breast? AVe all know
 
 3J< THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 the value of ' candoue,' but may it not heighten 
 our admiration of the quality when we reflect that 
 a 'candid' man is one whose walk and conversation 
 are — candidns — of a shilling white : in whose 
 communication is none of the darkness of deceit, 
 but all is fair and lucid ! ' Dexteeity,' again, is 
 sufficiently palpable in all its significations, and 
 yet do we always catch the allusion which plays 
 in the word to the dextra manus — the right hand : 
 that is to say, a ' dexterous ' person is one whose 
 ' faculties ' (that is, facilities — the doing, the ex- 
 ecutive part of him) are as perfectly apt and under 
 control as is the right hand of the crafty workman. 
 ' SiNiSTEE,' on the other hand, has relation not to 
 the right or good-omened side, but to the left 
 (sinistra) side of the auspex, where ill-omened 
 birds appeared ; and so, inauspicious, baleful, ad- 
 verse. Again, how faithfully is 'peecipitancy' sym- 
 bolized by that heady haste, which so often causes 
 both persons and projects to tximble head foremost 
 — precipitatus ! Just as vivid, however, is ' sedate,' 
 which implies no more of internal repose than can 
 be expressed by a set or se^-led demeanour — quite 
 closely allied, indeed, to ' demuee,' which, by the 
 way, is a French quality, claiming descent from 
 denuurer to stay, and so some peculiar ' staidness' 
 (that is, stay-ed-ness) of disposition ; although it 
 is by no means as cynical as 'moeose,' for the 
 root of which we need perchance go no deeper 
 than the Latin moror, to stay, to loiter.
 
 WOEDS MAKE fS PHYSIOGNOMISTS. 35 
 
 Wliat chambers of imagery do "VYords present ! 
 Could aught more picturesquely portray that utter 
 indolence and abandon we express in 'supixe,' 
 than the lying on the hack, with the face upivards — 
 supinus ? or what could more pungently picture 
 all the burden of sisfnificance that dwells in 'SUP- 
 
 a 
 
 PLIANCE ' than a bending of the knee (supplex : 
 and so literally a knce-lmg) ? ' Teact^vble ' is that 
 may be led along. A ' feactious ' man is most 
 evidently one who breaks loose from all restraint, 
 who breaks into fits of passion, etc. An instance 
 of an exceedingly appropriate employment of this 
 word occurs in Struan Eobertson's translation of 
 Horace's famous description of Achilles — 
 
 ' Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer' — 
 
 which he renders into this very pithy and pungent 
 vernacular : 
 
 ' A. fiery Etter-cap, Vi fractious chiel, 
 As het as ginger, and as stieve as steel !' 
 
 Words, too, often make their users instinctive 
 physiognomists. We have seen the allusion 
 'SUPEECILIOUS' carries with it to the raising of the 
 L-yebrows. To the forehead, also, words point as 
 a most expressive feature. Else why do we have 
 such strong terms as 'beow beat,' or 'feown,' 
 which seems to be contracted from the old French 
 verb frogner — to kit the broxvs ?- Here the most 
 powerful mental struggles are mirrored, and I
 
 36 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 recollect Lessing remarks tliat the reason why the 
 sculptors of the Laocooii did not surround the 
 head with the fillets worn by the priests was to 
 be enabled thus to develop that tremendous ex- 
 pression of agony they have imprinted on the 
 immortal marble. 
 
 And more expressive symbols. 'Wild' is 
 vnllcd, toilld (or self-willed), in opposition to those, 
 whether men or beasts, who are tamed or subdued, 
 by reason, or otherwise to the will of others, or of 
 societies ; * ' sued ' in Algebra means a quantity 
 deaf (surdus) to all attempts at reduction to a 
 rational form ; to ' reflect ' images a hack-casting 
 of the thoughts ; to ' ponder ' is literally to weigh, 
 'ruin' finely images mighty f?ow;i/a^/, 'punctilious' 
 is the observance of every minute point — punctil- 
 lum ; and ' imbecile ' is a forcible metaphor drawn 
 from the old man unable to hobble along without 
 the aid of his hacillum or staff ! 
 
 The law on which this idealism of Words rests 
 has its roots deep in man's mental structure. For 
 as material forms are the revelation of spiritual 
 natures, so the vivid imagination is constantly 
 bvinging provocations to ampler translations of 
 our everyday perceptions and experiences. From 
 insight from a large jjerception of Analogy, from 
 a longing and passionate heart comes the power 
 of thus translating the presentings of nature into 
 
 * Home Tooke : Diversions of Parley.
 
 EGEEGIOrS — PEE VAEICATE — BOJIBAST. 3 7 
 
 the expressive sjTiibols of moral and metaphysical 
 existences. To a sincere and tender nature words 
 lend themselves plastic and willing to the fonna- 
 tive laws of the word- forming faculties. Illustra- 
 tions of the working of these laws run thi-ough 
 our and every language. "When we sj)eak of a 
 * cordial ' man or manner, is it not plain that we 
 are simply ascribing to tlie man or manner, the 
 quality of being hearty (cor, cordis, the Jieart) ? 
 ' Egeegious,' too, is lifted out of its special definite 
 meaning of the animal chosen — e grege — out of 
 the fiock, and idealized in a vigorous image to 
 rapresent any property so remarkable as to remove 
 it from the ordinary rule, and mark it as unique 
 and unapproachable. The Latin term 2Jrccvaricator, 
 which originally implied a straddler with distorted 
 legs, has given us our verb to ' peevaeicate,' 
 which we readily perceive has been abstracted to 
 imply a mental or moral shuffiing. In like man- 
 ner when Pi-ince Hal addresses Falstaff in the 
 words, ' How now, my sweet creature of hoynbast' 
 he is using the noun ' bombast ' in its literal sense 
 of soft padding used to swell garments : this pri- 
 mary acceptation, however, the word has now 
 entirely lost, and we have transferred it to idealize 
 a swelling, inflated style of talking, fustian — vox 
 et preterea nihil. I see I have used the word 
 'fustian' in illustration of 'bombast :' it is curious 
 that this term has undergone precisely the same 
 curious metamorphosis.
 
 38 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 These changes in tlicf meaning of Words — this 
 ebb and flow of significance — is constantly going 
 on in a live langnage : and it is no extravagance 
 to say that the moral and mental vitality of a 
 people may be ganged in the quantity and quality 
 of these transformations. For over these trans- 
 formations the genius of the nation unconsciously 
 presides, and the issues of Words represent issues 
 in the national life and thought. This metaphor 
 and metamorphosis of Words is exceedingly 
 curious. There is probably nothing in which 
 XDsychologic laws and the organic workings of the 
 human mind more vividly and vitally reveal 
 themselves than here. Tor though, to the super- 
 ficial eye, seemingly lawless and capricious. Words 
 yet bristle with rational thought, while even the 
 most startling metaphor and the wildest poetic 
 ima<:je has a law and logic of its own. 
 
 Of course, in pursuing these Niles and Nigers 
 to their source we find many curious turnings and 
 windings, and many strange regions do they flow 
 through. The cozenage of Words brings out many 
 queer developments. ' Debauch ' is an instance. 
 It tells us that it was at first merely the attempt 
 to draw a workman de (son) bauche — -/rom his 
 shop, and so, to 'debauch' him. 'Delieium' is 
 another. It certainly is so if we derive it from 
 de lira, that is, to make haulJcs in plougliing, and 
 80, a mental wandering, or raving. And ' enthu- 
 siasm' is enthousiasmos — -possessed by a God, or
 
 PANTHEISM — STUPENDOUS . 39^ 
 
 the feeling that arises from the idea that one is 
 possessed by a God. Spinosa, then, to whom 
 Novalis, on account of his fervency in asserting 
 the divinity of universal Nature (hence our ' pan- 
 theism,' that the whole— pa?i — is God), gave the 
 appellation of the ' God-intoxicated man,' perhaps 
 presents us with a striking illustration of the pri- 
 mary meaning of the ' Enthusiast.' It is interest- 
 ing, too, to interrogate words with a view to detect 
 those still more marked transformations that fre- 
 quently take place — how the degrees of praise and 
 blame vary — how they receive burdens of meaning 
 that properly belong not to them — how again they 
 have been shorn of their fair proportions of sig- 
 nificance, and often how secondary meanings have 
 overlapped the primary ones. 
 
 Nature's works are, we know, oft times so over- 
 powering in their effects as to strike one dumb vnih 
 amazement — what we call 'stupendous,' that is, 
 so impressive as to put one into a stupor with 
 awe. This expression, however, we must consider 
 as even moi-e than metaphorical — our nil-admirari 
 philosophy recognizes no such impressions : 'tis 
 an 'Exaggeration' (Exaggero — a heaping up of 
 meaning). And yet it is no more outrS* than a 
 thousand other extravaganzas we are constantly 
 uttering. Thus the slightest possible disturbance 
 we stigmatize as a ' pest ! ' or ' plague ! ' without 
 
 * Frencb for the Latin ' ultra,' beyond.
 
 4-0 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 any thought of the burden of meaning which the 
 words primarily bear. And yet we hardly ' stig- 
 matize ' it either, for that would be to Irand it lilce 
 a slave — stigma {ffriy.fia,) being originally the mark 
 of Disgrace burned into the brow of a rvmaway. 
 Butindeed, we are constantly using these heightened 
 metaphors — saying more than we mean. And 
 this Extravagance not only vibrates throughout 
 the general form of phrases and expressions, but 
 discovers itself even in individual words : so that 
 his very language furnishes evidence that man is 
 a creature given to exaggeration. For we cannot 
 even name a 'nuisance' (French nuisance* from 
 nuire, to harm) without averring that it is a 
 positive injury ; and the slightest 'annoyance' 
 (also through the Norman nuire). we persist in 
 converting into a real hurt. Again, what was to 
 the Koman a figMing a^azwsi— repugnantia — has 
 been by us softened down to a mere 'eepugnance ;' 
 a death-struggle — reluctor — has sunk into the tame 
 ' KELUCTANCE,' and what was once actually deadly 
 
 perniciosus — has been metamorphosed into the 
 
 simple 'PERNICIOUS.' Our peaceful 'debate' (de 
 and battre, to heat down) was to the Norman — 
 
 * Happily the letters of this word still continue their 
 allegiance, for which we have not to thank Webster— who, 
 following the precedent of Blackstone, recommends that it 
 be spelled nusance, though on what principle, except that 
 of 'darkening wisdom,' it might be difficult enough to 
 determine.
 
 PKOGEESSIVE POWER. 41 
 
 who was more skilful in the use of his sword tlia.i 
 of the weapons drawn from the armoury of wit — 
 a downright battle; while the mild ' Lyceum ' was 
 the Greek's — "k-oxim — wolfs den ! Surely we oive 
 many a command that is not at all deadly either 
 in its nature or consequences, and yei we will call 
 such 'PEEEMPTORY.' We may easily be 'astonished/ 
 without being struck with toiuiere, thunder — or, 
 as we say, thunderstruck. And it is certainly 
 quite possible for one to be very much 'mortified' 
 (mors, mortis — death) without its proving the 
 jdeath of him ! 
 
 But, while our language furnishes us with in- 
 stances in which conventional usage has conspired 
 to soften down the too expressive primitive power 
 of words, we on the other hand meet with numerous 
 cases in which terms acquire burdens of signifi- 
 cance which primitively and properly belong not 
 to them. The sons become stronger, and wiser, 
 and wittier than their sires. This we will have- 
 occasion to see copiously illustrated hereafter ; in 
 the meantime, take a few terms wherein we inay 
 mark the steps of a progressive civilization. 
 'Toilet,' for example, cannot, with all its arts, 
 conceal from us the fig-leaved condition that lurks 
 in and peeps out from it ; we discern shreds of 
 the toilc — the mere piece of cloth — which the 
 savage was wont to wrap around his loins to cover 
 him withal, and lo ! his • toilet ' was made ! And 
 
 D
 
 42 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 SO the jewelled 'dtadem' owes its origin to tlie 
 simple w^oollen fillet — diadema — which the king, 
 in patriarchal days, bound around his brows ; a 
 ' ROBE ' is cousin-gorman to rob : the primitive 
 rude, self-lielping men rolhcdSvom the lion, or the 
 bear, or the wolf, his hide— de-5?wz7cf^ him as we 
 say, exultingly cast it about his own shoulders, and 
 so the man was the richer by his ' robe,' and the 
 beast the poorer by his skin ! Nay, ' sceptres ' 
 were originally but willow-^mnds, and the 'throne' 
 itself is but a chair ; — nay, merely a stool, as our 
 humble Saxon progenitors had it.* 
 
 'Tabernacle,' again, is another word with a 
 humble enough origin — being primitively a mere 
 tabernaculmn, a tent or hut. ' Paradise ' to the 
 oriental was simply a park or pleasure-ground. 
 So, too, ' fiscal ' unmistakably points to the fiscus, 
 or wicker basket, which, in early times contained 
 the revenue of the State.t A 'furlong' was once 
 a furrow-long, or length of a furrow ; a field of 
 any size was once termed an 'acre' (German 
 acker); ' DRACHM ' in the elder Greek meant a 
 Jiandful, and 'myriad' any great number. And 
 when Homer alludes to a certain Hero counting 
 
 * See King Alfred's Translation of BoetMus de Consola- 
 tion e Philosophke. 
 
 t So to 'confiscate' is evidently to put, forcibly, one's 
 possessions in along with (con) what is in the basket 
 (fscus) or hamper of the State— 'to adjudge, to be forfeited 
 to the public treasury.' — Webster.
 
 TEANSFOEMATION OF WOEDS. 43 
 
 his sheep, he employs the expression cr£/x«(r^a/, 
 etc., — he fived them — shoAving that their five 
 fingers were originally the limits of their arithme- 
 tical notions.. And whether or not there be any 
 connection between deka (ten) and duo echo* or 
 between jjente (five) and 2^anta (all), our ' digit ' 
 (Latin digitus, a finger) at least, gives a strong 
 confirmation to the supposition; while 'calculate' 
 clearly tells of the calculi, or pebbles which the 
 ancients employed to assist them in their aritlime- 
 tical difficulties. 
 
 A ludicrous example of this same attempt to 
 tint things up couleur de rose is furnished in the 
 word 'PAJiPEE,' a term which the Italians have 
 given us— being, I believe, in their language 
 -pamhcre, that is, 'pane,' bread, and 'here,' drinh— 
 so that it was originally nothing more luxurious 
 than bread and drink, plenty even of that, how- 
 ever, being considered as enough to 'pamper' one. 
 Just as the French viande, meat, flesh, becomes 
 our English 'viands' which carries the idea of 
 something more dainty still ! 
 
 Again, that French verb afirontcr, which merely 
 implies a meeting face to face — a coming up, ad 
 frons, to the forehead, without any necessary hos- 
 tility—gives us our 'AFFEONT,' with all its causticity 
 of application. We said it did not necessarily 
 
 • Just as I have seen it stated tliat the Gothic Teiga, 
 tein, our 'tkn' is just tai-hun, tliat is two hands! But 
 Tookc is more rational.
 
 44 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 imply liostility. Shakespeare suggests numerous 
 examples of its employment in this neutral sense. 
 Thus, in Hamlet, the King says : 
 
 ' For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
 That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
 A front [that is, simply, may meeQ Ophelia.' 
 
 Hamlet^ III. 1. 
 
 And, indeed, it would seem impossible for us 
 irascible Saxons to have even an 'encounter' 
 without converting it into a downright battle. A 
 'i^ieeting' almost always conveys the idea of 
 something sinister hidden beneath it. And we 
 cannot have even the slightest cause of complaint 
 —^7(ere?a— without picldng a 'quaeeel' out of it! 
 
 It may be worth noticing, in this connection, 
 the feelings embalmed in language, which have 
 given rise to words expressive of Grandeur and 
 Pettiness — may we not read therein a curious 
 piece of man's mind ? There seems to have been 
 all along, a very natural, yet rather ludicrous 
 association of grandeur and pettiness with mere 
 physical greatness or littleness. Thus our meta- 
 phorical ' GEAND ' is simply the French grand— 
 implying merely tall, large ; while their petit, or 
 little, becomes our 'petty,' which is less still.* 
 But, indeed, there is something so impressive and 
 
 * French bigness (gross, grosse), however, degenerates 
 into English ' grossness,' a fact of curious historic 
 
 significance.
 
 FALSE APPLICATION. 45 
 
 imposing about bodily bigness, tliat we wonder 
 not that those old heroic Normans (or Northmen) 
 did appear very ' ma^/iz'ficent/ with their great 
 talhiess — what they called 'hauteur' (haut, liigli), 
 which, alas, all too soon degenerated into mere 
 'HAUGHTINESS;' or that their 'majesties,' 'high- 
 nesses,' * magnates,' and ' geandees,' should soon 
 have absorbed all nobility and authority. 
 
 Often, too, has man tried to gild over his vices 
 with a fine name, calling those ' gallants ' who 
 have no claim to the title, giving to x^ersons Avhose 
 sad life can be gilded with but few rays of genuine 
 joy, the appellation of ' filles de joie,' covering 
 a blacklea' with the mantle of 'chevalier d'indus- 
 TRIE,' and declaring that a 'parajioue' is one 
 who is loved — par amour — very affectionately* 
 although, by the way, Flute, the bellows-mender, 
 understood the matter better than that : 
 
 '■Flute. He hath simply the best wit of any handicraft 
 man in Athens. 
 
 Quince. Yea, and the best person too : and he is a very 
 paramour for a sweet voice. 
 
 Flute. You must say, " paragon : " a paramour is, God 
 bless ns, a thing of nauglit.' 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, IV. 2. 
 
 On the contrary, words often do not get then- 
 due, and debts which they never contracted are 
 
 • And see it used in this good sense throughout the 
 whole of our old English literature. 3
 
 40 THE IDEALISM OF WOEDS. 
 
 laid to their account. A ' ijbel,' for instance, is 
 properly just a lihcUus, a little book — what we 
 call a pamphlet : as if it would insinuate that the 
 only purpose of such is to defame and malign ! 
 So a ' LEGEND ' is simply something to he read — 
 legendum ; * while ' eeveeend ' evidently declares 
 that it ought to he revered — reverendus; and a 
 'maxim' affirms that it is — maximum — of the 
 greatest importance. So ' catee/ which is coming 
 with us to acquire a somewhat contemptuous 
 meaning, has no such stain on its 'birth — it is 
 simply to buy or purchase (acheter) fox one. So 
 I find in Ben Jonson 
 
 ' Hfc is my ward-robe man, my acater, cook, 
 
 Butler and steward.' 
 
 The Devil an Ass, I. 3.t 
 
 ' Obsequious ' is another instance of this same 
 downward tendency in words. For primitively 
 the word has no opprobrious import, signifying 
 simply following after, a meaning which becomes 
 present from our use of ' obsequies^' which is just 
 the following the dead to the tomb ; and in the 
 elder dramatists we frequently meet with this 
 primary application of 'obsequious.' Thus Shake- 
 speare — 
 
 * For tlie corruption of tills word, see Tooke's Diversions 
 of Parley. 
 
 t Here the word is acaler, which is nearly the original 
 form, and yet in Chaucer I find it achator (Canterbury 
 Tales 570 et passim), which is nearer still.
 
 
 SPIEITUAL AFFINITY, 47 
 
 ' How manj' a holy aud ohsequious [that is funereal] tear 
 
 Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, 
 
 As interest of the dead.' 
 
 Sonnet XXXL 
 
 Now, however, we employ it but to express that 
 criuging compliance that leads one to follow after 
 the favour or fancy of another, or shape one's 
 principles or practice according to his whims. 
 Aud lastly, I may mention the term 'gossip,' 
 which tells a strange story ; for originally it was 
 just the name applied to sponsors at baj^tism — 
 literally God-sibh : ' sihb,' related (to the cliild, in 
 or through) God! Vcrstegau makes the matter 
 clear : 
 
 'Our Christian ancestors understanding a spirituall 
 affinity for to grow betweene the parents, and such as 
 undertooke for the childe at baptisme, called each other 
 by the name of God-sib^ which is as much as to say as 
 that they were sib together, i.e. , of kin together through God.' 
 
 Restitution of Decayed Intellijence, C. 7.* 
 
 But, while we have, on the one hand, words 
 
 ♦ Webster bungles over this word. Verstegau would 
 have enlightened him, or Junius either, for that matter. 
 For, as Junius remarks, these (jossips under cloak of tliis 
 'sPiKiTUALL affinity' uscd oftcu to meet to tell stories 
 and .... tipple over them !— a circumstance from 
 which we in English derive our expression 'to go a 
 GossinsG,' etc. And it is a curious coincidence that the 
 French for ' gossip ' is commerage from commcre, a god- 
 mother— a precisely analogous process having taken place 
 in tlie word.
 
 48 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 whicli have strengtlicned, and on the other hand, 
 words which have softened and degenerated in 
 signification, we have also words which have com- 
 pletely changed meaning — perfect turn-coats; not 
 mere renegades, as are the others, but downright 
 deserters. 
 
 How amazed, for instance, would one of our 
 sturdy old English writers he, were he told by 
 some modern tea-imbibing dame that she was 
 very * nervous! Viewing the word from the Latin 
 stand-point — seeing in it merely the classic nervosus, 
 sinewy, 'muscular' — an epithet only applicable to 
 the stalwart strength of manhood, and which even 
 we can appreciate from the employment of our 
 'nervous style,' — we can easily imagine how the 
 worthy would be either petrified (even though he 
 might not be turned into — petra — stone) with 
 amazement ; or at least he would regard the good 
 lady as indulging in a joke ! * And how much of 
 
 * In regard to this term Pegge says : ' A word which 
 till lately when applied to a man was expressive of 
 Muscular strength, and a Brawny make ; and thence 
 metaphorically a strong and forcible style is called nervous 
 and energetic : whereas now it is used only in a contrary 
 sense, to express a man whose nerves are weak, and 
 absolute enervation.' 
 
 Anecdotes of the Evg. Lang, page 264. 
 
 For this corrupt usage he proposes nervish ! 
 
 Bailey, in his Dictionary, gives it in its primitive signi- 
 fication of strength and vigour— and says, that when applied 
 to persons of weak nerves, it is a ' medical cant.'
 
 TITANIC POWEE OF WOKDS. 49 
 
 Carlyle's teaching is but a tieiy plaint of the 
 sad seduction so painfully visible in the abysmal 
 gulf that has come to intervene between ' Ken ' 
 and ' Can ' — which, we are aware, were once one 
 and the same. But this was before ' Canning ' 
 had become cunning ; or ' cunning ' had grown 
 synonymous wdtli crafty. So that then the 
 Baconian apothegm, Knowledge is Power, was to 
 them a mere truism : since it only asserted that 
 Koi-mng is Gan-nmg ! 
 
 How titanic is the power which many words 
 wield ! Indeed, in numerous instances, so terrible 
 is the influence they exercise, that mankind has 
 been compelled to break away in affright from 
 their sway into the domain of others less potent. 
 Of this, we have a well-known instance in that 
 dangerous African cape, ever so fatal to mariners, 
 and which the wrathful 'Spirit of the Cape' lashes 
 into foaming fury. Long was it all too truthfully 
 known by the name of the ' Cape of Storms ;' 
 but this was to recognize the danger (whereas the 
 feared and the fearful must ever be nameless) ; 
 and so, buoying up their courage, they gave it the 
 more cheerful appellation of the ' Cape of Good 
 Hoj)e.' Again, how chilling to the ardour of the 
 soldier must be that word ' fokloen-hope ' — men 
 sent on a service attended with such peril that 
 hope must be — forlorn — relinquished, left behind 
 l»y them.
 
 50 THE IDEALISM OF WOEDS. 
 
 But it is in Poetry's niiglitier idealizations that 
 a far loftier idealism discloses itself — in tones 
 drawn by the Master's hand from tlie lyre of 
 humanity — in the wild ravings of an old un- 
 Kinged Lear, in an Othello's bursts of wailing, 
 sadness, or tempestuous madness — 
 
 ' My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? — / have no wife /' 
 
 Or, when Cleopatra, referring to the a.s;?, says 
 
 ' Peace, peace ! 
 
 to' 
 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
 Thai sucks the nurse asleep ?' 
 
 Or when with the true prerogative of genius — 
 to marry the phenomena of nature with the moods 
 of man's mind — Shakespeare sees types of insanity 
 in the green scum of the standing-pool — Poor 
 Tom 
 
 ' Drinks the green mantle of the standing-pool !' 
 
 'Tis in the loftier and serener empyrean of 
 Poetry that we catch lineaments — shado\vy, and 
 far away — of a supernal beauty that haunts and 
 will not leave us, and hear tones of more than 
 mortal pathos and power. 
 
 ' In the silence of the night 
 How we shiver with affright,' 
 
 at memories awakened perchance by some one 
 weak word — weak, yet winged : a mere breathing, 
 and yet vitalized by the very spirit of life. And 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 SUGGESTIYE WOKDS. 51 
 
 SO, under the guidance of Bishop Hutchinson, let us 
 return : ' And to make short of this argument, we 
 doubt not hut many wise men have too mean an 
 opinion of the power of words and take too little 
 care about them ; for though the words of a fool 
 are little, the words of a wise man are wonderful. 
 Words are the judges of our thoughts, the land- 
 marks of all interests ; and the wheels of our 
 human world are turned by them. They move 
 interests that are greater than mountains, and 
 many a time have subdued kingdoms. Eiches and 
 Poverty, Love and Hatred, and even Life and 
 Death are in the power of the tongue, and when 
 their effects are least they are still the character of 
 the mind and abilities of him who speaks them ; 
 and when they are first and natural, though plain 
 and unaffected, they carry charms that are superior 
 to the beauty of the fairest face, while the improper 
 use of them shows ignorance of words that are 
 imderstood by others, they lessen the man, and 
 make the picture as mean as sign-post painting.'* 
 
 'Teajnsient' is a suggestive word. It is tran- 
 siens — ■2xissing away! With plaintive sadness it 
 sings the requiem of human life. Said Ina's queen, 
 ' Are not all things, are not we ourselves, like a 
 river hurrying heedless and headlong to the dark 
 ocean of illimitable time?' "And I find in the 
 
 * From a curious old tract, entitled, 'The Many Advan- 
 tages of a Good Language to any Nation.'
 
 52 THE IDEALISM OF WORDS. 
 
 Romaunf of the Rose this antique rhyme, through 
 Avhich the same figure runs : 
 
 ' The time that passith night and date, 
 And restilesse travailith aie, 
 And stelith from us privily, 
 That to us secmith siidrly 
 Tliat it in one poinct dwellith ever, 
 And certes it ne restitli never, 
 But goeth as fast and passeth aie 
 That ther n'is man that thinicin male 
 What time that now present is, 
 Asldth at these grete clerkis this ; 
 For men thinken redily 
 Thre timis ben ypassed by 
 The time that male not sojourn. 
 But goth and male never returne, 
 As watir that doune runnith aie, 
 But never droppe returne maie.' 
 
 How sublime is the allusion in 'Nature' (natus, 
 natura, to be born), the being horn, or indeed the 
 reference in Latin is to the future, as though it 
 would indicate that she is no dead mass, but a 
 living and ever-evolving Whole. And indeed she 
 is our mother, too — nourishing us tenderly on her 
 breast, shedding around us her balmy, balsamic 
 influences, and gently at last rocking us to sleep 
 with sphere-music and old eternal melodies. 
 Shelley, her loveliest and lornest child, shall sing 
 her psean. 
 
 ' Mother of this unfathomable world ! 
 Favour my solemn song, for I have loved
 
 SHELLEY ON NATURE. 53 
 
 Thee ever, and thee only ; I have watched 
 
 Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps. 
 
 And my heart ever gazes on the depth 
 
 Of thy deep mysteries. I have made my bed 
 
 In charuels and on coffins, where bhick death 
 
 Keeps record of the trophies won from thee. 
 
 Hoping to still these obstinate questionings 
 
 Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost, 
 
 Thy messenger, to render up the tale 
 
 Of what we are. In lone and silent hours, 
 
 When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness, 
 
 Like an inspired and desperate alchymist 
 
 Staking his very life on some dark hope. 
 
 Have I mixed awful talk and asking looks 
 
 With my most innocent love, until strange tears, 
 
 Uniting with those breathless kisses, made 
 
 Such magic as compels the charmed night 
 
 To render up thy charge : and though ne'er yet 
 
 Thou hast unveiled thy inmost sanctuary ; 
 
 Enough from incommunicable dream. 
 
 And twilight phantasms, and deep noon-day thought. 
 
 Has shone within me, that serenely now 
 
 And moveless, as a long-foj'gotten lyre 
 
 Suspended in the solitary dome 
 
 Of some mysterious and deserted fane 
 
 I wait thy breath, Great Parent, that my strain 
 
 May modulate with murmurs of the air, 
 
 And motions of the forests and the sea, 
 
 And voice of living beings, and woven hymns 
 
 Of night and day, and the deep heart of man !' 
 
 Alastor.
 
 RAMBLE FOURTH. 
 
 FOSSIL POETRIES. 
 
 ' Language is fossil poetry. The Etymologist finds the 
 deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture. As 
 the limestone of the continent consists of infinite masses of 
 the shells of animalcules, so language is made up of images 
 or tropes, which now, in their secondary use, have long 
 ceased to remind us of their poetic origin.' 
 
 Emersox. 
 
 All words are, more or less, poetry. For word- 
 making is an organic creation of the mind, and 
 rnns parallel with the processes of nature and is 
 the crown and consummation of the world. The 
 Hindus, in their free and fluent mythology, con- 
 ceived the second act of Brahma to have heen the 
 Naming : and it is reported of Pythagoras that he 
 thought that of all wise men he was not only the 
 most rational but also the most ancient who gave 
 the names to things. The poet is by divine right 
 the proper Namer. Through sympathy with the 
 trrand substantial Words of the world he imports 
 into human speech the utterance of orphic Nature. 
 ]\raterial forms — ocean, air, soil, fire, stars, life,
 
 POETKY OF WOEDS. 5$ 
 
 growths— these are sublime primeval Words. 
 These the Expressive passion dissolves into plastic 
 symbols. And the poet gives voice to mankind. 
 
 0, shining trails of bards and builders ! 'Think- 
 est thou there were no poets till Dan Chancer?' 
 asks Thomas Carlyle— ' No heart burning with a 
 tliought which it could not hold, and had no word 
 
 for, and needed to shape and coin a word for, 
 
 what thou callest a metaphor, trope, or the like ? 
 For every word we have, there was such a man 
 and poet. The coldest word was once a olowino- 
 new metaphor, and bold questionable originality. 
 My very attention, does it not mean an attentio, a 
 stretching-to ? Fancy that act of the mind, w-hich 
 all were conscious of, which none had yet named, — 
 when this new poet first felt bound and driven to 
 name it! His questionable originality, and new 
 glowing metaphor, was found adoptable, intel- 
 ligible, and remahis our name for it to this day.' 
 
 "Words are often the expressed essence of poetry 
 — redolent as flowers in spring. ' Aueoea' comes 
 to us a snatch of that flowing Grecian Mythus 
 that idealized universal nature; and even to us is 
 she the 'rosy-fingered daughter of the morn' 
 
 And ' MOEN,' too, is a sweet poem, coming to us 
 from an old Gothic verb Mergan, to dissipate, to
 
 56 FOSSIL POETEIES. 
 
 disperse: so that tlie meaning of 'morn' (as also 
 ^morning' and 'morrow') is just the time when 
 darkness is dissipated, dispersed: 
 
 ' Tlie nyglit is passed, lo the morrowe graye, 
 The frcsshc Aurora so fayre in apparauce 
 Her lyglit dawitli, to voyde all offence 
 Of wynter nyghtes.' 
 
 Lyfe of our Lady. 
 
 'Lethe' is another classicism: 'tis the river of 
 forgetfulness — 'the oblivious pool.' What a ro- 
 mance in 'Hyperborean' — that is, beyond the 
 region of Boreas — where dwelt a pious and happy 
 race : said to be a Homeric creation. ' Levant,' 
 'Oeient,' and 'Occident,' are all poems. And 
 so is that noble Saxon 'Main,' that is ihe—Mcegeii 
 — strong one: 
 
 ' A sheplierd in the Hebrid isles 
 
 Placed far amid the melancholy main.'' 
 
 The 'daisy' has often been cited as fragrant 
 with poesy: 'tis the day's eye (Saxon, daeges ege). 
 Chaucer has these affectionate lines : 
 
 ' Of all the floures in the mede 
 Thau love I most these floures of which I rede, 
 Such that men call daisies in our town, 
 To them I have so great atfcctioun ' 
 
 Nor is he alone in his love for the 
 
 ' Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower I'
 
 FLOEAL — MINEEAL. 57 
 
 Quite an odoriferous etymologic bouquet might 
 v/e cull from the names of Flora's children. \Yhat 
 a beauty in 'peimeose,' which is just the prime- 
 rose, the first rose; the 'Sweet William;' the 
 ' MoENiiS'G Gloey,' except when a pompous classi- 
 cal terminology would convert it into a convolvulus ! 
 How many sweet associations cluster around the 
 • Foeget-me-not,' around the 'Anemone,' (anemos, 
 the wind-flower) into which Venus changed her 
 Adonis ! Again, is there not poetry in calling a 
 certain family of minute Crustacea — whose two 
 eyes meet and form a single spot in the centre of 
 the head — ' Cyclops?' And if any one thinketh 
 there cannot be poetry even in the technicalities 
 of science, let him remember ' coeal,' which in the 
 Greek means a sea damsel, or the chemical 'cobalt,' 
 which is said to be the German Kobold, a goUin, 
 the demon of the mines : so called by miners from 
 its being troublesome to work. To be sure Science 
 is a terrible destroyer of these fine phantasies. But, 
 
 ' Still the heart doth need a language, still 
 Doth the old instinct bring back the old names.' 
 
 ' There shall be no more mcujic nor cabala, 
 Nor Rosicrucian, nor Alchemic lore, 
 Nor fairy fantasii;s ; no more hubf/oblins. 
 Nor ghosts, nor imps, nor demons. Conjurors, 
 Enchanters, witches, wizards, shall all die 
 Hopeless and heirless ; their divining arts, 
 Supernal or infernal — dead with them!' 
 
 Laikifs Feslits. 
 E
 
 58 FOSSIL POETRIES. 
 
 The 'Student's' prediction is indeed fully verified; 
 and yet must it not have been a terrible reality 
 which could leave so large a precipitate as this, 
 from the alembic? 
 
 We are not apt, in this practical age, to be very 
 profoundly devoted to astrolatry, and yet do we 
 ever 'consider' without holding commerce with 
 the — sidera* — stars? The planets, with their 
 heavenly houses, are now to us all mute and 
 motionless — with 
 
 ' No real voice nor sound ;' 
 
 and yet is not one man 'merc?tnal;' another 
 'jovidX ;' a third ' martial ;' and a fourth 'saturnine' 
 according as the planet rules his destiny ? We 
 are not very much given to erecting figures of the 
 Heavens, and determining ' horoscopes ' (horo- 
 sJiopos, and so, literally, the observing the hora or 
 hour of one's birth — that being necessary in cast- 
 ing a 'nativity'): and yet are not our fortunes 
 sometimes in the ' ascendant ;' are there not those 
 who are 'ill-starred;' meet we not with 'dis-asters? 
 And ' influence,' too, looks back to a time when 
 the stars shot their sweet impartings to man's 
 heart. So even the nonchalant Frenchman per- 
 
 * The word may indeed be from consido; as Webster 
 asserts it is. But it is characteristic of our Yankee lexi- 
 cographer to lean towards the more unpoetical of disputed 
 derivations — necessary result of bis absurd theory of 
 radices.
 
 WOEDS OF DESTINY. 59 
 
 sists in talking about his 'hon-heur' and his 'mal- 
 heur' — which, of course, we recognise as beinff 
 naught other than a good or bad Jiour — a good or 
 bad horoscope. Perhaps there may be more truth 
 than one might be apt to suppose in tliis quaint 
 passage from Chaucer — which sounds forth here 
 like a fragment of some antique ritual: 
 
 ' Peraveutiire in thilke lerge book 
 Which that men clepe the Heven ywritten was 
 With sterres, when that he his birthe took, 
 That he for love shuld han his deth, alas ! 
 For in the sterres, clerer than is glas, 
 Is writen, God wot, who so coud it rede, 
 The deth of every man withouten drede, 
 In sterres many a winter tiler beforn 
 Was writ the death of Hector, Achilles, : 
 
 Of Pompey, Julius, or they were born 
 The strif of Thebes and of Hercules, 
 Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates 
 The deth ; but mennes icittes hen so dull 
 That no wight can wel rede it at the full.'' 
 
 The Man of Lawes Tale. 
 
 And so Emerson tells us that, 
 
 ' The old men studied magic in the flowers. 
 And human fortunes in Astronomy, 
 And an omnipotence in Chemistry.'* 
 
 But the age of Faith, like the age of Chivalry, 
 has gone by. We have dissolved partnership 
 
 • Emerson's Poema : 'Bliglit.'
 
 no FOSSIL POETRIES. 
 
 ■with yon starry world: the spheral harmonies 
 reach not our dull ears. 
 
 So, too, have gone trooping back to the land of 
 oblivion the ' gnomes ' and the ' rairs ' (surely no- 
 thing very terrible, since the word meant i)rimarily 
 merely a shoot or scion — a son); and the 'demons,' 
 (who were at first gods); and the 'ghosts,'* and 
 the 'GHOULS,' and the 'genii:' 
 
 'And there were wandering on the highest mountains of 
 Yemen visionaiy forms— and tliey described them by the 
 names of Dog in or Genii, Ghouh or Demons.^] 
 
 'Chaem,' 'inchant,' and 'incantation,' all 
 trace their genesis to the time when spells were 
 in vogue. ' Chaem ' is just carmen, from the fact 
 of a sort of runic rhyme having been used in this 
 soi't of diablerie. So 'fascination' recalls the, 
 era when the blight of the evil eye was an object 
 of terror. By the way 'spell' means simply 
 'loord. Says Sir Thomas Browne : 
 
 'Some have delivered the polity of spirits, that they 
 stand in awe of charms, xpdls, and conjurations, letters, 
 characters, notes, and dashes.' 
 
 * By the way our quite wn-ghostly 'gas' is from the 
 same root— German geist, to rush, to h\ovr— spirit. 
 
 t From a cabalistic enough MS (referred to in the Ac- 
 count of the MSS in the Bibliodieque du Roi), with the 
 following magnificent title: 'The Golden Meadows and 
 the Mines of Precious Stones, by Aboul-hassan-Aly, son 
 of A-Kliair, son of Aly, son of Abderrahman, son of 
 Abdallah, son of Masoud- el-IIadheli surnamed Masoudi.'
 
 THE SPIEIT WORLD. 61 
 
 Note, too, that from spell we get our ' gospel,' 
 that is GocVs spell — God's word. 
 
 To conclude all of which, take the following 
 exquisite passage from that most ethereal 'Undine' 
 of De la Motte Fouqu(i. (By the way is not 
 Undine from unda, a wave: that is, a water- 
 sprite ?) : ' You must know, that there are beings 
 in the elements, which bear the strongest resem- 
 blance to the human race, and which, at the same 
 time, seldom become visible to you. The wonder- 
 ful salamanders sparkle and sport among the 
 Hames ; deep in the earth the meagre and malicious 
 gnomes pursue their revels, the forest-spirits be- 
 long to the air, and wander in the woods ; while 
 in the seas, rivers, and streams, live the wide- 
 spread race of water-spirits. These last beneath 
 resounding domes of crystal, through which the 
 sky appears with sun and stars, inhabit a region 
 of light and beauty ; lofty coral trees glow with 
 blue and crimson fruits in their gardens ; they 
 walk over the pure sand of the sea, among infinitely 
 variegated shells, and amid whatever of beauty 
 the old world possessed, such as the present is no 
 more worthy to enjoy ; creations which tlie floods 
 covered with their secret veils of silver ; and now 
 those noble monuments glimmer below, stately 
 and solemn, and bedewed by the water which 
 loves them and calls forth from tlieir crevices ex- 
 quisite moss-flowers and enwrcathing tufts of 
 sedge.'
 
 62 FOSSIL POETEIES. 
 
 It is not alone in Oriental tale that speakers 
 drop pearls : we can scarcely open our lips with- 
 out giving utterance to some rich primitive poetic 
 allusion. On what a grand perception of this 
 wondrous frame, with its boundless unity in 
 variety, is that Greek word 'KosMOs/ formed (the 
 creation is ascribed to Pythagoras), signifying as 
 it does harmonic order ! So the 'brunt' of the 
 battle is just where the battle hums hottest ; and 
 the 'welkin' (Saxon wealcan, to roll) is that 
 which rolls over our heads ! 
 
 The ' HALCYON ' days ! What a balmy serenity 
 in the name ! And its fitness becomes the more 
 apparent when we pierce to the secret the word 
 em\Taps. The Alknon was the name applied by 
 the Greeks to the Kingfisher. Literally it implies 
 sca-concciving, from the fact of the bird's laying 
 her eggs in rocks near the sea, and the ' aXy^vovibig 
 r,ij,Uai ' — the halcyon clays — were the fourteen days 
 during the calm weather about the winter solstice, 
 during which the bird was said to build her nest 
 and lay her eggs. 
 
 The imlm being to the oriental of such passing 
 price, at once food and shelter, we can easily 
 imagine how he would so enhance its value as to 
 make it the type of everything prosperous and 
 flourishing. Hence our 'palmy.' Sir Walter 
 lialcigh has this passage : 
 
 ' Notliing better proveth the excellency of this soil than 
 the abundant growing of the palm trees without labour of
 
 EO!>IAN VERSIFICATION. 63 
 
 man. This tree alone glveth unto man whatsoever his 
 life beggeth at nature's hand.' 
 
 'Style' and 'stiletto' miglit seem radically 
 very different words ; and yet they are something 
 more than even cousins-german. ' Style ' is from 
 the stylus, which the Greeks and Eomans employed 
 in writing on their tablets ; and as they were both 
 sharp and strong they were capable of being made 
 a very formidable weapon. Ctesar himself, it is 
 supposed, got his quietus by means of a stylus. 
 Many who have felt the bitter biting tooth of 
 ' SARCASM ' will hardly be disposed to consider it 
 a metaphor, even should we trace it to the Greek 
 sarkazo — to tear the Jksh off— literally to 'flay.' 
 'Satire' again, has an arbitrary enough origin. 
 It is satira from satur, mixed: the process of 
 derivation being as follows. Each species of 
 poetry among the Romans had its own special 
 kind of versification; thus, the hexameter was 
 used in epics, the iambic in the drama, etc. En- 
 niu.s, however, the earliest Eoman ' satirist,' first 
 disregarded this conventionality, and produced a 
 medley (satur) of all kinds of metre. It afterwards 
 lost this idea of a melange, and acquired the notion 
 of a poem directed against the vices and follies of 
 men. 
 
 How few who use that very vague word 'ambro- 
 sial' are conscious of the intimation it throws out 
 of the 'ambrosia' ( amhrotos, immori'dY) — the food 
 of the gods. It afterwards came to be u.sed in
 
 6t FOSSIL POETEIES. 
 
 the sense of a porfume, hence fragrant ; and that 
 is the primary idea of our 'ambrosial'— instance 
 Milton's 'ambrosial flowers.' The Immortals in 
 the golden halls of ' many-topped Olympus' would 
 seem to have led a merry enough life of it with 
 heir nectar and ambrosia : 
 
 ' And he kept pouring out for all the other gods, drawing 
 nectar from the goblet. And then inextinguishable laughter 
 arose among the immortal gods, when they saw Vulcan 
 bustling about through the mansion.' 
 
 7/20(7, Book r. 
 
 But not half as jully were they as Thor, Odin, 
 and the Northern braves, c^ead drunk over their 
 mead (meda, honey) and ale, from 
 
 ' The ale cellars of the Jotnn 
 "Which is called Brimir.' 
 
 Voluspa. 
 
 ' Serenade' wafts us away to that briglit Italian 
 land, where underneath the serene sky 
 
 Nox erat, et ccelo fulgebat Luna serena 
 Inter minora sidera, 
 
 the lover pours forth his amorous ditties, on the 
 odorous wings of the balmy air, to the ear of his 
 mistress and the night ! A passage from the older 
 editions of Milton will present us with the original 
 orthography of the word : 
 
 ' Nor in court amours, 
 
 Mixt dance, or wauton mask, or midnight bal.
 
 CAXA^nXY — HEALTH. 65 
 
 Or serenata, which the starved lover sings 
 To his proud fair, best quitted with disdaiu.' 
 
 Paradise Lost, lY. 767. 
 
 And Bacon gives the following account of the 
 origin of the word ' CALAinxY :' 
 
 ' Another ill accident is drouth, at the spindling of the 
 corn ; which with us is rare ; but in hotter countries com- 
 mon : insomuch as the Avord calamilas was first derived 
 from calamus, when the corn couldc not get out of the stalke.'' 
 
 Natural History. 
 
 This Etymology is at best dubious ; nay, it is 
 altogether probable that it v.'ill have to be quite 
 abandoned. And yet there is a good degree of 
 \Taisemblance in the word, for what could, in an 
 agricultural community, be a greater 'calamity' 
 than this ? 
 
 The word 'health' wraps up witliin it — for, 
 indeed, it is hardly a metaphor — a whole world of 
 suggestion. It is that which healeth or causeth to 
 be whole — wliat the Scotch call hale: that is, 
 perfect ' health' is that state of the man when there 
 is no discord or division in the system, but when 
 all the functions conspire to make a perfect one or 
 vjIloIc. Oarlyle makes a most effective use of this 
 word, 
 
 ' So long as tlie several elements of lifo, all fitly adjusted, 
 can pour forth their movement like harmonious tuned 
 strings, it is a melody and unison ; Life, from its mysterious 
 fountains, flows out as in celestial music and diapason, —
 
 t>6 FOSSIL POETRIES. 
 
 M'liicli also like that other music of the spheres, even 
 because it is perennial and complete, without Interruption 
 and without imperfection might be fated to escape the ear. 
 Thus, too, in some languages, is the state of health well 
 denoted by a term expressing unity : when we feel ourselves 
 as we wish to be, we say that we are whole.'' 
 
 Characteristics. 
 
 0, what a wealth of truth and beauty lies in 
 even our every-day, fireside words ! And what a 
 fragrance have even dry roots ! 
 
 Every nation has its legend of a Golden Age, 
 when all was young, and fresh, and fair, ' Gomme 
 Ics couleurs 2'>rimitifs de la nature' ere the shadow 
 of Sorrow — the shadow of ourselves — had stretched 
 itself over life: a morn of Saturnian rule, when 
 gods walked and talked with men. And even 
 now, in spile of our atheism and our apathism, 
 amid the Babel-din of the great Living Present, 
 the solenni voices of the Past return with soft 
 wailings of pity. In the moonlight of memory 
 they revisit us, those visions ! 
 
 The rainbow comes and goes, 
 
 And lovely is the rose ; 
 
 The moon doth with delight 
 Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
 
 Waters on a starry night 
 
 Are beautiful and fair; 
 The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
 
 And yet I know, where'er I go, 
 That there hath passed away a glory from the Earth ! 
 
 'Tis tlie mild, Braliminical Wordswoi'th that
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. G7 
 
 sings. Wordsworth, it will be remembered, in 
 that glorious ode — the 'Intimations of Immortality 
 from the Eecollections of early Childhood' — de- 
 velops the Platonic idea (shall we call Platonic the 
 thought born of every fine spirit?) of Anamnesis — 
 of a shadowy recollection of past and eternal 
 existence in the profundities of the divine heart. 
 ' It sounds forth here a mournful reminiscence of 
 a faded world of gods and heroes — as the echoing 
 plaint for the loss of man's original celestial state 
 and paradisiacal innocence.'* 
 
 And then come those transcendent lines that 
 are borne to us like aromatic breezes blown from 
 the Islands of the blest. 
 
 'Hence in a season of calm weather 
 
 Though inland far we be, 
 Our sonls have sight of that immortal sea, 
 
 Which brought us hither — 
 
 Can in a moment travel thither, 
 And see the children sport upon the shore, 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore!' 
 
 But, 
 
 'descending 
 From those imaginative heights that yield, 
 Far-stretching views into Eternity' — 
 
 wliat have Golden Ages and I'latonisms to do 
 with our word-strolls? A good deal. For lan- 
 guage, as tlie niiiTor of tlie inmost consciousness, 
 may illustrate botli. 
 
 * Frederick Schlcgcl : PJdlosophy of Life.
 
 fiS FOSSIL POETEIES. 
 
 Why is it that \\g generally speak of Death as 
 a orturn or a return liome ; and how is it tliat the 
 same thought has interwoven itself with the very 
 warp and woof of our speech and song? So 
 •decease' but implies a witlidrawal ; 'demise/ a 
 removal. It is curious to trace the thoughts in 
 the minds of men that have given rise to the 
 various words expressing death. Thus we have 
 the Latin 7nors — allied to moros and moira, and 
 hence, that which is allotted, appointed. But both 
 the Hellenic and Eoman mind was averse to ex- 
 pressing the dreadful realism of mortality, by these 
 strong words, and sought to veil it with such cir- 
 cumlocutions as vitam suam 7nutare, transire a 
 seculo ; ' Koi/jt,rjearo ^dXxiov Z--:rvo'j' (he slept the 
 brazen sleep. Iliad, 4th book) ; ' 7-01/ h a-Aomg Igg 
 IzaXv-^ev' (and darkness covered his eyes: Gth 
 book.) 
 
 But, why should we mourn departed friends, 
 since we know they are but lying in the sleeping 
 place — hoimeterion — 'cemeteey;' or as the vivid 
 old Hebrew faith expressed it, the liouse of the 
 living — Bethaim ? And thus we see that Language, 
 that primitive organic creation of the human soul, 
 testifies to our highest intuitions and aspirations, 
 and assures us that He who has, for a season, 
 enveloped us in the mantle of this sleep-rounded 
 life, will again take us back to his fatherly bosom. 
 
 Thus profound are the suggestions of Words.
 
 SPIRITUAL POTVEE OF WORDS. 69 
 
 And even those we toss about with the most 
 plethoric profusion and the most sacrilegious 
 indifference are often found, when we catch the 
 play of allusion, to be the most marvellous speak- 
 ing pictures. For coming as they do from the 
 informing mind, even the most startling metaphor 
 and the wildest poetic image has a law and logic 
 of its own. The Imagination bodies forth the 
 forms of things, vi.sionary, swift, shadowy; but 
 the living Word — the strain, or the statue, or the 
 picture, seizes the fleeting idols, and lo ! they stand 
 perennial and imperishable. Thence the Kin-ship 
 of the Arts. The Arts are one in that all are 
 outlets to the Spiritual. Beneath their finite 
 guises gleam down glimpses of the Infinite that 
 brightens over and embellishes all. High, clear, 
 and far up sounds their silvery voice, awaking in 
 the vasty deeps of consciousness thrilling tremb- 
 ling echoes, faint and far away, of the old eternal 
 melodies, and making even 
 
 ' Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
 Of the Eternal silence !'
 
 RAMBLE FIFTH. 
 
 FOSSIL HISTOEIES. 
 
 ' The most familiar words and phrases are conuected by 
 imperceptible ties with tlie reasonings and discoveries of 
 former men and distant times. When one counts his 
 wealth he finds he has in his hands coins which bear the 
 image and superscription of ancient and modern intellectual 
 dynasties, and that in virtue of this possession acquisitions 
 are in his power which none could ever have attained to, 
 if it were not tliat the gold of truth once dug out of the 
 mine circulates more and more widely among mankind.' 
 Whewell: J'MlosopTiy of the Inductive Sciences. 
 
 What vast historical results have come from the 
 modern studies on Language ! Comparative Phi- 
 lology studying languages as living organisms — 
 subject to organic laws of growth and decay — has 
 shown that we possess in speech a grand recorded 
 History of Humanity, where, in colossal outlines, 
 man, his affiliations, migrations, workings, growths, 
 are drawn. Primordial creation and manifestation 
 of the human mind, the development of language 
 runs parallel with the development of humanity. 
 Language is a perfect Geology, with its strata,
 
 THE GEOLOGY OF LANGUAGE. 71 
 
 formations and developments, and these infinitely 
 more intelligible than those of nature, because 
 intellectual, and — in the sublime thought of Bunsen 
 — carrying within themselves their order of suc- 
 cession in their own law of development. And 
 what a divining-rod has language proved in the 
 hands of the mighty modern masters ! This is 
 the true Eosetta-stone with which a Champollion, 
 and a Niebuhr, and a Eawlinson, have been able 
 to set the antique nations on their feet, and restore 
 the lost threads of the genealogy of mankind. 
 There is something sublime, and which opens up 
 new spaces in man, in that constructive Criticism 
 by which, from slight linguistic fragments the 
 great Niebuhr was enabled to restore the life and 
 history of the ancient populations of Italy. And 
 equally significant other great circles of induction. 
 By Philologic Science the European nations have 
 all been tracked back to Oriental fountains of 
 wisdom and thouglit ; Egypt has flashed up from 
 the deeps of fifty centuries with her antique and 
 august civilization, and now from the deciphering 
 of the cuneiform inscriptions of West Asia are 
 emerging those old Assyrian and Babylonian 
 worlds, venerable with years, coevals of primeval 
 man. 
 
 But with these colossal results of Comparative 
 Philology it is not our present pin-pose to deal. 
 "What I would show is that in Words themselves 
 we have pregnant histories embalmed — that in
 
 72 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 these medals of ilio mind we have the record of 
 'ancient and modem intellectual dynasties/ of 
 vast moral and social revolutions, of the un folding- 
 spirit of man. Words are the amber that enwraps 
 and retains these marvellous stories, the wit, and 
 the wisdom, the fancies, the follies, and the fail- 
 ings of humanity incarnated for ever. 
 
 Sometimes this history is that of a nation — with 
 the Spirit of its Laws, and its Eeligion, and its 
 Literature embalmed imperishable in these fleeting, 
 yet immortal breathings. And often, too, these 
 characters — these runes — are all that remain to 
 tell the chronology of Empires perished — their 
 
 ' Clond-capp'd towers, their gorgeous palaces, 
 Their solcmu temples ' 
 
 all evanished, and these brief articulations alone 
 left to tell the story of their existence. At other 
 times the story they tell may be less important. 
 It may be some historical event retained ; some 
 blasted hypothesis sublimated ; some man immor- 
 talized ; some creed with merely verbal credit ; 
 some poetic pulsation embodied ; or, it may be a 
 jSTation's Spirit — its glory or its shame stamped in 
 Tinfading colours in words tliat perish not. And 
 so they all have their family secrets — with now a 
 merely personal or incidental interest, and again 
 of national and universal import. 
 
 And these are the airy, the transient utterances 
 ■\\liich we are constantly giving forth without
 
 THE EOilANCE OF WOEDS. 73 
 
 heed, almost wdtlioiit a moment's reflection- 
 tossing them from us in prodigal profusion, as if 
 they had no wit or worth. Like the geodes that 
 we find on rivers' banks which, on the outside, 
 are rough, and dirty, and uninteresting, yet split 
 them open and the cavity within holds things rich 
 and rare— sparkling with crystals bright and 
 beauteous. So with the words we utter. They 
 seem from their very familiarity all trite and 
 homely : yet beneath this conventional surface lie 
 fine fancies, rich old legends and deep historic 
 lore. Let us, then, in these our Eambles, like the 
 Geologist, take our (Etymologic) hammer along 
 with us ; and, laying open the rocks we may 
 chance to meet, see if we cannot discover fossils 
 that tell of antique worlds, and compel them to 
 speak of the poetries, and the histories, and the 
 moralities of the old Time entombed. 
 
 The term 'ro:^iance' embalms an interesting 
 history of the chivalric era of the Middle Ages — 
 of that epoch when, in the words of Tieck, ' Be- 
 lievers sang of Faith ; lovers of Love ; knights 
 described knightly actions and battles, and loving 
 believing knights were their chief audience.' 
 
 Fully to appreciate the origin and application 
 of 'romance,' it will be necessary to transport 
 ourselves to France and the Ninth Century. At 
 this period we find an important transition takiiii? 
 place in the language : tlie Latin is dying out, 
 Frankish contributions are coming in, and a new 
 
 o
 
 74 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 speech arising, the Lingua Romana — the Romans 
 or Romance tongue. Now, as the tales of chivalry 
 — the lays of the Troubadours and Minnesingers — 
 so popular at this period, were written in this 
 idiom, the compositions themselves took the title 
 of Romances (Romans, romants, romaunts or what 
 not) : so that, in subsequent times, any composi- 
 tion that partook of the nature of these songs still 
 retained the api^ellation of ' romances,' and that 
 even after the distinct class of productions to 
 which the name legitimately belonged had died 
 out.* 
 
 AVhat a strange piece of history does 'oedeal' 
 contain ! It took its rise from a peculiar Saxon 
 custom. This was the trial — orclcel — to which 
 accused persons were sulijected to test their guilt 
 or innocence, and was of two kinds — by hot water 
 and by hot iron. The modus operandi was as 
 follows : The suspected person was forced to 
 plunge his hand as far as the wrist, or his arm as 
 far as the elbow (according to the magnitude of 
 the crime) into a vessel of water boiling 'furiously 
 hot ;' take out therefrom a piece of iron of a 
 certain weight, and, after having carried it a 
 certain distance, drop it. Then, after three days, 
 tlie hand was inspected to see if 'foul' or 'clean' 
 — and judgment pronounced accordingly. And 
 this literally very 'fiery trial' it is which gives 
 
 * Bishop Perc}' has some interesting particulars in his 
 ' Ancient English lieliquex.^
 
 OEDEAIi — WOESHIP. 75 
 
 point to our ' ordeal' and perhaps lies at the root 
 of our expression, ' I would go through fire and 
 water for you.'* 
 
 Another social custom of the Saxons has left us 
 several legacies. Among them every individual 
 was valued at a certain amount of money, to which 
 amount he was continually under bail for his good 
 behaviour. This sum, of course varied : the thane 
 so much — the churl so much — the thrall so much : 
 in fact it varied according to his wortli-shii) — what 
 we now call ' woeship.' ' Every man,' says Sharon 
 Turner, t 'was valued at a fixed sum, which was 
 called his vjere;X and whosoever took his life was 
 punished by having to pay this loere! Moreover, 
 in addition to this, there was a pecuniary fine im- 
 posed, called the ivite : § and a person thus paying 
 the forfeiture of all his loorth-ship presents us with 
 the original idea of a 'felon' — which is asserted 
 by some to be just/co-^w/i — destitute of property !\\ 
 
 * For besides the ordeal by hot water there was also 
 that of walking over red hot ploughshares. For a minute 
 account of this curious custom, consult Verstegan's 'Res- 
 titution of Decayed Intelligence,' and Turner's ' History 
 of the Anglo-Saxons.' 
 
 t History of the Anglo-Saxons, vol. H. p l; 2. 
 
 t The Scotch still retain the verb ' lo ware' — that is, to 
 expend. 
 
 § Compare with this the Scotch wytc, blame. 
 
 II But besides having the rrare and loilp. to pay, there was 
 also a fine imposed for tlie inJIiction of foiy personal injury, 
 and a curious system of anatomical economy arose. The
 
 76 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 An interesting passage from King Alfred will 
 give ns the original form of some significant words: 
 
 'This like, O King, (cyniny) does tliis present life of man 
 on earth appear to mc, compared with the time that is 
 unknown (iincuth*) to us : just like as thou sittest at feast, 
 among thy aldermen and thanes, (7md thinuni ealdormannum 
 and thegnum') in winter time ; and thy fire burns and thy 
 hall is warmed. And while it rains, and snows, and stirs 
 without (and Ml rene and snewe and styrine ui.e), there comes 
 a sparrow (spearwa), and quickly it flies through the 
 house {hus\)—com\ag in at one door and going out at the 
 other. Whilst it is amongst us, it feels not the wintry 
 tempest. It enjoys the short comfort and serenity of its 
 transient stay ; but then, plunging into the winter from 
 which it had flown, {he roma ofwinira in winter efccymew) 
 it disappears from our eyes. Such is the life of man,' J etc. 
 
 'King' is, we perceive, primarily cyning (or 
 Tcyninrf : cyning, cynig, cyng^'K.jng, i. e., King), 
 coincident with the German KOnig, that is, the 
 
 loss of an eye or leg, for instance, was esteemed to be ivortli 
 50 shillings; for 'breaking the mouth' a penalty of 12 
 shillings was imposed; for cutting ofi" the little finger 11 
 sh. ; for piercing the nose 9 sh. ; for cutting off" the thumb- 
 nail, for the first double tooth, or for breaking a rib, each 
 3 sh. ; for any nail and for any tooth beyond the first 
 double tooth 1 shilling ! 
 
 * We still say 'uncouth,'' i. e., any thing that is not couth 
 or kenned— that is unknown to us— a significant word in- 
 deed. 
 
 t Which we still preserve pure in /msband, i. e., house- 
 bund. 
 
 t Turner's Hist. Anglo-Saxons.
 
 KING ALDEEIklAN. 77 
 
 caiv-ning, tlie able, the powerful man : in regard to 
 which hear what Verstegau tells ns : ' And cer- 
 taine it is that the kings of monster nations were 
 in the beginning elected and chosen by the people 
 to raigne over them, in regard of the greatness of 
 their cowrage, valour, and strength, as beeing there- 
 fore best able to defend and governe them.' 
 
 'Axdeema:^' is evidently just elderman {ealdor- 
 man) that is, elder-man. It has reference to the 
 early Saxon society, when the people, imagining 
 that the ciders would be most likely to joossess wis- 
 dom and authority, chose to appoint them as their 
 rulers. This notion of the sagacity in grey hairs 
 seems to have been a rather common one. Thus 
 we have the Latin Senatus (our 'Senate') from 
 senex, an old man ; and the Greek Presbuteros — 
 our 'Presbyterian.' Indeed Homer thus lays down 
 the law: 
 
 ' For the minds of young men are ever fickle ; but when 
 a senior is present he looks at once to the past and the fu- 
 ture (before and behind) that the matter may be best for 
 both parties.' 
 
 Iliad, Book III. 
 
 * Everich for the wisdom that he can 
 Was shape lich for to ben an alderman.' 
 
 Canlerhunj Tales. 
 
 Chaucer does not tell us what this 'shape' was 
 like ; but there would seem to have been all along 
 a fiction of it's not being very tenuous !
 
 78 FOSSIL HISTOEIES, 
 
 Tlie very obvious connection of 'wife' with web 
 and the verb 7vcavc* has often been noticed: as if 
 it would insinuate that lucaving is the only legiti- 
 mate sphere of womanly occupation. And really 
 I doubt we will be compelled to receive the deriva- 
 tion, especially since the term ' spinstee' ai)pears 
 to point in the same direction. For it is impossible 
 to avoid perceiving that this word is formed from 
 the verb to spin; and King Alfred, in his Will, 
 designates the females of his house as the spincUe- 
 side.t 
 
 ' My Grandfather hath bequeathed his Land to the upear- 
 side [or spear-AaZ/] and not to the spindle-side. If, there- 
 fore, I have bestowed any of his possessions on a female, 
 my relations must redeem it, if they will, while she is liv- 
 ing ; but if not, it can be dealt with as we have before 
 settled.' 
 
 The Will of King Alfred, page 25. 
 
 Oxford, at the Clarendon Press, 1788. 
 
 Our industrious Saxon progenitors, therefore, 
 took it for granted that the unmarried women 
 would be employed in spinning. Chaucer makes 
 
 * Wefan is the Saxon form of the verb : Gei'man weben, 
 ■whence 'web'; and the German weib — Sax. wif—Eng. 
 ' wife.' 
 
 t As the female side was designated by the spindle, so 
 the male was by the su-ord or the spear. The Goths, how- 
 ever, employed a still more fantastic distinction, for man 
 they denoted by hat ; woman by hood.
 
 AECH.^OLOGY OF WOEDS. 79 
 
 the ' Wif of Bathe' thus give us the Whole Duty 
 of Woman : 
 
 ' For all swicbe wit yeven us in our birth ; 
 Deceite, weping, spinning, God hath yeven, 
 To woman kindly while that they may liven.' 
 
 The Wif of Bathes Tale. 
 
 Wlience it would appear that there may be more 
 than we might be apt to suppose, in the character 
 given of a certain Eoman jNIatrou : 
 
 'Domum mansit— lanam fecit' — 
 
 so quaintly and forcibly rendered by Gawain Dou- 
 glas, 
 
 * She keepit close the hous, and birlit at the quhele " 
 
 And more of tliis wondrous Archaeology of 
 Words. Playiiim was among the Eomans the 
 name given to man-stealing — ' the crime of know- 
 ingly buying or selling a freeman as a slave' — a 
 species of 'plagiary' which, it would seem, by the 
 way, is not yet quite extinct. But, since this has 
 become less appreciable, the word is now em- 
 ployed to designate the more palpable literary 
 thefts. liichardson cites the following : 
 
 ^Plagiarie had not its nativity with printing; butbogiui 
 
 in times when thefts were difficult, and tUc paucity of books 
 
 scarce wanted that invention.' 
 
 Drown^s Vuhjar i-^i kjuio. 
 
 The story which ' emolument' tells us furnishes
 
 so FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 an additional tint wherewith to fill up the picture 
 of primitive times : for do we not catch, lurking 
 therein, glimpses of the mola or mill, far in the 
 distance, on the edge of old Eoman wood or water? 
 And, in fact, all that ' emolument' at first implied 
 was that tit^ie of the grist which went to the miller 
 for grinding the grain — truly his Emohimcntum ! 
 ' Immolate' would seem to have no possible con- 
 nection witli the foregoing, and yet its alliance 
 til ere with is very close : molce was the word used 
 to denote grits or grains of corn coarsely ground ; 
 and, when mixed with salt, was called the mola 
 salsa, or sacrifice-meal — which mola was sprinkled 
 on the head of the victim previous to immolating 
 him : hence its apyjlication to sacrificing, offering 
 up. The connection of 'salaey' with sal, salt, is 
 also very obvious. And in fact the salarium was 
 primarily money for salt, then allowance of money 
 for a journey, and then, in general, pay, allowance. 
 It is said, nroreover, that Eoman soldiers were 
 wont to receive part of their pay in salt. 
 
 The connection of 'pecuniaey' with the primi- 
 tive idea of flocks and herds (ikcus) has already 
 been noticed. A fragment from Sartor Resartus, 
 v.hicli sounds forth here like a snatch of some 
 antique idyl, will put the matter in its clearest 
 li^ht: 
 
 ' \ simple invention it was in the old-world Grazier — 
 sick of lugging his slow ox about the country till he got it 
 bartered for corn or oil— to take a piece of leather, and 

 
 PECULATE — WEALTH. 81 
 
 thereon scratch or stamp the mere Figure of an Ox Cor 
 Peciis) ; put it in his pocket, and call it Pecunia, Money. 
 Yet hereby did Barter grow Sale, the leather Money is 
 now Goldea or Paper, and all miracles have been out- 
 miracled ; for there are Eothschilds and English National 
 Debts; and Avhoso has sixpence is Sovereign (to tlie length 
 of sixpence) over all men; command sbooks to feed him, 
 Philosophers to teach him, King to mount guard over him, 
 — to the length of sixpence!' 
 
 Sartor Resartus, p. 30. 
 
 From this same root (pccns) we get two other 
 instructive words, namely • peculiar' and 'pecu- 
 late.' The immediate origin of ' peculiar' is to be 
 sought in pcculium — ' the stock or money, which a 
 son, vjith the consent of his father, or a slave, with 
 tlie, consent of his master, had of his oivn; or ivhich 
 a wife has independent of her husband; private 
 propertij — hence, in general, any thing special or 
 particular to the individual — taking away which 
 would, doubtless, be 'peculating^ 
 
 "While on this subject it will not be amiss to 
 cause such terms as 'wealth,' 'chattels,' 'spoil', etc., 
 to tell us their story. 
 
 ' Wealth' is evidently that which vjealeth or 
 inaketh a man to be vxal, what we now call well* 
 \ — which %oeal or tvell Dryasdust makes out to 
 mean primarily stronrj, powerful. Nor is this 
 derivation at all improbable, seeing that all the 
 
 * 'Weal' is only used as a noun, 
 
 ' The weal or woe in thee is placed.' — Milton. 
 Yet in Scotland tlicy still use it as an adjective (wed).
 
 82 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 purposes of wealth are originally to make one 
 powerful, prevalent over liis enemies. So 'chatter 
 and 'cattle' are, at first one word — (Norman catal 
 — hatalla) ; but as the principal part of their 
 'chattels' — their 'goods' was in the shape of 
 oxen, sheep, etc., it is perfectly evident how the 
 signification would become absorbed in ' cattle,' 
 and that term be raised to typify all kinds of 
 moveable property. One word will let us into 
 the whole secret of ' spoil.' For s2')olmm primar- 
 ily implied the skin of an animal sb^iiot off, and 
 then extended so as to embrace any ' spoils ' what- 
 soever. A picturesque snatch of history indeed 
 is this primitive, self-helping man — a rude Goetz 
 von Berlichingen — tearing from the wolf or the 
 bear his hide and carrying it off as spoil. Virgil, in 
 Romulus, gives us a vivid picture of the character 
 in his old, heroic lineaments : 
 
 'Inde lupae fulvo nutricis tegmiue laetus 
 Romulus excipiet genteni,' etc. 
 
 What a long and entertaining yarn might be 
 spun out of the 'sardonic laugh !' We should be 
 compelled to travel back even to the days of 
 Greece's blind but sunny bard, whom we find first 
 alluding to the ' yiX^g gapboviog." Let old, lieroic 
 Chapman recite the passage for us : 
 
 ' Who [Ulysses] he heard, 
 
 Shrunke quietly aside and let it shed 
 
 His malice on the wall. The suffering man
 
 THE CUEFEW. 83 
 
 A laughter raised most Sardonian 
 With scorne, and wrath mixt.^ 
 
 Odyssey, Book XX. 
 
 And Eichardson cites a passage from Taylor's 
 Pausanias which sufficiently explains the origin 
 and application of the term : 
 
 'This same island [^Sardinia'] is free from all kinds of 
 poisonons and deadly herbs, excepting one herb, which 
 resembles parsley, and which, they say, causes those who 
 eat it to die laughing. From this circumstance Homer 
 first and others after him calls laughing which conceals some 
 noxious design : " sardonican." ' 
 
 Description oj Greece, vol. iii. p- 1-19. 
 
 The piece of history wrapt np in 'cuefew' is 
 very familiar ; but it will bear repetition. The 
 composition of the w^ord we know to be couvre feu, 
 that is to say, cover vj) your fires. So that whenever 
 
 ' The curfew tolled the knell of parting day,' 
 
 (and the bell rang regularly at 8 o'clock every 
 night), the good folks quietly raked up their fires, 
 put out their liglits and retired to bed, as peace- 
 able people should do. The word reads its own 
 story. And, by the way, it also points with unerr- 
 ing certainty to its originators. For we see that 
 the word is Norman : and, in fact, this very prac- 
 tice was established by William the Conqueror — 
 thatgrand innovator of Saxon manners and customs, 
 and introducer of French modes and morals. On
 
 84 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 this Nvoi'el "Webster has tlic following curious pas- 
 sage: 'The practice of ringing bells at nine o'clock 
 continues in many places, and is considered, in 
 New England, as a signal for 'people to retire from 
 coiiqmnij to their oivn abodes ; and, in general, the 
 signal is obeyed!' 
 
 By the way, fiends and fairies, as well as mortals, 
 were supposed to be subject to the same regulation. 
 Thus Edgar says : 
 
 ' This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at cur- 
 few^ and walks till the first coclc,' etc. 
 
 Lear^ III. 4. 
 
 'Eival' is another word of well-known origin. 
 The Latin adjective rivalis is literally that which 
 pertains to a — rivus — stream or rivulet ; and the 
 plural rivales was used to designate those who had 
 a hrooh in common, or loho got water from the same 
 brook* But, it being soon found out that this 
 circumstance was almost constantly productive of 
 contentions, the word lost this speciality of applica- 
 tion, and concentrated within itself the notion of 
 every thing that is bitter in animosity or fierce in 
 contention. And yet Shakespeare employs the 
 word in an altogether friendly sense. Thus when 
 Bernaixlo exclaims, 
 
 * ' Si inter rivales, ide st qui per euudem rivum aquam 
 ducuat, sit coutentio de aquae usu,' etc. 
 
 Ulpian Leg. L
 
 COMPANION — SIGN-IMANUAL. 85 
 
 ' If jou do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste ;' 
 
 Hamlet, I. 1. 
 
 he understands and iniends partners, sharers — part- 
 ners in the watch, even as those who live on the 
 same stream are sharers in the water. This use 
 of the word is now, however, entirely obsolete. 
 Still, we use ' companion'— which may just be one 
 who eats (panis) hread along with us — in a wholly 
 amicable application.* 
 
 The most perfect realization of the primitive 
 conception of ' rivals' is no doubt the ' Border- 
 men' — M'hom the magic wand of Sir AValter's 
 genius has unsepulchred, causing them to spring 
 up, clad ' in complete steel,' raging in the fury of 
 their deadly feuds. We catch glimpses of the old 
 baron issuing forth, witli his trooj) of mailed re- 
 tainers, bent on plunder, and returning with the 
 stolen cattle of their neighbours — leaving their sign- 
 manual in smoking liouses and desolated homes, 
 
 ' Sign-manual,' did we say ? Even this may 
 not be without its history. Does it not give us 
 liints of rude lion-hearted heroes, in those rude 
 yet romantic Middle Ages, 'whose signature, a true 
 fiign-mamcal, was the stamp of their iron hands 
 duly inked and cUipt upon the parchment.' f 
 
 * Webster, however, tai<c.s this word from con &u<i pan- 
 nus, a cloth or flag; and makes a ' companion ' one wlio is 
 nndcr the same standard. He is probably right. 
 
 t Carlyle : ' Stump Orator.'
 
 86 FOSSIL HISTOKIES. 
 
 Lo ! vise there up before the mind's eye the 
 ' CRUSADES ' — those enthusiastic expeditions against 
 the 'infidels' and the 'miscreants' — sending out 
 to 'saunter' to the holy sepulchre whole hands 
 of ' PILGRIMS ' who came home ' palmers.' 
 
 In these few words lies embalmed the entire 
 history of the movements. 
 
 The ' crusades,' that is the croisades, or cross- 
 ades — the ovss being the banner under which they 
 marched, each ' crusader,' moreover, bearing about 
 with him 
 
 ' The dear remembrance of his dying Lord.' 
 
 The Hiihj-land, we know, was the place whither 
 the 'pilgrims' (the ^;e^m?is — peregrini, i.e., the 
 wanderers) were wont to wend their steps ; which 
 knowing, we can readily conceive how the ijilgrim- 
 age might very soon degenerate into a mere 
 'sauntering' — and the 'palmers,' returning with 
 their branches of ixdm, use this symbol only as a 
 sanction for mendicity. 
 
 ' I am a palmer, as ye se, 
 AVhich of my lyfe much part have spent, 
 In many a fayre and fane countrie.' 
 
 Old Play (Quoted by Nares). 
 
 And more of the Middle Ages ! Our notions 
 of Chivalry are mainly derived from the sportive 
 phantasy of glorious old Cervantes' 'Don Quixote;' 
 but it must not be imagined that Miguel was the
 
 CHIVALEY. 87 
 
 first satiiist of Cliivahy. l^ay, our own Dan 
 Chaucer, two hundred years before his day, has 
 presented us with the prototype of ' Don Quixote ' 
 in his Rime of Sire TJiojms — a stanza of which 
 may not be un appropriate here: 
 
 ' Men speken of romaunces of pris, 
 Of Hornchild, and of Ipotis, 
 
 Of Bevis and Sire Guy, 
 Of Sire Libcux, of Pleindamonr, 
 But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour 
 
 Of real cJievalrie.'' 
 
 ' Chivaley' (or chcvalry, as Chaucer more cor- 
 rectly writes it), we, of course, perceive to be from 
 chevalier, which is just a cJieval-iev — a 7w?'se-man, 
 from the fact of the knights-errant riding on horse- 
 back.* 
 
 * Straw for Senek, and straw for thy proverbs ; 
 I counte not a panier ful of herbes 
 Of Scole terms.' 
 
 The MercTiardes Tale. 
 
 This contempt on the part of Chaucer is doubt- 
 less justifiable enough, especially since he 
 
 ' Slept never on the Mount of Parnasso, 
 Ne lerned Marcus Tullius Cicero.' 
 
 * As for ' KNIGHT,' it is the Saxon cnildy a boy, or ser- 
 vant—and subsequently used to designate a youth after 
 his admission to the privilege of bearing arms. And as 
 this privilege was only conferred on persons of fortune or 
 valour or favour, it acquired and retained its honourable 
 application.
 
 88 FOSSIL HISTOrJKS. 
 
 I quote the passage, however, merely to note 
 the old spelling of ' School' — Scdlc — a form which 
 approaches nearer to the original word, and gives 
 us a glimpse thereinto. Schole is the etymon, and 
 signifies primitively leisure — the ' otium cum 
 dignitate' so essential to permit of 'scholastic' 
 pursuits. The following passage, cited by Richard- 
 son, well illustrates the original meaning of the 
 word : 
 
 ' For liee pictured the noble ladie Hcsione, K. Alexander 
 the Great, and Philip the King his father, with the god- 
 dcsse Minerva; which tables hang in the Philosopher's 
 Schoole, or walkiiuj place, within the stately galleries of 
 Octavia, ii-here the leaned clerks and gentlemen favourers of 
 learninfj, ivere wont to meet and converse.^ 
 
 Holland's Plinie. 
 
 The archaic use of ' clerk,' in the above passage, 
 suggests a remark in regard to the history of it 
 also. 
 
 This word has, in its transition from its original 
 to the present application suffered divers changes 
 in signification. Thus the word is at first one 
 with clergy — (Latin clericus, Greek clericos — cleros)* 
 — and then, since the clergy were supposed to 
 absorb all the learning of the times — and what 
 could be a more conclusive evidence of this fact 
 than that we find ' clergie' meaning literature ? — 
 
 * Literally chosen by lot — the application of which is said 
 by some to have originated in the choosing of Mathias re- 
 corded in the Acts of the Apostles.
 
 FAECE — JEOPAEDY, 89 
 
 it came to signify a man of letters — ' Every one 
 that could read being,' as Blackstone informs ns, 
 'accounted a "clerk."' We next find it approxi- 
 mating still closer to its present usage — being 
 employed in the sense of a writer in an office : 
 and then, by an easy gradation, a shopman, a 
 ' clerk.' 
 
 We all recognize in 'faece' a sh(ffing of irrele- 
 vancies and ludicrous conceits ; but we will realize 
 this all the more forcibly, by noting that it 
 actually does mean something stuffed— the verb to 
 'farce' being formerly used in precisely that signi- 
 fication, as a passage from Sir T. Moore will well 
 exemplify; wherein he says with his usual 
 causticity : 
 
 ' Which was farforth /arsec/, stuffed and swole \v« vene- 
 mous Leresicb.' 
 
 ' Jeopaedy; agam, is a word that smacks of the 
 gaming table — the composition bemg in all proba- 
 bility that suggested by Tyrwhitt, namely, jm 
 parti— an even game, that is, one in which the 
 chances are equal, so tliat there is a chance, and 
 a dangerr, of its falling on either side — the whole 
 being wary jcopardous ! And this derivation wears 
 a still more decided air of probability when viewed 
 in connection with such passages as the following : 
 
 ♦And when he, thnrgh his madnessc and folic 
 Hath lost his owcn good tliurgh;« ;5ar^«,
 
 90 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 Then ho excitcth other folk thereto, 
 
 To lose his goodes as he himself hath do.' 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 Or in the following from Froissart : 
 
 ' Si nous les voyons lijcu partie' — If we see them at even 
 
 game, etc. 
 
 Chronicles, Vol. I. p. 234. 
 
 And more of the Archaeology of Words ! 
 
 'The Host looked steadfiistly at Adams, and after a 
 moment's silence asked him, ' if he was not one of the 
 writers of the Gazetteers, for I have hear,' says he, ' they 
 are writ by parsons.' ' Gazetteers !' answered Adams, 
 ' What's that ? '- 
 
 Fielding'' X Joseph Andrews. 
 
 Any school boy could now answer the good 
 Parson's interrogatory ; and tell him moreover, 
 that the 'gazette' first took its name from a 
 Venetian coin called Q.gazet or rjazcttct — and which 
 is said to have been the price charged for the first 
 newspaper. But even in England this word was 
 used as a designation for a small coin. Thus, 
 
 • Since you have said the word I am coiitont, 
 But will not go a tjnzf.t less.' 
 
 Massbirjer's Maid of Honour, III. 1, 
 
 A curious piece of history is contahied in our 
 application of the word 'inoculation.' Tlie 
 application, I say : for originally tlie verb to ' in- 
 oculate' merely signified to ingraft — literally, to
 
 EEVOLTJTIONAEY 'WOEDS. 91 
 
 insert — ocula — eyes, i. e., buds or grafts, in a tree- 
 And in tliis sense solely was it employed, until 
 the rise of a new practice (and the necessity of a 
 designation therefor) drew the word away from its 
 primary usage, and gave it an application alto- 
 gether novel. Here is a snatch of old rhyme- 
 rubbish anent the subject : 
 
 • If I had twenty children of my own, 
 I would inoculate them every one. 
 Ay, but should any of them die ! what moan 
 Would then be made for venturing thereupon. 
 No ; I should think that I had done the best, 
 And be resigned whatever should befall. 
 But could you really be so, quite at rest ? 
 I could. Then why inoculate at all?' 
 B'jrom on Inoculation. (Written when first practised). 
 
 Sometimes, again, there remain to us embers 
 and ashes from some mighty social or political 
 vMcano, or revolution (which is also a turning of 
 things upside down — revolvo, volutuin). Instance 
 ' septembklst' — a name given to those engaged in 
 the Paris massacre of Septcmher '92. This same 
 French Revolution has, moreover, left us 'sans-cu- 
 LOTTEs' — a term of reproach applied to the ultra 
 Republicans — that is, fellows so wretched as to be 
 even destitute of hreeches ! The ' Chartist,' too, 
 clearly lets us know that he goes in for his cJiarta, 
 or charter: and it is perfectly evident that the 
 ' Radical' believes in going down to the very rooi 
 — radix — of the matter, and upturning therefrom.
 
 92 FOSSIL HISTOEIES. 
 
 How perfectly faithful is the history 'mob' 
 gives us of itself. We, of course, instantly per- 
 ceive it to he a shortened form of mohilc — the 
 variable, ficlde, mohilc crowd that is swayed about 
 by any wind of caprice. This derivation receives 
 an additional certificate when we learn that it was 
 formerly written mohilc, in full, as a irisi/llahle. 
 Thus in the ' Song of an Orange,' among the State 
 Poems* we have the following: 
 
 ' Tho' the mobile baul 
 Like the Devil and all. 
 For religion, property, justice and laws.' 
 
 And in the days of Addison it was written as a 
 contract, that is, with a dot after it. But let him 
 speak for himself: t 'It is perhaps this humour of 
 speaking no more words than we needs must, which 
 has so miserably curtailed some of our words, that 
 in familiar writings and conversation they often 
 lose all but their first syllables, as in moh., red., 
 pos., incog., and the like ; and as all ridicidons 
 words make their first entry into a language by 
 familiar phrases, I dare not ansiacr fo7' these that 
 nmj loill not in time he looked wpon as ajpart of our 
 
 tonffiie !' 
 
 Two old Grecian words read us an instructive 
 history. 'Hypocrite' and 'sycophant' namely. 
 Let us lay open these words and see what treasures 
 
 ♦ Vol. III. 287. In Nares' Glossary. 
 ■\ Spectator.
 
 HYPOCEITE— SYCOPHAI^T. 93 
 
 they will display. ' Hypocrite' is written ^^2^0- 
 crites in Greek, and in its usual application implied 
 a stage-player, an actor* — hence one who feigns a 
 part, hence a dissembler, a ' hypocrite.' B\it this 
 application of the word is placed in a much 
 clearer light when we consider for a moment certain 
 peculiarities of the Grecian stage. From the im- 
 mense extent of the ancient theatres it was neces- 
 sary, in order to avoid a ludicrous disproportion, to 
 make the players— the hypocrites — by artificial 
 means, of a supernatural size. And as their roles 
 iDelonged chiefly to an antique and heroic age — 'mid 
 an atmosphere of stillness and repose — they were 
 the more readily able to effect this. Thus they 
 increased, by a hidden trumpet, the power and 
 volume of their voices — and they were generally 
 masked: so that they were in a double and still 
 more comprehensive and comprehensible sense, 
 feigners; and our acceptation of ' hypoceite' ac- 
 quires from the genesis of the word increased point 
 and pungency. 
 
 Of 'SYCOPH.VNT' the history is exceedingly curi- 
 oas. In Greece a Sycophantcs — sycophant — meant 
 2, fi/j-sho\ccr — tliat is one who gave information of 
 persons exporting figs from Attica, or plundering 
 sacred fig-trees ; and as such offices always carry 
 something opprobrious with them, and are emi- 
 nently exposed to abuse, it soon acquired the sig- 
 
 • Our verb to 'acC is often used in the sense of feigning, 
 pretending.
 
 O-i FOSSIL HISTOEIES. 
 
 nificatiou of a common informer, a false accuser, a 
 slanderer, a mean parasite. And even ' paeasite,' 
 which I see I have just chanced to use, flashes 
 across the mind an interesting piece of history. 
 The composition of the term would indicate that 
 it meant originally one who took Ms corn (sitos) 
 with another — and so lived at the other's expense. 
 But as this privilege was, among such characters, 
 generally paid for by obsequious flattery and 
 buffoonery, it readily acquired the odious signifi- 
 cation in which we now employ it. 
 
 Often, too, dwells there in some qTiaint old word 
 a fund of legendary lore, at which the imagination 
 takes flight, bearing us back to the fairy scenes of 
 old by-gone days. ' Foxglove/ for example, 
 which is just i\iQ folic s glove, that is, i\\Q good foW s 
 glove — the 'good people' being the affectionate 
 name by which the fairies were known to our 
 simple-minded ancestors, and by which they are 
 still designated by the Irish peasantry. We meet 
 with the same idea in the Welsh maneg ellyllon — 
 which is also the fairies' glove. 
 
 'Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, 
 And spirits!' 
 
 'Witch' and 'wizaed,' too, let us into the 
 weird phantasies of a superstitious people. For 
 both of tliese words are from the Saxo* verb to 
 hnovj — wisscn — simply signifying, therefore, a wise
 
 KOSICEUCIAN — MOONSHINE. 95 
 
 person — that is, one wliom they esteemed to be 
 supernatu rally wise. 
 
 'Rosiceucian' is a word that smells of the 
 Alchemical alembic. The composition is ros, dew, 
 and crux (crucis), the cross. Now the Rosicru- 
 cians — those Hermetical philosophers who appeared 
 in Germany in the Seventeenth Century — affected 
 a knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone and. other 
 chemical arcana : so that the name is peculiarly 
 applicable to them — dew being according to their 
 notions the most powerful solvent of gold, and 
 the cross being the emblem of light. Cabalistic 
 enough ! 
 
 Poor Luna, too, has had to suffer her own share 
 of odium. Not to mention the thousand fantastic 
 tricks formerly ascribed to her — such as her dis- 
 obliging dealings with meats and men — wdth what 
 infinite contempt do we talk about 'moonshine ;' 
 and it is to be feared that not even advancing 
 civilization will wholly rid us of belief in all 
 moony influences, since we have the superstition 
 firmly rooted in the very groundwork of our lan- 
 guage. Witness 'lunatic;' also the alchemical 
 'MENSTKUUM' (r/iensis — a month) ; and, by the way, 
 ' month' itself is just the time in which it moon- 
 eth.* 
 
 * The steps are just these : mooncth — moiielh — mouth. 
 Chaucer will furnish examples of the middle step. Thu.-, 
 ' This monelhes two.' 
 
 Canlerhitry Tales.
 
 96 FOSSIL HISTOEIES. 
 
 How often do we speak of our ' comeades,' and 
 yet how seldom do we think of the allusion we 
 continually make in doing so. Tlie French form 
 of this word is camarade ; Portuguese and Spanish 
 camarada; Italian camerata. Now this close 
 analogy is clearly significant of the common origin 
 of these words ; and in fact, we do indeed find 
 that the root of them all is the Latin camera, a 
 chamber: a 'comrade' is therefore, originally, just 
 a chambcr-felloiu. It seems strange why the Eng- 
 lish should have corrupted this word, while in all 
 the cognate languages it remains pure. And, 
 indeed, we find that formerly the word was not 
 ' comrade,' hxxt camarade. In Evelyn, for instance, 
 I find the following: 
 
 ' These are the particular klioras and graceful confiden- 
 ces now in nse ; iiitrodnced, I conceive, at first by some 
 vamerades one with another; but is mean and rude.' 
 
 Character of England. 
 
 Tliis, indeed, is one of the most important func- 
 tions of words : that they report and describe 
 themselves, and in their simple composition, 
 ofttimes tell us more than do the Encyclopaedias. 
 Words thus become a complete catalogue raisonnee 
 of all thoughts and things; and while they are 
 crystallized poetries and philosophies, they are at 
 the same time important scientific organs and 
 instruments. 
 
 The ' EUBY,' for instance, says plainly that it is
 
 LATIN DEEIVATIONS. 97 
 
 red — nibcr; and so 'RTJBEic' tells of the red paint 
 with which titles of laws were first painted. The 
 'NEGEo' carries hlach on the very face of him; 
 ' atjbuen' is quite literally sun-Mrned (hrennan), 
 while an ' album' is quite as j)lainly a white tahkt. 
 A ' eestoeatetje' offers to restore, or refresh ns ; 
 while an 'omnibus' invitingly affirms that it is to 
 ox for all; and a ' poetmanteau' jogs our memory 
 in regard to its ability to cr«T?/ our mantle for us ! 
 Then, again, 'puegatoey' informs us that it is the 
 place where we may jj'z^r^*? out our trespasses ; 
 while 'rosaey' proffers to conduct us through a 
 very bed of roses (rosarium). 
 
 ' Papee,' again, claims an intimate kinship with 
 the old Egyptian j^5«j?y??^s; a 'mangee' truly tells 
 us that it is that whereout cattle may manger — 
 cat; 'lieutenant' avers that he is merely one 
 who holds the place, who stands in lieu, of his 
 superior ; and a 'ceaven' basely confesses that he 
 lias craved or craven his life at his enemy's hand. 
 'Jaundice' truthfully aflirms that it turns its 
 victim yellow — jaune; and we cannot mention 
 ' electeicity' without being reminded of electron 
 or amher — a substance which so plentifully secretes 
 the fluid. 'Affable' encouragingly assures us 
 that it may readily be spoken to (affabilis) ; as for 
 ' infant,' if it could speak, it would tell us that 
 (etymolr)gically) it cannot speak (in-fan.s). 
 
 'Rkcipe' simply says, 'do thou take' (so and 
 so) ; 'eendez-vous' says, ' hetake yourselves' (to
 
 98 FOSSIL HISTORIES. 
 
 such and such a place; and this i^lace is the 
 •rendez-vous'); and the waiter, when he calls, 
 'Anon, sir,' means to say, 'In one (minute), sir.' 
 So 'biscuit' tells us that it is originally an article 
 which is his-cuit, his-coctus — twice-cooked; 'sueloin' 
 just informs us that it is sur (le) loigne — above 
 the loin, although a fantastic etymology would 
 give it the honour of knighthood, and make it Sir 
 Loin! A 'jniinistee' offers to minister to, or serve 
 us ; a 'tutoe' offers to looh after us (tueor) and a 
 ' prison' offers to take or hold one (prendre, frii). 
 'Shabby' affirms that it is at present cUshabillS; 
 while 'dandelion' seems to claim some strange 
 alliance with a lion's tooth — dent de lion, and a 
 ' privilege ' avers that it has its own ^^ri^)?/, or 
 private Icai) (lex — legis). Again, an ^authoe,' if 
 verily such, ought to be in every sense an auctor;* 
 that is, not merely one who produces something, 
 but — qui auctat — who positively incoxases — our 
 stock of knowledge and happiness. Tried by this 
 standard of etymology, how many of ' the mob of 
 gentlemen who write with ease,' will be found 
 wanting ! 
 
 ' Sheove-tide' we cannot help perceiving to be 
 the time when people were shrived, or shriven; so 
 'debonaire' is just as evidently de hon air — a 
 word which has unhapj)ily fallen into disuse, for it 
 is both beautiful and expressive enough to have 
 
 * It was formerly so written. I have seen it tlius as 
 late as 1557.
 
 FEENCH DEEIVATIONS. 99 
 
 been retained. So ' coeoner' and so on 
 
 through ten thousand other cases. But enough, 
 enough ! 
 
 The historical significance of "Words springs 
 from the fact of their being born of spontaneity. 
 Words thus formed unwittingly, and on which 
 the national mind, making and moulding, has 
 wrought, must be the very expression of the na- 
 tional life. They are the sanctuary of the intui- 
 tions. Here we should find a people daguerreotyped 
 in the very lineaments of life.* Nay even our 
 common, e very-day words and phrases will many 
 a time furnish keen hints of ethnic peculiarities. 
 Thus what is ' on the caviM' (sur le tapis) to the 
 Frenchman, for the Euglishman gets 'on the anvil;' 
 nor are the 'espeit' and 'causeeies' of the one 
 any more characteristic than the 'spleen' and 
 'humoue' of the other; and yet the Englishman 
 possesses a 'home,' while the Frenchman has only 
 a 'CHEZ nous' (at our place). And so the Parisian's 
 joli (frdty), to the Cockney — who is apt to cluster 
 most of liis ideas of a 'pretty feUow' around mirth 
 and enjoyment — becomes quite 'jolly.' And this 
 disposition leaks out through his very amusements, 
 
 * ' 11 est certain que la langue d'un peiiple contient, s'il 
 m'est permis tie m'exprimer de la sorte, Ics vcritables di- 
 raensions de son esprit. 11 est la mesure de I'etendue de 
 sa logique et de ses connaissances.' — M. le Fiesident de 
 Brasses. Traile de la Formation JSlechanique de LaiigneSy 
 etc. Tome I. 74.
 
 1 00 FOSSIL HISTOEIES. 
 
 SO that even with his 'cards' in his hand, he will 
 brawl and babble of 'clubs' and 'spades' (pique ct 
 trl'flc). There is said to be no equivalent for the 
 Italian 'concetti;' while nothing could prove 
 more mournfully the degeneracy of that once 
 heroic people than the fact that a villain or an as- 
 sassin is to them a 'beavo' (a hrave man). 
 
 The coincidence of 'travel' and 'travail' 
 rests on a piece of history worth exploring. ' Long 
 after the Frank had achieved the conquest, he well 
 remembered the vast amount of labour and blood 
 it had cost him to get over the immense walls with 
 which the Eoman tried to protect his fortified en- 
 campments and towers. To scale them, to get 
 " trans vallum" was the most difficult part of his 
 military labour ; so he soon came, by analogy, to 
 call every uncommon effort a "travail," and what 
 the Frenchman still ascribes to the labours in 
 childbed and the report of the minister of Finances 
 — apparently his hardest works as they are both 
 called " travail" by eminence, — the Englishman of 
 the Middle Ages applied to his labour in travel- 
 ling through foreign countries.' * 
 
 It is curious, also, to note in connection with 
 this, that we always designate a literary production 
 as a 'ivork' — what the Eoman termed his op.is 
 (plural opera) — what the Italian terms his opera, 
 only that he, dilettante-like, applies the word ex- 
 clusively to musical compositions. 
 
 * Prof. De Vcre :^ Comparative Philology.
 
 WOKDS OF SALUTATIONS'. 103 
 
 In connection with ' travel' 1 is. For here, 
 noticed that what was to the Frenchng. It is a 
 a day through, or a day's work (jourmct on dash- 
 to the Englishman his 'journey' — tht.e barriers 
 tion of which it will not be difUciilt to tr^, Into its 
 
 I have spoken of our forms of greet' allusion 
 parting, as ' good-bye,' which is just Goo passion 
 you; ' Adieu,' I commend you (a dieu) i 
 ' Farewell,' which is, may you fare or g natural 
 Perhaps there is to be read in these nationaliought 
 wishes a deep enough lesson : perhaps a one 
 that these spontaneous utterances may em^ and 
 the very spirit of the peoj)le. Thus the wa and 
 Iloman concentrated his best wishes in iling 
 'Salve !' — which is just ' May you be safe; any 
 into his 'Vale' — which, also, is naught otnall 
 than ' May you be well' — following his deparrms 
 friends even to the tomb with his last sad requie of 
 
 iW 
 ' Vale, vale, in eternnm, vale ! ' '' 
 
 id 
 
 The gay symmetrical Greek summed up his 'con- 
 gratulations' in his ' yaTf^i ! ' — ' ^lay you \^Q joyful; ' 
 while the profounder repose of the Oriental is 
 manifested in his ' Salaam ! ' — veace !
 
 100 
 
 so that even •" 
 brawl and br 
 tn-Jh). Tl- 
 ItaKan ' ( 
 more me 
 
 heroic iH j^ ^ ^^ j3 L E SIXTH. 
 sassm \i 
 
 The 
 
 -^^^^ WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 rests or 
 
 alter t^^ Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
 remertongue, yon stock fish,— for breath to utter what 
 it hacthee!— you tailor's yard, you bow-case, you vile 
 whic'g tuck :- 
 
 !ce Henry. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it 
 ^^ J and when thou hast tired thyself iu base compari- 
 ^^'hear me speak but this. 
 
 '^^^^ First Part of Henry IV. ii. 4. 
 
 cal 
 
 th'j remember that the disclosure which Prince 
 cH makes of the merry prank played on ' lean 
 -3k' and his companions effectually closed the 
 v,.-iter of tliat volcano which could vomit forth 
 naught save wit and braggardism: otherwise we 
 might have had a perfect exhaustion of Billings- 
 gate from that ' trunk of humours, that bolting- 
 hutch of Ijeastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, 
 that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak bag 
 of guts, that roasted Manning-tree ox with the 
 pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey 
 niquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years!' 
 As it is, however, we will find no lack of ma- 
 
 1
 
 n-ITTTTl XT'- 
 
 OEDS OF PASSION. 103 
 
 J supply the hiatus. For here, 
 is full to overflowing. It is a 
 ^s and foams — rushing on dash- 
 as ; which o'erleaps the barriers 
 convention, and sweeps into its 
 .nt history and metaphor and allusion 
 1 falsehood and poetry and passion 
 ;e and fact and fable. 
 . conceived language to be the natural 
 • the Passions. And really the thought 
 I small degree of warranty when one 
 prodigious word-fecundity of Love and 
 
 ',' ' -how they have ransacked heaven and 
 neat s '^ 
 
 is like symbols, exhausting nature and piling 
 
 standirie on hyperbole. Take away from any 
 Przwhat these have done for it, and how small 
 
 again ^nt will be left! As the skeleton forms 
 
 ^*^"^' aie-work on which the splendid drapery of 
 iman form is placed, so the most highly 
 
 Y^.^ated speech has its roots in homely and 
 
 TT y idioms and instincts — elemental utterances 
 
 y .man nature. 
 
 ^j„mong the most instructive of this class of 
 words are the terms wliicli the speech-forming 
 faculties have loaded with burdens of abuse. A 
 representative, that has grown familiar to us 
 all, of this wide-spread family of words is the 
 genus Billingfifjatc. Billingsgate pushes to enor- 
 mous proportions a principle tliat is vital in speech. 
 I'illingsgate is the burlcsfiuc of word-buildiiig.
 
 ] O-i WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 The metaphysics of the Abusive is exceedingly 
 curious. Tho very anatomy of Passion is here 
 exposed. Here, too, we may study elemental hu- 
 man nature — may read the primary thinkings and 
 feelincrs of men in their first rude efforts towards 
 expression. There are Words that remind me of 
 the monster organisms of a primitive Geologic 
 world. And there are workings of elemental fires 
 visible in Language, as volcanic rocks come mount- 
 ing and molten through the rib-walls of the planet. 
 
 What a subtle Analogist is Passion ! It harries 
 Nature for emblems, and reads the types of hu- 
 manity in bestial structures and instincts. Of the 
 workings of this law in Words we have already 
 met with traces. We have seen how that 'rascal' 
 bears the primary meaning of a mean wortJilcss 
 deer — how ' fanatic' implies a UrrvpU-dcvotce, and 
 liow 'clown' has its genesis in a tiller of the 
 ground. 
 
 And more of these Abusive sjonbols. 
 
 In merrie England, when the sovereign made 
 his 'progresses' throughout the kingdom, the train 
 of courtiers, nobles, etc., was generally followed 
 by the attendants, and the rear brought up by tlie 
 lowest class of menials — by the scullery-servants, 
 the turnspits, the coal-carriers, and others of that 
 ilk — rather a Uach guard, we should say : and, in 
 fact, they were jocularly designated by this very 
 term — an apX)ellation which, in the shape of our 
 ' ELACKGUAED ' remains even to the present day ;
 
 BLACKGUAED. 105 
 
 though why those poor devils came to he the ex- 
 clusive representatives of scurrility and meanness 
 It might be difficult to determine— unless, indeec{ 
 as we may well suppose, they were by no means 
 Ignorant, and as little sparing in their employ- 
 ment, of those pecidiar elegancies of diction which 
 are playfully ascribed to that classic region where 
 they seU the best fish and speak the best EngHsh. 
 Burton, by the way, speaking of the various ranks 
 and gi-adations of devils, alludes to this 'guard :' 
 
 'Though some of tbcm are inferior to those of their own 
 ranke, as the Blacke guard in a prince's court.' 
 
 Anatomy of Melancholy, p 42. 
 
 From 'blackguard' we ascend to the formuling 
 of a principle which we find exercising quite an 
 important influence over the Abusive Element in 
 speech, namely, that particular trades or pro- 
 fessions or ranks in life which involve somethinc 
 etleminate, or mean, or opprobrious— or which are 
 supjxjscd to do so-are taken as the types of these 
 qualities. Thus that vile sarcasm on tailors 
 which wickedly declares them to be but a vulvar 
 fraction of a man is of quite dateless antiqufty 
 wlnle .s/ioma/cm are proverbially 'sxobs.' How- 
 ever we find some compensation and consolation 
 in the fact that on this sul)jcct, too, tlie standards 
 of judgment vaiy. In France, for instance, tliey 
 do not typify this class by a shoemaker, but by a 
 rjroccr-^,^ . ^pieier' being the very beau ideal of
 
 106 WOKDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 twopenny flash and beggarly magnificence. 
 Another word that will conveniently come under 
 this same category is 'flunkey' — a term wliich, 
 in these latter days of fiimlccy-ism, has become 
 significant of sa much, but which primarily 
 imports merely a livery servant, a sense in which 
 the Scotch still use it. 
 
 Of similar significance is the word ' knave' — 
 a term which has sadly lost caste — sinking down 
 from an innocent loy or youth (as the German for 
 boy is still hiahe) to the very depth of rascality. 
 The intermediate step, however, throws a ray of 
 light on the terminus at which the word arrives. 
 For this middle meaning is that of a servant — 
 often enough, we know, apt to be Icnavish* The 
 course it has taken is, therefore, this : Primary 
 meaning, a youth ; secondary, a servant ;- tertiary, 
 a 'knave.' I shall simply exemplify under its 
 secondary signification. Thus, in the Duke of 
 Lauderdale's (apocryphal?) translation of the Bible, 
 the reading for, ' Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ' 
 is said to have been, 'Paul, a hiave oi Jesus Christ.' 
 And in the following quaintly curious passage 
 from Chaucer, we have the most unequivocal 
 proof of this employment : 
 
 ' Ne tak no wif, quod he, for husbandrie, 
 As for to spare in household they dispence : 
 A tnce servant doth more diligence 
 
 * 'Valot' and ' varlet' •w:ere, it is surmised, originally 
 one wortl.
 
 DERIVATIONS. 107 
 
 Thy good to keep than doth thla owea wif, 
 For she wol claimea half part al hire lif. 
 And if that thou be sicke, so God me save, 
 Thy veray freades or a trwe knave 
 Wol kepe thee bet than she that waiteth ay 
 After thy good, and hath don many a day.' 
 
 The Merchaittes Tule. 
 
 Deep, too, are the traces iii Words of the working 
 of the spirit of caste. ' Vulgae' properly implies 
 what has relation to the vulrjus or common people, 
 as ' VULGATE' means the translation of the Scrip- 
 tures made for this same vuhjus. And it is an 
 interesting confirmation of this thwarting of 
 nieaning that ' lewd,' which carries with it the 
 meaning of vile, profligate, is also from a Saxon 
 root signifying the common people — the lay j)eople. 
 So, 'mean' has an analogous origin with the many 
 — Saxon wflgTu;^; and 'churl' is just the Saxon 
 for a man, a fellow — ccorl:* a sense which the 
 Scotch carle still retains as 'cantie carle,' that is, 
 0. rrtcrry fellow. Again, 'boor' is Dutch for /«r- 
 mer; 'RUSTIC' is having relation to the country; 
 'pagan' is primarily a dweller in a payanus or 
 hamlet ; ' savage,' or sahaye, as the truer ortho- 
 gi-aphy would write it (Spanish sahaye, Italian 
 sclvayyio), is a dweller in tlie woods (sylva ) a 
 haclcivoodsnian : and 'villain' is primitively the 
 serf or peasant (fillmiiLs) attao.hed to tlie villa or 
 fann. Nor does it originally bear with it any 
 
 • Whence Carl, Carolus, Charles, etc.
 
 ] 08 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 c)pprobrioiis meaning. Thus, in Cliaucer: 
 
 ' But fii-ste I praio you of your curtesie 
 That yc ne asette it not my vilanie, 
 Though that I plainly speke in this matere, 
 To tellen you hir wordes and hir chere 
 Nc though I spcek lilr wordes proprely.' 
 
 Proloijne to the Cantcrhury Taica. 
 
 ' Vagabond,' too, is well worth exploring, being, 
 etymologically, merely one who is given to tvan- 
 dering a&oiti— vagabnndus— or, as we also say, 
 'vagrant'*— and primarily carries nothing oppro- 
 brio°ns with it. The Prince Gonzaga di Castig- 
 lione, at least, intended to employ itin an altogether 
 complimentary manner when, being at table wnth 
 Dr Johnson and a host of learned pundits, he called 
 out to Johnson: 'At your good health, Mr Vaga- 
 honcir imagining thatiohQ assuredly an appropriate 
 epithet for the author of the Ramhler! It is 
 (Tirious, and not uninstructive to note in connection 
 with this, how the staidncss of our ancestors has 
 stamped respectability on every thing that is 
 
 * Both of these words spring from one root— vagor, to 
 rove, to ramble ; vagabond being a corruption of vagahundus; 
 and' vagrant' a corruption through the French, of the 
 present participle. The story that these words and their 
 analogues enwrap is curious enough. The very fact of 
 being'a icanderer would seem to presuppose some sinister 
 design; and express provision is made, at least in all 
 civilized countries, for the punishment of this very class. 
 In England, for instance, the ancient punishment was, I 
 believe, boring the ear, whipping, etc.
 
 VAGABOND — IDIOT. 109 
 
 settled; wliile it lias cast a slight on every tiling 
 that approaches to roving. Thus Swift uses 
 'stroller' as precisely synonymous with 'vagabond ;' 
 while one given to roving is proverbially a 'ne'er- 
 do-weel' (a never-do-well) as the Scotch say. Fur- 
 thermore, a 'coesaie' (French, corsaire; Italian, 
 corsare; Spanish, corsario — all from Latin curro — 
 cursus, to run), is just one who, with his vessel runs 
 over, or scours the sea. 'Wanton,' too, is said to be 
 merely one who is given to loandcring ; and there 
 is a derivation of ' wretch' — in Saxon xcrcecca — 
 which would make it out to be simply one who is 
 7vrecked — who ^s driven about, and who has no 
 certain dwelling-place ! 
 
 Let me take an additional instance illustrative 
 of this class of abusive words. It shall be ' idiot' 
 — a word that has undergone some strange vicissi- 
 tudes, and forcibly illustrates how in Words 
 secondary strata of signification frequently overlap 
 the primary. The original meaning of idiotes is a 
 private person, in contradistinction to one engaged 
 in public affairs. Its secondaiy signification was 
 one wlio had no professional hnoiolcdfje of any 
 subject trhatcver : and Plato makes such a colloca- 
 tion as this, to/jjdJ; ?/ IdiuiTj); — a poet or an . . . 
 -idiot, by wliich term we are to understand a prose- 
 vjriter. Its tertiary signification, and s^iringing 
 naturally out of its secondary, was that of an 
 i'jnorant, ill-informed man. 
 
 Thus far and no farther, in Greek; thus far
 
 1 1 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 mid 110 farther, in Latin. But it never meant an 
 Hdiot:' tliat stretcli of application was reserved for 
 our modern imnginations. Tor even as late as tlie 
 days of WicklilT, I find it employed it its legiti- 
 mate signification. Thus : 
 
 ' For if thou blcssist in spyrit, who fille'tli tlie place of an 
 iibiot [qui siipplet locum idiotae] how schal he seie amen 
 on thi blessyng?' 
 
 I. Cor. cliap. 14. 
 
 • Here ' idiot' is, we know, rendered, by subse- 
 quent translations, ' he that occupieth the room of 
 the nnlearned.' is 
 
 The reason of this unwarranted ai')plication of 
 ' idiot' might be difficult to determine, unless it 
 he that he who has not been able to get beyond 
 the condition of a private person {ihuirni) and 
 attain to some office or honour, presents thereby 
 2m7na facie evidence of not having the wit to do 
 so, and i8> therefore, to be regarded as witless and 
 imbecile 1 
 
 But the Abusive faculty, not content with 
 ransacking human nature for appellations black 
 and bitter, is fain to go and beg or borrow from 
 tlie lower animals epithets fitted to its ehds. 
 ' Divers words expressive of contempt beeing,' as 
 an old English Archreologist has it, ' properly the 
 names of some vile things, and in contempt and 
 disgrace, full often, and with great hreach of
 
 CRONE — YIXEX. Ill 
 
 charitie, injuriously applyed unto men and women.' 
 It is no respecter either of persons or things. 
 Willing or unwilling, it presses universal nature 
 into its service. 
 
 'Ceone' (whence our 'crony'), for instance, is 
 said to be properly the appellation for a toothless 
 old eioe, and then applied, in passion and sarcasm, 
 to an old woman — an old 'hag,' which, by the way, 
 meant primarily an enchantress or fury. ' Shrew,' 
 also, is asserted by Lye to have been taken from 
 schreaiva, or shreio-mouse — a little creature whose 
 spitefulness was proverbial, and whose bite and 
 venom are even said to have been fatal.* The 
 variations in the orthography of ' vixen ' will lead 
 us, by the nearest road, up to its source : the steps 
 are as follows : Vixen, fixen or fixin, foyf-Qn = a 
 
 ♦ In regard to this word, Webster says: 'I know not 
 the original sense of this word . . . but heshrew, in 
 Chaucer is interpreted to cnrse.^ Most assuredly it is, 
 and quite properly, too! The fact is Webster was led 
 astray by Todd, (see Todd's Johnson's Diet. : in loco) who 
 makes the noun, (a shrew-mouse), a derivative from the 
 verb, (to shrew, to curse). Whereas the reverse is un- 
 doubtedly the case. This arrangement, too, exhibits, and 
 accounts for the natural development of the derivatives. 
 Thus: 
 
 A 'sriRKw' is a woman possessed with the contentious 
 spitefulness and venom of a shrew-mouse. 
 
 To ' snRKw ' is to wish one to be struck< as with the 
 mortal venom of a shrew-mouse, and in general, to 
 curse. 
 
 'Shkewi>' is just ahrew-ed^ curst, malicious — in this
 
 112 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 she-fox: from wliicli point of view our readers 
 will readily perceive its peculiar applicability. 
 Aud one can imagine some old hag, white and 
 foaming with rage, endeavoxiring to conjure up 
 something overwhelming wherewith to stigmatize 
 some of lier fellows — and at last screaming out, 
 ' You . . . you . , . you ' quean !' ' — 
 that is, you barren old cow — cwean being the Saxon 
 designation therefor. 
 
 As for 'CAT,' and bitch,' and 'cue,' and 'horse,' 
 and 'ASS,' and others such lilce, (of which we have 
 a numerous enough tribe), they require no particu- 
 larization. But it might puzzle one's wits to say 
 what special stigmatic force there lies in 'mandrake,' 
 unless one receive all the wild fables that clustev 
 around that strange plant. 
 
 In the following, for example, it is undoubtedly 
 used in an abusive sense — ^vhere Falstaff,. address- 
 ing his page says : ' If the prince put thee into my 
 service for any other reason than to set me off, 
 why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson 
 mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, 
 than to wait at my heels,' etc. — Sccand Pari of 
 Henry IV., I. 2. 
 
 sense used a tliousand times by Shakespeare, and his 
 cotemporaries ; aud then softened down to what is merely 
 a/^, sagacious. 
 
 To 'uEsiiKEw' is simply another (strengthened) form 
 of 'to sukkw ;' and heuce Chaucer's 'interpretation' 
 thereof.
 
 MANDE^UiE — TAWDEY. 113 
 
 Here, we XDerceive, the applicability hangs ou 
 the old notion of the mandrake's bearing a certain 
 resemblance to tlie liuman figure, especially to a 
 diminutive person. On this quaint fancy, Nares 
 quotes the following curious passage from Lyte : 
 ' The roote is great and white, not muche unlyke 
 a radishe roote, divided into two or three partes, 
 and sometimes one upon another, almost lyke the 
 thifjhes and leggcs of a man.' 
 
 It was, moreover, supposed that this plant, 
 when torn up from the ground, uttered groans so 
 liorrible as to drive any one mad who chanced to 
 hear it. 
 
 By the way, ' mandeake ' is a corruption from 
 mandrcgora — the peculiar soporific effects of which 
 a familiar jDassage in Othello will have imprinted 
 on the reader's memory : 
 
 ' Not poppy, nor mandrar/ora^ 
 
 Kor all tbe drowsy syrops of the world, 
 Shall ever medcciiie thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst yesterday !' 
 
 Tims we often times find embalmed, even in 
 words expressive of contempt, quite an important 
 fact or i'aljle. From the unpromising ' tawdey,' 
 tor example, we evolve quite a piece of history. 
 For it is asserted to be a contraction from St 
 Audrey (or Saint Ethclrida) — a name commonly 
 applied to an annual fair held on >S'^ Atuhnj s (\c\\ , 
 and at which all kinds of frippeiy and tiinkets
 
 1 1 !< AVOKDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 were bought and sold : but as these articles gen- 
 erally possessed more glitter than gold, and their 
 splendours were too often sadly faded, it soon came 
 to acquire the meaning which we now attach to 
 the word ' tawdry : ' ' That toas bought at St Audrey- 
 fair /' and so ' tawdry.' By the way, the fair saint 
 herself is said to have been rather attached to 
 finery — so much so, indeed, as to have died of a 
 swelling in the throat, sent as a special visitation 
 on account of an ardent youthful fondness for fine 
 necMaccs! Many of my readers may remember 
 the very strange story which Home Tooke compels 
 from ' POLTEOON.' He takes it from joollice truncus 
 — one that has deprived himself of Ids thumb, a 
 derivation in which he is supported by the elder 
 Etymologists, as Vossius, Skinner and Menage. 
 'Multi enim illo tempore, quia necessitate ad 
 bellum cogebantur prre ignavia sibi jJollices trtmca- 
 hant, ne militarent!' Some doubt has indeed 
 been cast on this etymology, and yet here is a 
 passage giving so perfect a realization of the 
 primary idea of 'poltroon' that one can scarcely 
 resist accepting it : 
 
 ' In October 1795, one Samuel Caradise, who had been 
 committed to the house of correction in Kendal, and there 
 confined as a vaj^abond until put on board a King's ship, 
 agreeable to the late Act, sent for his wife the evening 
 l)efore his intended departure. He was in a cell, and she 
 spoke to him through the iron door. After which he put 
 his hand underneath, and she with a mallet and chisel,
 
 SCOUNDEEL — STICKLER. 1 1 5 
 
 concealed for the purpose, struck off a Jtiujer and thumb, to 
 render him unfit for his Majesty's service.' 
 
 And similar in origin is ' scoundrel' — said to 
 be the Italian scondaruole, that is, a soldier who 
 ohsconds or skulks at muster-roZc; 
 
 'Go, if your ancient, but ignoble blood 
 Has crept through scoundrels ever siuce the flood !' 
 
 Pope. 
 
 And similar, too, are 'dastard,' coward,' and 
 'CRAVEN.' A 'craven' is one who has craved or 
 craven his life at his enemy's hands. 'Dastard' 
 is from the Saxon verb Dastrigan, to be scared, 
 frightened. And 'coward' is from a verb that 
 is new obsolete in English, though it is still a 
 living vocable in the Scotch idiom — to coivcr, to 
 shake, to shiver. Of its use I find such examples 
 as this : 
 
 'Winter witii his rough winds and blasts cnuseth a lusty 
 man and woman to cum-re and sit by tlie fire.' 
 
 Or this : 
 
 * And she was put, that I of talkc 
 Fcrre fro these otlicr, \\\) in a iialko ; 
 There lurked, and there cowred she.' 
 
 JlimaiuU of the Rose. 
 
 Our slightly contemptuous term 'stickler' has 
 rather anunex]»ccted derivation. A citation from 
 Shakespeare will let us into the secret. In Troilm 
 and Crcssida, after
 
 116 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 ' Achillea hath the mighty Hector slain,' 
 
 he exclaims : 
 
 'The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth, 
 And stickler like the armies separates,' etc. 
 
 Like a 'stickler,' that is, like an arbiter. A 
 'stickler' in a duel was, therefore, what we now 
 term a ' second ;' and as their duty — namely that 
 uf seeing fair play, equal advantages, etc., between 
 the combatants — would often lead them to chaffer 
 and contend, and ' stickle' in regard to special 
 points or punctilios, we can readily conceive how 
 it came to acquire the meaning in which it is 
 now used. The reason of their being called 
 '6-i!z ciders' is said by Stevens to have been from 
 their carrying white sticlcs as emblems of their 
 duty. 
 
 ' Heretic' gives us some keen hints respecting 
 the causes of religious intolerance and the odium 
 theologicmn. For Ilairetikos (Greek haireo, to take 
 or choose for oneself) originally implies simply one 
 who chooses an opinion for himself, without any 
 reference to the truth or falsity of that opinion. 
 But as bigotry never can endure that any man 
 ^r-Jioose a belief that it does not choose for him, and 
 ^s never half so much at home as when anathe- 
 nizing all who cannot subscribe credo to its every 
 jjlogma, we can readily conceive how this innocent 
 
 ord acquired the meaning of one who holds
 
 INFIDEL — BAEBAEIAN. 117 
 
 erroneous, and, consequently, had opinions ! 
 Hobbes, in tlie following passage, well illustrates 
 tliis Avord : 
 
 'The word here-ty is Greek, and signifies a talcing of 
 anything, particularly the taking of an opinion. After the 
 stiuly of Philosophy began in Greece, and the philosophers, 
 disagreeing amongst themselves, had started many ques- 
 tions, not only about things natural, but also moral and 
 civil, because every man took Avhat opinion he pleased, 
 each several opinion was called a ?*e?-e.«!/ ; which signified 
 no more than a private opinion, without reference to truth 
 or falsehood.' 
 
 Hobbes' Historical Narration concerning Uereay. 
 
 It should also be noticed that 'infidj l' literally 
 l)ut imports one who is faithless (infidelis) to our 
 beliefs. In the wars of the crusades the epithet 
 ' infidel ' was applied to the Mohammedans, eveiv 
 as the Normans called them 'misceeants'-4 
 mescreaunts — which is also unbelievers. And it is 
 a curious fact that the Turks, resenting, stigmatized 
 the Christians as 'giaours,' which, I am told, 
 sir^nifies in their language infidel or unbeliever, 
 
 also ! 
 
 We are all familiar with what infinite contempt 
 the Greeks were wont to look down upon all 
 foreign nations — branding them universally as 
 ' barbarians.' The word ' barbarian ' itself, how- 
 ever, is by no means so easily traced. Gibbon 
 makes it Syrian, while otiiers declare it to be 
 merely intended as a general imitation of a (to
 
 1 1 8 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 the Greeks) foreign, tongue. Tims we see how 
 entirely relative are all such terms, whether ethical 
 or ethnical. But so do words acquire a factitious 
 value. How are we under the sway of Words ! 
 They tyrannize over and terrify us — 
 
 ' Assume the nod, 
 Afiect the god,' 
 
 as though they really had some inherent virtue 
 and vak ^leirown, and were not m themselves 
 most pov '<;ken and impotent ! 
 
 lu thus Ci - cing words into epithets of slight, 
 sad injustice is often done to innocent terms. 
 ^^ Indeed it frequently happens that words that 
 ^^^^are now employed in a scornful or opprobrious 
 '^'^^sense, were once terms of honour. Of this process 
 ^^^Sf degradation 'imp' affords a striking illustration. 
 '^'■^•^ VShr^espeare 'imp' constantly means a son, and 
 led, its primary signification is a shoot or scion. 
 
 \e( 
 
 ' Save tliy grace, king Hall, my royall Hall. 
 The heavens thee guard and keepe, most royall impe of 
 
 fame.' 
 
 First Part of Henry IV. 
 
 And Spenser employs it in addressing the Muses : 
 
 ' Ye sacred imps that on Parnasso dwell, 
 And there the keeping have of learning's treasures.' 
 
 Faerie Q'leene.
 
 BIPOSTEE — HUSSY. 119 
 
 'Beigand' is most palpably formed with malice 
 2)repensc : for originally it signified merely one 
 who lives on a hng, or summit — a mountaineer. 
 Surely the word deserves a better fate ! So does 
 ' uiPOSTEE ;' but, indeed, any species oi putting on 
 (im-posing) is so apt to be an imposition that 
 there is no wonder the word has taken this course. 
 But we cannot offer this excuse for a 'beldame' 
 — which is every letter a fine lady (a helle dame) ; 
 or, at least it is nothing worse than a grandmotlur* 
 Chaucer furnishes examples of its employment in 
 the first sense, and Shakespeare in the last. In 
 the First Part of Henry IV., for instance, we find 
 Hotspur speaking as follows : 
 
 ' Oft the teeming Earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of nnnily wind 
 Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldame Earth, and topples down 
 Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth 
 Our (jrandum Earth, having this distemprature, 
 In passion shooi<.' 
 
 And why a house-wife or Imsioife (pronounced 
 huzzif, and hence the Scotch 'hizzie') — honest, 
 thrifty soul— should degenerate into a mere 'hussy,' 
 seems quite inexplicable. There is surely mriUce 
 
 * Beldame was the word for grandmother ; lelsire for 
 gi'andfather. Note that a French ladij (dame) sobers down 
 to an English ' darne.'
 
 120 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 jn-qjense here; or else some sad degeneracy in 
 housewives themselves ! But, indeed, 'ninny' has, 
 if xjossible, received even worse usage. It is 
 certainly so, at least, if we derive it from the 
 Latin nanus, a dwarf And as for ' nincoivipoop,' 
 he mournfully confesses that he is 7ion comiws — 
 not of a sound mind ! And yet surely 'cuemud- 
 CtEOn' {cccur mediant, bad heart) has not so had a 
 heart as it would make us believe ; while lubber, 
 it is said, primarily implied just a tall, strapping 
 fellow ; 'junto' oiight to be nothing more than a 
 body of men — j unctus —yomcc? together; a 
 'natukal' has been compelled to bear the burden 
 of a/ooZ, and 'silly' has its root in the German 
 ' selig,' Messed I 
 
 ' Dolt' is descriptive enough : it is simply one 
 who is dulled. So 'lout,' which is connected 
 with lo7v, and ' MONSTEE,' which is just a sight. 
 ' Ruffian' is of the same root with roller, and a 
 ' eoue' is a fellow so bad as to deserve to le Iroken 
 on the ivheel! A 'deab' all too truthfully 
 declares hei'self to be the dralle — the lees, or, as 
 we say, the very dregs of society ; while ' SCUE- 
 rility' palpably declares that it is only fit for the 
 mouth of a smrra, or buffoon. A 'chaelatan' 
 (Spanish charlar, to prate) is quite as evidently 
 merely a prating fool, and all that he says sheer 
 ' rubbish' (originally something ruh\>e()i off, refuse)) 
 while a ' pettifogger ' has 2^dii7iess or littleness 
 written on his very face. 'Cant' is a thing of
 
 PARTY WOEDS. 121 
 
 which unfortunately we have no lack ; and yet the 
 7voi'd itseUis involved in considerable obscurity. 
 However, a likely enough origin for it is the Latin 
 canto (cam), to sing: and hence that peculiar 
 M'hining, sing-song tone common to jugglers, 
 sturdy vagabonds and other imposters, reiigious 
 and scientific. From the manner it was after- 
 M-ards transferred to the thinff itself. 
 
 Many a time, too, the Abusive reaches out to 
 fantastic lengths. 'Haie-beaDsEd' is just hare- 
 hraimd, a ' scape-geace' is one who has escajml 
 merely by^mcc or favour, and 'jackanapes' is jack 
 and ape. So we have 'bore,' 'booby,' 'black- 
 leg,' 'bumpkin,' 'loose-fish,' 'smell-feast,- 
 'TRE^x■HER-FRIEND.' 'ScAMP' is Connected with 
 scamper; 'caitiff' is one wlio is taken— literall}^ 
 rxiptii-c. And how often do we hear persons 
 stigmatized as 'numskulls' and 'thickskulls' 
 and -blockheads'— though why they should be 
 7Voc/j-lieads, I know not; unless it be that the 
 head of such an one may be supposed to be pos- 
 sessed of all the stolidity and all the woocknncss 
 of a Hock. As for 'rapscallion,' 'slubberde- 
 GULLION,' etc., language is here whirled away into 
 the realms of the hopelessly grotesque. 
 
 Interesting, too, are the opprobrious names that 
 have been applied in scorn, contempt or hatred to 
 parties and sect.s. The terms 'whig' and 'tory,' 
 for example, have both their origin in the malig- 
 nity of the opposition. Their derivations arc,
 
 1 0-2 WOKDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 however, too familiar to induce us to delay over 
 them. However imrc the 'Puritans' may have 
 been, both in walk and conversation, it did by 
 no ineans save the name from falling into sad 
 contempt ; and however methodical the ' Metho- 
 dists' were, it did not prevent the derision, which 
 Sidney Smith, from the Edinburgh Review, so 
 plentifully lavished upon them, from taking effect 
 in the scornful associations which, for so long a 
 time attached to the name. 
 
 In like manner, we can easily conceive how the 
 ' Quakers' came to be designated by this appel- 
 lation ; and Dean Swift, in a passage of dubious 
 character,* which I shall not quote, gives us the 
 origin of the party called ' Roundheads.' In a 
 nore he says : ' The fanatics, in the time of Charles 
 I., ignorantly applying the text, 'Ye know that it 
 is a shame for men to wear long hair,' cut theirs 
 very short. It is said that the Queen once seeing 
 Pym, a celebrated patriot, thus cropped, enquired 
 wlio that roundhead man was, and that from this 
 incident, the distinction became general, and the 
 party were called ' Roundheads.' 
 
 Our own rich and free political life is constantly 
 giving rise to numberless party-names of more or 
 loss interest and significance. 'Hunker,' and 
 LOGO-Foco,' and ' fire-eater,' and ' dough-face,' 
 and '^/^^c/j-republican,' and the 'shells' 'Hard' 
 and 'Soft,' and 'Know-nothing,' and 'barn- 
 * Tractate ou 'The Mechanical Orcration of the Spirit.'
 
 AMIABLY ABUSIVE WOEDS. 123 
 
 BUENEE,' are samples, of wliicli there are thousands, 
 of this prodigious political activity. But as I find 
 I shall have to devote a Eamble to the subject of 
 Names, I shall here abruptly stop. 
 
 'Rogue' is an abusive with a double sense, beiiiar 
 employed both in an offensive and an amiable 
 application — as is also the case with 'roguish;' 
 so I shall here take occasion to make a digression 
 on Amiably Abusive terms. 
 
 And how does Love bend even the most refrac- 
 tory words to the purposes of endearment. Every 
 thing it conquers, and compels into its service. 
 Under its sweet sway 'bear' becomes an amiable 
 sobriquet for a husband ;* nor does 'mouse' seem 
 contemptible — nay, altogether endearing, as in 
 Hamlet, 
 
 'Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you, his mouse.'' 
 
 But Love's veritable vocabulary finds not its 
 way into dictionaries — learned academies take no 
 cognizance of it. The soil in which it flourisheth 
 
 « 'H 
 
 'Tis said thut since the publication of MLss Bremer's 
 'Neighbours' (wiifMcin, it will be remembered, a 'bear' 
 figures in this way) thousands of wives have adopted this 
 amiably abusive term. It would, of course, be impossible 
 here to attempt entering on the subject; the vocabulary 
 of endearment is a private one. I would merely mention 
 the Frencli ' iuciik,' a Aj/u/— which is very popular as an 
 appellation of this sort.
 
 124 WORDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 is by the hearth stone and around the ingle-side. 
 And thus do the home and hearth exercise their 
 own sweet yet potent influence over language. 
 They preserve it from corruption — moulding it 
 into their own beautiful forms. 
 
 A very curious and very fruitful province under 
 the dominion of the Abusive element is Oaths. 
 Of cursing and swearing— that senseless and sinful 
 practice— we speak not; but of those more inno- 
 cent, yet characteristic exclamatio'os, and other 
 popular and peculiar idioms and phrases by whicli 
 we often contrive to communicate thoughts and 
 fancies and feelings which it would be impossible 
 otherwise to convey. Thus I know of no equiva- 
 lent for the common exclamation 'The Deuce!' 
 It bears with it a burden of significance not its 
 own, and which no other term can fitly represent. 
 By the way, this word is said to be the Gallic 
 name of a demon or evil spirit. Augustine, in 
 his City of God, mentions the word: 
 
 ' Quosdam dfcraones quos dusios Galli nnncHpant.'* 
 
 An emotion there is, which only 'wlicwr can 
 perfectly symbolize: and so with a thousand 
 lights and shades of meaning, which only such 
 interjectional articulations can fully convey. In- 
 deed we should say that some of the keenest 
 instruments and organs of thought had not yet 
 found their way into words. The ' Dickens!' for 
 * See Webster.
 
 NATIONAL AND INDIVIDUAL OATHS. 125 
 
 instance, wliich is said to be just the *deil !' and 
 but 'tis needless to enumerate. 
 
 I shall not enter into the dark abyss of terms 
 formed by that disgraceful practice of swearing: 
 it is curious, however, to note the characteristic 
 oaths of different nations. Thus the Frenchman 
 swears 'Par bleu' and by his 'mille tonn^res!' 
 while the German growls out his ' Donner und 
 Blitzen ! ' or ' Donner und Teufel ! ' as Jeau Paul 
 often has it. 
 
 So we see that oaths are not only national, but 
 individual. Thus how famous is Socrates' ' By 
 the dog!' And Charles' 'Odd's death!' Just as 
 notorious, however, is the ' God's death ! ' of good 
 Queen Bess. Swearing, indeed, Elizabeth affected, 
 as she did many other manly accomplishments. 
 For if she could sing ' ditties,' 
 
 ' In a summer's bower, 
 
 ^\'itll ravishing division to Lor lute ;' 
 
 she was also quite as able, when occasion required, 
 heartily to cuff her courtiers. It would seem, 
 however, that ladies once enjoyed a much larger 
 sliare of this peculiar prerogative than at present. 
 We should at least conclude so frum Hotspur's 
 exhortation to his wile: 
 
 ' Ilolspnr. Come, Kate, I'll hear yonr song, too. 
 Ladij Percy. Not mine, in fjood sooth, 
 /lotsjiur. Not yours, in rjood sooth! 'Heart, you swear 
 like a comfit-makcr'a wife. Not you, in (jood sooth; and,
 
 ] 26 WOEDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 As true as 1 live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure 
 
 as day ; 
 
 And giv'st snch sarcenet sui-ety for tliy oaths, 
 As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. 
 Swear me, Kate, like a lady (!), as thou art, 
 A good moulh-fillbuj oath; and leave in sooth. 
 And such protests of pepper-gingerbread, 
 To velvet guards and Sunday citizens !' 
 
 First Part of Henry IV., III. 2. 
 
 ' Zounds ! ' is a common enough exclamation, 
 and is probably a contraction for God's woimds — 
 a form which we find in Chaucer, who is over- 
 flowing with quaint asseverations of this kind. 
 Thus we find, 
 
 ' I make a vow by Goddes digne hones.'' 
 
 The Pardoneres Tale. 
 
 ' Peedy,' again, is just a corruption for par di< it 
 (by God). So, 'geameecy' returns — grand merci 
 — great thanks. Of this primitive form Chaucer 
 will afford us an example : 
 
 ' Grand mercy, lord, God thank it yon (quod she) 
 That ye have saved me my chikli-en derc.' 
 
 The Clerkes Tale. 
 
 'By'e lady,' that is, hj our lady (the Virgin 
 Mary), and 'By'e lakin' — that is, hj our ladyldn 
 — a diminutive of the preceding — were once 
 (when 'our lady' received more veneration than 
 she now does) very popular forms of asseveration. 
 So Snout the tinker exclaims :
 
 WOEDS OF ASSEVEKATIOX. 1 27 
 
 • Bij^r laHii, a parlous fear ! ' 
 
 Mid- Summer Night''s Dream^ III. 1. 
 
 Falstaff, on the contrary, is constantly swearing 
 ' By the Lord ! ' and declaring (what he certainly 
 well merited) 'III be hanged!' Whereas Jus- 
 tice Shallow prefers to point his declaration ' By 
 Yea and Nay,' or ' By Cock and Pye' (a corrup- 
 tion for God and Pyc — the latter being the name 
 given to the Popish book of church oflices — By 
 God and the Book 1) Another whimsical form of 
 swearing was 'By these ten bones!' i.e., the 
 fingers, or ' by these pickers and stealers ' (Hamlet). 
 See Shakespeare, Jonson, etc. 
 
 "We of the Saxon brood are perhaps as abusive 
 in our lancjuajje and as terrible in our oaths as 
 any nation on the face of the earth. So much so, 
 that we can scarcely tax Caliban with extrava- 
 gance when he declares : 
 
 ' You taught mc language, and my profit on't 
 Is, I know liow to curse ; the red plague rid ye 
 For learning me your language.'* 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 It is averred, indeed, that the Italians outstrip 
 us in this matter, as in many other art.s — worthy 
 
 * Caliban imprecates tlic ' red plague' Tlie names ot 
 frightful diseases are often u.sed as imprecations. Tim?, 
 1 he old ' Pox on you!' was, i)reviou3 to the introduction 
 of vaccination, a fearful cur.sc. Tiiank vaccination, then, 
 for removing both the thing and tlie word ! 
 
 So witli a ' murrain !' etc., etc.
 
 1£8 WOKDS OF ABUSE. 
 
 and um\-ortliy ; but this is to be regarded as 
 dubious ! 
 
 AVe Lave seen Low SLakespeare wiekls tLis 
 class of words — conjuring up tLe most fantastic 
 or ludicrous or scurrilous combinations— piling 
 term on term, and capping tLe climax of tlie 
 ridiculous or tLe abusive. Like a Titan, Le laugLs 
 and sports amid tLe spoils of language — playing 
 witL and tossing about words — or rattling tliem like 
 a tempest of Lailstones about tlie cars of some 
 luckless wigLt. 
 
 ' Ila, thou mountain-foreiijner! Sir John, and master 
 mine, 
 I combat challenge of this htten lilho; 
 Word of denial, //-o./i and scum ^ thou liest.' 
 
 Merry Wices of Windsor, I. 1. 
 
 ' Out of my doors, you wUch, you harj^ you baggngp, you 
 j-o'ecat, you ronton.' 
 
 Ibid, IV. 2. 
 
 ' Get you gone, you dwarf; 
 
 You minimus of hiud''ring knot-grass made; 
 
 You lead, you amrn.'' 
 
 JJid-Summer Night's Dream, III. 2. 
 
 '■ Falstajf Strike; down with them; cut the villains,'^ 
 tliroats; oh! whoreson caterpillars ! hacoii-fed knaves ! they 
 hate us youth ; down with them ; fleece them. 
 
 Hang ye gorbellied knaves ; are ye undone? No, ye f't 
 chuff's; I would your store were here! On, bacons, o\\\ 
 What, ye knaves, etc' 
 
 rirst Pari of Ilenrg TV., II. 2.
 
 FALSTAFF AND HIS FEIENDS. 129 
 
 However, Falstaff many a time gets paid back 
 in liis own coin : 
 
 ' Yon will, chops? 
 
 Farewell, thou laller-sprivg ! Farewell, all-Iiallown sum- 
 mer ! 
 
 Peace, ye fat kidney'd rascal! . , . Peace, ye fol 
 guts ! 
 
 Call in ribs, call in tallow. 
 
 Here comes lean Jack, here comes barc-honcP 
 
 And so we leave off, even as we began: 
 
 ' Why, thou clay-brained guts ; thou knotty-pated fool 
 thou whoreson, obscene, greasy, tallow-keech !'
 
 RAMBLE SEVENTH. 
 
 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 'The same old love of laughing in this beautiful mad- 
 house of Earth.' 
 
 Jean Faul Richter. 
 
 Motley ever are the minglings of tins strange, 
 sleep-rounded life, 
 
 ' A wedding or a festival, 
 A mouniiug or a funeral.' 
 
 ^o 
 
 And speecli reflects this infinite richness and 
 V ariety. For if language has run pliant and plastic 
 into the mould of our e very-day thoughts and 
 feelings, lending itself to the uses of the Under- 
 standing and the Common Sense, and smacking 
 of our workshop world, yet can it also 
 
 ' Babble of green fields.' 
 
 If it generally exhibits but broad high-ways and 
 level ]AiimH—2Jlatitudcs often enough : yet does it 
 many a time lead off through by-paths to wild 
 woods and cavernous depths and elfin haunts.
 
 NIGHT-ilAEE — PREPOSTEEOUS. 131 
 
 where visionary forms and rustKng spirit-voices 
 meet eye and ear ! 
 
 The Grotesque and Arabesque play through 
 speech. Children of the nimble fancy, they round 
 our language with a fringe of smiles and tears. 
 The fantastic in Words is but a reflection of the 
 fantastic in Things. For Nature, too, loves a 
 freak. And as, amid the infinite variety of organic 
 and inorganic forms, creative energy at times 
 sports in seemingly lawless prodigality, so the in- 
 forming Fancy has interwoven in words its fairy 
 imaginings — 
 
 'Retinues of airy kings, 
 Skirts of angels, starry wings!' 
 
 'Xight-maee' is a snatch of fancy taken from 
 the Scandinavian mythology. In that mythology 
 Mara was a Finland elf, who in ?i2^7i^-sleep came 
 with horrid visitation to men. And in Laing's 
 Chronicles I find as follows : 
 
 ' Vailand, who ruled over the Upsal domain, was be- 
 witched by the elf Mara. He became drowsy, and laid 
 himself down to sleep ; but when he had slept but a little 
 while, he cried out, .saying, Mara was treading on him ; 
 but when they took hold of his head she trod upon his 
 legs, and when they laid hold of his legs, she pressed upon 
 his head, and it was his death.' 
 
 Chronicles of the Kings of Norway. 
 
 ' Prepo.sterous' is curious enough. It is prcc 
 and postcrm, liaving tliat Icfore which ought to
 
 1 32 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 come after — 'putting tlie cart before the liorse/ 
 as we say ; and how could one be more perfectly- 
 brought to a stand then by being 'non-plusscd' — 
 tliat is, so bamboozled as to be able to say — non 
 ])lus — no more! ' Interlard' is plainly the mixing 
 fat and lean — entrelarder ; to get things 'on tick' 
 is properly to get them on ticket or bill — a form 
 common in old literature; a 'haberdasher' has, 
 according to INIinsheu, a fantastic genesis in the 
 expression of a shoj)keeper offering his wares, 
 IlaM ihr class ? — have you this .? 'teetotalism' is 
 just T-totalism, that is tcw^perance-totalism ! and 
 'news' is matter brought from all quarters — 
 (N)orth, (E)ast, (W)est, (S)outh = NEWS! 
 
 But these Gypsies of language, seemingly so 
 destitute of history or ancestiy, do often, when 
 keenly tracked, reveal long historic processes in 
 their composition. What a strangely extravagant 
 round has the word 'LOCO-Foco' taken! We 
 first have it, probably as a corruption of loco foci 
 (i. e., in2^lacc of a fire), and so applied to lucifer 
 matches (lucifer matches ! that is, lirjht hrirKjinj 
 matches) — and then by a bizarre incident, in 
 which lucifer matches acted a part, applied as a 
 designation of a particular political party. The 
 occasion of its application is said to have been 
 as follows. At a meeting of the extreme demo- 
 crats in Tammany Hall, New York, there was a 
 great diversity in opinion, and consequently great 
 confusion — on account of which the chairman left
 
 ABO-^TE OR BELOW THE SALT. 133 
 
 his seat, and the lights were extinguished with a 
 viewto dissolving themeeting; when those infavour 
 of extreme measures produced loco-foco matches, 
 rekindled the lights, continued the meeting, and 
 accomplished their object. Hence the name of 
 ' Loco-Foco,' which continueth even unto this day. 
 Again, the familiar phrase to ' out-Herod Heeod,' 
 is not a mere chance-combination, but holds in 
 itself the pith and marrow of a thousand legends. 
 In regard to King Herod we are merely told tliat 
 'he sat upon a throne and made an oration' unto 
 the people — of what character we are not informed, 
 and yet from subsequent events and the awlul 
 punishment which befell him, we may reasonably 
 conclude that it was bombastic, bold and blasphe- 
 mous. But in the old 'Mysteries' and 'Morali- 
 ties' he is constantly represented as of a fierce, 
 proud, virulent character. Now it was doubtless 
 from these that Shakespeare drew the expression : 
 and hence its peculiarly expressive power. 
 
 That old expression to sit ' above, or below tlie 
 salt,' becomes instinct with meaning when we 
 recollect that it was the custom, in old times, to 
 place a large dish of salt about the middle of the 
 table, 'above' which the more honourable guests 
 were wont to sit, wliile the vulgar took their places 
 in unnoticed obscurity ' below.' And Sidney 
 Smith thus gives us the origin of the expression 
 'within or witliout tlie pale:' 'Tlie limit whicli 
 divided the possessions of the English settlers [in
 
 1 S-t FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 Ireland] from those of the native Irish was called 
 the pale; and the expression of inhabitants within 
 the 2mIc and without the prt/c, were the terms by 
 which the two nations were distinguished.'* 
 
 The phrase ' I don't care a fig' would seem, at 
 the first blush, to contain no special force, the ^^ 
 being to us rather a valuable article ;t but the 
 expression rises to pungent point when we recol- 
 lect that the phrase is an importation from Spain, 
 where figs are decidedly cheai) : for which I find 
 a double voucher in Shakespeare : 
 
 'Pistol. Die and be damned; anifigo for thy friendship! 
 
 Fluellen. It is well. 
 
 Pistol The Jig of Spain .' 
 
 Fluellen. Very good.' Henry F., III. 6, 
 
 Certain words, indeed, are absurdly fantastic, 
 mere hosus verhorum : and it is only their history, 
 that comes in to integrate them with by-gone cir- 
 cumstances, that can restore them to the region of 
 common-sense. For example, five important sea- 
 port towns, on the eastern coast of England, 
 opposite France, were properly enough called 
 collectively the Cinque-^oorts, ox five harbours; but, 
 when, forgetting the literal import, people come to 
 speak about seven of the ' Cinque-ports,' it assur- 
 edly became more than most ridiculous. ' Dean ' 
 
 • Edinburgh Review : article on ' Parnell and Ireland.' 
 t Our 'Not a straw'— what the Latins named nihil {nQ 
 hilum)— would seem to carry more force.
 
 WHIMSICAL WOEDS. 135 
 
 ((lecanus) is properly the leader of a file ten feet 
 deep. ' QuAEANTiNE,' again, we plainly perceive, 
 implies the forty days during which ships sus- 
 pected of carrying disease were obliged to wait ; 
 but such combinations as a ' quarantine, oifive, or 
 of ten days twist arithmetic out of all proportion. 
 To be sure, it will not do for us to make any 
 violent protest against the like anomalies, as this 
 overlapng of primaiy by secondary formations is 
 fundamental in the philosophy of Speech: but 
 the process none the less demands \ngilant over- 
 sight. 
 
 Then, there are pure pieces of whimsey. ' Kick- 
 shaw' is an instance to the point — supposed to 
 be intended for ' quelque chose,' that is, sometliing, 
 and hence quite suitable for aught ' fantastical, 
 uncommon, or that has no particular name,' as 
 the dictionaries define it. As for 'quandary,' 
 that is still worse: 
 
 '' Falstaff. Mistress Ford ;— come, Mistress Ford, — 
 Quickly. Marry, this is the short and tlie long of it ; you 
 have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful. 
 'Jhe best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Wind- 
 sor, could never have brought her into such a canary.'' 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, II. 2. 
 
 And into a pretty 'canaries,' too, has good ]\Iis- 
 tress Quickly brought her words ! For the teini 
 she intended i.s, at its best, ' quandary,' and that 
 is fantastic enough — being, as is supposed, a cor-
 
 1 30 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 i-uption for Quoi dira-t-on^What luill they scuj ? 
 — which, though not very elegant, is yet sufficiently 
 descriptive of being in a terrible fix ! 
 
 A few Latin whimsicalities may not be out of 
 place here. 'Hocus pocus' is one of the most 
 outrd of the tribe, and has a fantastic enough 
 oricrin. Fantastic at least, if we make it a cor- 
 ruption of Hoc est coiyus (Christi) ; if it be true 
 that the ignorant and juggling 'priests' 'who 
 gabble Latin which they do not understand,' 
 instead of saying Hoc est corints meum, transformed 
 it into liocus pocus (meum) !* May we not 
 legitimately enough form 'hoax' from this? To 
 hocus, indeed, I find originally used in the same 
 sense. Henry VI L is said to have told a story 
 similar to this, of a stupid old monk who, in 
 repeating his breviary constantly put munipsimus 
 
 * There are, of course innumerable etymologies for this 
 plirasc: Some (Todd, Jolinson's Editor, among tiiem) 
 tal<e it from Oclius Bochus, tlie name of a famous magician 
 which the Italian conjurors were wont to invoke. Web- 
 ster says it is WeM.'—hnt we have no patience to quote 
 the trash. Rimmteneas! 
 
 In regard to the above derivation Pegge says: 'This 
 we may believe when we are told that they [the priest?] 
 call part of the funeral service, De Pro/undis, by the style 
 and title of Deborah Fundish: after which we cannot be 
 surprised that an ignorant imprisoned Cockney pick- 
 pocket should call a Ilahcas Corpus— a. hap'olh of copperas, 
 said to be the language of Newgate.' 
 
 Pcf/fje's Anecdotes of the English Lavqnarje, p. 75.
 
 LATIJT WHIMSICALITIES. 137 
 
 instead of sumpsimus ; and who, on being told of 
 his mistake, said it might be so for what he knew, 
 but ' mumpsimus was what he was taught, and he 
 would continue to say it'* — hence 'mumpsimus, 
 though discarded now, w^as formerly used for an 
 ignorant and incorrigible blunder. Ignoramuses 
 all of them ! And yet 'ignoeajhus' itself is ex- 
 travagant enough: for it is evidently the first 
 person plural of the present indicative of the verb 
 ignoro, i.e., ive are ignorant — and, according to 
 Webster, 'the indorsement which a grand jury 
 make on a bill presented to them for enquiry, 
 when there is not evidence to support the charges!' 
 The word deserves a better fate. 
 
 We all remember Hudibrastic Butler's lines on 
 that Scholastic limbo 
 
 ' Where Entity and quidity 
 The ghosts of defunct bodies flj.' 
 
 Most assuredly defunct — with very little some- 
 thingness (to render quiditas literally) left ; except 
 that the lawyer has inherited the 'quiddits' and 
 the 'quillet.s.' Of their ' quodlibets,' the elder 
 D'lsraeli thus discourses: 'Tlie Scholastic 
 questions were called Questioncs Quod lihelicce ; 
 and they were frequently so ridiculous that we 
 have retained the word Quodlihd in our vernacu- 
 lar style to express anything ridiculously subtle i 
 
 * Xarcs' Glossary. 
 K
 
 138 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 something which comes at length to be dis- 
 tinguished 
 
 " With all the rash dexterity of wit.'" 
 
 But we have not done with our Latinisms yet. 
 Thus have we not still ' quoeums ;' that is to say, 
 bodies — quorum — of ivliom these present are 
 legally sufficient to transact the business ? ' Quid- 
 nuncs' are at present quite as anxious as ever to 
 know what now l while there would seem to be 
 even an increase of ignorant empirics, with their 
 ' NOSTRUMS,' in regard to which they vauntingly 
 say : ' Id nostrum est — this is onrs — an arcanum 
 which nobody else possesses, and wherewith we 
 will cure all your maladies ! ' From quacks and 
 quackeries we naturally stroll to 'mountebanks' 
 — who, it is evident, have their character lurking 
 out from their very name : for it is impossible to 
 conceal from us, that he is just one who mounts 
 the hmch (monte banc), and there rants respecting 
 his own skill and the infallibility of his medicines ; 
 often, however, managing very effectually to 'gull' 
 and 'coney-catch' (what very rahhits they must 
 be) the 'greenhorns' — literally Quoh. 
 
 Talking about 'gulling' (which we still have), 
 and 'coney-catching' (which we do not have), I 
 should notice that D'Israeli, in the ' Curiosities 
 of Literature,' has a curious passage in regard to 
 tliis practice, which the reader may consult for
 
 ANEVLA.L CBLVEACTERISTICS. 139' 
 
 himself. And in Overbury's Characters, we have 
 also the following : 
 
 ' He cheats young guls that are newly come to towne ; 
 and when the keeper of the Ordinary blames him for it, he 
 answers him in his owne profession, that a woodcocke must 
 be plucked ere it be drest.' 
 
 The allusion to the woodcock, as tj-pical of a 
 person of intense verdancy and witlessness, was 
 quite in vogue some time ago. Thus we have in 
 Shakespeare : 
 
 ' this woodcock! what an ass it is I* 
 
 Taming of the Shrew, I. 2. 
 
 See, however, when we think of it for a moment, 
 
 what a curious collocation is thus produced a 
 
 vjoodcock and an ass! But so has language in its 
 hot pursuit of analogy harried creation for emblems. 
 A modern poetical anatomist has thrown out the 
 intimation that the wliole animal kingdom is 
 simply man disintegrated. And assuredly we 
 have in language a record of how the apprehensive 
 fancy has seized on animal suggestions as symbols 
 of metaphysical and moral qualities. Tims wc 
 tyj)ify courage by the 'lion;' ferocity by the 'tiger' 
 (wolf, etc.) ; frolicsome gentleness by the ' lamb' — 
 provided, indeed, this amiable quality degenerate 
 not into 's/tc<?;nshness;' and '&ca.sdiness' in general 
 by the hog! IIow keenly do we characterize.
 
 140 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 when we speak about a boy 'playing fox ;' or of 
 one ' croiciug over another, or of a woman 'gad- 
 ding' about! So, too, our 'bucks'— I fear they 
 ahnost deserve the name of ' coxcoisiBs' (i.e. cock's 
 combs),— oiten enough go out a-'Zar/dng,' and 
 'capering' about (caper, a goat)— which is veiy 
 much like a goat, indeed I 
 
 And more from the animal world. The ichthyo- 
 logic fact of the gudgeons easily swallowing the 
 bait has been imported by the vivid fancy into 
 speech in the word ' gudgeon'— a term expressive 
 of a facile disposition with whom anything readily 
 goes down. Cicero traces a curiously fantastic 
 connection between 'muscle' (musculus) and 
 muscnlus, a little mouse ; and the raven has got 
 itself into language in our ' ravenous! The Ety- 
 mologists charge the ciichoo with having fathered 
 that ugly word 'cuckold' upon us;* while 
 ' coward' is asserted by the old lexicographers to 
 be just a contraction for co?/>hearted — a derivation 
 which certainly does not stand any very close 
 test, though it is not without a degree of vraisem- 
 blauce when we view it in connection with our 
 verbs to c&w, cower, etc.f So our verb to ' hawk,' 
 
 • But see Tooke's ' Diversions of Purlcy,' under this 
 word : and for the connection of the Scotch ' gowk ' 
 therewith, see Jamieson's Scottish Dictionary. 
 
 t If, as is asserted, the original Frencli orthography ot 
 'coward' were cvlverl, the derivation, which has been pro- 
 posed, from ciilitm and vertcre—io turn the tail (very
 
 EATS AND EHYMIXG. 141 
 
 and tlie substantive ' hawkek,' may possibly have 
 reference to one wbo carried round hawks for sale. 
 Moreover, the wooden frame in which he kept his 
 birds he called a ' cadge,' whence we have the old 
 English (and the present Scotch) ' cadgee,' which . 
 in English becomes a very queer 'codger !' 
 
 But can the grotesque of animal symbolism 
 farther go than in those curiously complicated 
 allusions to rats and rhyming which we find scat- 
 tered throughout the elder dramatists. Thus, in 
 As You Like It, Eosalind says, apropos of the 
 profusion of verses lavished on her: 
 
 ' I was never so be-rhynicd since P3'thagoras' time, thai 
 was an Irish ral, which I can hardly remember.' 
 
 And you may remember the very sarcastic 
 witticism which Dean Swift, in his Advice to a 
 Young Pod, picks out of it: 
 
 'Sir Pliilip Sidney,' observes he, 'mentions rhyming to 
 ileath, which is said to be done in Ireland ; and truly, to 
 onr honour be it spoken, that power, in a great measure, 
 continues with us to ihisduj!^ 
 
 But anent rats and rhyming, let old Verstegan 
 tell us a story that will set the matter in its 
 clearest light : 
 
 'coward' like, indeed!) will receive countenance. See 
 Minshcw and Menage ; also Tookc, and Tyrwliitt on 
 Chaucer.
 
 1 42 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. - 
 
 'There came iuto the town of Ilamel in the countrey of 
 Brunswyc an od kynd of compagnion, who for tlie fantas- 
 t ical cote which hce wore beeing wrought with svmdr}' colours, 
 was called the pyed pyper; for a pyper hee was besydos his 
 other qualities. This fellow forsooth ofTred the townsmen 
 
 , for a certain somme of mony to rid the town of all the 
 rattes that were in it ffor at that tyme the burgers were 
 with that vermin greatly annoyed). The accord in fyne 
 beeing made; the pyed pyper with a shrill pype went 
 pyping through the streets, and foorthwith the rattes came 
 all running out of the houses in great numbers after him : 
 all which he led unto the river of Weaser, and therein 
 drowned them. This donne, and no one rat more per- 
 ceaved to bee left in the town ; he afterward came to 
 demaund his reward according to his bargain, but beeing 
 told that the bargain was not made with him in good 
 earnest, to wit with an opinion that even hee could bee 
 able to do such a feat ; they cared not what they accorded 
 unto, when they imagyned it couW never bee deserved, 
 and so never to be demaunded : but nevertheless seeing 
 hee had donne snch an unlylcely thing in deed, they were 
 content to give a good reward ; and so oflTred him far less 
 than he lookt for; but hee therewiih discontented, said he 
 would have his ful rocompence according to his bargain, 
 but they utterly denying to give it him, hee threatened the 
 with revege ; they bad him do his worst, whereupon he 
 betakes him again to his pype, and going through the 
 streets as before, was followed of a number of boyes out 
 at one of the gates of the citie, and coming to a little hi), 
 there opened in the syde thereof a wyde hole, into the 
 
 which himself and all the children, beeing in number one 
 hundred and thirtie, did enter; and beeing entred the hil 
 closed up again, and became as before. A boy that beeing 
 
 lame and came somewhat lagging behynd the rest, seeing 
 this that hapned returned presently back and told what hee
 
 BIG WORDS. lia 
 
 had seen ; foortlnvith began great lamentation among the 
 parents for their children, and men were sent out with all 
 dilligence, both by land and by water to enquyre yf ought 
 could bee heard of them, but with all the enquyrie they could 
 possibly use, nothing more than is aforesaid could of them 
 be understood. In memorie thereof it was then ordayned, 
 that from thence-forth no drum, pype or other instrument, 
 should be sounded in the street leading to the g ite through 
 which they passed ; nor no osterie to bee there holden. 
 And it was also established, that from that tyme forward 
 in all publyke wrytings that should bee made in that town, 
 after the date therein set down of the j'earc of our Lord, 
 the date of the yeare of this going foorth of their children 
 should bee added, the which they have accordingly ever 
 since continued. And this great wonder hapned on 
 22. day of Inly, in the yeare of our Lord one thowsand 
 th.ee huudreth seaventie and six.' 
 
 Ueslitudon of Decayed Intelligence, 85. 
 
 Bifj words ! Here, too, the grotesque comes 
 into play. And what a subtle psychology lies in. 
 these Cyclopean efforts of the human mind. The 
 affectation of words hiy merely for the sake of 
 their hifjness Is limited to no country and to no 
 age. ' Slubbeedegullion,' which Butler employs 
 in Hudibras, affords an example to the point. So 
 also ' KPLENDiDious,' used by Drayton, though 
 without tlie sanction either of etymology or 
 analogy. Shakespeare is in these extravaganzas, 
 as everywhere, pre-eminent. Instance his 'An- 
 THROPOPHAGINIAN,' which the Host, in The IMerry 
 Wives of Windsor, gets off in order to overwhelm 
 poor Simple :
 
 1 44 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 ' Host. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick- 
 skin ? Speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick, snap. 
 
 Simple. Marr}', sir, I come to speak with Sir Jolm 
 Falstaft', from jNIastcr Slender. 
 
 Iloxt. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his 
 
 standing-bed and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted about with the 
 
 story of the prodigal, fresh and new ; Go, knock and call ; 
 
 he'll speak like an anthropophayinian unto thee : knock, I 
 
 say.' 
 
 Ulerry Wives of Windsor, IV. 5. 
 
 In the days of good Queen Bess, while through 
 the brain of 'Sweet Will' Tempests and Mid- 
 Summer Night's Dreams were singing themselves, 
 lived also one John Lylly, who became the founder 
 of a new Ism — Euphuism* namely, or Fine 
 Speaking — a species of bizarrerie which, by the 
 constant use of the farthest-fetched allegory and 
 the most farcical bombast, succeeded in produc- 
 ing some of the most extraordinary contortions 
 of which our language could be imagined 
 susceptible. Immense, however, was the success 
 of the Euphuist. Indeed it was for a time 
 pushed to perfect mania. 'All our ladies,' 
 says Blount, 'were then his scollers, and that 
 beautie in Court who could not fo.rley EtqjJiuesme 
 was as little regarded as shee which now there 
 speaks not French.' Blount was the Editor of 
 
 * His two books are entitled, 'Euphues and his England, 
 and 'The Anatomy of Wit.' Sir Walter Scott, it will be 
 romembered has, in the ' Monastery,' a popular represen- 
 tation of Euphuism in the character of Sir Percie Shaftou.
 
 EUPHUISM. 145 
 
 Lylly's books, and, of course, an adoring admirer 
 of liirn : and as the panegyrics he pronounces on 
 his master are altogether in the Euphuistic style, 
 I shall quote one of them : ' The witty, comical, 
 facetiously quick, and quickly facetious John 
 Lylly— he that sat at Apollo's table, and to whom 
 Phoebus gave a wreath of his own bays without 
 snatching !' 
 
 Shakespeare's keen eye, however, soon penetrated 
 the affectation, and accordingly we find him 
 taking frequent occasion to ridicule the absurdity. 
 Thus, in the First Part of Henry IV., and also in 
 the character of Osric, in Hamlet, we have a 
 perfect characterizing of the Euphuistic courtier 
 of his day. Hamlet's summing up of the character 
 is so complete that I really cannot resist quoting 
 it: 
 
 ' He did comply [i. e., compliment] with his dug, before 
 he sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the same 
 breed, tliat, I know, the drowsy age dotes on) only got 
 the tunc of the time and outward habit of encounter ; a 
 kind of yestij coUeclion, tihich carries them through and 
 ihrouf/h the nvislfortd uiid winnowed opinions ; and do but blow 
 them to ihcir trial, the bubbles are out.'' 
 
 Hamlet, V. 2. 
 
 Euphuism died a natural death. Its ghost has, 
 nevertheless, appeared at vari(nis periods, in various 
 guises. Often, indeed, in the shape of a most 
 abominable affectation of Gallicisms — of which 
 take but one example :
 
 liQ FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 ' I was chcz mot, inlialing the odeiir musqee of ray scented 
 hoiulolr, when the Prince de Z. entered. He found me in 
 my demi-toilelle, hlasee surlont and pensively engiged in 
 solitary conjugation of tlie verb sennnyer; and thongh he 
 had never been one of my hahitues, or by any means des 
 ndtres, I was not disinclined, at this moment of my delasse- 
 mrnl, to glide with him into the crocchio restreUo of fa- 
 miliar chat !' 
 
 Lady Morgan's New Monthly.* 
 
 So much for a class of writers of which litera- 
 ture has never been destitute of specimens, and 
 in reference to whom we can most heartily say, 
 with Mercutio : 
 
 'The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticles ; 
 these new tuners of accents \—By Jesu, a very good blade! 
 — a very tall man ! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, 
 grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with thes« 
 j-trange flics, these fashionmongers, these pardonez mois, 
 who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit 
 at ease on the old bench? 0, their Ions, their bons!' 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. II. 4. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, we proceed to the opposite 
 extreme, and clip our terms so villanously short 
 — so curtail them — that they are scarcely recog- 
 nizable. Such are some already noticed, as 3[ob. 
 Reel, Incog. — Such also are Do., Pro and Con., 
 and the old ohs. and sol^. (contracted from ohjec- 
 iiones ct solutiones). 'Pug' and 'nuncle' are 
 
 * The later productions of Madame D'Arblay are replete 
 with illustrations.
 
 DBIINUTIVES. 147 
 
 additional examples. So, too, Eave or have not 
 shortens into '^o& or M0&;' To Do o/, or do on 
 (i.e., to put off, or put on), appears in the guise of 
 to ' Doff or don' and cousin very soon becomes 
 sweet ' coz.' 
 
 Diminutives, indeed, are the natural language 
 of love : a principle which could receive no more 
 forcible illustration than the abbreviations of pro- 
 per names. This is constantly done by familiarity 
 and friendship. A monosyllable — which the popu- 
 lar instinct always struggles towards — is warm 
 and cozj — hearty as the pressure of a friend's hand ; 
 a polysyllable is stiff and formal — suspicious 
 as the obsequious bow of a courtier. 'Frank' 
 and 'Ben' and 'Will' are seated at the heart's 
 hearth-stone, wdiile Malachia, Ohcdiah ox Jeremiah 
 are knocking unheeded at the door. 
 
 Nares quotes a curious passage on this subject 
 from Heywood, a few lines of which may be 
 worth citing. Talking of the old poets — his 
 contemporaries — he says : 
 
 ' Excellent Bewmont in the foremost ranke 
 Of the rarest wltd, was never more than Frank. 
 RIellcfluous Shakespeare^ •whose inclianting quill 
 Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will. 
 And famous Jouson, though hi.s learned pen 
 Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben. 
 Fletcher and Webster, of that learned packe 
 None of the mean'st, yet neither was but Jacke 
 Decker's but 7om, nor May nor Middleton. 
 And hcc's now but Jacke Foord, that once was Johnf 
 Uierarchie of Blessed Angels^ B. 4.
 
 1 IS FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 De Quincey I thiuk it is who exhibits this same 
 principle of abbreviation applied to the classic 
 writers. Thus Quint us Horatius Flaccus, is, with 
 us, just that jolly dog Horace; Publius Virgilius 
 Maro has dwindled down to the familiar Virgil, 
 and Cains Crispus Sallustius glories in the simple 
 sobriquet of S alius f. It is curious also to observe, 
 in this connection, the names which have not been 
 shortened, and to trace the cause thereof — 
 whether from the writers not being naturalized 
 in the country, or what not. But so much for 
 names. 
 
 We might discover, to push the matter of 
 abbreviations a little farther, something fantastic 
 even in particular letters. That learned man 
 Jovianus Pontanus writ two books concerning 
 that strange rune ' H ;' ' S' has a long and mystic 
 history. Not to mention the cabalistic use made 
 of the Runes, and the semi-sacred letters of the 
 Hebrews, how contemptuously do we talk about 
 persons who are not able to tell a 'B from a Bull's 
 foot;' while 'E' was, we know, long called the 
 dogs letter — an instance of which we have in the 
 dialogue between the nurse and Romeo, in Romeo 
 and Juliet : 
 
 ' Nurse. Doth uot Rosemary and Romeo begiu both with 
 a letter ? 
 
 Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? both begin with an R. 
 
 Nurse. Ah mocker ! that's the dog's name ; R is for the 
 dog. No : I know it begins with some other letter, etc' 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, II. 4.
 
 FOKEIGX INTRODUCTIONS. 149 
 
 The mention of ' rosemary,' by the nurse in the 
 above passage, suggests a remark thereanent. 
 Note, however, that it has no connection whatever 
 with Eose-]\Iary, as at first sight one might be 
 apt to suppose ; but is simply a corruption for 
 ros niarimis — the sea-rose. Such hybridisms are, 
 yet, by no means uncommon in our Language, 
 nor are they confined to any particular language. 
 The principle in their formation seems to be just 
 this : when a foreign word makes its appearance, 
 the people — who are ever (spite of Dictionaries 
 and Philologic Academies) the real language- 
 makers — immediately attempt to bend it to some 
 familiar form — to give it 
 
 ' A local habitation and a name' 
 among them. Kor is it to be wondered at, if 
 oddities and M-himsicalities are often enough the 
 result. Tims the French Cartreuse has trans- 
 formed itself into our ' Chartcr-hmise ; ' the Ger- 
 man vertufjalc we are fain to turn to some account, 
 and so we make it a 'farthingale;' while the 
 lloman Asparar/ios springs up in British soil, as 
 'sparrow-grass^ and 'Staves-acre' (a medicinal 
 plant) — a word formerly in use — is just a corrup- 
 tion of the Greek araipig aypia. ! * 
 
 • I might have noticed, before leaving this subject, tlic 
 very curious shapes which the names of European taverns 
 often as.sume. Thus the ' Racciianalh' lias become the 
 ♦ Bao o' Naii.s,' while 'Bouloonk Mouth' appears as 
 tlie ' Bi;i-L AM) Mourn,' etc. See, also, Do Ycro's Com- 
 parative Philobxjij.
 
 1 50 FANCIEfe AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 Often times there would seem to be some strange 
 fatality attached to certain words. For we see 
 them wafted by favouring gales to the very zenith 
 of popularity — swaying and registering the senti- 
 ment of the times, and, in their own ludicrous or 
 pathetic associations, furnishing tlie key wherewith 
 to unlock the floodgates of public laughter or of 
 public pity. 
 
 We are the creatures of Extremes : words feel 
 this. They are the objects of our wildest caprice. 
 Now honoured and lionized — -revelling in hut and 
 hall, then cast aside and forgotten — damned so that 
 prayers offered up in all churches would not save 
 them. This Abuse of Words might add a strange 
 chapter to the ' Curiosities of Literature ;' and I 
 think it not at all improbable that one of the faith- 
 fullest indications of the tendency of popular 
 feeling, and one of the truest sublimations of the 
 hour or the age are to be sought in our common 
 vulgar catch-words and bandied phrases — extra- 
 vaganzas that seem to have no rationale, which 
 appear amongst us as outlaws and rebels that ac- 
 knowledge allegiance to no established power, but 
 wliich come— shift and sway us— leave their mo- 
 mentary impression, and then go as they came — 
 without announcement and without farewell. 
 
 In the time of Shakespeare, for instance, the 
 employment of the word ' humour' was carried 
 to the most ridiculous excess. The 'fast' gents 
 of those days had all their thousand and one
 
 HUMOUK. 151 
 
 ' humours ' -svliicli they affected and pampered — 
 any conceivable peculiarity or bizarrerie being, for 
 the time, their ' humour'. Kay, not only was it 
 applied to idiosyucracies of character, but even 
 (jartcrs, hat-hands and shoe-ties had each its par- 
 ticular 'humour' — so that it grew to be a perfect 
 mania, 'bred' as Ben Jonson tells us, 'in the 
 special gallantry of our time, by affectation, and 
 fed by folly.' 
 
 This absurdity Shakespeare laughably exposes, 
 in the character of Xym, whom he causes to dis- 
 course after the following fashion : — 
 
 '■Nijm. And this is true [To Pago]. Hike not the Jiumour 
 of lying. He hath wronged rae in some humours; I should 
 have borne the humoured letter to her : but I have a sword 
 and it shall bite upon ray necessity. He loves your wife ; 
 there's the short and the long. My name is Corpora 
 Nym ; I speak and I avouch. 'Tis true : — my name is 
 Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. — Adieu. I love not 
 the humour of bread and cheese ; and there's the humour 
 of it. Adieu 
 
 Page. The humour o/it, quoth 'a! here's a fellow frights 
 humour out of its wits.' 
 
 Merry Wives of Windnor, II. 1. 
 
 Wherein we most heartily agree with Page ; but 
 we are out of humour with the wretched ullecta- 
 tion, and can only exclaim with honest Ben : 
 
 ' But that a rock, by wearing a py'd feather, 
 The cable hat-band, or the three pil'd rutf, 
 A yard of shoe-l}e, or the Swilzer'a knot
 
 152 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 Ou liis French garters, should afTect a humour, 
 O, it is more than most ridiculous !' 
 
 Induction to ' Every Man out of his Humour.'' 
 
 This is surely the very depth of bathos : and 
 yet we have no lack of parallel terms to bear it 
 company. Thus the verb 'accommodate' was, 
 about the same period, lugged into discourse on 
 every proper or improper occasion — a word which, 
 by the way, has, in our own day, become again 
 popular, and is now used almost as frequently, and 
 quite as inaptly, as of yore. Nor is it presumable 
 that many of its modern abusers would be much 
 more successful in defining it, in its multifarious 
 applications, than was their grand prototype, 
 Bardolph : 
 
 ^Accommodated; that is, when a man is, as they saj', 
 
 accommodated; or when a man is, — being, — whereby, — he 
 
 may be thought to hQ— accommodated; which is an excellent 
 
 thing.' 
 
 Second Part of Henry IV., III. 2. 
 
 The similarity of Ajax to a jahcs furnished the 
 wits of Elizabeth's reign with subject-matter for 
 many a wretched pun, and gave tlie word a pro- 
 digious popularity, as we may see from the 
 contemporary drama — ever the most faithful index 
 of the tides of popular feeling. The occasion of 
 all this pleasantry is generally ascribed to the 
 'Metamorphosis of Ajax' — a tract published by 
 Sir John Harrington, in which he gave an account
 
 WORDS ON THE STAGE. 153 
 
 of a novel invention . . . but we will not 
 pursue the story ! * 
 
 The stage is the most merciless immolator of all 
 fantastic and affected terms — just as, in its turn, 
 the Green-room not unfrequently succeeds in 
 imposing some of its own cant upon us. The 
 History of Words, Idioms and Phrases that have 
 thus been damned, would be both varied and 
 instructive. The usual mode is, of course, to take 
 up the affectation and nm it to death, and at the 
 same time so to intertwine it with ludicrous 
 associations that its use becomes forthwith more 
 tlian hazardous. So was it with many of the 
 absurdities ridiculed by Shakespeare and his co- 
 t-emporaries — ' Lord, Sir,' for instance, in All's 
 Well that Ends Well. Thus was it also with the 
 once fashionable phrase, 'Egad and all that' — 
 which, it is said, the Duke of Buckingham's 
 Reliearsal succeeded most effectually in putting 
 an end to ; wliile the once equally favourite, ' In 
 Hue, Sir,' met a violent death at the hands of 
 
 * Tlie tract was entitled ' A New Discourse of a State 
 Subject, called tlic Metamorphosis of Ajax ;' and (hough the 
 cause of many jokes to 6tliers, it was no joki'i,^ to Sir John 
 liim.9elf; for 'Good Queen Bess,' whose decliacy was 
 cfFonded, banished iiim from her sweet presence for .'••onie 
 conaiderable time; nay, it is said he only escaped a ^^tar- 
 Chamber inquisition from the Queen's secret attachment to 
 Mm. lie was aficrwards, however, recalled ; on which 
 occasion he afl'ectingly describes his emotidns as being 
 those of 'Saint I'aul, when wnipt up in the third Ileaveu ! 
 
 L
 
 154) FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 Dryden's Sir Martin. And everybody knows 
 liow poor Thomson fared when his pathetic 
 exclamation : 
 
 ' Sophonisba ! Sophonisba !' 
 
 was, by some wicked wight, travestied and 
 repeated throughout all London in the shape of 
 
 * Jemie Thomson Jemie Thomson 1' 
 
 But these popular catch-words and phrases are 
 universal in their rise and rule. They rise when- 
 ever, and at whatever, the public fancy is tickled; 
 and are not without their own suggestive signifi- 
 cance. ' The most unobserved words in common 
 use are not without fundamental meanings, how- 
 ever contemptible they may appear in this age of 
 refinement,' says Pegge.* Not at all to be slighted 
 or despised, but worthy of most diligent investi- 
 gation are these rich, ready-made idioms, begotten 
 of the lusty needs of the times. For they prove 
 assuredly more conclusively than could aught 
 else, that no living Word is without its logic and 
 its Common Sense, — even though this Common 
 Sense be, at times, of a very wjicommon kind, and 
 the train of Logic infinitely free and varied as the 
 informing mind whence it springs. 
 
 Indeed many a time the most grotesque, the 
 most fantastic words rest on a richer and more 
 
 * ' Anecdotes of the English Language'
 
 VULGAE PHEASES. 155 
 
 compreliensive insiglit and analogy tlian the more 
 authoritative and classic part of speech. The 
 popular phrase 'by hook or by crook' is an 
 example to the point, having a curious genesis in 
 the old forest customs, wherein persons entitled 
 to fire-wood, in the king's forest, were only 
 authorized to take of the dead wood, or branches 
 of trees in the forest, ' with a cart, a hook, and a 
 crook.' And how forcibly transferred thence to 
 indicate gaining one's end as best he might. The 
 phrase is of unkno"svn antiquity. ' Beastly Skel- 
 ton' has this illustration : 
 
 ' Nor will suffer this boke 
 By hooke ne by crooke 
 Prynted for to be.' Colin Clout. 
 
 The seemingly fantastic 'honey-moon' is said 
 to owe its origin to a custom of an ancient Ger- 
 manic people who were in the habit of drinking 
 mead (in which lioiiey was mingled) for thirty days 
 after a weddhig took place ; and the ludicrous 
 phrase to ' run-a?nMc7i;' has its genesis in a positive 
 ethnologic fact : the fact, namely, that among the 
 Malays, a species of frenzy at times seizes indi-^ 
 viduals, and they run about committing indis- 
 criminate murder (aniuclc). Johnson derives the 
 expres.sion to 'knock under' from 'the submission 
 expressed among good fellows by knocking undei 
 the table;' and to ' rjo thr, vhole hog' is claimed, by 
 an etymology I will not warrant, to owe its
 
 15G FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 origin to a practice of the western butchers who 
 ask their customer whether he will go the vjhole 
 hog or deal only for joints or portions of it ! 
 
 Often times, too, these every-day bandied words 
 and phrases have an expressive power that more 
 elegant substitutes would but lamely realize. 
 How significant, for instance, are 'close-fisted,' 
 'mealy-mouthed,' 'to rule the roast,' to 'egg on' 
 (to anything), ' hood-wink,' ' quiz,' the ' hypoes,' 
 'bamboozle,' 'balderdash,' 'ink-horn' terms, 'fast' 
 boys, 'rich' stories. So we speak of one's having 
 'brass' or 'tin,' or of one's being in a 'pickle;' 
 and we exclaim 'ginger!' and we speak of a 
 person in a state of intoxication (which, by the 
 way, is related in its very origin to poison — 
 toxicum) as being 'tight,' 'tipsy,' 'boosy,' 'pot- 
 valiant,' ' muddled,' ' fuddled,' ' fou,' ' corned,' ' half 
 seas over,' ' the worse for liquor,' 'drunk as a piper,' 
 or as having a 'brick in his hat !' And how far 
 might we go before we would find such expressive 
 symbols as 'blue-stocking,' (has hleu) or 'hail- 
 fellow,' or ' all the go,' or ' catch-penny,' or ' fire- 
 eater,' or 'dead-letter,' (a term which the Post Office 
 has given us) or 'chatter-box,' or 'crusty,' or 
 ' innuendo,' (literally a nodding at) or ' leg-bail,' or 
 ' cut a swell,' or ' hobby,' or to ' palm,' (anything 
 on one) or 'luggage,' which is just something 
 higgul about ! Though what special applicability 
 there is in the old phrase, ' honest as the skin 
 between the brows,' it might be difficult to tell ;
 
 EHYTmnCAL PHEASES. 1 57 
 
 and equally hard to tell how the phrase to ' sow 
 one's wild oats' arose, and why it was that oats 
 should have been selected from among grains as 
 emblematic of the dissipation and excess of youth; 
 while to-'curry favour/ smacks quite of the stable. 
 The once popular exclamation, ' Cry you mercy, I 
 took you for a joint stool,' seems purely fantastic ; 
 and I suppose brandy is called the icater of life, 
 ' eau de vie,' ' aqua vitte,' * usquebaugh,' (for they 
 all have the same meaning) according to the law 
 of lucus a noTi — precisely because it proves in so 
 many cases the water of death ! 
 
 There is another class of fantastics that also 
 claims attention. I mean such as have been 
 formed purely under the guidance of the ear — 
 rhyming reduplicates, which liave no meaning 
 aside from what the mere sound carries with it. 
 Such are ' bow-wow,' ' chit-chat,' ' harum-scarum/ 
 ' Hira-flam/ ' helter-skelter/ ' higgledy-piggledy,' 
 * hodge-hodge,' ' hubbub,' ' hurly-burly,' ' rif-ralf,' 
 'tip-top/ 'rub-a-dub,' 'slip-slop,' (exemplihed in 
 Mrs Malaprop in the Rivals) 'tip-top!'* 
 
 But I forget to mention the very term that most 
 perfectly typifies many of the words of this Eam- 
 hhi. I mean ' gkotesque/ And indeed its origin 
 is (/rok.tque enougli, being taken from certain 
 whimsical figur(i.s found in the subterranean 
 a[)artmeuts — f/roitoi:s — in the ancient ruins at 
 liouie, and thence extended to typify aught fantas- 
 
 ♦ Notes and Queries, vol. viii.
 
 158 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 tie, ludicruus, or irregularly proportioned. Sucli 
 is the derivation given by Benvenuto Cellini in 
 Ills Mc7noirs; and as I have the passage at hand, 
 I shall quote it: ' These foliages have received the 
 iiame of grotesque from the moderns because they 
 are found in certain caverns in Eome, which in 
 ancient days were chambers, baths, studies, lialls, 
 and other places of the like nature. The curious 
 happened to discover them in these subterranean 
 caverns whose low situation is owing to the raising 
 of the surface of the ground in the series of ages, 
 and as these caverns in Eome are commonly called 
 grottoes, they from them acquire the name of gro- 
 tesque.'* 
 
 And numerous are the other words of equal 
 interest, in which the workings of fairy Fancy 
 may be traced. It was a piece of phantasy, for 
 instance, to call the Eoman platform for orators 
 the ' EOSTRUIM,' from the fact of its having been 
 adorned with the hea'ks (rostra) or heads of cap- 
 tured ships ; and I remember years ago feeling 
 great pleasure at the perception of the connection 
 — fanciful and yet faithful — of 'inculcate' with 
 calio, the heel (incidco, to tread over again, to heel- 
 it over again, and hence to impress by frequent 
 admonitions). What is a ' h^oMrn, study?' Is it a 
 barren study, or is it allied to the word hrow ? 
 Certainly 'etiquette' is just the ticket: it having 
 
 * Memoirs of Benvenuto Cellini, a Florentine Artist, 
 ■written by himself. •
 
 CANT LANGUAGE. 159 
 
 been once the custom to get our cards containing 
 orders for regulating ceremonies on public occasions. 
 And 'COCKADE,' 'tis said, arose during the wars 
 of the Scotch covenanters, when the English to 
 distinn^uish them wore a black rosette, which from 
 its position, shape, etc., the Scotch nicknamed 
 cock'Side ! * 
 
 But, beneath the lowest depth of vulgarity, 
 slang and Billingsgate a lower deep opens in the 
 expressive power of speech. For without the pale 
 of civilization, in depths where not even 
 
 ' The rarity 
 Of Christian charity' 
 
 penetrates, live brothers of ours, and children are 
 born and live and die who speak not even the lan- 
 guage of other men ; but a speech of their own — 
 dark and terrible and awfully significant. This 
 Cant Language, or Arjot we have, during the last 
 few years, been made familiar with from the repre- 
 sentations of popular novels. Eugene Sue, for 
 example, has vividly portrayed the Parisian lanffue 
 des escrocs — giving us an insight both into its 
 dark and and its bright side. Eor even it, 'twould 
 seem, has its lights — its gleams of humanity — 
 that manifest that its authors are still of our com- 
 mon kind, and that the germs of love and ])ity 
 and hope arc quite absent from no mortal breast. 
 
 •'Cocardc, touffc do rubans que sous Louis XIII. on 
 portrait siir le fcutre, ct qui iniitait la crGtc du coq. 
 Koquefort, Dicdonairc (■(>jmolui/i<iiie.
 
 IGO FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 Pints miglit form a ch.iracteristic and amusing 
 topic for investigation imder the Fantastic in 
 Words, though it is entirely too ample a theme to 
 admit of treatment here, approaching as I am 
 towards the end of this Eamble. Did we enter 
 into the subject in cxtcjiso, we should assuredly 
 begin with classic puns — Homer and the sons of 
 the Tragic IMuse having not disdained the quip 
 and quibble — lingering over the graves of some of 
 Cicero's most successful sallies (witness that 
 wicked one on the Senator who was a tailor's son, 
 rem aciL tetigisti — you have touched the matter 
 sharply : or, with the point of a needle) ! * The 
 archaiology of Puns would moreover lead us to 
 penetrate into the witticisms of the severe Milton 
 — for even in Paradise Lost it would seem he 
 punned, and that horribly enough too. And then 
 we should dive into the abyss profound of modern 
 puns, bringing up Avhat pearls might offer them- 
 selves ; and so should we have a complete history 
 and philosophy of Puns and Punsters. 
 
 In the meantime I shall merely mention a few 
 Etymologic or dead puns that occur to me, from 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Johnson asserts that a quibble was to Shake- 
 
 * D'Israeli's 'Curiosities.' He cites Menage as saying: 
 ' I should have received great pleasure to have conversed 
 witli Cicero had I lived in his time. lie must have been 
 very agreeable in conversation, since even Ca3sar carefully 
 collected his buns mots.''
 
 THE PUXS OF SHAKESPEARE. 161 
 
 speare the fatal Cleopatra for Avliicli he lost the 
 \^ orld, and was content to lose it. This, like the 
 generality of Johnsoniana, has considerable truth, 
 with a vast deal of mere burly assertion and 
 paradox about it. And I believe the question of 
 Shakespeare's quibbles is now pretty much at 
 rest. 
 
 In 'As You Like It,' Touchstone, the clown 
 (and a very ' material fool,' by the way), says to 
 Audrey : ' I am here with thee and thy goats, as 
 the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among 
 the Goths.'— ^s You Like It, III. .3. 
 
 Here the play of words between Goats and 
 Goths is apparent enough: but the real pith and 
 marrow of it is lost unless we recognize the occult 
 pun that lurks in the term ' capkicious' — the 
 etymon of it — Caper (whence, I suppose, we have 
 our verb to 'caper') — signifying a he-goat. This 
 seen, the allusion becomes luminous. 
 
 Addison has announced that a pun cannot be 
 transLited. Literally, perhaps not. And yet skill 
 SLiid finesse can go wonderfully far towards a per- 
 fect rendering: for a proof of which we need go 
 no faitlier than Schlegel's Translation of Shake- 
 speare, wherein, though, of course, times innumer- 
 able he falls infinitely short, he attempts, at least, 
 to render every nwxnce of expression and every 
 finesse of verbal play. That they are many a time 
 thin and ghostly must certainly be admitted, ytt 
 it must also be granted that his Translation is an
 
 162 FANCIES AND FANTASTICS. 
 
 example of Avliat diligence can, in this direction 
 perform. 
 
 Puns arc the most fickle and fragile things in 
 existence. They live and move and have their 
 heing in chance. Hence it is not at all to be 
 wondered at, should they many a time, in the 
 lapse of years, perish through neglect. The word 
 'tandem' shuts np a curious practical pun, un- 
 recognized till translated ; and here is an example 
 from the mouth of that monster of sin, sack and 
 sagacity — Sir John FalstafF: 
 
 ' Chief Justice. You follow the young prince up and down 
 like his (7/ angel. 
 
 Fahtnff. iSlot so, my lord ; your //' ayigd is light ; but I 
 hope he that loolvs upon me will take me without weighing: 
 and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go, I cauno' 
 tell.' 
 
 SerniiJ Part of Henry IV., I. 2. 
 
 Here, in order to appreciate the pun, we must 
 recollect that an 'Angel' was, at that time, the 
 name applied to a coin, worth about ten shillings 
 (English): the quibble, together with his not 
 'going' and not 'telling' (i.e., not passing current, 
 not standing weight) then becomes luminous with 
 meaning. 
 
 So do words fall into disuse, and are cast out 
 as worthless and witless things. And this, too, in 
 their old age, after a life-time's faithful service and 
 too frequent abuse. They die with grief to see 
 mere imrvenus usurp their places — and find not
 
 A DEFENDEE OF OLD WOEDS. ] G3 
 
 even a champion to vindicate their cause, or a 
 historian to write their epitaph. 
 
 Yet sometimes they do find a defender. Pegge,* 
 for instance, with much grave hunionr, pleads the 
 cause of ' Old, unfortunate, and discarded words 
 and expressions, which are turned out to the world 
 at large, by persons of education (without the 
 smallest protection), and acknowledged only by 
 the humbler orders of mankind : who seem chari- 
 tably to respect them as decayed gentlefolks that 
 have known better days 1 ' 
 
 * Anecdotes of the English Language.
 
 RAMBLE EIGHTH. 
 
 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 * By your words ye shall be justified, and by your words 
 shall ye be condemned.' 
 
 Shall we ascend to the highest statement and 
 say that in Words there is an Ethical element 
 also ? For ever the innermost evolves itself and 
 becomes the outermost ; and surely it cannot be 
 otherwise than that some transcript should be left 
 in Words of the workings of that ethical Conscience 
 that witnesses within us of right and wrong. 
 Once, we know, every term, be it warped in its 
 meaning, or be it meaningless, rushed forth, glowing 
 and red hot, from the consciousness, laden with 
 its own power and pathos — a blessing or a curse, 
 a startling metaphor or a rich poetic image. 
 
 And so, too, we may read in Words the mor- 
 alities of mankind. They are the decalogue in 
 miniature — the verdicts pronounced by the great 
 High Court of Humanity, not to be circumvented, 
 and at once without precedent and without repeal. 
 Oil 1 not unmindful be we of these still small
 
 INNOCENCE — GUILT. 105 
 
 ^•oices, wliich, from cavernous depths, whisper to the 
 williug ear, of human frailty and of human power 
 — which, with a certain beautiful scorn, repel all 
 meanness and ignobility, beckoning with alluring 
 smiles to crowns and garlands starry and unfading, 
 and telling of thee, 
 
 ' Stern Daiigliter of the voice of God, 
 Duty!' 
 
 It may be interesting, to begin with, to notice 
 the evidence embalmed in "Words of the primitive 
 morality of mankind, and to trace the devlopment 
 of the historical conscience in its ascent to abso- 
 lute ethical judgments. Marvellous are these 
 vestiges of the spiritual history of man ! 
 
 The law, which, in early times regulated the 
 notions of guilt and innocence would not appear to 
 have been very rigid. For, if words speak truly, 
 ' innocence' itself merelv consists in the not doing 
 any harm — in-nocens — or, as we also say, 'harm- 
 less.' It is, therefore, a negative, not a positive 
 virtue. 'Guilt' unfolds some curious historic 
 and ethic facts. The Saxon form of the word is 
 U}/^^* — signifying both a crime and a debt, or fine 
 — tlie latter, however, is the primary signification. 
 It was, in fact, a fine, or remuneration 2Jaid by a 'pcr- 
 
 • From tlie verb gylJaii, to pay. By tlie way, the 
 ancient 'guild' is also formed from tiiis verb ; since each 
 member of tlic fraternity was obliged io—gyldau^my 
 somelliing.
 
 IGG VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 son who had committed some offence; and then this 
 fine applied to the crime itself. The person was 
 brought in gyltig — fjidlty of so much, that is, he 
 was couipelled to j;«?/ so much.* The attachment 
 of a moral idea to a mere business transaction is 
 curiously suggestive of many things. And by the 
 way, our 'crime' — if crimen be connected with 
 ■/.pim — may have a derivation quite analogous to 
 the preceding. It is instructive also to note that 
 the German for debt and sin is one and the same 
 word — schuld; and thereby hangs a pun of Jean 
 Paul Eichter's. In the Flegeljahre, the reader will 
 remember the following: "'The count," said one, 
 " with his fortune, marries for beauty and accom- 
 plishments only, for he lias ten times more money 
 than the general has debts !" " What then ?" said 
 an unmarried comedian, who always played the 
 father, " the beloved is charity itself, and covers a 
 multitude of — sehulden — dehts [or sins]."'t 
 
 A not uninteresting comparison might be in- 
 stituted between the respective codes of honour of 
 different peoples. I shall, however, merely indi- 
 cate two : The Frenchman's ' honest' man — un 
 honnete homme — implies a person who tells the 
 truth; while the Englishman clusters all his ideas 
 of honest?/ around the alstaining from stecdinej ! 
 ' Viktue' to the ancient Eoman meant simply 
 
 * See tlie interpretation of the expressions ' ware ' and 
 'witc' In Fossil Histories, 
 t Walt and Vult, Vol. I. 194.
 
 YALOUE — INSOLE^'T. 1 67 
 
 physical braver}' — manliness; while to the aes- 
 thetic Italian virtu has acquired the signification 
 of the love of the fine arts. And it is also worth 
 noting that ' valour' simply means vjorth — an 
 allusion carried out in worship, as we have before 
 seen. A certain degree of moderation in behaviour 
 —enough, at least, to keep one within bounds — 
 modus — the word-forming facidties have named 
 ' MODEST.' "Whatever is Iccoriiinfj (decet) they call 
 'DECENCY.' And what is above all, seemly and 
 graceful in walk and conversation is afl&rmed, 
 both truthfully and beautifully, to be 'decokous' 
 — ^that which is as a — decus — ornament and embel- 
 lishment to all the other graces. This primary 
 meaning of the word we can understand from the 
 old verb to dccorc, as thus : 
 
 'Which church he decored with many ornaments and 
 edifices, especially the south side thereof.' 
 
 Fuller^s Worthies. 
 
 "SVhen a person desires to exact a degree of homage 
 which we are not loont (in-soleo) to render, we 
 veiy properly call tliis 'insolence' — though, by the 
 way, 'insolent' did not at first carry with it any 
 other idea than that wliich is unnsual. As for 
 «»xample, in the following passage quoted by 
 Richardson : 
 
 'Ihe interpreter of Hans Bloome names it (Tajnia) the 
 top of a pillar, but very insolcnilij [i. c., very -unusually]
 
 1G8 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 it being indeed tliat small fascia part of the Doric architec- 
 ture.' 
 
 Evelyn on Arclutech and Architecture. 
 
 Chaucer well expounds the word for us : 
 
 '■Insolent is he that despiseth in his judgment all other 
 folk, as in regard of his value, of his conning, of his spek- 
 ing, and of his bering.' 
 
 The Persones Tale. 
 
 ' Indolence,' again, lets us into a rather curious 
 ethical fact — the composition of indolentia being 
 in and dolentia, that is to say, a freedom from 
 pain ! Can it be that this circumstance induces 
 and implies laziness or idleness ? AVhat a curious 
 state of things is it, in which a thoughtful person 
 becomes 'pensive;' when one who always sc^m?-- 
 ates the truth — se verus — is said to be ' severe ;' 
 when anything shown is regarded as a 'monster ;' 
 and when the entire notion of 'convivial' is 
 that of living together ! And yet is not ' comfort' 
 very truly that wherewith we strengthen one 
 another? So an ' agreeable' person is quite faith- 
 fully one who is suited — a (notre) grS — to our 
 disposition — a man after ones own heart, as we 
 say. And what a depth of meaning is there in the 
 fact that 'study' is literally just zeal; while 
 ' earnest" and ' yearning' are one word ! 
 
 'Noble' declares itself to be primarily that 
 which is known — noted— bruited about : so it 
 would appear that language takes no cognizance
 
 NOBILITY — cla:n nish. 1 G9 
 
 of hidden vrovth, hilt conceives of all 'xobility' 
 merely as notoriety, and measures all talent by 
 success. And so — even as we should expect — 
 * mean' declares itself to be that wliicli appertains 
 to the mceReg — o'l t&X>.o/ — the many : having its 
 origin among the ignoble vulgus, u?iknown, and so 
 not at all ' noble.' 
 
 ' He was a veray parfit gmtil kiiiglit.' 
 
 Clioucer. 
 
 'Gentil' (gentle) is the Latin gcnfilis from ge)u% 
 a clan — and so pertaining to a clan — ' cLxVNNISH,' 
 as the Scotch say. This is the primary significa- 
 tion. The transition in the meaning of this term 
 — through -which it has passed from one who has 
 relation to some race (a ' hidalgo,' as they say in 
 Spain, that is a, son of something in contradistinction 
 to him who is a son of nothing), or of birth* as we 
 say, in opposition to him who is of no 'family,' down 
 to its present vague, indefinite application or mis- 
 application — might, had we opportunity to trace 
 it, be not uninteresting or unprofita1)le. In the 
 meantime take the following from Froissart : 
 
 'Il-y-avolt un Chevalier, Capitaiiie do la Ville : point 
 
 gcntil homme n' ostoit : et I'avoit fait, pour sa vaiUance, le 
 
 Roy Edouard Chevalier.' 
 
 Chronicle^ V. ii. 
 
 • 'If '(Jens' is from f/i'jno (yiyv."), these words do, in 
 the last analysis, all merge into one ; while the divers 
 offshoots—' Gentle,' 'Genteel,' 'Gentile,' etc., all flow from 
 one fountain. 
 
 M
 
 1 70 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 Alul there are other words that point the same 
 moral. The striking analogy between kin and 
 kind is significant, and ' generous' primarily 
 means simply uf birth. Shakespeare presents an 
 example of its employment in this its primary 
 sense. Thus Desdemona says : 
 
 ' IIow now, my dear Othello ? 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence.' 
 
 Olhello, III. 2. 
 
 Here 'generous' necessarily implies 'nolle' — 
 the islanders of hirth. And more of the same : 
 'fame,' 'renown,' 'reputation.' 'Eeputation' is 
 simply what one is rej)idal (not at all affecting 
 the ' character,' which is the seal and token im- 
 pressed on the soul, organic in the structure of 
 one's being, and so independent of all 'reputa- 
 tion.') 'PtENOWN' is, as we see, just the being 
 named over and over — renoinm4, and ' fame ' itself 
 (Jama, fhemi, to speak) is but the being spoken 
 about, idle rumour; surely not to be very ardently 
 coveted. Here is one of Carlyles fiery fragments 
 that lights up these words with luminous mean- 
 ings : ' So fares it with the sons of Adam in these 
 bewildered epochs ; so, from the first opening of 
 his eyes in this world, to his last closing of them 
 and departure hence, speak, speak, speak ; if 
 thou have any faculty, speak it, or thou diest and 
 it Is no faculty ! So in universities, and all
 
 MOEAL KING-WOEDS. 171 
 
 manner of dames' and otlier schools, of the very 
 highest class as of the very lowest ; and Society 
 at large, when we enter there, confirms with all 
 its brilliant review-articles, successful publications, 
 intellectual tea-circles, literary gazettes, parliamen- 
 tary eloquences, the grand lesson we had. Other 
 lesson, in fact, we have none, in these times. If 
 there be a human talent, let it get into the tongue, 
 and make melody with that organ. The talent 
 that can say nothing for itself, what is it? 
 ISTothing ; or a thing that can do mere drudgeries, 
 and at best make money by railways.'* 
 
 But we must ascend to the appreciation of the 
 Kini(-words of the moral world — of Good and Bad, 
 of Truth and Right and Wrong — spinal expres- 
 sions in the Ethical utterance of man. Of 'Good' 
 the derivations are very varied. Eichardson 
 thinks it is from the Saxon verb Godian, to aid, 
 to benefit. Skinner prefers to deduce it from the 
 Latin gaudeo. Junius asserts it is from the Greek 
 ayadoi — an opinion which Donaldson f also favours. 
 "Webster finds the primary meaning to be strong, 
 free, large. And Home Tooke assures us that it 
 is 'Ge-owed, perliaps gowcd, written and pro- 
 nounced Good, wliich the Scotch pronounce and 
 write Gudc! This is vague imleed ; but no objec- 
 tion can be made to Tooke's derivation of ' ]jAD,' 
 
 * The ' Stump Orator.' t New Crat^lus.
 
 172 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 ^^•]nc^l lie thus evolves with his wonted sagacity : 
 ' To Bmi, i. e., To vilify, to bark at, to reproach, 
 to express horror, hatred and defiance, etc. Bayed, 
 Bced, i. c., Baijd, Bad, abhorred, hated, defied, i.e.. 
 Bad.'* 
 
 'Eight' is no other than rechxm (rcgitum) the 
 participle of the Latin verb Rcgcre to order, to 
 command. Whence the Italians have ritto, and 
 from Dirigcrc comes Dritto; whence also the 
 French have droit (old French droict). 'Eight' 
 then is jnst what is ordered,- commanded, laid 
 down in the laws of eternal Justice, and 'Law' 
 and 'Just' announce precisely the same high 
 fact: 'just' is horn juhere, jussum, and means 
 the commanded; 'law' is from the Saxon verb 
 lecgan, and implies something laid down as a rule 
 of conduct. ' Wrong' is the past participle of 
 the verb ivriiujan, to ivring, and means ivrung or 
 wrested from the right or ordered line of conduct.f 
 Wrung was formerly written ivrong: of this many 
 certificates present themselves in our elder litera- 
 ture. Thus 
 
 ' When your ignorant poetasters have got acquainted 
 
 * From the same verbal root come also 'Bane' and 
 'Ban:' as i\\\xs>—Baycn, Baifn, Been, written Bane; To 
 ban, to curse. 
 
 t Just as from torqnere the Italians talce torto and the 
 
 French tort, wrong. 
 
 ' Diversions of Purley.
 
 EIGHT A^■D WKONG. 1<3 
 
 with a strange word, they never rest till they have icrourj 
 
 it in.' 
 
 Ben Jonsou, Cynthia's ReveLi, 
 
 Or thus, from Chaucer, 
 
 ' For which he wept and wrong his honde, 
 And in the bedde the bloody knyfe he fonde. 
 
 3Ian of Laices Tule. 
 
 Compare with 'right' and 'wrong' — 'upright,' 
 'regular,' 'rectitude,' error,' 'transgression,' 'tor- 
 tuous.' 'Upright' is palpable enough ; 'regular' 
 is according to rer/ula or rule, and therefore 
 according to the ordered. 'Eectitude' (rectum) is 
 just the straight line — the ordered or directed one. 
 'Error' is an erring {^vvo)—q. loandering from this 
 .straight line of 'rectitude.' 'Transgression' 
 (tra'iisrjressiun) is a transgressing, a going beyond 
 this ordered line. 'Tortuous' {tort, wrong) has 
 also relation to wliat is injurious [injurem, against 
 the law), that is against the commanded, that is 
 vjrong. 
 
 ']Moral' and 'Ethical' have a marvellous 
 genesis. Mores in Latin means customs ; moralis, 
 the customary; and 'ethical' is precisely the 
 same word with a Greek origin— c^/ul'os ctlios ! 
 On which wcjrds read this fiery comment : ' In- 
 stead of shriekijig more, it were perliaps edifying 
 to remark, on tlie other side, what a singular 
 tiling customs (in Latin mores) are ; and how litly 
 the virtue, manhood, or wortli, that is in a man, is
 
 174 YEREAL ETHICS. 
 
 called liis morality or customarincss. Fell slangli- 
 ter, one of the most authentic products of the pit, 
 you would say, once give it customs, becomes 
 Avar, with laws of war, and is customary and moral 
 enough ; and red individuals carry the tools of it 
 <iirt round their haunches not without an air of 
 pride — which do thou nowise blame. While, see ! 
 so long as it is but dressed in hodden or russet ; 
 and revolution, less frequent than war, has not 
 yet got its laws of revolution, but the hodden or 
 russet individuals are uncustomary — Oh, shrieldng, 
 beloved brother blockheads of mankind, let us 
 close those wide mouths of ours; let us cease 
 shrieking, and begin considering ! ' 
 
 Great, good, glorious Carlyle ! forced thyself, 
 by thy longing and tameless heart, to set thyself 
 in stern hostility to very many of the ' customs,' 
 and not a few of the ' moralities' of this our era — 
 honest to the very profundity of thy great heart, 
 yet thereby forced sometimes to appear dishonest 
 —the wisest, and yet willing to be to many a 
 stumbling-block and the foolishest— the most re- 
 ligious, and yet compelled to seem the most sacri- 
 legious ! with what Titanic force dost thou wield 
 thy ' winged words,' — that in thy hands split oft 
 with bursting, burning meaning : bringing them 
 up in their primitive truth-loving and truth tell- 
 ing simplicity, and setting them, not without a 
 certain grave sarcastic smile, over against their 
 abuses, and their corruptions, and their twistings
 
 TRUTH. 175 
 
 to Cfild a falsehood, or to consecrate a lie — there to 
 blazon in immortal scorn human hypocrisies and 
 shams 1 
 
 And ' Teuth,' too, how pregnant its meaning ! 
 ' Truth ' is that which a man troweth, thinketh, 
 firmly believeth : * ' True,' or trcw, as it was for- 
 merly written, 
 
 (' A bedrole long and irew he reckoncth') 
 
 is that which is trewed or firmly believed ! Tims 
 'truth' and the 'true' suppose humanity: they 
 express man, his limitations, struggles, aspirations. 
 For how possible is it for one to iroto what is not 
 in the hidiest translation trite ! And indeed the 
 
 O 
 
 tlie word primarily carries with it no absolute 
 force — 2i false truth, that is a false opinion, a false 
 belief, being an expression not uiifrequently met 
 with in our elder literature. Thus 
 
 'Many ^fahe treuthe.'' 
 
 Piers Ploughman. 
 
 But here it is that the marvel and miracle of 
 language begin. For the divine influx, working 
 on the unfolding Conscience and the ascending 
 Spirituality of man, is constantly opci-ating to 
 elevate and ennoble words. IIow often do Words, 
 through the inspiration tliat is breathed into them, 
 
 • The past participle of the verb to trmr was f<irnicrly 
 written rrew, just as the past paiticijjle oi know is written 
 kneu:.
 
 1 70 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 become viilutuis and valorous beyond their native 
 ability. They lend themselves plastic to tlio 
 moulding power of something higher than human 
 Will. For man cannot free himself from God. 
 The s])('ll ol" divinity is on him. 
 
 ' The liaiul that rouniled Peter's dome, 
 And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, 
 Wronglit in a sad sincerity: 
 liiniself from God he could not free; 
 He bullded better than he knew, 
 Tlie conscious stone to beauty grew!' 
 
 And so, through these Symbols glimmer hints 
 of deeper meanings — sacred suspicions of divinity 
 — trailing clouds of glory : so that 
 
 ' We stand, 
 Adore and worship, when we know it not; 
 Pious beyond the intention of our thought. 
 Devout beyond tlie meaning of our will.' 
 
 For if we saw that 'Moral' and 'Ethical' meant 
 merely the customary and the capricious, yet do 
 they bear the burden of something stabler by far 
 — of laws in the depths of the divine consciousness 
 which no caprice creates nor custom changes. 
 'Truth' but implies that which each man trowdh 
 or believeth for himself — and so would seem to be 
 a tickle and fanciful enough afiair. ' Virtue' may 
 have been to the old warlike Euman nothing 
 nobler than liis ^'iHus or wKndiness; to the art- 
 enamoured Italian his vlriw, or dilettanteisni, and
 
 WORDS OF SCOEN. 1 77 
 
 to the eupeptic Yankee liis plenty of pork and 
 beans: yet is there a 'Truth' that has not its 
 ■warranty in the partial views of this man or that, 
 but which firmly plants itself on the Central and 
 the Unconditioned; there is a 'Virtue' which is 
 neither Greek nor barbarian, nor bund nor free — 
 
 ' For its source from without rises never ;' 
 
 but which is inherent in the very build of the 
 world. 
 
 There is oft-times even something godlike in 
 the contempt with which words themselves look 
 down upon all meanness and littleness. For, if 
 they be, alas, all too frequently, the slaves of 
 falsehood, they are none the less many a time the 
 first and final refuge of truth. With what scorn, 
 for example, are 'vanity' and 'vaunting' viewed 
 when we perceive that they are both the offspring 
 of vanus, empty, and regard them in their true 
 character as mere emptiness! How perfect, too, 
 is the sentence we jironounce whensoever we 
 speak of a 'miser,' even if we do not always 
 recognize that we just characterize him as a 
 wretched, a mis«'able one. Tii tliis very sense 
 Shakespeare and Spenser and Sidney many a time 
 empk)y it : 
 
 'Dccriiiit miser! base, ignoble wrctcli ! 
 
 J-'ual Pari <if lltnnj I /., \'. 5.
 
 1 78 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 ' Do not j-ct disdainc to carrio with thee the wofiiU 
 
 words of a miser now dispariiig.' 
 
 Arcadia, p. 117. 
 
 In both of these instances the word has no con- 
 nection witli avarice — implying simply a wretched 
 one. And the love of money cannot conceal from 
 us that it is at least a very 'sordid' thing; and 
 sordid is of a base enough extraction — claiming 
 kinship with sordes, which is jnstJiUh ! 
 
 Indeed there often lurks in words a sly piece 
 of sarcasm on pettiness or paltriness which shows 
 that, how much soever Society may be sunk in 
 inanity, they will yet continue to speak out boldly 
 and truthfully. ]\Iight one not, to be charitable, 
 admit that those mournful mementoes yclept 
 'DANDIES,' are in their very name sufficiently 
 afflicted — when we reflect that though it be 
 French, it is only French for a ninny — dandin : 
 Webster himself defining it as ' a fop ; a coxcomb; 
 one who dresses himself like a doll, and ivho carries 
 his character on his hach!' Again, how significant 
 a moral is enwrapt in the fact that 'loose,' 'lose' 
 and 'loss' are all from one root; that 'sore' and 
 'sorrow' have a like genesis. Who could wish 
 any severer punishment on a Trofligate' than 
 that he is one whom the appellation itself declares 
 to be dashed to the ground — ■prnjiirjatv.s — utterly 
 broken and abandoned ! And how fearfully are 
 the gnavAyifjs of Conscience which attend the com- 
 mission of any unmanliness or ungodliness 
 embodied in our 'remorse !'
 
 HUMErc; HAPPY. ] 79 
 
 Thus do "Words become most powerful engines 
 in the cause of truth — flails with ^A■hich shams and 
 meannesses are castigated. On this head De 
 Quincey discourses wisely : 
 
 'The word huriibug, for instance, rests upon, a 
 rich and comprehensive basis ; it cannot be 
 rendered adequately either by German or by 
 Greek, the two richest of human languages, and 
 without this expressive word we should all be 
 disarmed for one great case, continually recurrent, 
 of social enormity. A vast mass of villany, that 
 cannot otherwise be reached by legal penalties or 
 brought within the rhetoric of scorn, would go at 
 large with absolute impunity were it not through 
 the stern RJmdamantlican aid of this virtuous and 
 inexorable word.'* 
 
 'Humility' is an in.structive word, claiming 
 kinship Avith humus, the ground — a lowly enough 
 origin truly. 'Peobity,' too, is just what has 
 h&ew prohcd, tried and found good; 'impertinent' 
 is what does not pertain, does not belong to tha 
 occasion. ' Mlsery,' it would seem, clusters all 
 its associations around the hcing hated (miser, 
 miseo ?) — that being regarded as the worst of all 
 miseries. And how full of significance is the term 
 'happy!' If the testimony of langviage is to be 
 received, it is a very indelinite affair indeed, being 
 merely the abounding in Juqjs or chances — not 
 
 • From a paper on * Language'
 
 1 80 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 mw-liaps, it is prcsunuiljlc : and yet the whole is 
 just a great licvhaps ! For thus expounds Paley : 
 
 ' The word happif is a relative term ; in strictness any 
 condition may be denominated happy in wliicli tlie amount 
 or aggregate of pleasure exceeds that of pain ; and the 
 degree of happiness depends upon the quantity of the 
 excess.' 
 
 Moral Philosophy, book I. 
 
 0, not a dead letter, these living statutes of 
 AVords, but glowing and palpitating, laden with 
 pathos and power, rich with the tragedy of souls ! 
 
 Profoundly significant, too, is it to muster words 
 with reference to the traces of the workings of the 
 hot passion, the prejudice, the depravity, shall we 
 say ? of human nature. 
 
 Why, for instance, should a judgment hcforchand 
 be with us always a ' prejudice,' unless it be that 
 we are more apt to judge ill than well? Why 
 cannot a man be spirited and courageous without 
 converting the disposition into 'animosity?' 
 What causes a 'cupidity' in the way of benevolence 
 or a 'lust' of doing good to sound like incongrui- 
 ties or downright contradictions ? What a story 
 of covetousness and extortion is revealed by such 
 a word as 'usury' — which should surely be called 
 abusurij at once ! Or, again, why is it that we 
 cannot promulgate anything v/ith reference to a 
 X)erson, without forthwith falling to 'traduce'
 
 TELL-TALES — DOGIMA. 181 
 
 liim ? or report a story without becoming ' tell- 
 tales' — while 'story' itself is now qnite synony- 
 mous with a fib. 
 
 Under old Eonian rule persons who w^ere set 
 free from servitude — frccd-men — were called liber- 
 tini; but does that authorize us to convert them 
 into ' LIBEETINES ' — or, is there a dark current of 
 wickedness underflowing all this — mvM liberty 
 degenerate into license ? Mignon in French and 
 mifjnonc in Italian both imply a darling, a 
 favourite; but since 
 
 'Tbat poor man 
 That bangs on princes' favours' 
 
 is not apt to be over scrupulous touching the mode 
 in which he gains these favours, it gradually came 
 by a regular process of degradation to bear with it 
 all the baseness and blackness of a ' fflNiON !' If 
 pretence and presumption be not all too rife, as 
 well now as among the old Hellenic sages, why is 
 it that the appellation of a vme man should be 
 loaded with contempt — that he should become a 
 mere mock wise man (which is the foolishest of 
 all) — a mere 'sophist,' and all his instructions 
 mere 'sophistries?' And in our own times we 
 may discern the same principle at work — so that 
 the very exercise of reason we are fain to stigma- 
 tize as 'RATIONALISM.' It would sccm impossible 
 for one to hold an oinnion without converting it 
 into a ' DOGMA,' or assert one without becoming
 
 182 VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 ' DOCJ.MATICAL ;' to be habile or business-like with- 
 out its merging into the TEAGMATICAL ;' and I 
 know not as it is possible to advance without 
 being 'forward!' 
 
 The original significance of ' officious' we 
 know to have been merely dutiful, attentive — full 
 of offices. Thus I find in Dr Johnson's poem on 
 his servant, Levett : 
 
 ' Well tried through many a varying year, 
 See Levett to the grave descend ; 
 Officious^ innocent, sincere, 
 Of every friendless name the friend !' 
 
 But how different its present application ! Why- 
 is it that we convert a feeling over again into a 
 'RESENTMENT;' that we .Cannot turn the mind to 
 (animadverto) a person or thing, without 'animad- 
 verting' thereon, or have a conception withont 
 getting into 'conceit' with it? while even the 
 sacred and the Itohj will degenerate into the merely 
 ' sanctimonious ! ' 
 
 "What a tale of strength abused does 'rohustiow^' 
 tell ns ; and what a history of pettifogging do 
 'cunning' and 'crafty' tell!— 'crafty,' which is 
 properly just skilful, powerful, 'artful' (only that 
 that also has gone the same way) ; and 'cunning,' 
 which, at first ^\■as simply — connan — henning — 
 knowing; but, indeed, I despair of defining the 
 M'ord, since almost every analogue that can be 
 enumerated has been equally debased : for what
 
 GOOD A2vD EVIL IN WORDS. 183 
 
 Joes a 'knowing' fellow mean but an artful, 
 'desifjninir'* fellow? A similar and even sadder 
 debasement is observable in tlie word ' sensual,' 
 which, as we have before seen, strictly signifies 
 simply that which pertains to the se7ises — sensualis 
 — but which has so completely taken possession 
 of and fortified itself within the corrupt accepta- 
 tion, that we are fain to invent 'sensuous' to 
 supply its place. Surely, surely, Dan Chaucer 
 spake rightly — 
 
 'To don sinne is mannish !'t 
 
 "NVe find at once our compensation and our 
 consolation in scrutinizing to the bottom the 
 abyss, black and bottomless though it may seem. 
 For soon liglit begins to blend with the shade, 
 aurora-streaks of hope become visible, and the 
 white butterflies of Love flutter gaily in the ruddy 
 sunlight. For if it be in reality that there is 
 nothing totally bad — if our Life-tree bear on its 
 boughs at once the blossoms of Good and Evil ; 
 so, w-hile we find in language traces of baseness 
 and corruption — if words appear subservient to 
 evei^thing that is mean and contemptible, they 
 also lend themselves graciously, and, as it were, 
 with a greater good will, to keep or carry senli- 
 
 • Certain it la tliat liis ' designs' will be bad. 
 
 f Take in addition, such examples as ' menial,' ' mo- 
 
 0.\KD,' 'PIKTIHT,' 'TAX,' ' TltAITOR,' ' lltEASON,' 'SEM- 
 BLANT,' ' PEKJCICK,' etc.
 
 1 gj. VERBAL ETHICS. 
 
 ,aeuts of Love, of Peace, of Hope, of Benevolence, 
 of Nobility ; and the same breath that festers into 
 a curse can beautifully mould itself into a heaven- 
 born aspiration and become the swift-footed and 
 winged messenger of truth and benignity ! 
 
 ^Yhat is ' DUTY V Is it not evidently what a 
 man owes ( devoir,. du)-^l^ that is due from hun 
 to himself and to others. High, clear above us 
 sounds the voice of the dread eternal Nemesis- 
 unflinching, exacting, with trumpet-tones demand- 
 incr 'What thou owest!' 
 
 ' Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 
 As is the smile upon thy face : 
 Flowers langh before thee on their beds, 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
 Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; 
 And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are 
 fresh and strong.'* 
 How severe and stately is '^ianly,' which is 
 iust man-lilce : how noble, how compensating ! It 
 strengthens our faith in human nature ! And so 
 like to a fair lily springing up amid carnage and 
 coiTuption, comes such a word as 'ceedit -which 
 .3 :^,t the-cr..Zt^um-the hdief, or 'trust we 
 have in the honour and good faith of our feUows 
 So that even aU the truckling and prevarication ot 
 
 » Wordsworth : Ode to Duty.
 
 STilPATHY OF WOEDS. 1 85 
 
 commerce and politics cannot conceal from us 
 that there is still among men a great 'credit' or 
 trust system ; that we have not yet lost all faith 
 in each other, in spite of all failures ! 
 
 If there are those that are ' malevolent' or ill- 
 willed, have we not, also the 'benevolent,' or 
 those that wish us idcU; and, if there be man- 
 lutters — ' MISANTHEOPISTS,' be there not also man- 
 lovers — 'PHLLANTHEOPISTS?' — the good making up 
 for the evil ; the bad ];)ole of existence balanced 
 by the opposite good pole. In fine, what could be 
 more beautiful than those two words — ' compas- 
 sion' and 'sy]MPATHY' — Ijoth of which imply a 
 fellow-suffering — a fellow-feeling -^ and which 
 sound forth here with the soft, wailing melody of 
 an infinite, world-embracing pity. Thus they 
 teach us that, while from our lone Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death ascendeth ever to heaven the 
 tear-steeped tones of mankind's miserere — like to 
 the 'infinite inarticulate grief and weeping of 
 forsaken children' — yet are we not utterly 
 orphaned and alone ; but still in unison with our 
 sorrows tremble ever the sympatliizing tones of 
 
 'The slow, sad music of humanitv-.' 
 
 And are we not sure that every one of our pangs 
 is known and felt by Him whose Ileai't is a Heart 
 of Compassion ? 
 
 N
 
 KAMBLE NINTH. 
 
 ]MEDAT.S IN NAMES. 
 ' Omnibus est nomcn, sed non idem omnibus omen.' 
 
 Juliet af&cts to despise the value of a name, when 
 she says to Eomeo : — 1 
 
 ' What's in a name? tliat wliich we call a rose 
 By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
 So Eomeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
 Iietain that dear perfection which he owes, 
 Without that title' 
 
 In all seriousness, there is much in a name. 
 That Quaker individual understood its power | 
 when he threatened the canine quadruped with 
 condign visitation, and suggested, '1 will not 
 kill thee, hut I will give thee a bad name !' 
 
 The lordship of Names is the most absolute 
 and universal in the realm of human tyrannies. 
 Never was autocrat half so despotic as those airy 
 kings that lord it over man's thou<dit. Of how 
 many million toiling brains is it the ambition 
 merely to make a name ? and lago felt that, 
 robbed of his ' good name,' he was ' poor indeed ! ' 
 
 "What comes so close to man or woman as his
 
 PEESONALITY OF NAIMES. 187 
 
 or her Name ? Next to tlie sweet consciousness 
 of identity, of this ' pleasing, anxious being,' is the 
 marvel and mystery of one's Name. The tragedy 
 of tragedies is in a name. To what thrilling re- 
 alizations may it lift — raising 
 
 ' Beyond the reaches of the soul.' 
 
 Names of home — the sacred names of mother 
 and sister, and wife — the sweet idyll of the names 
 of children — the clustering associations of the 
 names of the troop of friends ! Names of bards 
 1 lenefactors, mart}TS, dear to the heart of the 
 w^orld — Names of the primeval supremes; of the 
 founders of the antique Religions — Brama, Osiris, 
 Zoroaster, Prometheus, Orpheus, Jove ! The exe- 
 crated names of tyrants and oppressors — names 
 uttered with compressed lips — names of warriors 
 and conquerors writing their fiery legends on 
 man's mind as the lightning writes on rocks ! 
 Names of the dead — names embalmed — tombs»in 
 a battle-field, o'ergrown with grasses and flowers ! 
 
 Of the suggestions from names, none are more 
 significant than such as arise from a mustering of 
 names that have been lifted out of their appella- 
 tive import and incorporated as common nouns — 
 ywniina realia — in our language. This interesting 
 class of words is quite numerous : I shall mention 
 such as occur to me just now. 
 
 And here one's associations of the antique come
 
 1 88 'JIEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 iu and suggest such examples as 'tantalize, 
 from Tantalus, whose dreadful punishment it was 
 to be continually in sight of water, etc., and yet 
 never allowed a drop thereof ; Hermes, primeval 
 chemist, has given ns 'heemetic;' Hercules has 
 given us 'herculean,' and Academus 'academy; 
 then, Gordius, the Phrygian king, has left us the 
 legacy of that famous 'gordian' knot ; Mausolus 
 is immortal in his 'mausoleum;' Epicurus 
 survives in ' epicure,' and Demosthenes thunders 
 still and 'fulmines over Greece' in 'philippic' 
 And more: 'Promethean,' 'Platonic,' 'Baccha- 
 nalian' are palpable ; Atlas, on whose shoulders 
 rested the pillars of heaven, has given us 'atlas;' 
 a 'volcano' claims kinship with Vulcan; 'ocean' 
 is quite as plainly very closely allied to Oceanus, 
 and does not the god Terminus stand watcher 
 over every one of our railroad stations ! But to 
 come to more modern contributions. ' Galvan- 
 ism' and 'mesmerism' are palpable enough — ^being 
 merely the ism devised by Galvani and Mesmer. 
 ;Macadam has given us to 'macadamize ;' Mack- 
 intosh has left his name to a coat, and Lord 
 Spencer to the ' spencer.' Was the ' negus' first 
 compounded, as is asserted, by a Colonel Negus ? 
 We certainly know that Lord Sandwich has left 
 his name to slices of bread and meat — 'sandwich.' 
 The associations we call 'tontine' were first con- 
 ceived by a Neapolitan named Tonti ; Dahl, a 
 Swede, introduced the cultivation of the ' dahlia,'
 
 ORKEEY — FUDGE. " 189 
 
 and Lord Orrery was the first for whom an 
 'oeeeey' was made. 
 
 The same law in the formation of words is fre- 
 quently found in the genesis of terms that have 
 acquired a degree of oi^probrious or abusive signi- 
 fication. And often do words thus formed do sad 
 injustice to their sires. Thus Dims Scotus, that 
 subtilest of schoolmen, survives only in the shape 
 of a 'DUNCE ;' while Hector, son of Priam — a man 
 who, it is said, united 
 
 ' The mildest manners with the bravest mind ' — 
 
 has received a maligned immortality in our verb 
 ' To Hector^ and a hectoring fellow, which is just 
 a 'blustering, turbulent, noisy fellow!' Rodo- 
 mont — that celebrated hero in Ariosto — has lent 
 us several words. The name itself, 'rodomont,' 
 we take to designate a vapouring bully and boaster; 
 and the very sublimation of empty bluster and 
 rant we express by ' rodomontade.' 
 
 'Fudge' is a curious word, having a positive 
 personality underlying it. Such at least it is, if 
 D'Israeli's account thereof be authentic. He 
 quotes from a pam])ldet published at the begin- 
 ning of the Eighteenth Century, entitled 'llemarks 
 upon the Xavy,' the author of which says : ' There 
 was, sir, in our time, one CaiUain Fufhje, com- 
 mander of a merchantman, who upon his return 
 from a voyage, how ill fraught soever bis ship was, 
 always brought home his owners a good cargo of
 
 3 90 *MEDALS IS NAMES. 
 
 lies ; so mucli that now, aboard ship, the sailors, 
 when they hear a great lie told, cry out "You 
 fudge it!"' 
 
 The term ' chouse,' a word which one used to 
 hear on the lips of youngsters, has a similar fan- 
 tastic genesis in the Turkish name for interpreter 
 — chiaous. It was a person holding this office in. 
 the Turkish embassy in England, and who in thci 
 early part of the Seventeenth century committed 
 an enormous fraud on the Oriental merchants 
 resident in London, that gave rise to this appella- 
 tion as the designation for any huge piece of 
 swindling. And Verstegan traces ' kibald' to an 
 analogous origin — a derivation we are forced to 
 hold by somewhat freely, but which nevertheless 
 excellently illustrates the principle now under 
 exemplification. But let him speak for himself. 
 
 ' This word was at first Rahad, as yet in the 
 Netherlands it is used, wherehence both wee and 
 the French have taken the name, have somewhat 
 varied it both in ortography and sence. It was the 
 proper name of Rahad — a heathen king of Fries- 
 land, which being instructed in the faith of Christ, 
 by the godly Bishop Ulfrau, faithfully promised 
 to be baptized, and appointed the time and place: 
 where being come, and standing in the water, hee 
 asked of the Bishop where all his forefathers were 
 that in former ages were deceased? the Bishop 
 answered, that dying without the true knowledge 
 of God, etc., they were in hell, then quoth liabad.
 
 EIBALD — QUIXOTIC: 191 
 
 I hold it better and more praiseworthy to go with 
 the greater multitude to hell, than with your few 
 Christians to heaven ; and therewithall he went 
 out of the water unchristened [that is not brought 
 over to the faith of Christ: to 'christen' being 
 just to C/f/'/s^-en] ; and returned both to his 
 wonted idolatry and to his evil lyf, notwithstanding 
 the good admonitions of the Bishop, and an evi- 
 dent miracle, which (through the power of God) 
 the said Bishop wrought, even in his own presence. 
 Hee was afterwards surprised [literally sur-prised 
 i. e., over-taken] wdth a suddaine and improv}'ded 
 [i. 6., unforeseen] death, about the year of our Lord 
 720, and his very name became so odious through ^ 
 liis wickedness, that it grew to bee a tytle of re- 
 proche and shame, and hath so continued e\*iv 
 since.' * 
 
 And the contributions from proper names are 
 not exhausted. Into what an unenviable notoriety 
 has the Trojan I'andarus been taken up in our 
 term to 'pander ;' and what centuries of political 
 finesse are summed up in 'machiavellism' — off- 
 spring of that subtle Italian brain ! One would 
 not desire to share tlie fate of Dr Guillotin, and 
 father such a word as ' guillotine.' So, Solomon 
 is a common nickname for a blockhead ; Cervantes 
 has made 'Quixotic' an epithet of universal 
 significance ; and the rude, rougli Kuw Yurk life 
 
 • iJeatittition of Decayed Intelligence.
 
 192 MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 has erected 'mose' into a type of character which 
 110 other term could convey with equal directness 
 and force. ' Jesuit' is another word of kindred 
 genus. Its history, too, is important. It was, we 
 know, the name given to the order instituted by 
 Ignatius Loyola, in 1534. This order was called 
 the Society of Jesus — and the members thereof 
 ' Jesuits.' So much for the origin of the word. 
 And now wdien we look in our dictionaries and 
 find 'Jesuit' synonymous with crafty intriguer, 
 and see 'Jesuitical' defined as 'designing; cun- 
 ning ; deceitful ; prevaricating,' who could be 
 persuaded that these are the characteristics and 
 tJiose the followers of that meek and lowly Jesus, 
 in wdiose mouth no guile was found ? 
 
 The American contributions to this class of 
 words have been by no means scanty. Indeed, is 
 it not natural that a people so prolific as we are 
 in isms should leave a pretty large verbal precipi- 
 tate ? ' Bovne-'kmiQ'' is a familiar example of 
 this kind. ' Lynching' smacks of the rude, law- 
 less Western and Southern life, where immortal 
 Lynch presides ; while Barnum will live in his 
 name and his ism, long after the ' happy family ' 
 shall have had its qtiicius, and the portals of 
 the memorable 'Temple of the Moral Drama' 
 shall have been closed for ever ! 
 
 Sometimes, too, this process of word-building 
 leads into fantastic snatches of life and thought. 
 The word 'pasquin' is an example to the point,
 
 NATIONAL NAMES. 
 
 193 
 
 having an exceedingly curious origin. The word 
 was applied to a mutilated statue at Eome, in a 
 corner of the palace Ursini, so called from a 
 cobbler of the name of Pasquin, who was remark- 
 able for his sneers and gibes, and near whose shop 
 the statue was dug up. On this statue it has 
 been customary to paste satiric papers. Hence, a 
 lampoon.* In reading the elder Dramatists one 
 very often lights upon the expressions ' Cain- 
 coloured' and ' J"«rfas-coloured ' — forms which 
 might be apt to puzzle us, did we not remember 
 that all legends ascribe red hair and heards to 
 both Cain and Judas ; and, indeed, the aversion 
 which our ancestors had for red or yellow hair 
 ^^•as only less violent than the odium theologicum 
 — so violent was it that they even favoured the 
 devil himself with the attribute. To what is this 
 owing? Had its association with the Danes, 
 whom Alfred calls the Heathen Folk, anything to 
 do with the prejudice ? 
 
 "SVliat a profound significance frequently 
 attaches to national names? What a host of ideas, 
 for example, cluster around the 'Saxons' — 
 especially it we derive the name from srax, a 
 sword : and» so, (he men of the mord ! lleadily 
 can we understand how, with sword in hand, they 
 became invincible in arni.s — flriving all Ijefore 
 
 * Encyclopaedia Americana,
 
 194 JIEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 them : and appreciate how those terrible Vikings, 
 with their awful ' berserkir rage,' spread dread and 
 destruction all around the coasts which they 
 haunted ; and by the terror of their name, compelled 
 the Gauls to intercalate, into their litany, a new 
 petition : ' A furore Normannorum, libera nos, 
 Domine ! ' Deliver us, Lord, from the fury of 
 the Northmen ! For how could it be otherwise 
 than that men \\\\o affected such grim appella- 
 tions as 'Bloody-axe,' 'Scull-cleaver,' 'Death's 
 head' — and whose deeds did not belie their names, 
 should inspire a natural horror? So with the 
 'PiCTS,' the original (Welsh) forms of which 
 Verstegan affirms to be Phictian, i.e., fighters; and 
 the ' Scots,' which, according to the same author- 
 ity, comes from the Teutonic verb scytan — to shoot. 
 On the word 'slave,' Gibbon, in the Fifty-fifth 
 Chapter of the ' Decline and Fall,' has a pungent 
 passage which I shall quote here as altogether 
 pertinent. ' The unquestionable evidence of Lan- 
 guage attests the descent of the Bulgarians from 
 the original stock of the Sclavonic, or more 
 properly Slavonic race: and the kindred tribes 
 of Servians, Bisneans, Piasivians, Croatians, Wal- 
 achians, etc., followed either the standard or the 
 example of the leading tribe. From 'the Euxine 
 to the Adriatic, in the state of Captives, or Sub- 
 jects, or Allies, or Enemies, in the Greek Empire, 
 they overspread the land; and the national 
 appellation of the Slaves has been degraded by
 
 SLAVE — HELOTS. 195 
 
 cliance or malice from the signification of glory to 
 that of servitude.'* 
 
 A mere chance, then, a mere mishap in war has 
 given the appellation of ' Slave ;' and those old 
 Slavic tribes, subdued, stolen and sold, liave 
 immortalized their name, and within it embalmed 
 the record of mankind's infamy. 
 
 "We are not without analocjies to this same mode 
 of procedure. Thus the 'Helots,' among the 
 
 * 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,' Chap. 55. 
 In a note to the above he says : ' Jordan subscribes to 
 tlie ■\vell-known and probable derivation from slava, laws, 
 gloria^ and which forms the termination of the most 
 illustrious names (De Originibus Sclavonicis Pars I., 
 p. 40; pars IV., p. 101, 102).' 
 
 An example of the employment of this word slava, glory, 
 occurs in Suwarrow's letter to the Empress Katherine on 
 the taking of Isniacl, wherein he exclaims : 
 
 *■ Slava Bogu ! slava vam! 
 Krepost vzata, y ia tam.' 
 Glory to God ; glory to thee ! 
 The fortress is taken and I am there.' 
 
 The correctness of this derivation has, however, latterly 
 been called in question by some philologcrs. Ancut which 
 take the following from Talvi's 'Literature of the Slavic 
 Nations.' 'The name of the shtri lias generally been 
 derived from slava, glory, and tlieir national feelings have 
 of course been gratified by this derivation. But the more 
 immediate origin of the appellation is to be sought in tlie 
 word aiovo, word, speech,' etc. 
 
 Lit. of Slav. Nat., p. 2, n, note.
 
 196 MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 Greeks, were, it is asserted, simply the E'/Xung — 
 that is, the dwellers in Ilelos — a town in Laconia, 
 to whom, perchance, a similar mishap arrived : 
 and so 'Helot' came to be used in precisely the 
 sense in which we employ •' slave.' 
 
 It by no means unfrequently occurs that 
 national names thus become the type of particular 
 (qualities, or characteristics, or dispositions. Thus 
 the Franks give us our adjective 'feank,' with 
 the French 'franc,' whence is, perhaps, also, our 
 English 'FKEE.' If so, then both 'slave' and 
 'feee' have their origin in national appellations. 
 The Greeks have always been regarded as a jolly, 
 luxurious race : so much so, that the Latins em- 
 ployed the verb Grcccari (lit., to play the Oreek) 
 to designate fine living and free potations, a sense 
 in which Horace frequently uses it; while Shakes- 
 peare often mentions the 'merry Greeks,' and, 
 even in England, ' as merry as a Grig (Greek),' was 
 long a favourite allusion. The poor Trojans, however, 
 have not fared quite so well — sinking down even 
 to the level of a thief. As when bully Pistol says, 
 
 ' Dost thou tliirst, base Trojan, 
 
 To biive me fold up Parca's fatal web?' 
 
 Henry F., Y. 1. 
 
 So, too, we have 'turks' whose savage disposi- 
 tion is of native growth ; ' Gasconade ' from the 
 lips of those on whom the sun of Gascony never 
 shone; and 'taktaes' who never saw Tartary.
 
 TYPICAL NAVIES. ' 197 
 
 By the way, what a keen set of fellows those Tartars 
 must be, when 'to catch a Tartar' becomes so 
 pungent an expression ! Were the Carthaginians 
 really instinctively liars, or was it only Eoman 
 malignity that made the 'Pwnic faith' emblematic 
 of utter national mendacity? Still do the 
 'Goths' and 'Yandals' survive as typical of 
 everything that is ferocious and sacrilegious, albeit 
 between us and them rolls the flood of fourteen 
 centuries ; and it is even said that the ' ogres' of 
 the Arabian Nights are not merely mythic mon- 
 sters, but that a dim memory survives of an 
 Asiatic nation called the O'igours who, along with 
 the Huns and the Eastern barbarians, spread 
 terror throughout Europe — leaving behind them 
 mementoes and associations which became the 
 basis of a thousand fairy and fantastic tales. 
 
 'Patavinity' {Patois), with which Livy was 
 charged, is plainly just that peculiar dialect spoken 
 in Patavium, where Livy was born. So, 'La- 
 conic' — Xay.miyj^c, — is just something short and 
 pithy — such as we might expect from the people 
 of Laconia — tlie Spartans — a grave, sententious, 
 silence-loving, and most Carlylean race. Again, 
 the term 'cravat' Skinner derives from the 
 Croat soldiers, or cravatcs, as the French called 
 them, though witli liow much probability the 
 reader will judge for liirnsclf.* 
 
 * See Skinner's Etyinologicon, in loco. Menage takes 
 the word from the same source — saying thercancnt : ' On
 
 198 ' BIEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 Ill regard to the origin of the name 'Gauls, 
 genial old Rabelais — who, to the universality of 
 his knowledge, added an acquaintance with Philo- 
 logy — has a fanciful, though interesting enough 
 passage, in which he traces the name to Qala, 
 white : ' Cest la cause pourquoy Oalli (ce sont 
 les Francoys, ainsi appellez parce que blancz sont 
 naturellement comme laict, que les Grecz nomment 
 Gala) voulentiers portent plumes blanches sur leurs 
 bonnetz. Car, x^ar nature, ilz sont ioyeulx, 
 candides, gratieux et bien esmez ; et pour leur 
 symbole et insigne, ont la fleur plus que nuUe 
 aultre blanche, cest le lys.' 
 
 This derivation is about as good as that of some 
 high-minded Scots who attempt to prove that 
 ' Scotland' comes from Scota the (sham) daughter 
 of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, married to Gaithelus, 
 son of Cecrops, founder of Athens ! or that of the 
 Welshman who deduced 'Apollo' from Ap-haul 
 — son of the sun ! And yet these are no more 
 ambitious than the magnificent names assumed by 
 many of our Indian tribes, or by the Asiatics : 
 instance the 'Rajpoots' — which, indeed, is no- 
 thing less lofty than the Sons of Kings ! 
 
 I'appclle de la sorte, a cause que nous avons emprunte 
 cette sorte d'ornement des Croales, qu'on appcUe ordlnaire- 
 iiient cravates.'' Thus called because we borrowed that 
 species of ornament which we commonly call '■cravats^ 
 from the Croats. 
 
 OrUjines de la Laiigue Francaise.
 
 DAil ASK— GUIXEA. 199 
 
 Such are some of the most significant importa- 
 tions into our language from personal names. 
 Names of places have been almost equally prolific. 
 And most prominent among these are the names 
 of inventions that have taken rise from the locality 
 embodied in their appellations. Such terms as 
 'damask' (Damascus) ; 'cuekants' (Corinth)-, 
 'HOLLAND;' 'nankeen' (Xaiihin); 'CALICO' 
 (Calicut); to 'JAPAN;' 'BAYONET' (Bayonnc)', 
 'tuekey;' with the names of liquors, such as 
 'poet' (Oporto); 'cogniac;' 'buegundy,' etc., etc., 
 make themselves apparent at first sight. 
 
 Again, a ' coedwainek,' the technical term for 
 a slwc-makcr, plainly declares himself to be a 
 worker in cordivain, or leather of Cordova, in 
 Spain. WJience also the French ' coedonniee.' 
 The 'areas,' or hanging of tapestry — a word 
 frequently employed by the elder dramatists — is 
 evidently najned after the City of Arras, in the 
 French Xetherlands. A 'Ceemona' violin un- 
 erringly points to its source. So does an ' Andeew 
 Feeeaea.' And so also does a 'DouAY-bible' — 
 evidently being the translation made at Douay. 
 Lunier declares 'muslin' (what the French call 
 moussclinc) to be from Moiissoul, in Mesopotamia ; 
 and asserts that 'paechment' is named after 
 Perrjaraus — whose king, Eumenes, it is said, in- 
 vented the article. But however this may be, a 
 ' magnet,' at least points straight to Magnesia, 
 in Asia Minor. Every-' GUINEA' we handle jogs
 
 200 JIEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 the memory iii regard to its origin on tlie Guinea 
 coast — that ancient Eldorado, wLile our 'dollar' 
 (Swedish dalcr) is maintained by some to be con- 
 nected with Z)«/e, where, they say, it was first coined. 
 And 'sterling' may have some relation to the 
 place of that name — though more probably, as 
 Camden declares, it is a contraction from Easter- 
 ling, ' once the popular name of German traders 
 in England, wJwse money was of the 2^urest 
 gold.' 
 
 It not unfrequently happens, too, that these 
 appellations having their origin in the names of 
 places, preserve some important piece of history. 
 The word 'tariff' is an example to the point. 
 It traces itself back to Tarifa, a Moorish name 
 for a fortress on a Southern promontory of Spain, 
 running into the Straits of Gibraltar, and comand- 
 ing the entrance of the Mediterranean sea. Eroni 
 this Tarifa the Moors, during their dominion in 
 Spain, were wont to watch merchant-ships passing 
 into or out from the Mediterranean, and, making 
 a sally therefrom, used to levy duty on merchandise 
 carried by the ships. And from this practice it 
 was that the application of the word 'tariff' 
 arose. 
 
 Proper names ! This is a vast, indeed, a quite 
 boundless field ! A calculation, that seems to err 
 on the safe side, makes out the number of sur- 
 names in the English language to be between
 
 FAinLY NOMENX'LATUEE. 201 
 
 thirty and forty thousand!* Of English Sur- 
 names we have, so far, nothing like an adequate 
 History or Philosophj. Camdent — 'nourice of 
 antiquitie' — broke ground more than two hundred 
 years ago in this interesting investigation. His 
 contemporary, genial old Verstegan, did good 
 service in the same directioa On these — added 
 to additional contributions of minor note — Mr 
 ^lark Antony Lower wrought in the production of 
 his 'Essays on Family Nomenclature' (2 vols., 
 12mo., London, 1842). The Essays are useful and 
 entertaining, though quite inadequate, Mr Lower 
 being no philologer. A work up to the demands 
 of the theme would be indeed a desideratum. 
 
 Was there ever a time when men were anony- 
 mous ? — a mere indiscriminate herd of Yous ? To 
 this period the memory of man, at least, runneth 
 not back, and the oldest historical representations 
 open with a personal nomenclature somewhat of 
 the nature of the sobriquet or nickname — a single 
 name freely designating some idiosyncrasy of the 
 individual. A broad, free, spontaneous method 
 was this — seizing some empliatic piece of per- 
 sonnel, and making it the symbol of the man. 
 Hercules, Ulysses, Diogenes, Socrates, Isaac, 
 Jacob are instances from Greek and Hebrew 
 nomenclature. 
 
 • Rev. Mark Noble : Ilislorij of the Collrgc of Arinx. 
 t Rk.mains conccntimj Britaine, but especially England 
 and tlic luliabitants thereof. 
 
 O
 
 202 MEDALS IN NAMEB. 
 
 la advance on tlus l-™itive nom^da^«e 
 .vas the assumption of the name ° «™^ »[; ^ 
 addition to his ow proper name, as ^f''^^^ 
 AAA- \Wohi son of Addi ; Ix«P«s "" a«'««'>»'^ 
 tca~ dSus. Additional dcflniteness was 
 Zd hy the annexation of an epitl^t md.cat.ve 
 Shis country oi some personal or soc.al pecuh- 
 Iri^! as Herodotus of Halicarnassus; Diogenes 
 ihr Cvnic ' Alexander the Great. 
 
 B^rthe perfection of personal nomenclature 
 ^vrthe introduction of the Surname proper-a 
 Ze uperadded to the first or Chnst.an name 
 niate the family to which th« -d-^'^ 
 . • u hplo-ncTs Du Cange asserts tl^at fenr 
 rr:rs% re first written -not in a direct line 
 
 f ;._tnd so literally, ,«-?««««« -"^ «"^- 
 
 names English hereditary Surnames were 
 
 "among the fruits of that mighty socia re— n 
 
 that came with the Norman conquest As sa>s 
 
 tg eaTcamden, 'Ahout the year of our Lord 
 
 1000 (that we may not minute out the tame) ur- 
 
 .arn^sh came to he taken up in Trance; and in 
 
 ^:::LlahoutthetimeoftheCo^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ?j;nh ™rar.t:;Sd. TMswiUseen. 
 
 I n:etosomeEngli.hmen or Scott.shmen.whiche 
 Se the Arcadians, thinke their surnames as 
 antient as the moon, or at least to reach many an 
 I" Teyond the Conquest. But they which tlunhe
 
 LOCAL SUENAIMES. 203 
 
 it most strange (I speake under correction), I 
 doubt they will hardly finde any surname which 
 descended to posterity before that time : neither 
 have they scene (I feare) any deede or donation 
 before the Conquest but subsigned with crosses 
 and single names without surnames, in this 
 manner: -f Ego Eadredus confirmaui. + Ego 
 Edmundus corroboraui. + Ego Sigarius con- 
 clusi,' etc. 
 
 Lower makes a classification of English sur- 
 names, as originating in Locality, Occupations, 
 Dignities, Physical and Mental Qualities, Natural 
 Objects, Social Eelations, Contempt, Virtues and 
 Vices, Historical Events, Oaths and Exclamations, 
 Puns, Whimsicalities, etc. 1 can but select a few 
 t}'pical examples. 
 
 Local Surnames. This is a copious source of 
 names, every feature in Geography having fossil- 
 ized into numerous personal appellations. Bukns, 
 Bkydges (Scotch Beiggs), Brooks, Ceaggs, the 
 Chase (or forest), the Field, Fold and Foeest, 
 the Geange, Geove, Hill and House, the Holmes 
 (meadow surrounded by water), Knowles (top &f 
 a hi]]), and Lowndes (or lawns), Marsh, Mill, 
 Moss and Mountain, Paek, Pitt, Poole, and 
 Sand.s, the Street, Spire, Teee and Towtse, and 
 finally every quarter, Xoeth, South, East and 
 West have contriljutcd to swell the list. 
 
 Occvpaiions and Pursuits. In tliis marshallin^r 
 of Xames with reference to their sources, next in
 
 204; MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 number to the local contributions are the contri- 
 butions from Occupations and Pursuits. These 
 became a natural resort for nomenclature with 
 the advance of the arts. 'Parsoi^s and Peiests - 
 met with Chueches and Paeishes and Dyees 
 bound to Coffins, while Geaves yawned before 
 both; Beewer sent out Beees, and Fisher 
 brought in Eels; and, in short, everybody had 
 the name of doing something in the way of his 
 
 trade.' 
 
 But whence came all the Smiths ? Momentous 
 question ! An acceptable enough answer is con- 
 tained in this old rliyme which Verstcgan quotes 
 as current in his time : 
 
 'From whence come3 Smith, all be he Knight or Sqiiyre, 
 But from the Smith that forgeth at the fyre?' 
 
 Smith, then, is originally one who smithcth — 
 Srai(te)th. But as the Saxon verb smitan was 
 applied to workers in wood as well as to those in 
 metal, Smith meant a smiter in general, including 
 wheelwrights, carpenters, masons, etc. And hence 
 the frequency of the name. 
 
 Leaving the Smiths we have the Millees, 
 Masons, Caepentees, Bakees, Goldsmiths, 
 Shepheeds, Butlees, Butchees, Carters, 
 Coopers, Colliers, Lawyers, Taylors, etc. 
 Jenner is an old form oi joiner ; Webster is 
 properly the feminine oi weaver. The associations 
 of field-sports have left us Hunters, Powle];s,
 
 official names. 205 
 
 Fishers, Falconers, Hawkers, Arrowsmiths 
 and Fletchers (Freucli Jieclie, an arrow), wliicli 
 is N"orman for the same. But what do you say of 
 Hoppers, Skippers and Jumpers ? 
 
 And then, Offices and Dignities have left us a 
 Large nominal legacy — from Ejiperor and King, 
 through Princes, Earles and Lords, down to the 
 plain Yeoman and Squire. The Church has given 
 us Popes, Bishops, Parsons, Priests and Claeks 
 (Clarkes). The State has given us, entre autres, 
 Chancellors, INIayors and Reeves. As for 
 Spencer, it is simply Lc Despencer, the dispenser ; 
 Chalmers (Chambers) is primarily De la Chamhre, 
 the Chamberlain ; and Franklin records a piece 
 of primitive English socialism — being etymologi- 
 cally just a freeholder. Chaucer, in the Prologue 
 to the Canterbury Tales, has a lively picture of 
 the Franklin, which begins after this wise : 
 
 ♦ A Frankfxein was in this compagnie 
 White was his beid, as is tlie dayesie. 
 Of his complexion he was sanguin,' etc. 
 
 Pilgrim and Palmer! The Crusades rise at 
 the names ! — the Pilgrims on tlieir way to the 
 Holy Land, the Palmers with t]ieirj»)a///i-irawc/ic:s 
 in their liands.* 
 
 ' His sandals were with travel tore, 
 Staff', budget, bottle, scrip he wore ; 
 
 • Lower on Suruanica.
 
 206 MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 The faded pabn-hravch in liis hand 
 Shewed p//(/Hm from the Holy Land.' 
 
 Marmion. 
 
 Personnel. A fruitful source of nominal roots 
 are Personal and Mental Qualities. How easy 
 for sobriquets to arise from some external or 
 internal idiosyncrasy, as Black, Brown, White 
 (Whitman), Grey ; or lie was a Longman, or a 
 Longfellow, or Strong, or Small, or Swift, or 
 Stout. Eeed, Read, or Eeid, are all variations 
 of Red. Meek, Nokle, and Sterne, too, had 
 doubtless once a positive metaphysical significance. 
 Gifford is one given to ffivinj (Saxon, Gifan, to 
 give.) Sweet, Freeman, Goodenough ! Doolit- 
 tle contains a sad confession. And what shall 
 we say to Mr Drinkwater ? Fantastic enough, 
 certainly. But have not the French also their 
 Boileau ? And the apotheosis of all the virtues 
 appears in Peace, Hope, Joy, Mercy, Bliss ! 
 
 Natural Ohjccts. Nature, tgo, has been harried 
 for appellations. Descending from Sun and 
 Stars, we take in the whole animal world, as 
 (quadrupeds) Lyon, Buck, Hart, Lamb, Hogg 
 (akin to Bacon), Bullock; (birds) Heron, 
 Crane, Jay, Rooke; (fishes) 1*ike, Crabbe, 
 Herring ; (insects) Wasp, Fly, etc. The vege- 
 table world comes in for its share— Myrtle, Sage, 
 Pepper, Pease, Lemon, and Peel. Nor has the 
 mineral kingdom escaped — as Stone, Flint, 
 Steele, Jewell !
 
 purit^\:nical names. 207 
 
 Oddities. Lower, under tliis head, gives a 
 curious list of odd names that probably arose from 
 sobriquets formerly applied to the individual?. 
 Among these are appellations derived from parts 
 of the human body, as Head, Bones, Back, 
 Heart, Toe, Heele, Sole ; or from coins, as 
 Farthing, Penny, jNIoneypenny ; or from the 
 weather, as Frost, Snow, Hail ; or numbers, as 
 Six, Fortye, Once, Twice. Have Messrs Physic 
 and Coffin any necessary kinship ? And what 
 is one to say of such forms as these but that they 
 are pure nicknames : Crookshanks, Longshanks, 
 Gosling, Tree, Blood, Beath ! 
 
 But the farthest reaches of nominal fancies are 
 to be found in the grotesque Christian names 
 which the Puritans, during the Sixteenth and 
 Seventeenth Centuries, were fond of giving them- 
 selves. ' Sometimes,' says Hume, ' a whole godly 
 sentence was adopted as a name ;' and he quotes 
 the names of a Sussex jury, that runs after this 
 wise : 
 
 Stand-fast-on-higli Stringer of Crowhurst, 
 More-fruite Fowler of East-Hadley, 
 Kill-sin Pimple of Witham, 
 Fight-the-good-fight-of-faith White of Ewen, etc. 
 
 P>en Jonson, in Bnrlholcmcw Fair, thus throws 
 his thought into Dialogue : 
 
 Q. Ilia Cliriston-namc is Zit-al-of-tlic-I-and. 
 L. YoH, Sir, Z(-al of-thc-Laiid Busy. 
 W. How ! Wiiat a name's there!
 
 208 MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 L. 0, thcyliave all such names, Sir; he was M'itness 
 for Winberc (they will not bo called God-fathers) and 
 named her Win-the-fight : you thought her name had been 
 Winnlfred, did you not? 
 
 W. I did indeed. 
 
 L. He would ha' thought himself a stark reprobate if it 
 had. 
 
 But the most extraordinary one I have yet met 
 with is the following— itself a perfect catechism 
 in 'pctto: If-Christ-hacl-not-died-for-thee-thou- 
 had'st-been-damned Dobson 1 
 
 A very evident mode of forming names of per- 
 sons would be to join the father's— the siTesnmne 
 — to that of the child, connecting them by some 
 word to indicate the relationship. Hius the 
 Scotch Highl andcrs have their Mac—' Macdonald,' 
 for instance — or as we would have it, ' Donald^ 
 son' (i.e., DonaMs sm). So the Normans have 
 their Fitz — supposed to be just a corruption offils- 
 (filius— a soji) ; the Irish their 0'; the Paissians 
 their Witz; the Poles their *9%—' Peterson,' for 
 instance, being with them 'Petrowsky;' and the 
 Welsh their Ap — which, however, we are not al- 
 ways very careful to preserve — David ap Howel 
 (i.e., David, son of Howel) appearing simply as 
 David Powel, and John ap Kichard, as the plain 
 John Pritchard. 
 
 The Welsh affectation of joining together the 
 narues of a score or two of ancestors (connecting
 
 WELSH AXD SAXON NAMES. 209 
 
 them by their endless 'Aps') has given rise to 
 more banter and pleasantry than we could con- 
 veniently notice. Tim Bobbin has some curiosities 
 in this way. It was not unusual, a century or two 
 back, to hear of such combinations as Evan-ap- 
 G^iffth-ap-Da^^d-ap-Jenkin ; and some wag, in 
 the way of burlesque, described cheese as being 
 
 'Adam's own cousin-german by its birth, 
 Ap-Curds-ap-Mllk-ap-Cow-ap-Grass-ap-Eartb.' 
 
 Such names as these, declares Lower, cast the 
 Dutch InhvervaTikodsdorspandcinhadrachdern qiiite 
 into the shade ! 
 
 Our Saxon names are often profoundly signifi- 
 cant. ' Alfred,' for instance, is All jjcace; 'Ber- 
 nard' is Bcaren (or Bear's) heart; 'Edgar' is 
 Ead-gard — one who (juards his (ead) oath — a 
 troth-keeper; 'Edward' is the same as Edgar 
 (vjard=guard) ; ' Goodwin' is a Good-vnn — who 
 vnns goods, or wealth: so 'Egbert' is said to 
 signify one dis^josed to rest — and the account which 
 Yerstcgan givesof the origin of the name ' William' 
 is very curious : He says that in the wars between 
 the Germans and Piomans, the Roman officers were 
 in the habit of wearing gilded head-pieces ; and 
 whenever a German soldier killed a Roman officer, 
 this gilded hea^l-piece was put on the soldier's 
 head, so that he forthwith became a Gildhclm (a 
 Golden helmet) — what the Latins call GmlielmuSy 
 the French Guillaume, and we, 'William.'
 
 21 MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 The name of the various trades and professions 
 might form a curiously interesting subject for in- 
 vestigation under this same head. A 'clothier,' 
 for instance, is very evidently one who deals in 
 cloth or clotlics — a ' draper,' as we say, which is 
 just 'clothier' in French — c^r op being their word 
 for cloth. So, a ' tailor' is one whose business it 
 is to — tailler— to cut oiit garments ; but, not only 
 to cut them out, but also to sew them together — a 
 realization obtained by ' cosier,' which Shakes- 
 peare, in the Twelfth Night, uses, though we have 
 not retained the term. A 'farrier,' again, is 
 plainly one who works in — ferrum — iron — shoeing 
 a horse being expressed both in French and Italian 
 hy ironing a horse; while a 'currier' finds his 
 employment in — cuir — lcathei% and -a 'sexton' is 
 just a sacristan. 
 
 Pegge says — whether right or wrong — that 
 ' apothecary' (the old potecary) is originally a 
 hoiicario — i.e., one who has a sAo^?, what we would 
 call a ' stationer' (only that that has acquired a 
 fecial signification), in opposition to a 'pedler' 
 — who is, of course, continually trudging along on 
 his feet — pedes. A 'butcher^ is doubtless just 
 the French houcher — a form which, by the way, 
 we find in old literature. Thus the 'beastly 
 Skelton' says : 
 
 ' For drede of the Boucher''s dog 
 Wold worry them like a hog.'
 
 NECESSITY OF CREATING NANNIES. 211 
 
 And a ' grocer' rather boastingly declares that 
 he deals only in gross. Johnson, indeed, recom- 
 mended that the word be spelled grosser* — which 
 has certainly the warrant of etymology. This is 
 but a hint of an immense theme. 
 
 The theory of nomenclature finally ascends into 
 the sesthetical realm — A'ast, and hitherto all but 
 unexplored domain. The necessities of Literary 
 Art — especially as expressed in the drama and 
 novel — require the creation of ideal Names. And 
 often high and highest art is displayed in the 
 workings of creative Imagination on nominal 
 emblems for these avatars of the mind. The 
 masters of the modern Novel all work, consciously 
 or unconsciously, on the problem of Names. I 
 know books that suggest ideal pedigrees, a new 
 heraldry of the mind, and carry farther out the 
 boundaries of Metaphysics. 
 
 To modern times and to America, too, the 
 thought of Naming presents itself Once, we 
 know, every name was significant. There have 
 
 • 
 
 Our age is no respecter of letters. lu our retrench- 
 ment and amendment we deal with them just as if theg 
 had no feeling on the subject. Once, we know, Ortho- 
 graphy was a more serious affair^ for 'Worthy' Fuller 
 tells us of a clerk in the culinary dcpartm<iiit of the royal 
 household, wlio narrowly escaped condign punishment for 
 spelling Cinapi as 6'Inapi. 
 
 Church Iliilory, Book IV., p. 15(>»
 
 212 MEDALS IN NAMES. 
 
 been seasons, in the elder ages, of flood-tides in 
 the creative faculties, when Nature disclosed her 
 secret thought and gave it to man to name her — 
 when to mountain and stream, field and flood, were 
 added names that are poems. Why should not 
 we, too, come into this Orphic secret? Why- 
 should we masquerade in the old costume ? Al- 
 ready the new needs make the old perfections 
 meagre and inadequate. To you. Poets and 
 Builders, sublime invitations ! To quarry and to 
 build in the new architectures of humanity!
 
 RAMBLE TENTH. 
 
 SYNONYMS AND THEIE SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 ' All languages tend to clear themselves of synonyms 
 as intellectual culture advances — the superfluous words 
 being taken up and appropriated by new shades and com- 
 binations of thought evolved iu the progress of society.' 
 
 De Quince y. 
 
 An adequate treatment of English Synonyms is 
 still a desideratum. Crabbe's work was wiitten 
 before I^hilology became a science, and the little 
 volume edited by Archbishop) Wliately passes 
 over etymology and all its seminal sugges- 
 tions. Mr Taylor ('English Synonyms Dis- 
 criminated') commands the etymologic method, 
 and has furnished an important contribution to 
 Synonymy; but his work is not at all proportioned 
 to the copiousness of our language. Of much 
 profouruler jiliilosopliic significance is the The- 
 saurus* of Mr Koget, wlio has given us a meta- 
 
 • Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases, Classified 
 and Arranged so as to Facilitate the Expression of Ideas 
 and Assist in Literary Composition. Loudon, 1852.
 
 2U SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 physical classification of Thouglits and Things 
 with their corresponding Verbal Symbols — 'fur- 
 nishing on every topic a copious store of words 
 and phrases, adapted to express all the recogniz- 
 able shades and modifications of the general idea 
 nnder which those words and phrases are arranged.' 
 These various works are all useful auxiliaries ; but 
 I return to the assertion with which I set out, 
 that an adequate treatment of this subject is still 
 somethiug to be desired. A great Synonymy, 
 after the modern Philologic Methods, would be a 
 most important contribution to the Philosophy of 
 the English language. Much is in the subject ; 
 much grows out of it. 
 
 But are there any such words as synonyms? 
 Of absolutely equivalent, absolutely equipollent 
 expressions there are necessarily few. Not but 
 that terms between which exists a certain Algebraic 
 equality are to be found: the number is small, 
 however, and constantly diminishing. It is the 
 tendency of an advancing culture — of an expansion 
 of the horizon of thoughts and things — to elimin- 
 ate synonyms by separating kindred terms and 
 stamping each respectively with the seal and 
 superscription of an intellectual individuality. 
 Of synonymous words we shall then have to say, 
 that they are such as, bearing general and generic 
 resemblances, have yet specific differences, and a 
 colour and contour of their own. 
 
 The causes of the growth of Synonyms lie deep
 
 TENDENCY TO SYNONIMIZE. 215 
 
 in the roots of a nation's life and language. Ee- 
 lations, external and internal, act — amalgamation 
 of races, literary influence and action of other 
 nations, the prominent elements of national civili- 
 zation, with other and subtler causes. -With a 
 people of active imagination there is always a 
 tendency to drape the crowning facts and factors 
 of its life with a copious richness of expressive 
 forms. And it is significant to notice the manner 
 in which even individual elements in a nation's 
 civilization have been affected with verbal powers. 
 In the. era of chivalry there was a host of expres- 
 sions to render the idea of horse. In Sanscrit, the 
 language of Hindostc\n, where the elephant plays 
 a part as important as the horse among ourselves, 
 words abound to designate this pachyderm. 
 Sometimes it is denominated the ' twice-drinkinir 
 animal,' sometimes as 'he who has two teeth,' 
 sometimes as 'the animal with the proboscis.'* 
 This is still more strikingly manifest in the Arabic, 
 which is said to have the enormous multitude of 
 several hundred words for the ' ship of the desert.' 
 Tliese divers influences have all acted on the 
 English Speech. Complex in its organism as no 
 language is, it inherits all that antiquity conceived, 
 and freely augments and enriches itself with im- 
 portations from tlie modern idioms. Born thus of 
 the marriage of several stocks and tongues, a 
 
 • Alfred .Maury,
 
 21 G SYNONYMS AND TIIEIK SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 copious equivalence runs througli the English 
 language, and it frequently depends on a writer's 
 choice whether his diction shall bear the features 
 of this or that branch of his linguistic ancestry. 
 
 Of this hospitality of our language, numerous 
 illustrations present themselves. Thus the good 
 strong Saxon 'tkick' has always been a living 
 part of our speech, expressing a sly fraud : but, 
 not content with this single symbol, early in the 
 literary history of our language a double inocula- 
 tion of words from the classics took place — the 
 Greek contributing 'stratagem' (stratagema), the 
 Latin 'artifice' (artificium). Nor is this all. 
 With the study of Italian literature, during the 
 reign of James I., 'device' was introduced; 
 and a still farther importation was made, under 
 the writers of Charles II. — with whom a French 
 renaissance took place — of the term 'finesse.' 
 Thus it is that the Englisli language has enriched 
 itself from a five-fold source with words for the 
 expression of a single general idea. And here 
 precisely it is that the constant law of Desynony- 
 mizing, as Coleridge expressively terms it, comes 
 into play, and a gradual divergence, a gradual in- 
 dividualizing of each term takes place : and so it 
 is that, in the final assortment, while 'trick' 
 continues its general, social significance, 'artifice' 
 carries with it rather the meaning of a mechanical 
 contrivance, 'stratagem' a military feint; 'de- 
 vice' was gradually exported into heraldry.
 
 TEMPESTUOUS WORDS. 217 
 
 'describing the hieroglypli by means of which 
 the name of a chieftain is enigmatically written 
 on his shield/ while 'finesse' — which has the 
 French charm of vagueness — is gradually assum- 
 ing the sense of intellectual subtlety. Take 
 another illustration. 'Blast,' 'Gale,' 'Gust,' 
 'Storm,' 'Tempest,' 'Hurricane.' Here are six 
 words all expressive of violent atmospheric 
 phenomena, and which, coming from various 
 linguistic sources, have all been naturalized in our 
 language, and have elaborated for themselves a 
 distinctive individuality. It is only, however, the 
 clue of etymology that discloses the proper shape 
 and shade belonging to each of these terms. And 
 it is instructive to note what subtle facts are 
 exposed by the opening up of the interior import 
 of these word-histories. For 'gust' and 'storm' 
 are of Northern origin (Danish and Icelandic in 
 tlieir connections), and suggest the phenomena of 
 northern climates — 'gust' carrying, with it the 
 fitful fjush of the wind ; and storm' being more 
 violent, more complex — the stir, namely, of the 
 atmosplieric elements ; fierce, rapid meteorologic 
 commotion, throwing air, and eartli, and ocean 
 into elemental contest, with darkness, perchance, 
 and destruction, and hail, and snow. ' Tempest ' 
 is of southern origin, and describes the sort of 
 storm common in warm countries, wliere quite 
 ^-tinir-C){-\i (J,rw:prsias, tcmims, time) is of frequent 
 occurrence, wind accompanied witli rain, and 
 
 V
 
 218 SYNONYMS AND THUIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 liglitnings, and thunder. ' Hurricane,' though of 
 Spanish or French origin (Spanish Imracan ; 
 French ouragan), has yet a historical and 
 geographical connection with the storm-phenomena 
 of the West Indies and the Caribbean Sea ; and 
 hence is in its very nature peculiarly fitted to 
 typify tropical and summer storms. As I am on 
 tiie vocabulary of tempests, it occurs to me to 
 mention an additional synonym to the preceding, 
 and which did not come into my mind when 
 writing the above. I refer to the word 'tornado.' 
 And here, too, the magic wand of Etymology is of 
 potent service. For is it not patent that the con- 
 nection of this term with the verb to turn (Spanish 
 and Portuguese tornada, a turning round) is 
 suff^estive of precisely the element that most 
 eminently characterizes these oriental tempests — 
 the wUrlinrj motion, the vMrlwi7id, namely ? 
 
 But let me enter into the subject of Synonyms 
 with somewhat more of system. And in this 
 estimation of the influences that have acted on the 
 growth of Synonyms we shall follow the line of 
 history if we notice such co-relative expressions 
 as arose from the inoculation, early in the history 
 of our language, of the large Norman element that 
 came with the Norman Conquest. Sucli co-rela- 
 tives are very numerous. And it is a significant 
 iact that the antagonism that long subsisted 
 between the Saxon and Norman races is vividly 
 mirrored in our language. For presently a fierce
 
 VICISSITUDES OF WOEDS. 219 
 
 hostility arose between the contending native and 
 foreign terms, and Saxon and iSTorman verbs and 
 substantives waged a war as bitter as that recently 
 carried on by Saxon and Norman men. 
 
 Various of course were the fortunes of the day. 
 At times, the Gallicism clean overpowered and 
 supplanted the Saxonism ; at others, the French 
 word had to yield before the imperious home in- 
 stinct. Now a Saxon noun fell into disuse, a 
 Norman substitute taking its place, and only the 
 adjective remaining as a reminiscence of the old 
 vocable ; anon, both words were retained, some 
 compromise being struck between them — the 
 Saxon, perchance, crystallizing around the home- 
 lier, heartier nucleus of meaning ; the Gallicism 
 employed in the more courtly, more rcchcrchS 
 significatiou. 
 
 And first, of such duplicates the native form of 
 which the French finally succeeded in eliminating. 
 The Saxon term for a tQler of the ground was 
 earlhliiuj — a word of sweet and tender beauty, 
 which I cannot but wish had been retained — gave 
 place to the Norman ' fakmek '—/cn/iicr; while. 
 cartldinfj has completely lost all its old vitality 
 and been pressed into the moral service. Eelations, 
 social and political, coming under the control of 
 the invaders, the new regime made itself powerfully 
 and practically felt in the dealings of the law, of 
 which here is an illustration. To express the legal 
 union of the sexes, the Normans imposed on the
 
 220 SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 conquered Saxon their word 'maeriage,' which is 
 just the getting of a mari or hushand (getting a 
 ma;i, as the Scotch say)-supplanting thus the 
 native expression, rjijfta (a giving away). This, 
 thouo-h, is hut the external— the conventional part : 
 the heart of the matter continued still to be ex- 
 pressed by the Saxon ' wedding,' an expressive 
 word, originating in wed, a pledge, a covenant. And 
 here are some native words, every vestige of which 
 has disappeared from our speech. Month-stck has 
 been supplanted by ' lunatic,' hcJwdun by ' com- 
 mandment,' anweald by 'authority,' agtlt by 
 RECOMPENSE,' and afgodnes by ' idolatry.' 
 
 Or a^ain, there occurs an outcropping of the okl 
 form as" primary strata shoot up through the walls 
 of the world. Bead is no longer a livmg Enghsh 
 word, having given place to ' prayer' (French 
 prQre) • and yet we have reminiscences thereof in 
 the heach on which the Catholic counts his prayers; 
 in the head-roll, (bede-roll) which was the roll or 
 list of persons to he prayed for, and in the memory 
 of the old headsman, who was to bless and pray, 
 dropping his heads, and saying 
 
 ' Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide.' 
 
 "^ Burns. 
 
 'Steward' seems to have undergone quite a 
 degeneracy. For the composition of the word 
 would imply that he was originally the stede^ard 
 (sted-ward, ste(d)ward=6^c«;ar£Z) the ward, guard,
 
 LIEUTENANT — PENSIVE. 221 
 
 or keeper in the stead or place of another — a 
 meaning ^Yhich was afterwards covered by the 
 French 'lieutenant:' and then it was that the 
 declension of steivard began, sinking down into a 
 mere hutkr or hoUlc-erl* 'Heady' and 'testy' 
 (Trench teste, tete, the head) are etymologically en- 
 tirely coincident, and yet they soon began to 
 diverge in meaning, while ' heady' is now all but 
 obsolete. Or consider this duplicate — to 'whiten,' 
 and to 'blanch ;' the first of the native stock, the 
 latter of the Norman importation {hlcmcJiir, blanc, 
 white). Here, too, the etymologic coincidence is 
 perfect. It was not long, however, before they 
 gradually began to fall apart— to tvhite^i meaning 
 to superinduce a white colour, whereas blanch 
 implies the withdrawal of some colouring matter, 
 which concealed the natural colour. Similar is 
 the duplicity that was found between ' thought- 
 ful' (Saxon) and 'pensive' (French): in time, 
 however, the national instinct appropriated the 
 latter term to symbolize the sentimental side of 
 the quality — ' pensive' superinducing on thought- 
 fidncss an element of soft sadness. The Norman 
 never could usurp the Saxon's home and hearth, 
 although he did succeed in leaving his impress on 
 many a stately 'mansion ;' and yet most effectu- 
 
 • In regard to steward, Webster says, ' the meaning of 
 tlic first syllable is not evident !' I can't inint,'iii(' anytliing 
 more evident. But lie was misled, as so IVcqueiilly, by 
 Jolmsou.
 
 222 SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 ally did he invade the manners and customs of our 
 ancestors, introducing his own 'modes' and 
 'fashions'— putting 'bonnets'— which is French 
 every letter of it — on women's heads, although he 
 never managed to take the ' hats' (Saxon h(Bt and 
 'caps' {^oxoncceppe) from off men: dressing ladies 
 out in ' frocks' (French froc), and gentlemen in 
 'coats' (French cotte) ; throwing 'shawls' over the 
 shoulders of the one sex, and ' surtouts' on the 
 backs of the other, and transforming the home- 
 spun 'br?ecs' into the more elegant ' pantaloons !' 
 But in this survey of Synonyms, a further 
 retrospect is required. And such were the causes 
 that worked in the development of the English 
 language that, besides these French co-relatives, 
 it presents manifold duplicates, Saxon and Latin, 
 and many triplicates, Saxon, Latin, and Greek — 
 introduced at a later day, when the suns of classic 
 language, culture and thought, came with their 
 vernal and fecundating influence over the nascent 
 English speech. How many such duplicates as 
 these do we have : 
 
 Saxon. Latin. 
 
 Freedom Liberty 
 
 Fear Terror 
 
 Meat Victuals 
 
 Dale Vale 
 
 Guess Conjecture 
 
 "Weariness Lassitude 
 
 Fiitlierly Paternal 
 
 Rich Opulent
 
 SIGNIFICANT co2*i:binatioxs. 223 
 
 Saxon. Latin. 
 
 Whole Entire 
 
 Hiddcu Occult 
 
 Sour Acid 
 
 Tame Gentle 
 
 Hate Abhor 
 
 Help Assist 
 
 Die Expire 
 
 Better Meliorate 
 
 Lessen Diminish 
 
 Trust Credit 
 
 These new factors coming in to do their work 
 in the growth of our tongue, the result was that 
 many a significant combination arose. And first, 
 we find triplicates in which a Saxon, French, and 
 Latin term stood side by side, each severally 
 coming gradually to assert and assume a sphere 
 of its own. Thus from the three roots country 
 (Saxon), pays (French), and rus (Latin) — three 
 synonymous roots from as many distinct sources — 
 arise 'countryman,' 'peasant,' and 'eustic' 
 'Foeesight' conies to us a native-bred home- 
 word : with the Norman inoculation came ' PEU- 
 DENCE,' etymologically an exact synonym of the 
 foregoing: but, not satisfied with this duality, 
 wiiters in the course of time went back to the 
 Roman idinm and imported thence ' teovidence,' 
 whereof ' I'Jjudence' is simply the French form. 
 King = roy (French) = rex (Latin) : ' Kingly '= 
 'royar=' regal.' And here are a few additional 
 triplets that come under this same category :
 
 •>2i SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 'bold; 'brave,' 'intrepid'— 'wratli/ 'rage,' 'ire' 
 — 'leave,' 'abandon,' 'desert'— 'bear,' 'support,' 
 'tolerate' — 'east,' 'levant,' 'orient'— 'lust,' 'desire,' 
 'cupidity' — 'chosen,' 'reclierch^' 'elegant' ('select'). 
 But I must advance, in tlie cozenage of words, 
 to importations made at once from Latin and 
 Greek. And perhaps the briefest way will be for 
 me to tabulate a handful or so out of the multi- 
 tudes of these co-relatives. 
 
 Saxon. 
 
 La 1 171. 
 
 Greek. 
 
 Starry 
 
 Sidereal 
 
 Astral 
 
 Speech 
 
 Language 
 
 Dialect 
 
 SaAV 
 
 Proverb 
 
 Aphorism 
 
 Wayward 
 
 Erratic 
 
 Eccentric 
 
 Well-bred 
 
 Affable 
 
 Polite 
 
 Aim 
 
 View 
 
 Scope 
 
 Guess 
 
 Conjecture 
 
 Hypothesis 
 
 Curse 
 
 Maledictioa 
 
 Anathema 
 
 Stress 
 
 Accent 
 
 Emphasis 
 
 Foe 
 
 Opponent 
 
 Antagonist 
 
 Tale 
 
 Novel 
 
 Story 
 
 Pithy 
 
 Concise 
 
 Laconic 
 
 I invite to an exploration of these and similar 
 groups — many a curious fact or fancy will they 
 reveal. Take the triplet 'foe' — 'opponent' — 
 'antagonist,' for example. The Saxon 'FOE,' 
 has its connections in the Teutonic verbs fco7i, 
 fian* to hate, and means (any one) 7^ai!ef^— and 
 hence is of these terms the one that carries with 
 
 « ( 
 
 Fiend' is the present participle of this verb, and
 
 TRIPLE SYNONYMS. 225 
 
 it the burden of the most active hostility ; ' oppo- 
 nent,' indeed, is one who is pitted against (oh and 
 yono) another, while 'antagonist' has its origin 
 in the antagonistcs of the Grecian games. Or 
 consider this group — 'wayward,' 'erratic,' 'eccen- 
 tric : ' on what a vivid perception of character do 
 they rest! 'Waywaed' is just aioay-woxdi — the 
 tendency to be off and away — an image perfectly 
 realized by ' ereatic,' which is the being given to 
 erring, or wandering — 
 
 ' The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
 To his confines.' 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 'EcCENTEic' is an importation from geometry, typi- 
 fying the tendency to depart from the centre — 
 'flying off in a tangent' from the centred round of 
 customary thinkings and actings. Or explore the 
 suggestions in this group — ' tale,' ' novel,' ' story.' 
 ' Tale' has its roots in the verb to tell, and hence 
 is properly confined to a short narrative within 
 the compass of conversational convenience, and 
 fitted to amuse the hearer ; ' story,' however, in 
 its very origin professes to be true (historia), 
 while the primaiy cliaracteristic of the 'novel,' 
 is that it have novclfg* Finally, of the group, 
 'pithy,' 'concise,' and 'laconic;' 'pithy' claims 
 
 signifies the hater. The interjections ' i-n;,' ' kom,' and 
 ' faugh' have all a likcgeucisis. 
 • Taylor : Synonyms Discriminated.
 
 226 SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 to shut Tip in a small compass much ^t77i, mucli 
 of the spine and spirit of the matter under con- 
 sideration ; while 'concise' {concisus, cut off) 
 prunes and lops off all verbal excess and redun- 
 dancy, and 'LACONIC' is after the fashion of the 
 Laconcs or men of Laconia— the Spartans — a grave, 
 brief, sententious race. 
 
 Having taken this historical coup-cVceil of Syno- 
 nyms, it may be permitted us to enter into the 
 subject with somewhat more of freedom. It is 
 curious to observe how, in the final assortment of 
 co-relative terms, the national instinct wrought 
 on each, and what is the fate that has befallen 
 these several analogues — how the decrees of praise 
 and blame, of merit and demerit, have varied with 
 the pulsings of the popular heart. Of this action, 
 such words as 'womanly' — 'feminine;' 'boyish' — 
 'puerile;' 'lively' — 'vital; 'friendly' — 'amicable,' 
 etc., afford illustrations. As far as composition 
 ffoes, 'womanly' and 'feminine' are entirely 
 coincident and correspondent : and yet see how 
 the formative popular energy has wrought on 
 these words. For who does not perceive that 
 there is something infinitely loving in ' -womanly,' 
 that 'feminine' (which merely denotes that which 
 pertains to woman as the opposite sex — and for 
 which womanish was formerly employed) can lay 
 no claim to ? Chaucer's beautiful lines come in 
 here with expressive significance :
 
 FEMININE— BOYISM. 227 
 
 ' I see wel that ye have on my distrcsse 
 Compassion, my faire Canese, 
 Of veray* wovianly benignitie, 
 That nature in your principles hath set.' 
 
 The Squicres Tale. 
 
 On the other hand, a passage from ^lilton will 
 set 'feminine' in almost too clear a light. 
 
 ' Yet the fourth time when mustering all her wiles, 
 With blandisht parlies, /em/nine assaults, 
 Tongue-batteries, she surceased not day nor night 
 To storm me overwatched and Avearied out.' 
 
 Samson Agonisles. 
 
 ' Childlike' is a very beautiful and ingenuous 
 term, and yet 'infantine' or 'infantile,' albeit 
 just the Latin therefor, have none of its charming- 
 simplicity — nay, tliey are altogether 'childish,' 
 although it may not be unwoithy of note that even 
 it had formerly precisely the meaning of ' child- 
 like,' as in the following : 
 
 ' Charltie is a chi'dlsh thing, as holi churche wittnesseth 
 nisi ejjiciamini sicut parvuU.^ 
 
 Piers Plnufjhmaiii p. 280. 
 
 There is nothing offensive about 'boyish,' and 
 yet wlio would wish to be charged with being 
 ' puerile,' either in word or deed ? Dryden 
 introduced ' boyism,' but I know not tliat it sur- 
 vived liim. It is instructive to observe how tlie 
 
 * What we write very; 'very' is, therefore, just truly — 
 vrai.
 
 '2-lS SYNONYMS AND THEIE SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 balance of Compensation in time eqnalizcs and 
 adjusts everytliing; for even 'pueeile' had once 
 nothing contemptuous about it, but was, in fact, 
 precisely analogous to our present acceptation of 
 ' BOYISH.' An instance of this from Anthony-a- 
 Wood suggests itself: 
 
 ' Franciscus Junius was born at Heidelberg, a famous 
 
 city and university of Germany, au. 1589, educated iu 
 
 puerile learning at Leyden,' etc. 
 
 Athence Oxon. 
 
 Compare the home-bred ' lively' with the im- 
 ported ' VITAL.' .Is there not something more in 
 'lively' than the mere possession of vitality — a 
 something of quickness and vivacity superadded 
 thereto, which 'vital' possesses not, and which for 
 ever prevents them from coalescing? 'Fkiendly,' 
 too — can it be because it is a tone of our old 
 mother tongue ? — seems to wear an infinitely more 
 winning smile, and an infinitely warmer heart 
 than does the more stately ' amical,' or the some- 
 what frigid ' AMICABLE.' 
 
 But, if our strong Saxonisms sometimes have 
 the advantage over their high-born Southern 
 sisters, the reverse is oft-times the case ; the 
 Omnipresent, Omnipotent law of compensation, 
 which balances granules and gravitation, here also 
 makes itself felt, and unerringly adjusts the terras 
 of tlie great linguistic equation. 'Bloody' and 
 'sanguine' afford an illustration to the point. 
 For though from analogous roots (sanguis =
 
 "WORLDLY — EARTHLY. 229 
 
 hlood) — yet has the Latin by far the milder 
 meaning — implying, at present, rather that expec- 
 tant, confiding disposition that is generally fonnd 
 in union with an ardent temperament and a 
 copious flow of hlood. Chapman, however, fre- 
 quently employs it as synonymous with bloody. 
 As here : 
 
 'Sharpe axes, turbils, two-hand swords, and spears 
 
 with two heads borne, 
 Were then the weapons : faire short swords with 
 
 sanguive hilts still worn. 
 Had use in like sort.' Iliad^ XV.* 
 
 'Worldly' and 'earthly' have clustered 
 much of their meaning round ethical pivots — 
 worldly implying the being too much attached to 
 the world — to 
 
 ' This earthly load 
 Of death called life:' 
 
 whereas 'mundane' and 'terrestrial' (and 
 'EARTHY,' too,) have to a much greater extent 
 preserved their merely expletive and definitive 
 acceptation. 
 
 This principle, indeed, we find running through 
 'a very prolific class of synonyms : the Saxon 
 'adjective being the homely, hearty, common word 
 
 * But the heroic translator of the old blind Bard id 
 frequently very erratic in his use of words — almost always 
 employing them in their literal, classic sense. Tims fur 
 tiie word in its above acceptation, we now use 'sa.n- 
 
 GUI>'AI{Y.'
 
 230 SYNOXYiAIS AND THEIR SUGGESTIOXS. 
 
 — with, perchance, a poetic or sentimental sense 
 superadded thereto : while the Latin remains 
 literal — rigid and scientific. Instances innumer- 
 able niidit be adduced in illustration. ' Heaety' 
 may be no more than * cordial,' yet is it much 
 more than ' cardiac ;' while what is quite ' salu- 
 tary' may not always be very 'healthy.' There is 
 poetry in 'sunny' and 'starry' and 'fiery' and 
 'icy' and 'glassy,' but not an atom can be ex- 
 tracted from 'solar' or 'stellar' ('astral,' 'side- 
 real,' etc.) or 'igneous' or 'glacial' or 'vitreous* 
 — the corresponding adjectives of Latin origin. 
 'Hairy' cannot be defined by 'capillary,' nor 
 'handy' by 'manual,' while 'doggish' ('dogged,' 
 etc.,) has an innate snappish and cynic force that 
 is not responded to by ' canine.' ISTo poet would 
 hesitate, as to beauty and expressiveness, between 
 'nightly' and 'nocturnal,' or between ' m intry' 
 and ' brumal,' even though he might not remem- 
 ber that our Saxon forefathers were wont to 
 count time by nights, and the years of their 
 life-time by winters.* It is not, however, always 
 the case that the Latin retains the literal, while 
 the Saxon receives the metaphorical application. 
 Thus ' woody' is nearer the literal truth than is 
 ' sylvan' — even though it has its root in the Eoman 
 sylva (forest). 
 
 It frequently happens, too, that the presence of 
 
 • Traces of this crop out in our terms sennight and/or/- 
 viijhi^ i. e.. seven ni;ihts ; fonrleen uights (liencc).
 
 PAUCITY OF ENGLISH. 231 
 
 these various factors in our langfuaoe Las made 
 strange work with the parts of speech. And 
 significant among these results is the existence of 
 numerous couplets, whereof the substantive is a 
 Saxonism, the adjective a classicism. Thus 
 though 'I^^^'D' is a primitive Saxon vocable, the 
 English genius never succeeded in elaborating for 
 itself a term expressive of having relation to the 
 mind: straightway it was compelled to have 
 recourse to the Latin, importing thence, for that 
 purpose, the word 'mental' (mens, mind) — a 
 word weU fitted for adjective expression. So, 
 hcrng was forced to go forth and find abstract 
 realization in 'essential;' thing in 'eeaL;' 
 reason in 'eational;' root in 'eadical;' kind 
 in ' general,' and will in ' voluntary.' ^Yould 
 it be to divide too nicely to say that the omni- 
 present laws of Race work here too : and that the 
 fact of the English speech never having been able 
 to attain to free intellectual abstractions, from 
 roots within itself, runs parallel with that powerful 
 practicality and realism that has always so 
 markedly characterized the English stock. Let 
 lue illustrate somewhat more at length. Ground, 
 is a good strong nervous word ; and yet we are 
 fain to go to the Latin, take their corresjjondmg 
 word — humus — convert it into an adjective 
 (humilis), put it through the Erench crucible, 
 and then inoculate it on our language, looking 
 veiy 'humble' indeed. All our senses have
 
 232 SYNONYI\IS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 gone the same way. It would be vulgar to use 
 the 'nose' for 'smelling,' but the 'nasal' organ 
 for 'olfactory' purposes! 'Hearing' trans- 
 forms itself into ' auditory,' and I know not how 
 we could otherwise express 'auricular confession.' 
 Yet we would not receive ' eye-proof,' but ' ocular 
 demonstration,' while for adjectives we must travel 
 to Greece and Eome — stealing away 'optic' and 
 'VISUAL.' Shall we say ' tasty T A milliner, as 
 Coleiidge remarks, might ! What then ? AVhy, 
 'gustatory,' 'esthetic,' or what not. Science, 
 too, with its mighty modern strides, has been 
 compelled to seek symbols in these antique foun- 
 tains. Thus tooth finds a co-relative in ' dental ; 
 lungs, m 'pulmonary;' lip, in 'labial;' 7iavel, in 
 'umbilical;' marroio, in 'medullary;' dhow, in 
 'cubital;' hrcast, in 'pectoral ;' /ooi, in 'pedal;' 
 lirih, in 'natal;' cat, in 'feline;' calf, in 'feline;' 
 cow, in 'vaccine;' eagle, in 'aquiline;' liorsc, in 
 'equine;' house, m 'domestic' So the very 
 
 Simple. Complex. 
 
 Meal Farluaceoua 
 
 Sweat Sudorific 
 
 Sleep >^ Soporiferous 
 
 Fear * Timorous 
 
 Til auks § Gratuitous 
 
 Help 2 Auxiliary 
 
 Hire ft Mercenary 
 
 Sea §* Maritime 
 
 Leap Desultory 
 
 Noise Obstreperous 
 
 Alms Eleemosynary I
 
 SAFE — SAFETY. 233 
 
 Donuer and Blitzen ! Seven syllables out of 
 one ! But let Home Tooke give us the why and 
 the wherefore. 
 
 'With the Christian religion were very early 
 introduced to our ancestors the Greek words, 
 Church, Parish, People, Alms: which they cor- 
 rupted and used as substantives, a long time 
 before they wanted them in an adjectived state. 
 When the latter time arrived, they were incapable 
 of adjeciiving these words themselves, and were 
 therefore forced to seek them in the original 
 language. Hence the Adjectives are not so 
 corrupt as the Substantives. And hence the 
 strange appearance of Eleemosijnary, a word of 
 seven syllables, as the Adjective of the mono- 
 syllable Alms; which itself became such by 
 successive corruptions of Eleemosune long before 
 its Adjective was required: having successively 
 exhibited itself as Almosine, Almosie, Almose, 
 Abacs, and finally Alms; whilst in the French 
 language it appeared as Almosine, Almosne, 
 Av.mosiu, Aumvnc.'* 
 
 The rounds that words make are indeed often 
 curiously erratic. Thus the Latin adjective 
 salvus becomes transformed into the French savf, 
 whence it comes to us in the shape of 'SAFE,' 
 from this we form, also, ' safety.' But an analo- 
 gous word being found necessary for a spiritual 
 
 • Diversions of Piuley.
 
 234 SYNONYMS AND THEIE SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 application, we went back again to the Latin, and 
 transferred their mlvatio into our 'salvation;' 
 'salvation' and 'safety' are therefore, properly, 
 one word — being differenced only by the process 
 of derivation. 
 
 And, by the way, it is instrnctive to observe 
 the very widely divergent words that we fre- 
 quently find formed from one root. So widely 
 divergent that they oftentimes appear to have no 
 connection with each other ; and it is only the 
 Ariadne-thread of Etymology that gives us a clue 
 through the labyrinth of verbal forms. Tlie 
 words 'pity' and 'piety' afford an instructive 
 example. Tliese emotions the Spanish, Portuguese, 
 Italian and Latin languages all unite in expressing 
 by one and the same term. Tlie Latin furnishes 
 the radix from which all the others spring. For 
 'PIETAS' implies that state of feeling which 
 causes us to act rightly both towards the gods and 
 towards men ; and since tenderness and compas- 
 sion are prime elements in this beautiful passion, 
 there was no necessity felt for separating them by 
 diverse terms. Nor was it until the French 
 made the unnatural divorce (and the English here, 
 as in so many instances, blindly followed them*) 
 
 that both things and words came to be sundered 
 
 t 
 
 * ' Whose manners still our tardy apish nation, 
 Limps after in base imitation.' 
 
 Puchard II., II. 1.
 
 PEOPERTY — PARLIAISIENT. 235 
 
 in form and substance. And yet does not Dan 
 Chaucer tells us : 
 
 * Lo, pitee renneth sone in gentil herte ! ' 
 
 'Propeety' and 'propriety,' again, are both 
 from one root — froprius, specicd, proper (in the 
 old sense and equivalent to the French i^ropri) : 
 'propeety' is, therefore, that which is specially 
 or peculiarly one's OAvn ; 'peopeiety' is the 
 adaptation of conduct, etc., to the special occasion — 
 the instinctive perception of that course that is 
 'proper, fitting thereto. Among the Eomans a 
 Patroiius was a person who had emancipated his 
 slave, but still retained some right over him — was, 
 as it were, a sort of father — pater — to him — one 
 who was to be looked up to with veneration, and 
 regarded as an exemplar which he might copy ; 
 'PATEON'^ai^fr 'patteen' are, therefore, originally 
 one and the same word. The French verb parler, 
 to speak, gives us two distinct words, ' parlour' 
 and ' paeliament' — in which, however, it will not 
 be difficult to trace the bond of union. For the 
 'parlour' (parloir) is properly the room in a 
 nunnery where the nuns are permitted to meet 
 and converse with each other — and so the common 
 room for meeting, speaking, etc., distinct from the 
 'drawing' room, or rather the vnthdraidng room. 
 As for ' parliament,' it is preeminently the par- 
 IcmenUim — the speaking place! 
 
 We saw, some time ago, that 'journey'
 
 236 SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 originally signified the distance travelled— dans 
 un jour, in a day. The root is the Latin dies, a 
 day. This, in the Italian, transforms itself into 
 f/iorno; as in Dante, 
 
 ' Lo giorno se n'andava, e I'sei- bruno 
 
 Toglieva gli animai, che soiio in terra, 
 
 Dalle fatlcbe loro;" etc. 
 
 Inferno., Canto II. 
 
 And the French, hy a still further transforma- 
 tion, convert it into jour : thence it will not be 
 difficult to perceive that a, journal means a record 
 of dailij transactions. Not originally, however ; 
 for we know that in old English literature it is 
 used in the literal sense of daibj. As in Shakes- 
 peare, 
 
 Ere since the snn had made his journal greeting 
 To the under generation.' 
 
 Measure for Measure, IV., 3. 
 
 Or in Spencer, 
 
 ' And his faint stecdes watrcd in ocean dccpc, 
 Whiles from tliQir jouniall labours they did rest.' 
 
 Fairie Queene i., XI., 31. 
 
 • But, having, as we have seen, acquired a special 
 signification, in order to supply the deficit we went 
 back to the Latin, and taking their adjective 
 diurnus, made 'diurnal' out of it. 'Journey,' 
 'JOURNAL,' 'diary,' 'DIURNAL,' are, therefore, all 
 from one root, the seminal force of all being dies^ 
 a day.
 
 WOEDS FROM ONE ROOT. 287 
 
 Altliougli, according to one acceptation of tlie 
 word, a ' man of honour' may not always be a man 
 of •' HONESTY ;' yet are both these words from the 
 same root: or rather honesties is properly the 
 adjective formed, from honour, and consequently 
 signifying the highest degree of that quality. 
 ' Host' and 'hostile' are both from one root: and, 
 iKft to dwell on the subject, so are : 
 
 Passion and Passive. 
 
 Nature " Nation 
 
 Muster " Monster 
 
 Ingenuous " Isigenlous 
 
 Inferior " Infernal 
 
 Coffer " Coffin 
 
 Brand " Brunt 
 
 Custom '* Costume 
 
 Cupid " Cupidity 
 
 I^jodisli " Modest, etc., etc. 
 
 From the fact of the English being a mixed lan- 
 <^'uage spring some curious results. One — and a 
 very lamentable one— is, that by far the larger 
 portion of those who speak our language— who are 
 
 ' • Native here 
 
 And to the manner born,'' — 
 
 have no distinct idea of the signification of three- 
 fourths of the words in their so called ' mother 
 tongue.' Of Saxon roots we have, as it were, an 
 innate realization: they sound like old familiar 
 tones— snatches of melodies that we learned long, 
 long ago ; but the verbal stems from the classic
 
 238 SYXONYJrS and their SUGGESTIOyS. 
 
 tongues, and consequently, the immense number 
 of offshoots therefrom, seem all alien and away. 
 And, in our heterogeneous language, how frequent 
 are the misapplications and misunderstandings of 
 words ; and how available an opportunity does it 
 afford for sophisms, grandiloquence and verbal 
 quirks and quibbles of every species.* 
 
 Archbishop Whately has observed that the 
 double origin of our language, from Saxon and 
 Norman material, may often enable a sophist to 
 assume the appearance of rendering a reason, 
 when, indeed, he is only repeating the assertion 
 in words of a different family. Of this the 
 following may be taken as an example : ' To allow 
 every man an unbounded freedom of speech must 
 always be on the whole highly advantageous to 
 the state ; for (!) it is extremely conducive to the 
 interests of the community that each individual 
 should enjoy a liberty perfectly unlimited of 
 expressing his sentiments.' 
 
 It is interesting to observe the family of words 
 which foreigners — according to the affinity of 
 their language to the several elements of the 
 English — employ. Thus a German will be sure 
 
 * [Words] 'being ])liilosophically unfoUled, several of 
 those pretended mysteries, profound notions, expressed in 
 great swelling words, whereby some were set up for repu- 
 tation, being this way examined, will ap])ear to be either 
 nonsense, or very flat and j''june.' Bishop \Vilkin3: 'Real 
 Character and Philosophic Language.' Epist : Dedicatory.
 
 NATIONAL PECTJLIAEITIES. 239 
 
 to use ' smeared; whereas a Freucliman, Span- 
 iard, or Italian would just as certainly hit on 
 'ANOINTED.' So while a native of Southern 
 Europe would naturally talk of the 'propin- 
 quity' of a place, a German would inevitably 
 speak of its 'nearness.' Saxonicus persists in 
 speaking of the ' tJwroughfaresomeness' of stuff, 
 in preference to the ' iKiutraUliti/ of matter; 
 and, on the other hand, (for classical scholars are 
 very apt, without careful pruning, to interlard 
 the discourse too plentifully with Greek and 
 Latin) we have heard of an Oxford fellow of a 
 college who, on meeting a friend on horse-hack, 
 as the only way which suggested itself of asking 
 him if it (the horse) were his own, or hired or 
 borrowed, demanded if it \;qxq proprietary, conduc- 
 titious, or eleemosynary !* 
 
 The same peculiarity discovers itself in writers 
 
 some of whom seem to have an instinctive 
 
 affinity for the Saxon element, while others are 
 just as enamoured of Latin derivatives. Thus the 
 Saxonisms of Dean Swift and the Latinisms of 
 T)r Johnson are as characteristic as they are 
 familiar. Home Tooke has some keen and caustic 
 passages on the neglect of developing the Teutonic 
 element in our language, and importing so many 
 foreign words, where native ones would do as well, 
 or better. Quaint, old Verstcgan, also, has some 
 
 * Philological Museum.
 
 240 SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 good tilings on the same subject. The following 
 for instance : — ' For my own part I think them 
 deceaved that think our speech bettered by the 
 aboundance of our dayly borrowed woords, for they 
 beeing of another nature and not originally 
 belonging to our language do not, neither can 
 they in our toung leave their natural and true 
 deryvatious : and therefore as wel may we fetch 
 woords fro the Ethiopians or East or West 
 Indians,* and thrust them into our language, and 
 baptize all by the name of English, as those which 
 wee dayly take from the Latin, or languages 
 thereon dej)ending : heer-hence it cometh (jis by 
 after experience is found) that some Englishmen 
 discoursing together, others beeing present and of 
 our own nation, and that naturally speak the 
 English tongue, are not able to understand what 
 the others say, notwithstanding they call it English 
 what they speake ! ' t 
 
 The most amusing part in the above passage of 
 honest Verstegan is that over a half of the words 
 are ' from the Latin, or languages thereon depend- 
 ing!' Let us strike the balance. A composition 
 confined exclusively to the Saxon element, w^ould, 
 in all likeliliood, be as stiff and unwieldy as, if 
 totally of Latin, it would be flat or farcical. But 
 in what admirable harmony are the several mem- 
 
 ♦ So we have — quite a number of them. 
 
 t Kcstitiuiou of Decayed lutoUigence, p. 205.
 
 GE^CO-LATIN SYNONYIMS. 241 
 
 bers of our great language united! With its 
 Saxon spine and heart, animated with the breath 
 of Latin verbs,, and winged with Greek substan- 
 tives, it presents an organism perfect for all the 
 purposes of practical and spiritual expression— a 
 lancniaf^e ' which,' in the words of one of the pro- 
 roundest of modern philologists, Jacob Gnmm, 
 ' in wealth, good sense and clearness of structure, 
 outrivals all other of the languages at this day 
 spoken,' 
 
 I am digressing, however, too far : so let us 
 return to our Synonyms. 
 
 An interesting class of Synonyms are such as 
 result from an exact similarity of composition, one 
 of the pair being taken, perchance, from the Latin, 
 the other from the Greek. Thus natura rr phusis 
 (fUig), and super = meta {/xird): 'supernatural' 
 z=. 'metaphysical.' Pono =z tithcmi (rlSn/xi), and 
 SM& = hupo (i/cro): 'supposition' == ' liypothesis. 
 Sun (ffui/) = con; and metron (/xsr^o") = mcnsura: 
 'symmetrical' = 'commensurate.' Con zz smi 
 {g{jv), &ndfjredior =: (';jo. (dyc^) : 'congregation' — 
 'synagogues' *S'i/s- (contracted from swsum) zn 
 up, and trnro m Jiold: 'sustain' z= 'uphold.' 
 Si'per = oner, and Jlacns = jlovnufj : ' .s\ip('riluity ' 
 =: 'overflowing.' Of these various verbal equa- 
 tions, each member severally is, etymologically, 
 precisely of[ual to its opposite : and yet in actual 
 use, see what a disparity frcJiueiitly intervenes
 
 24!2 SYNONYMS AND THEIR SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 between tliem ! I have mentioned 'congregation' 
 and ' synagogue' as being, as far as derivation goes, 
 exactly equivalent : the same may be said of 
 'Bible' and 'Alcoran' — the latter being Arabic 
 for the former's Greek. And, indeed, these tran- 
 scripts are often quite surprising. ' Domineer 
 (domimis, a lord) is, for instance, precisely to 
 'lord it over;' 'momentous' is just 'weighty 
 'trenchant' is 'cutting;' 'specious' is 'sightly 
 'pardon' is 'forgive;' 'sermon' is 'speech 
 'dictum' is a 'saying;' 'surveyor' is 'overseer 
 'liberal' is 'free;' 'potent' is 'able;' and 
 'quantity' is 'how much?' Sometimes, again, 
 we find a dignified classicism to be just the trans- 
 lation of some homely piece of vernacular. Thus 
 when we say to 'circumvent' {circum, around, 
 and venio, to come), we simply say, in Latin, to 
 'come round.' So, to 'connive,' is literally to 
 'wink at;' 'punctilious' is 'pointed,' and to 
 ' resist,' is to ' take a stand against.' It is plea- 
 sant thus to discover ourselves unconscious ety- 
 mologists, and bandying the same hearty idioms 
 as resounded through the streets of Home and 
 Athens twenty centuries ago. Then, there is the 
 burles(|ue of Synonymy — an extensive domain on 
 which I have just now no time to enter. As if, 
 for instance, one being 'hard up' were to say that 
 he was in a state of 'indurated loftiness, or play- 
 fully allude to a certain enigmatical individual as 
 the ' antique Henry.'
 
 BAIsTSH — EXILE. 243 
 
 And new vistas open upon the suggestions of 
 Synonyms. How profoundly significant are these 
 co-relatives often of national characteristics ! 
 What subtle glimpses do they afford into national 
 manners and morals ! The distinction, for instance, 
 which etymologic anatomy lays bare, between the 
 Teutonic ' banish' and the Eoman ' exile,' gives us 
 an insight into certain fundamental social charac- 
 teristics. For ' banish' is evidently the being sub- 
 jected to the Ian* or proclamation — whence we 
 gather that the French and Teutonic mode of 
 punishment was by lyuUic proclamation; whereas 
 the Latin ' exile' as clearly points to cxsilere as 
 its root — suggesting Cicero's definition — 'per- 
 fugium potius supplicii, non supplicum.'t 
 
 So in one of the triplets before given we read 
 tlie various national ideas of the commodious. To 
 the practical Saxon it is what is ' handy ' i. e., to 
 his hand; the Frenchman, however, regards it as 
 ' suitable' {siiivi-e, to follow), i. e., what naturally 
 and properly follows (the necessities of the 
 
 • This verbal root creeps out through several compounds 
 and derivatives. Tlie 'bans of uiarriage,' for exami)lL', 
 nre just the prochmniiom of marriage. So, our common 
 phrase ' to be under ban,' is evidently to be umier sentence. 
 Furthermore, to 'abandon' is—" Qe) ban dunncr— to (jii-c 
 over V> the ban. And a 'bandit' is quite as palpably one 
 ban-dil ban-proclaiined, sentenced by the ban. Itall.m 
 IJandito, pi. Banditti. 
 
 t De Vere's Comparative Philology.
 
 2-i i SYN0NYiM3 AND THEIK SUGGESTIONS. 
 
 occasion?), while the Latin takes his notion thereof 
 from, what comes along icith another, as being its 
 natural concomitant — and so he names it ' con- 
 venient ! ' ' Courteous,' again, which of course, is 
 French born and bred, is, to the pomp-enamoured 
 Gallican that which pertains to the graces gathered 
 at the cour, or court ; whereas the straightforward 
 old Eoman clustered all his ideas of the courteoufi 
 around one to whom he could (jo up and speak — 
 what he called liomo affalilis, and we, an 'affable" 
 man.
 
 RAMBLE ELEVENTH. 
 
 THE GEOTTTH OF WORDS. 
 
 'An idiom is au organism subject, like every organism, 
 to the laws of development. One must not consider a 
 language as a product dead and formed but once : it is an 
 animate being, and ever creative.' 
 
 Wilhelm von Humboldt. 
 
 The conception of language that has arisen 
 proj^hetic on the thought of modern times is a 
 high and great one. Speech is no more the dead 
 mechanism it used to he conceived. Each lan- 
 guage is a living organism ; the totality of 
 languages a grand series of organisms, all built 
 after the same archetype, the same skeleton ; but 
 each presenting its special structural stamp, as 
 fish, reptile, bird, mammal, are all modifications 
 of one primeval Idea. 
 
 Yes ! Language is indeed alive ! Primordial 
 creation and manifestation of the mind, Language 
 throbs with the pulses of our life. This is the 
 wondrous babe, begotten of the blended love of 
 spirit and of matter — physical, mystical, the 
 Sphinx: Through speech man realizes and in-
 
 24-6 THE GROWTH OP "WORDS. 
 
 carnates himself; and Oken lias an oracular 
 utterance, that ' withovit speech there is no world.' 
 
 It is one of the current wranglings, How lan- 
 guage originated : as though Language were not 
 an innate energy and aspiration ! Language is 
 not a cunning conventionalism arbitrarily agreed 
 upon : it is an internal necessity. Language is 
 not a fiction, but a truth. Language is begotten 
 of a lustful longing to express, through the plastic 
 vocal energy, man's secret sense of his unity with 
 nature. 
 
 This vitality of speech manifests itself in a two- 
 fold manifestation : in the possession of a distinc- 
 tive personality and identity — in material elements 
 and formal laws that stamp it with the stamp of 
 linguistic individuality ; and, further, in that other 
 characteristic of every living organism — in the 
 exhibition of growth, progress, decay — in the on- 
 going of processes of absorption, assimilation, and 
 elimination — in the inworking and outworking of 
 the creative energy. 
 
 And it is in this sense that the English language 
 is alive — as displaying successive processes of 
 growth and development within the limits of its 
 linguistic individuality. 
 
 The causes of that marvellous identity we call 
 the English Language lie deep in the manifold 
 influences that have made the English Nation. 
 The History of a Language is measurable only in 
 the terms of all the factors that liave shaped a
 
 PHILOSOPHY or LANGUAGE, 247 
 
 people's life. A nation's history is tlie result of 
 the double action of internal impulses and external 
 events. And language expresses the infusions 
 from all these — subtly absorbing the ethnology of 
 a nation, its geography, government, traditions, 
 culture, faith. Shooting its deep tap-root into 
 eldest antiquity, drawing from the pith and sap of 
 that gi'andest of all families of races and tongues 
 — the Indo-European stock ; receiving living grafts 
 from France, and Italy, and Scandinavia, this 
 divine tree of the English Speech has grown up 
 into its sublime proportions, nurtured by the 
 history of a thousand years. 
 
 Of this superb Speech — the gi'andest in the 
 world — we have no adec[uate treatment. There is 
 no History of the English Language ; nor any 
 Dictionary of the English Language. We have 
 no such work on the English Language as the 
 Germans possess in the 'Teutonic Grammar' of 
 Jacob Grimm, who has, with masterly method 
 and largest appreciation of modern Philology, 
 traced the formative influences of the German 
 speech, as it has shaped itself into conscious 
 individuality. A History of tlic Englidi Lan- 
 guage, rising out of a full appreciation of the 
 Philosoi)hy of Speech (to whicli must go that large 
 hospitality and impartiality that flows from the 
 thought of tlif iMisemble), an.swering to the re- 
 quirements of modern research, and after the broad, 
 free methods America lets down, lias yet to come.
 
 1 
 
 248 THE GEOWTH OF WORDS. 
 
 To the achievement of this epic work may well go 
 the loftiest energies of both branches of the 
 Anglican stock and speech! 
 
 How far would the Philosophy of the Englisl 
 Language reach! What a retrospect of ages, 
 growths, processes, accretions, events, forces, im- 
 pulses ! In the motions of man's creative energy 
 how all is interwoven with the all ! How celestial 
 forces ascend and descend, and hand each other 
 the golden pails I 
 
 An appreciation of the organic laws of the 
 English Language in its historic unfolding is 
 inseparable from considerations that embrace the 
 ensemble of Languages. For ascending through 
 the Anglo-Saxon idioms to the stock to which 
 they belong — the Germanic or Teutonic group of 
 tongues — we are here carried back into that grand 
 radiation of race and speech which modern philo- 
 logic criticism has formuled as the Indo-European 
 line of peoples and tongues; nor do we stop till 
 we have reached the Persian and Indian fountains 
 of wisdom and language. Thus it is that it is 
 only by embracing causes, forces, and impulses as 
 old as the Japhetic man, that we can rise to a full 
 appreciation of the Philosophy of J;he English 
 Language. 
 
 The JaiDhetites* embrace the noblest antique 
 
 * Sometimes termed Iranians or Aryans from Iran, 
 the native name of Persia,
 
 DESCENT OF LANGUAGE. 249 
 
 and later races — the Brahminic Indians, tlie 
 Persians, Medians, Greeks, Romans, and European 
 peoples — theirs those noble and highly developed 
 languages, the Sanscrit, Zend, Persian, Hellenic, 
 Latin, Germanic, Celtic, Teutonic. In the Vedas 
 of the Indians, especially the hymns of the Ptig- 
 Veda, and in the Zend-Avesta of the Persians — 
 primeval documents of the Iranic world, we see 
 the germs of all we call Europe. Here were the 
 becrinninfTs of the cultures of the occidental world. 
 Science was born in that mind, the intuition of 
 nature, the instinct for political organization and 
 that direct practical normal conduct of life and 
 aftairs. 
 
 From this mind, too, flowered out the grandest 
 and most spiritual of languages. The Japhetic or 
 Iranic tongues are termed by the master-philolo- 
 gers the Organic Group, to distinguish them 
 from the Agglutinative and Inorganic speech-floors 
 that underlie them in the Geology of Language. 
 They alone have reached the altitude of free in- 
 telhictual individuality and organism. To them 
 belongs the splendid plasticity of Sanscrit, Greek, 
 German, English ! Such are the primeval lines 
 in the genesis of the English language. And so 
 it is that sounds and structures — words and forms 
 — tliat were heard along the Ganges, five thousand 
 years ago — words heard in Benares and Delhi, in 
 I'ersia and Greece — are now scaling the Rocky 
 ^Mountains of the Western world ! 
 
 R
 
 250 THE GROWTH OF WORDS. 
 
 AVe descend. Crises present themselves in the 
 growth of latiguage, connected with mighty mental 
 and social movements — crises that mark eras in 
 History. The English, along with all the present 
 idioms of Europe, French, Provencal, German, 
 Italian, Spanish, Portuguese — refers itself back to 
 that great period of ethnic flux, the few centuries 
 succeeding the dissolution of the Eoman Empire. 
 This epoch introduces us to the birth of idioms : 
 the laws that govern the development of language 
 are here seen in vi*^al play. The two elements 
 Avere the German and Eoman. The vigorous, in- 
 dividual, egotistic German, acting on the decaying 
 Latin, spoken by the remains of the Eomans, and 
 by Celtic populations through France and Spain, 
 'dissolved, and as it were burst the compact 
 structure of the Latin tongue.' New forces and 
 affinities came into action. The Teutonic genius 
 gave its own inflections, conjugations and forms, 
 working on Latin roots, breaking up the crystal- 
 line structure of the classic mould, freeing the 
 grammatical forms from their absorption in the 
 terminations of nouns and verbs, and erectmg 
 them into independent prepositions and auxiliaries. 
 This passage from synthesis lo analysis is the 
 career of all languages. How markedly is this 
 visible in the English ! The glory of the English 
 is that it is essentially modern — essentially un- 
 ci assical. 
 
 I have' shown the adniirable marriage of Ger-
 
 OEGANISM OF ENGLISH. 251 
 
 manic and Eoman elements present at the Ijirtli 
 of the historical English Speech. The subsequent 
 history of this language shows the copious infu- 
 sions of new elements and the unfolding of those 
 prolific germs, under the guidance of the influences, 
 internal and external, that went to shape the 
 English nation and mind. 
 
 It is this indeed which especially characterizes 
 our tongue — its eminently composite and complex 
 structure. It is to the scheme of Language what 
 the diluvial rocks of the Secondary formation are 
 in Geology. And as these have been formed by 
 floods and inundations — w^ater-borne and crumb- 
 ling debris of antique worlds : so is the English 
 lano-uage built out of the drift and detritus of 
 other and elder tongues. This fact is in the line of 
 the genius of the English race, which is unequalled 
 in absorption and assimilation, in receptive and 
 applicative power. 
 
 To exhibit in epic unfolding the harmonious 
 blending of these formative elements into the 
 grand organism of the English Language does not 
 come within the scope of these pages. How have 
 I longed to work on this great problem! May 
 my aspirations some day be realized ! 
 
 But within the brief limits that are left me I 
 may have time to notice some of the most eminent 
 contributions that have gone to the making of our 
 language. 
 
 And first, it is needless for mc to remark that
 
 252 THE GROWTH OF WORDS. 
 
 the heart of our language is Anglo-Saxon. This 
 is the spine on which the structure of our 
 speech is hung. Drawing from the substance of 
 the grand Germanic stock — a stock in which the 
 instinct of personal and political independence 
 has always been powerfvdly present — what infu- 
 sions of passion and power and noble manly 
 strength did our language thus receive ! Saxon, 
 too, is the whole body of grammatical forms and 
 inflections ; Saxon are the articulations — the con- 
 junctions, articles, pronouns ; Saxon those power- 
 ful instruments, the Prepositions and Auxiliaries ! 
 And yet, had the Saxon been left to itself, it 
 never could have grown into the English tongue. 
 It needed a new element. This it found in the 
 Norman French introduced with that great politi- 
 cal and social revolution, the Norman Conquest — 
 a conquest that has been made the theme of much 
 sentimental twaddle, but Avhich was no doubt 
 precisely the best thing that could have happened. 
 A double action forthwith began — on the grammar 
 and on the vocabulary, the latter copiously enrich- 
 ing itself with numei'ous terms indicative of the 
 new political and social relations— of war, of law 
 — of the arts and elegancies of society, which, 
 having had no existence in Saxon life, found no 
 utterance in the Saxon language. In regard of 
 Grammar — of structural forms and inflections — 
 the JFrench influence was powerful, but indirect. 
 Indirect, I say ; because the French gave few or
 
 THE FEENCH ELEMENT. 253 
 
 any forms of its own. And yet one can scarcely 
 exaggerate the power of that influence in freeing 
 the nascent English speech from those useless and 
 cumbersome forms with which the Anglo-Saxon 
 was overloaded. ' The Saxon forms soon dropped 
 away, because they did not suit the new roots; 
 and the genius of the language, from having to" 
 deal with newly imported words in a rude state, 
 was induced to neglect the inflections of the native 
 ones.'* Let a single illustration suffice. A com- 
 plex system of the formation of the plural of nouns 
 obtained — some nouns making that number in a, 
 others in an, others in as, others in %l; the Norman 
 infusion, however, led to the adoption of s as the 
 universal termination of all plural nouns, that 
 being the French method, and at the same time the 
 termination of the ancient Anolo-Saxon masculine. 
 I have said tliat with the French inoculation 
 a vast enriching of the vocabulary took place. 
 This enriching was of course progressive — was, . 
 indeed, the work of centuries. The value of this 
 legacy cannot be overstated : it embraced thousands 
 of our most expressive and most important words. 
 Of the prodigious activity with which ilie French 
 genius wrought on the English language, — for the 
 four or five centuries succeeding the Conquest, we 
 have a significant record in Chaucer. Chaucer, 
 indeed, perhajiS exaggerates the French clement ; 
 
 * Jacob Grimm.
 
 254i THE GROWTH OF WORDS. 
 
 nnd it was no doubt on account of tliis jxnclmnt 
 that he in his own day received the nickname of 
 the 'French brewer.' But it cannot be that 
 Chaucer did anything more than crystallize into 
 literature, verbal forms already in solution among 
 the floating word-capital of the day. For never 
 otherwise could he have been the popular poet he 
 was. What a lusty leap the English Language 
 had taken since the Norman Conquest, the Canter- 
 bury Tales vividly mirror forth. It was the flush 
 of adolescence, rich and juicy, and spendthrift : 
 manhood, compact, equable, had yet to come. Let 
 me quote a few passages from Chaucer, showing 
 the average proportion of French in his diction. 
 To bring it home to the eye I shall italicise the 
 chief Norman engraftings. 
 
 Whanne that A^H-il with tils showers sote 
 The d rough te of March hath pureed to the rot^ 
 And bathed every veine in swiche licour^ 
 Of which mrlue enffendred is tlic.;?o*/J-: 
 Whan Zephinis eke with his sote bretlie 
 Enspired hath in every holt aivd hethe 
 The tendre croppcs, and the yonge sonne 
 Ilatli in the Ram his halfe caurs yronne, 
 And small foulcs makcn melodie, 
 And slepen all night with opc-n eye, 
 So priketh him nature in his coragpn^ 
 Than longcn folk to gon on pilgrimages, etc 
 
 To Canterbury with devonte courage, 
 At night Avas com into that hosldrie 
 WW uine-and-twcnty in a compagnie.
 
 FEENCH SHORTCOMINGS. 255 
 
 At mortal balailles hadde li3 been fiftene. 
 
 He was a veray parfit gealil knight. 
 Therefore in'stede of wcplng and praiprs 
 Men mote give silver to the poure freres.* 
 
 Th' esial th' araie, the nomhre and eke the cause. 
 
 Were it by avenlure, or sort, or ca>; 
 
 In prison 
 Perpeluel, he n' olde no raunsom. 
 
 Of course, amid these thousand-fold French 
 importations, many were not finally adopted 
 into the vernacular. Put through the assay, they 
 were not found fit to be stamped with the seal of 
 popular acceptation. In Chaucer I find such 
 Gallicisms as these— ' gaillard' (gay), 'debonair' 
 (good-natured), 'devoir' (duty), 'lointain' (the 
 distance), 'jouissance' (enjoyment), 'misericordc' 
 (tenderheartedness), 'pierrie' (precious stones), 
 'rondeur' (roundness — the 'Earth's rondeur'), 
 with scores of such like, some of which will no 
 doubt again make their appearance in our lan- 
 guage, many of them expressing thoughts or 
 things not so well expressed by any we have. 
 But as I shall make the Unworked Klines of the 
 English Language the theme of a future volume, 
 1 shall not be tempted into farther illustration. 
 
 And now we must descend the stream of our 
 language to that period when those copious tribu- 
 
 ♦ What we now write 'friars :'/'^''^'') ^"■"''"''■•''-
 
 2d(3 the growth of woeds. 
 
 taries from the classic fountains poured tlieir 
 grand aiUucnts into the rich river of English 
 ►Speech. And here we have to mention the deep 
 debt we owe to that illustrious nation, Italy — 
 which for so many centuries led the van of Euro- 
 pean civilization — in operating the renaissance of 
 Greek and Latin language and thought. The 
 breath of antique genius passed over the English 
 luind like the air of Sj^ring, bursting and blossom- 
 ing in luxuriant growths of thought and speech. 
 The period of this creative movement is that 
 mighty Sixteenth century, from the reign of the 
 Eighth Henry, through the Elizabethan era. Xot 
 by hundreds, merely, one may say, but by thou- 
 sands, were Latin and Greek words then naturalized 
 into the English speech. 
 
 Nor is the quality of these importations of less 
 significance. It was theirs to satisfy the needs of 
 the higher intellectual and spiritual expression 
 which that new upsurging from the spontaneous 
 depths of liuman nature brought. IMiilosophy, 
 Science, and Poetry, put on that rich foilage of 
 verbal forms that gives such masterly expression 
 to English literatuie. In a word, the classical 
 contributions furnished the spiritual conceptions, 
 and endowed the material body of the English 
 speech with a living soul. Under the hands of the 
 fine geniuses of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth 
 centuries, the English Language rounded into 
 compact, cosmic mould.
 
 THE FOEEIGX ELEMENT. 257 
 
 Of those three grand factors — Saxon, French, 
 and Classical— is our language made up. It is 
 the mutual influence and action of these that form 
 the warp and woof of our English speech. Not 
 Ijut that other elements are, in greater or smaller 
 proportions, present, and weave their threads into 
 the divine web ; but these are the main sources 
 whence our language has enriched itself — these 
 the main sources, whether of its terms or its 
 powers, of its material elements or its formal laws. 
 
 Of these minor tributaries, the Italian, German, 
 Norse, Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, deserve special 
 mention. From Italian we have such accretions 
 as 'virtuoso,' 'bravo,' 'bandit,' 'charlatan,' 'ga- 
 zette,' 'con amore,' etc. The maritime and 
 commercial activity of the Portuguese during 
 the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries has left 
 us some significant words. Thus 'fetishism,' a 
 term applied by them to the low idolatry and 
 sorcery of the African tribes, is simply the Portu- 
 guese fdtico, sorcery, witchcraft. Their relations 
 with the African coast have also given us ' palaver' 
 — Portuguese palaira, talk, speech ; and applied 
 ]>y them to a council of African chiefs. It is, 
 moreover, to the long monopoly by the Portuguese 
 of the East Indian trade that we are indebted for 
 the introduction of various oriental words, as 
 ' taboo,' from the Sandwich Islands, and the phrase 
 ' mn-amiuk,' from tlic :Malays. The Dutch have 
 left the impress of their maritime activity on our
 
 258 THE GROWTH OF WORDS. 
 
 language. ' Sloop,' for instance, and ' yacht,' and 
 * schooner,' are all of Dutch etymology. To later 
 German we owe the suggestions of many valuable 
 metaphysical symbols, made after the antique — 
 not the least significant of which are the much- 
 used 'objective' and 'subjective.' Nor is this all, 
 there being scarce a tongue on the planet which 
 the all-absorbing Saxon genius has not laid under 
 contribution to enrich the exchequer of its con- 
 quering speech. Tlie aboriginal American dialects, 
 for instance, have given us 'tobacco,' 'wigwam,' 
 'papouse,' 'moccasin,' 'Yankee,' 'potato,' 'chocolate,' 
 and others. The Slaves have contributed ' plough,' 
 word and thing. Arabia shows her powerful in- 
 fluence on the culture of the ]\Iiddle Ages in such 
 terms as ' algebra,' ' zero,' ' almanack,' ' alkali,' 
 ' alembic,' ' elixir,' ' alcohol,' etc. Hebraisms, too, 
 are not lacking — witness 'sabbath,' 'jubilee,' 'hal- 
 lelujah,' 'amen,' 'cabala,' 'Messiah,' etc. Turkey 
 sends us 'tulip,' 'turban,' 'dragoman;' Persia, 
 'bazaar,' 'caravan,' 'azure,' 'scarlet;' China, 'tea' 
 and 'Nankeen;' Hindostan, 'calico,' 'chintz,' 'curry,' 
 'lac;' the Malays, 'bantam,' 'gamboge,' rattan,' 
 ' sasro.' 
 
 "te^ 
 
 The growth of words runs parallel with the 
 unfolding of a nation's life. Every addition to 
 practical civilization, every scientific general- 
 ization, commerce in all its branches, foreign 
 literary influence, diplomacy, religion, philosophy,
 
 LAW OF INTRODUCTION. 259 
 
 and sociology, are the perpetual agents of linguistic 
 
 increase, 
 
 A curious law attaches to the origin of words, 
 by which they are forced to undergo a period of 
 probationship before they receive the stamp of 
 legal currency. Every new word passes through 
 an embryonic stage previous to emerging as a 
 normal member of the organism, of speech, and 
 perhaps for half a century or more finds a place 
 in no dictionary. The advent of every neologism 
 is met by a powerful conservatism opposing the 
 innovation; and only after a severe ordeal does it 
 raise itself to a place in the peerage of language. 
 With its emergence in the Dictionary it has passed 
 the grand climacteric, and may henceforth count 
 on a longer or shorter lease of life. Thousands of 
 words, too, make their debut as slang— gipsys and 
 outlaws that are afterwards reclaimed by civilized 
 society. And it is curious to observe how many 
 of our statliest terms rest on some free popular 
 idiom, some bandied catch-word — spontaneous 
 creation of the hour. 
 
 Ill the Essays of Montaigne there is a vivid 
 illustration of the subtle steps by which words 
 often find their way into language. In order to 
 facilitate liis ac(iuisition of Latin, then the com- 
 mon .speech (jf the learned, he wa.s, in childhood, 
 allowed no other medium of communication ; and 
 not only his teachers, but his parents, attendants, 
 and even his nurse, were oblig(Kl to learn enough
 
 2G0 THE GROWTH OF WOKDS. 
 
 Latin to converse with him in it. The result was, 
 as he tells us, that the peasants on his father's 
 estate, and gradually tlic i^eople of the neighbour- 
 ing villages, adopted many of the Latin words 
 which they heard constantly used in the family 
 of their feudal lord ; and, writing fifty years later, 
 he declares that these words had become perman- 
 ently incorporated into the dialect of the province. 
 
 'Mob' is a word that made its appearance in 
 the English language in the time of Charles II. 
 as a piece of pure slang, and I have already 
 quoted from the Spectator, characterizing it as a 
 ridiculous expression which might however finally 
 make its way into our language ! How long did 
 ' bore' struggle to maintain its hold ! It expressed, 
 however, a positive idea, not otherwise con- 
 veyed, and has finally, in our own time, won 
 its way into the Dictionary. You look in vain 
 in any vocabulary of the English language for 
 'sociology' (creation of Auguste Comte) 'solid- 
 arity,' 'placer:' they are all most valuable con- 
 tributions, however, and will no doubt soon 
 receive Dictionary - endorsement. ' Telegram,' 
 again, which appears in the new editions of the 
 English dictionaries, is an example of how an 
 imperious necessity will force words into imme- 
 diate acceptance and recognition. 
 
 The French contributions to our language, so 
 copious and rich, were never more important 
 than they have been within the present century.
 
 FEENCH CONTKIBUTIONS. 261 
 
 Let me enumerate some that we have received 
 witliin that period, "with others that look a little 
 farther back. I shall give such as suggest them- 
 selves to my miiid, without any attempt at 
 completeness. 
 
 A ccouchcur — Accoiicliment : Valuable contribu- 
 tions to our language, and now getting into 
 jjopular use. 
 
 Attache: A diplomatic term, implying one attached 
 to the suite of an ambassador, and now creeping 
 into more general use. Thus we speak about 
 the attaches of a reigning belle. 
 
 Au fait: 'Posted up' — up to the mark, having 
 an off-hand familiarity with the matter in hand. 
 
 Badinarjc : Half-earnest jesting — a delicate modi- 
 fication of raillery. 
 
 Blasd: Past participle of the verb hlascr, to sur- 
 feit, and popularized by the comedy of ' Used 
 Up.' 
 
 Bon-mot, or simjjly Mot : Literally a good vjord — 
 a good thing. 
 
 [Brochure : A pamphlet: from the verb hrochcr, to 
 stitch. 
 
 Coujj : A stroke or blow, and in compounds im- 
 plies any sudden action. The compounds are 
 very numerous, cowp-d! etat, cowp-de-grace, coup- 
 dc-inain, covp-dc-soleil, coup-dadl, coup-de-i1i4atre, 
 etc. 
 
 Dch'is : A symbolism from Geology, where it
 
 2G2 THE GROWTH OF WORDS. 
 
 means masses of rock, etc., detached by attrition 
 or meclianical violence. 
 Dchut: First public appearance. Debutant, De- 
 butante, the person making it. 
 Elite : The flower— literally the elect or chosen. 
 Employe: A word of the greatest utility, and 
 coming into universal use : the meaning is any 
 one employed. 
 Ennui : Weariness, sense of tedium. 
 Ensemble : The totality as distinguished from the 
 
 details. A noble word with immense vista. 
 Facade : Chief frontage of a biiilding— a term 
 
 borrowed from the French architects. 
 Gout : Eelish, aesthetic taste. 
 Naive, NaivctS: Most desirable words, with the 
 French elisive charm, and implying a combin- 
 ation of the ingenious, candid, winning. 
 Nonchalance : Cool carelessness and indifference. 
 OutrS : Etymologically the same as ultra, and 
 carrying with it the sense of the extravagant 
 and grotesque. 
 PassS: A term whose import is realized with 
 tremendous force by ladies of a certain age. 
 En passant, by the way. 
 Penchant : Inclination, proclivity. 
 Persiflage : Light, mocking banter. 
 Personnel : Originally, corps of persons employed 
 in contradistinction to the materiel; but now 
 coming to mean, also, the sum of characteristics 
 constituting one's personality.
 
 PEECIS — SOIEEE. 263 
 
 Precis : A summary or abridgment. A valuable 
 
 word. 
 Prestige : A most useful word, supplying a positive 
 want in our language. The original meaning 
 was a piece of smuggling or imposture ; but the 
 word now bears with it the idea of the presiunp- 
 tian which past successes beget of future ones. 
 Programme : A word of universal use in America 
 in the sense of a printed synopsis ; a desirable 
 contribution, which the Trench has given us, 
 taking it from the Greek. 
 Protege: One under the patronage or protection 
 
 of another — Eoman clients. 
 Rapport : Implies, in French, relation; en rapport, 
 in relation with ; and used in English to convey 
 the idea of an affinity or sympathy of sensation. 
 Tlie word owes its currency to our modern 
 mesmeric and 'Spiritual' phenomena and philo- 
 sophy. 
 Redactcur: An editor, compiler, etc. ; redaction, 
 the digesting or reducing to order literary or 
 scientific material. 
 Renaissance : Eegeneration, new birth ; mainly 
 applied to the revival of the fine arts, but sus- 
 ceptible of any breadth of application. 
 Stance: A sitting; applied mostly to sittings for 
 
 scientific purposes. 
 Soirie: A word early adopted, and after the 
 analogy of wliich we have more recently intro- 
 duced rnatinee.
 
 RAMBLE TWELFTH. 
 
 ENGLISH IN AMERICA. 
 
 By a combination of circumstances the English 
 Language became the speech of America. There 
 was nothing fortuitous in this. For English is 
 eminently the speech of the Modern. The Englisli 
 Language expresses most typically those tenden- 
 cies which all show more or less. Into the make 
 of the English, more than any other idiom, has 
 converged the spirit of the modern, breaking up 
 the crystalline structure of the classic mould— the 
 splendid newness, the aspirations of freedom 
 individualism, democracy. 
 
 Nurtiired by the influences that have made the 
 English nation, the English Language expresses 
 the infusions from all these— expresses aristocracy 
 and monarchy among the rest. Meanwhile do we 
 not feel that a change has, these eras, passed over 
 the private spirit of man ? The genius of a new 
 age broods, fiery and fecundating, over the nations. 
 Authority, tradition, caste, go hopelessly. New 
 tests, demands, verdicts come, disconcerthig the 
 old decorums in opinions, manners, literature.
 
 NECESSITY OF A LANGUAGE. 265 
 
 Audacious aspirations arise. A lofty augury 
 beckons on to new cerebral and spiritual shores. 
 
 A speech to correspond! These oceanic move- 
 ments in the age must make flood-tide in the 
 Language also. For speech moves with the move- 
 ments of mind, as the ocean obeys celestial influ- 
 ences. Always language is incubated by the mind 
 of the ages. Transported to the new and vaster 
 arena of America, tlie English language comes 
 under the conditions, outer and inner, that are 
 shaping the American mind. It is qualified by 
 all that makes American life — by the geographic 
 and climatic conditions, by the ethnology of 
 America, by her politics, sociology, manners, 
 mentality. 
 
 Of course the English Language must take on 
 new powers in America. And here we are favoured 
 by the genius of this grand and noble language, 
 which more than all otliers lends itself plastic and 
 willing to the moulding power of new formative 
 influences. Was it supposed that the English 
 Language was finished? But there is no finality 
 to a Language ! Tlie English has vast vista in it 
 — vast vista in America. 
 
 It is the sum of the uses of precedents, to a Jive 
 nation, that it shall match tlie same with better 
 from its own soul, and consume them before its 
 audacious improvisations. A nation cannot live 
 on remini.scences : it can only live on an influx. 
 The English Language, expressing the genius of 
 
 s
 
 2GG ENGLISH IN AMEBIC A. 
 
 tlie English race and its culture, history, thought, 
 is still inadequate to the utterance of America^.-and 
 must take ou new proportions before it can become 
 the living garment of this new life of humanity. 
 
 The future expansions of the English Language 
 iu America are already marked in the great lines 
 of development this idiom shows. It is for us 
 freely to follow the divine indications. And here 
 a spinal fact is the composite character of our 
 language: to what new realizations is it lifted in 
 America! The immense diversity of race, tem- 
 perament, character — the copious streams of hu- 
 manity constantly flowing hither — must reappear 
 in free, rich growths of speech. Erom no one 
 ethnic source is America sprung: the electric 
 reciprocations of many stocks conspired and con- 
 spire. This opulence of race-elements is in the 
 theory of America. Land of the Ensemble, to her 
 the consenting currents flow, and the ethnology 
 of the States draws the grand outline of that hos- 
 pitality and reception that must mark the new 
 politics, sociology, literature, and religion. 
 
 Language, too, must feel this influence. And 
 this is to appear not merely in the copious new 
 verbal contributions the various idioms may bring, 
 but in the entire spirit of the Language— moulded 
 more and more to a large hospitality and imparti- 
 ality. The theory of English scholars and liter- 
 ateurs, for hundreds of years, has been the theory 
 of repression. They have discouraged and cramped
 
 NO LBHTATION. 2G7 
 
 tlie spontaneons expansions of tlie Language — 
 discouraged inoculations from tlie French, from 
 Latin, Greek, Italian. What pitifid cant, too, 
 does one hear every day about Saxon ! as though 
 it were not the very theory of the English Lan- 
 guage — the veiy genius and animus of it — to take 
 its food from all sources ! This ridiculous non- 
 sense is to be utterly dismissed. 
 
 What starvation has this insane purism effected ! 
 What a poor, indigent, watery aftair is our literary 
 expression! Books cling to the old traditions 
 and timidities— no full, free, utterance, untram- 
 melled, mystical: no influx, no abandonment. 
 Surely the time has come to dismiss this old im- 
 potence. And what means arise- for enriching the 
 arsenal of expression ! What new creations surge 
 and swell the ampler currents of our time ! New 
 thoughts, new things, all unnamed! Where is 
 the theory of literary expression that stands for 
 the new politics and sociology ? tha4; puts itself 
 abreast the vast divine tendencies of Science? 
 that absorbs the superb suggestions of the Grand 
 Opera? 
 
 I can sec but one limitation to the theory of 
 Words — the theory of Things. Is it for u,s who 
 are borne on the billowy tides of this new human- 
 ity to limit the unfohling opulence of God — to 
 put a girdle round the widening future of our civiliz- 
 ation and our speech ? Freely, then, may the 
 American literat proceed to quarry and build in
 
 2G8 ENGLISH IN AMERICA. 
 
 the architecture of the English Lansriia'T'e, Of 
 course the couditions of this free, expressive 
 activity are high. To him who would mould our 
 language must go many qualities — must go large 
 knowledge of the philosophy of speech, must go 
 rich aesthetic instincts, among the rest. 
 
 The sources of future enrichings of the An<-dican 
 speech are the same old fountains. In our native 
 roots, — in the plastic forms of the antique, — in the 
 noble modern idioms are the magazines of word- 
 wealth. How much has the French language been 
 to English? How much has it yet to give? 
 Nation of sublime destinies, noble, naive, rich 
 with humanity, bearers of freedom, upholding on 
 her shoulders the history of Europe for a thousand 
 years ! The Italian gifts, too, direct and indirect, 
 are not valueless to America. Spain is not barren. 
 How much they have to contribute — Italy with 
 her rich and rosy nature, — her grand style of music 
 and consummate intuitions of art ; Spain, so noble, 
 so proud, so much to manners, to behaviour ! I 
 would not underrate the German and Scandina- 
 vian influences — mighty race, spiritual, aspiring, 
 individual, melancholy, prudent. 
 
 The flower and aroma of a nation is its Lan- 
 guage. The conditions of a grand language are a 
 ^rand life. For words are metaphysical beings, 
 and draw of the life of the mind. Not in these 
 wondrous hieroglyphs of Words, not in these
 
 coKCLrsioN. 269 
 
 mystic runes, is the power : in the mind which 
 loads these airy messengers with burdens of 
 meaning is the vis and vivification of speech. 
 Over the transformations of a Language, the 
 genius of a nation unconsciously presides — the 
 issues of Words represent issues in the national 
 thoucrht. And in the vernal seasons of a nation's 
 life, the formative enargy puts forth verbal growths, 
 opulent as flowers in spring.
 
 IXDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 Abandon (note), 
 
 Absurd, 
 
 Abundance, 
 
 Academy, . 
 
 Accommodate, 
 
 Accouchmcnt, 
 
 Accoucheur, 
 
 Acre, 
 
 Acutenesd, 
 
 Adieu, 
 
 ^Esthetic, . 
 
 Affable, . 
 
 Affront, 
 
 Af,'reeablc, 
 
 Ajax, 
 
 Album, 
 
 Alcohol, 
 
 Alcoran, 
 
 Alderman, . 
 
 Alcmljic, . 
 
 Alfred, 
 
 Algebra, 
 
 Alkali, 
 
 All the po, 
 
 Almanack, 
 
 Ambrosial, 
 
 Amen, 
 
 Amicable, . 
 
 Amical, 
 
 Amuck, 
 
 Andrea Fcrrara, 
 
 Aucmone, . 
 
 PAGE ) 
 
 224, 2i2 
 10 
 32 
 188 
 152 
 261 
 261 
 42 
 22 
 101 
 232 
 2U 
 43 
 1C8 
 152 
 97 
 258 
 242 
 77 
 258 
 209 
 258 
 258 
 156 
 2:. 8 
 03 
 258 
 228 
 228 
 279 
 199 
 67 
 
 Angel, 
 
 Animadvert, 
 
 Animosity, 
 
 Annoyance, 
 
 Anointed, . 
 
 Anon, 
 
 Antagonist, 
 
 Anthropophagiuia 
 
 Apathy, 
 
 Apollo, 
 
 Apotliecary, 
 
 Aqua Vine, 
 
 Aquiline, . 
 
 Arras, 
 
 Arrow-smith, 
 
 Artifice, 
 
 Ascendant, 
 
 Ass, . 
 
 Astonish, . 
 
 Astral, 
 
 Atlas, 
 
 Attache, . 
 
 Attention, . 
 
 Auditoiy, . 
 
 Auijiuii, 
 
 An fait, 
 
 Auricular, . 
 
 Aurora, 
 
 Auspicious, 
 
 Author, 
 
 Authority, . 
 
 Azure, 
 
 n, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 102 
 182 
 180 
 40 
 239 
 98 
 225 
 143 
 
 22 
 197 
 210 
 157 
 232 
 199 
 205 
 216 
 
 58 
 I, 139 
 
 4L 
 230 
 188 
 261 
 
 55 
 232 
 
 97 
 261 
 232 
 
 55 
 
 16 
 
 98 
 220 
 258
 
 272 
 
 INDEX OF WORDS, 
 
 Bacchanalian, 
 
 Back, 
 
 Bacon, 
 
 Bad, . 
 
 Badinage, . 
 
 Bag o' Nails (note) 
 
 Baker, 
 
 Balderdash, 
 
 Bamboozle, 
 
 Ban (note), 
 
 Bandit (note). 
 
 Banish, 
 
 Bane (note). 
 
 Bans, 
 
 Bantam, 
 
 Barbarian, 
 
 Barnburner, 
 
 Barnum, 
 
 Bayonet, . 
 
 Bazaar, 
 
 Bead, 
 
 Bead-roll, . 
 
 Beastliness, 
 
 Bear, 
 
 Beer, 
 
 Beldame, . 
 
 Benevolent, 
 
 Bernard, . 
 
 Beshrcw (note), 
 
 Bible, 
 
 Biche (note), 
 
 Biscuit, 
 
 Bishop, 
 
 Bitch, 
 
 Black, 
 
 Blackguard, 
 
 Blackleg, . 
 
 Black-Republican 
 
 Blanch, 
 
 Blase, 
 
 Biiss. 
 
 Blockhead, 
 
 Blood, 
 
 2ii 
 
 PACE 
 
 188 
 207 
 20G 
 171 
 261 
 149 
 204 
 156 
 156 
 172 
 257 
 . 213 
 . 172 
 . 243 
 . 258 
 . 117 
 . 122 
 . 192 
 . 199 
 . 258 
 . 220 
 . 220 
 . 139 
 123, 224 
 . 204 
 . 119 
 . 185 
 . 209 
 . Ill 
 . 242 
 . 132 
 . 98 
 . 205 
 . 112 
 206 
 104 
 121 
 122 
 221 
 261 
 206 
 121 
 207 
 
 19, 
 
 Bloody, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 228 
 
 Blue Stocking, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Boileau, 
 
 . 206 
 
 Bold, 
 
 . 224 
 
 Bombast, . 
 
 . 37 
 
 Bones, 
 
 . 207 
 
 Bon Gout, . 
 
 . 26 
 
 Bonbeur, . 
 
 . 59 
 
 Bon-mot, . 
 
 . 261 
 
 Booby, 
 
 . 121 
 
 Boor, 
 
 . 107 
 
 Boosy, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Bore, 
 
 . 121,260 
 
 Bowie, 
 
 . 192 
 
 Bow-wow, 
 
 . 157 
 
 Boyish, 
 
 . 227 
 
 Boyism, 
 
 . 227 
 
 Brass, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Brave, 
 
 . 224 
 
 Bravo, 
 
 . 100, 257 
 
 Brewer, 
 
 . 254 
 
 Brick in his Ilat, 
 
 . 166 
 
 Brigand, . 
 
 . 119 
 
 Briggs. 
 
 . 203 
 
 Brochure, . 
 
 . 261 
 
 Brooks, 
 
 . 203 
 
 Brow-beat, 
 
 . 35 
 
 Brown, 
 
 . 206 
 
 Brown Study, . 
 
 . 158 
 
 Brumal, 
 
 . 230 
 
 Brunt, 
 
 . 62 
 
 Brydges, . 
 
 . 203 
 
 Buck, 
 
 140, 206 
 
 Bnll and Mouth (i 
 
 lole), 149 
 
 Bullock, . 
 
 . 206 
 
 Bumpkin, . 
 
 . 121 
 
 Burgundy, 
 
 . 199 
 
 Burns, 
 
 . 203 
 
 Butcher, 
 
 204, 210 
 
 Butler, 
 
 204, 221 
 
 By cock and pye. 
 
 . 127 
 
 By hook or by cr( 
 
 )0k, . 155 
 
 By'rlady, . 
 
 . 126
 
 INDEX OF AVOEDS. 
 
 273 
 
 PAgE 
 
 Bv'rlakin, . . 126 
 
 By the dog ! . . 125 
 
 By the Lord, . . 127 
 
 By these pickers and 
 
 stealers, . .127 
 
 By these ten bones, . 127 
 
 By yea and nay, . 127 
 
 Cabala, . . .258 
 Cadger, . . . 141 
 Cain-coloured, . . 193 
 Caitiff, . . .121 
 Calamity, ... 65 
 Calculate, ... 43 
 Calico, . . 199, 258 
 
 Can 49 
 
 Candour, . . 16, 34 
 Canine, . . . 230 
 Canning, . . . 49 
 Cant, . . .120 
 
 Cape of Good Hope, . 49 
 Capillary, . . .230 
 Capricious, . .161 
 
 Caravan, . . . 258 
 Cardiac, . . .230 
 Carpenter, . . 204 
 
 Carter, . . .204 
 Cat, . . . .112 
 Catch-penny, . . 166 
 Cater, ... 46 
 Causerics, ... 99 
 Caustic, . . . 25 
 Cemetery, ... 68 
 Chalmers, . . . 205 
 Chancellor, . . 205 
 
 Character, . . 170 
 
 Charlatan, . 120, 257 
 
 Charles (note), . . 107 
 Charm, ... 60 
 Charter-house, . . 1-19 
 Chartist, . . .91 
 Chaao, . . . 203 
 Chattel, ... 82 
 
 Chatterbox, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Chevalier d'Industrie 
 
 45 
 
 Chez-nous, 
 
 . 99 
 
 Childish, . 
 
 . 227 
 
 Childlike, . 
 
 . 227 
 
 Chintz, 
 
 . 258 
 
 Chit-chat, . 
 
 . 157 
 
 Chivalry, . 
 
 87 
 
 Chocolate, . 
 
 . 258 
 
 Chosen, 
 
 . 224 
 
 Chouse, 
 
 190 
 
 Christen, . 
 
 . 191 
 
 Churl, 
 
 . 107 
 
 Church, 
 
 . 204 
 
 Cinque-Ports, 
 
 . 134 
 
 Circumspection, . 
 
 . 22 
 
 Circumvent, 
 
 242 
 
 Clannish, . 
 
 . 169 
 
 Clarke, 
 
 205 
 
 Clergy, 
 
 . 88 
 
 Clerk, 
 
 . 88 
 
 Close-fisted, 
 
 156 
 
 Clothier, . 
 
 210 
 
 Clown, . . 1 
 
 0, 104 
 
 Cobalt, 
 
 67 
 
 Cockade, . 
 
 159 
 
 Codger, 
 
 141 
 
 Coflin, . . 20 
 
 4, 207 
 
 Cognac, 
 
 199 
 
 Collier, 
 
 . 204 
 
 Colonu", 
 
 10 
 
 Comfort, . 
 
 168 
 
 Commandment, . 
 
 220 
 
 CommensuiMte, . 
 
 241 
 
 Compassion, 
 
 185 
 
 Comply, . 
 
 145 
 
 Companion, 
 
 85 
 
 Comrades, . 
 
 96 
 
 Con, . 
 
 14G 
 
 Con amore. 
 
 255 
 
 Conceit, 
 
 182 
 
 Concetti, . 
 
 100 
 
 Concise, 
 
 . 226
 
 271 
 
 INDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Conluctitious, . 
 
 . 239 
 
 Coney -catch, 
 
 . 138 
 
 Confiscate (note), 
 
 . 42 
 
 Congregation, 
 
 . 241 
 
 Connive, . 
 
 . 242 
 
 Consider, . 
 
 . 68 
 
 Convenient, 
 
 . 214 
 
 Convivial, . 
 
 . 168 
 
 Convolvulus, 
 
 . 67 
 
 Cooper, 
 
 . 204 
 
 Coral, 
 
 57 
 
 Cordial, 
 
 37, 230 
 
 Cordwainer, 
 
 . 199 
 
 Corned, 
 
 . 166 
 
 Coroner, 
 
 . 99 
 
 Corsair, 
 
 . 109 
 
 Cosier, 
 
 . 210 
 
 Countryman, 
 
 . 223 
 
 Coup, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Coup-d'ctat, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Coup-de-grace, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Coup-de-main, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Coup-de-soleil, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Coup-de-theatre, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Courteous, 
 
 . 244 
 
 Coward, 
 
 . 115, 140 
 
 Coxcomb, . 
 
 . 140 
 
 Coz, . 
 
 . 147 
 
 Crabbc, 
 
 . 206 
 
 Crafty, 
 
 . 182 
 
 . Craggs, 
 
 . 203 
 
 Crane, 
 
 . 206 
 
 Cravat, 
 
 . 197 
 
 Craven, 
 
 . 97, 115 
 
 Credit, 
 
 . 184 
 
 Cremona, . 
 
 . 199 
 
 Crime, 
 
 . 166 
 
 Crone, 
 
 . Ill 
 
 Crookshanks, 
 
 . 207 
 
 Crudity, 
 
 . 25 
 
 Crusades, . 
 
 . 86 
 
 Crusty, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Cubital, 
 
 . 232 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Cuckold, . 
 
 . 140 
 
 Cunning, . 
 
 49, 182 
 
 Cupidity, . 
 
 180, 224 
 
 Cur, . 
 
 . 112 
 
 Curfew, 
 
 . 83 
 
 Curmudgeon, 
 
 . 120 
 
 Currants, . 
 
 . 199 
 
 Currier, 
 
 . 210 
 
 Curry, 
 
 . 258 
 
 Cut a swell, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Cyclops, . 
 
 . 57 
 
 Dahlia, 
 
 . 188 
 
 Daisy, 
 
 . 56 
 
 Damask, 
 
 . 199 
 
 Dame (note), 
 
 . 119 
 
 Dandelion, 
 
 . 98 
 
 Dandy, 
 
 . 178 
 
 Dastard, 
 
 . 115 
 
 Dead-letter, 
 
 . 156 
 
 Dean, 
 
 . 134 
 
 Death, 
 
 . 207 
 
 Debauch, . 
 
 . 38 
 
 Debate, 
 
 . 40 
 
 Debris, 
 
 . 261 
 
 Debut, 
 
 . 262 
 
 Debutant, . 
 
 . 262 
 
 Debonair, . 
 
 . 98, 255 
 
 Decease, . 
 
 . 68 
 
 Decency, . 
 
 . 167 
 
 Decent, 
 
 . 19 
 
 Dccore, 
 
 . 167 
 
 Decorous, . 
 
 . 167 
 
 Deliberation, 
 
 . 16 
 
 Delirium, . 
 
 . 38 
 
 Demise, 
 
 . 68 
 
 Demon, 
 
 . 60 
 
 Demure, . 
 
 . 34 
 
 Dental, 
 
 . 232 
 
 Desert, 
 
 . 224 
 
 Designing, . 
 
 . 183 
 
 Desire, 
 
 . 224 
 
 Deuce (the) ! 
 
 . 124
 
 IKDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 Device, 
 Devoir, 
 Dexterity, . 
 Diadem, 
 Diary, 
 
 Dickeng (the), 
 Dictum, 
 Digit, 
 
 Disaster, . 
 Disgust, 
 Distaste, . 
 Diurual, 
 Do., . 
 Doff or don. 
 Dogma, 
 Dogmatical, 
 
 Dollar, 
 
 Dolt, . 
 
 Domestic, . 
 
 Douucr uud Teufel, 
 
 Donner uud Blitzeu, 
 
 Domineer, 
 
 Doolittle, . 
 
 Dougliface, 
 
 Douay (Bible), 
 
 Drab, 
 
 Draciim, 
 
 Dragomau, 
 
 Drape, 
 
 Driiikwater, 
 
 Drunk as a Piper 
 
 Dunce, 
 
 Duty, 
 
 Dyers, 
 
 Earl, . 
 Earnest, 
 Eartlily, . 
 Eartliling, . 
 East, . 
 Eau dc vie, 
 Eccentric, . 
 Edyar, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 216 
 255 
 34 
 42 
 236 
 124 
 242 
 43 
 58 
 25 
 25 
 236 
 146 
 147 
 181 
 182 
 200 
 120 
 232 
 125 
 125 
 242 
 . 206 
 . 122 
 . 199 
 . 120 
 . 42 
 . 258 
 . 210 
 . 206 
 . 156 
 . 189 
 . 184 
 . 204 
 
 . 205 
 
 . 168 
 
 . 229 
 
 . 219 
 203, 224 
 
 . 157 
 
 . 225 
 
 . 209 
 
 Edward, . 
 
 Eel, . 
 
 Egad and all that 
 
 Egg on, 
 
 Egregious • 
 
 Elbow, 
 
 Electricity, 
 
 Elegant, 
 
 Eleemosynary, 
 
 Elite, 
 
 Elixir, 
 
 Emolument, 
 
 Emperor, . 
 
 Emi)loyee, . 
 
 Encounter, 
 
 Ennui, 
 
 Ensemble, . 
 
 Envy, 
 
 Enthusiasm, 
 
 Epicier, 
 
 Epicure, 
 
 Equine, 
 
 Erratic, 
 
 Error, 
 
 Esprit 
 
 Essential, . 
 
 Ethical, 
 
 Etiquette, . 
 
 Euphuism, . 
 
 E.x.aggeration, 
 
 Exile, 
 
 Extenuate, 
 
 Eye, . 
 
 Facade, 
 
 Falconer, . 
 
 Fame, 
 
 Fanatic, 
 
 Fancy, 
 
 Fantastical, 
 
 Farce, 
 
 Farmer, 
 
 Farrier, 
 
 275 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 209 
 
 . 204 
 
 . 153 
 
 . 156 
 
 . 37 
 
 . 232 
 
 . 97 
 
 . 224 
 
 . 233 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 258 
 
 . 79 
 
 . 205 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 44 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 262 
 22,28 
 
 . 38 
 
 . 105 
 
 . 188 
 
 . 232 
 
 . 225 
 
 . 172 
 
 . 99 
 
 . 231 
 
 . 173 
 
 . 158 
 
 . 144 
 
 . 39 
 
 . 243 
 
 . 33 
 
 . 21 
 
 . 262 
 . 205 
 . 170 
 
 18, 104 
 . 27 
 
 27, 135 
 . 89 
 . 219 
 . 210
 
 276 
 
 INDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 Farthing, • 
 
 Farthingale, 
 
 Farewell, 
 
 Fascination, 
 
 Fast, . 
 
 Faugh (note), 
 
 Feline, 
 
 Felon, 
 
 Feminine, 
 
 Fervour, 
 
 Fetishism, 
 
 Fie (note), 
 
 Field, 
 
 Fiend (note), 
 
 Fille de Joie, 
 
 Finesse, 
 
 Fire- and- water, 
 
 Fire-eater, 
 
 Fiscal, 
 
 Fisher, 
 
 Flay, . 
 
 Fletcher, 
 
 Flim-flam, 
 
 Flint, 
 
 Fly, . 
 
 Flunkey, 
 
 Foe, . 
 
 Foh (note). 
 
 Fold, . 
 
 Foresight, 
 
 Forest, 
 
 Forget-me-not, 
 
 Forlorn-hope, 
 
 Fortnight (note), 
 
 Fortye, 
 
 Forward, 
 
 Fou, . 
 
 Fowler, 
 
 Foxglove, 
 
 Fractious, 
 
 Frank, 
 
 Franklin, 
 
 Free, . 
 
 PAOR 
 
 207 
 149 
 101 
 60 
 156 
 225 
 232 
 75 
 226 
 32 
 257 
 225 
 203 
 224 
 45 
 216 
 75 
 122, 156 
 16, 42 
 204, 205 
 . 63 
 . 205 
 . 157 
 , 266 
 . 206 
 . 106 
 . 224 
 . 225 
 . 203 
 . 223 
 . 203 
 . 57 
 . 49 
 . 230 
 . 207 
 . 182 
 . 156 
 . 204 
 . 94 
 . 85 
 . 196 
 . 205 
 . 196 
 
 Freeman, . 
 
 Friar (note), 
 
 Friendly, . 
 
 Frost, 
 
 Frown, 
 
 Frugal, 
 
 Fuddled, . 
 
 Fudge, 
 
 Furlong, 
 
 E'ustian, 
 
 Gaillard, 
 
 Gallant, 
 
 Galvanism, 
 
 Gamboge, . 
 
 Gas (note). 
 
 Gasconade, 
 
 Gauls, 
 
 Gazette, 
 
 General, 
 
 Generous, . 
 
 Genii, 
 
 Genteel, (note), 
 
 Gentile (note), 
 
 Gentle (note). 
 
 Ghost, 
 
 Ghouls, 
 
 Giaours, 
 
 Gilford, . 
 
 Ginger, 
 
 Glacial, 
 
 Gnomes, 
 
 God's death, 
 
 Godwin, 
 
 Goldsmith, . 
 
 Good, 
 
 Good enough. 
 
 Good-bye, 
 
 Good-people, 
 
 Goodwin, . 
 
 Gordian, 
 
 Gosling, 
 
 Gospel, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 206 
 
 255 
 
 228 
 
 207 
 
 85 
 
 16 
 
 156 
 
 189 
 
 42 
 
 37 
 
 255 
 
 45 
 188 
 258 
 
 CO 
 196 
 398 
 90, 255 
 231 
 170 
 
 60 
 169 
 1(19 
 169 
 
 CO 
 
 60 
 117 
 206 
 156 
 230 
 
 60 
 125 
 209 
 204 
 171 
 20G 
 101 
 
 91 
 2J9 
 188 
 207 
 
 61
 
 I^'DEX OF WOKDS. 
 
 277 
 
 Gossip, 
 
 Go the whole hog, 
 
 Goths, 
 
 Gowk, (note), 
 
 Gout, 
 
 Grand, 
 
 Grandee, . 
 
 Grange, 
 
 Gramercy, . 
 
 Graves, 
 
 Grey, 
 
 Grocer, 
 
 Grossness (note). 
 
 Grotesque, . 
 
 Grove, 
 
 Gudgeon, . 
 
 Guild (note), 
 
 Guillotine, . 
 
 Guilt, 
 
 Guinea, 
 
 Gull, . 
 
 Gust, . 
 
 Gustatory, . 
 
 Gusto, 
 
 'H ' 
 
 Haberdasher, 
 
 Hag, . 
 
 Hail, . 
 
 Hail-fellow, 
 
 Hair-brainc'l, 
 
 Halcyon, 
 
 Hale, 
 
 Half-seas-over, 
 
 Hallelujah, 
 
 Handy, 
 
 Happv, 
 
 HardSholI, 
 
 Harmless, . 
 
 Hart, 
 
 Harum-scarum, 
 
 Haughtiness, 
 
 Hauteur, . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 47 
 155 
 197 
 
 140 
 
 26-^ 
 44 
 45 
 203 
 126 
 204 
 206 
 210 
 44 
 157 
 203 
 140 
 165 
 191 
 165 
 199 
 138 
 217 
 232 
 22 
 
 148 
 132 
 1V2 
 207 
 156 
 121 
 
 62 
 
 65 
 156 
 258 
 243' 
 179: 
 lii2 
 165 
 206 
 157 
 
 45 j 
 
 45 
 
 Hawk, 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 140 
 
 Hawker, . 
 
 .* 14] 
 
 I, 205 
 
 Head, 
 
 
 207 
 
 Heady, 
 
 
 221 
 
 Health, . 
 
 
 65 
 
 Hearing, 
 
 
 232 
 
 Heart, 
 
 
 207 
 
 Hearty, 
 
 
 229 
 
 Heaven, 
 
 
 9 
 
 Hectoring, 
 
 
 189 
 
 Heel, 
 
 
 207 
 
 Helots, 
 
 
 195 
 
 Helter-skelter, 
 
 
 157 
 
 Herculean, 
 
 
 188 
 
 Heretic, 
 
 
 116 
 
 Hermetic, . 
 
 
 188 
 
 Heron, 
 
 
 206 
 
 Herring, . 
 
 
 206 
 
 Hidalgo, . 
 
 
 169 
 
 Higgledy-pigglcd 
 
 y, * 
 
 157 
 
 Highness, . 
 
 
 45 
 
 Hill, . 
 
 
 203 
 
 Hoax, 
 
 
 136 
 
 Hobby, 
 
 
 156 
 
 Hob or nob. 
 
 
 147 
 
 Hocns-pocus, 
 
 17 
 
 136 
 
 Hodge-podge, . 
 
 
 157 
 
 Hogg, 
 
 
 206 
 
 Holland, . 
 
 
 199 
 
 Holmes, 
 
 
 203 
 
 Home, 
 
 
 99 
 
 Honesty, 
 
 16*6, 
 
 237 
 
 Honey-mooM, 
 
 
 15') 
 
 HonnC'te, . 
 
 
 166 
 
 Hood-wink, 
 
 
 156 
 
 Hopper, 
 
 
 205 
 
 Horace, 
 
 
 148 
 
 Horoscope, 
 
 
 58 
 
 Horse, 
 
 
 112 
 
 Host, 
 
 
 237 
 
 Hostile, . 
 
 
 237 
 
 House, 
 
 
 203 
 
 Hubbub, . 
 
 
 157
 
 278 
 
 Humble, . 
 Humbug, . 
 Humility, . 
 Humour, . 
 Hunker, 
 Hunter, 
 Hurly-burly, 
 Hurricane, 
 Husband (note). 
 Hussy, 
 Hypocrite, . 
 Hyperborean, 
 Hypoes, _ . 
 Hypothesis, 
 
 Idea, . 
 Idiot, . 
 Idolatry, 
 I don't care a fi 
 Igneous, 
 Ignoramus, . 
 I'll be hanged, 
 Ill-starred, . 
 Imbecile, . 
 Immolate, . 
 Imp, . 
 Impertinent, 
 Imposter, . 
 Incantation, 
 
 Incbant, 
 
 Inculcate, . 
 
 Indolence, . 
 
 Infant, 
 
 Infantile, . 
 
 Infantine, . 
 
 Infidel, 
 
 In fine, sir, . 
 
 Influence, . 
 
 Ink-horn, . 
 
 Innocence, . 
 
 Inoculation, 
 
 Insinuate, . 
 
 lasipid, 
 
 INDEX OF WOKDS. 
 
 99, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 231 
 
 179 
 
 179 
 
 150 
 
 122 
 . 204 
 . 157 
 . 218 
 . 76 
 . 119 
 92,93 
 . 56 
 . 156 
 . 241 
 
 . 28 
 . 109 
 . 220 
 . 134 
 . 230 
 . 137 
 . 127 
 . 58 
 . 36 
 . 80 
 60, 118 
 . 179 
 , 119 
 . 60 
 . 60 
 . 158 
 . 168 
 . 97 
 . 227 
 . 227 
 117 
 153 
 58 
 156 
 165 
 90 
 33 
 26 
 
 86, 
 
 Insolence, 
 
 Interlard, 
 
 Intoxicate, 
 
 Intrepid, 
 
 Intuition, 
 
 Innuendo, 
 
 Invidious, 
 
 Ire, 
 
 Jackanapes, 
 
 Japan, 
 
 Jaundice, 
 
 Jay, . 
 
 Jenner, 
 
 Jeopardy, 
 
 Jesuit, 
 
 Jesuitical, 
 
 Jewell, 
 
 Jolly, . 
 
 Jouissance, 
 
 Journal, 
 
 Journey, 
 
 Jovial, 
 
 Joy, . 
 
 Jubilee, 
 
 Judas-coloured, 
 
 Juniper, 
 
 Junto, 
 
 Just, . 
 
 Ken, . 
 Kickshaw, 
 Kind, . 
 King, . 
 Kingly, 
 Knave, 
 Knavish, 
 Knight (note), 
 Knock under. 
 Knowing, . 
 Knowles, . 
 Know-nothing, 
 Kosinos, 
 
 TAOE 
 
 . 167 
 
 . 132 
 
 . 156 
 
 . 224 
 
 . 28 
 
 . 156 
 
 . 28 
 
 . 224 
 
 . 121 
 . 199 
 . 97 
 . 206 
 . 204 
 . 89 
 . 192 
 . 192 
 . 206 
 . 99 
 . 255 
 . 236 
 101, 236 
 . 55 
 . 206 
 . 258 
 . 193 
 . 205 
 . 120 
 . 172 
 
 . 49 
 
 . 135 
 
 . 170 
 
 76, 205 
 
 . 223 
 
 . 106 
 
 . 116 
 
 . 87 
 
 . 155 
 
 • 183 
 
 . 203 
 
 , 122 
 
 . 62
 
 INDEX OF WOEDS. 
 
 279 
 
 Labial, 
 
 Lac, . 
 
 Laconic, 
 
 Lamb, 
 
 Law, . 
 
 Lawyer, 
 
 Leave, 
 
 Leg-bail, 
 
 Legend, 
 
 Lemon, 
 
 Lethe, 
 
 Levant, 
 
 Lewd, 
 
 Libel, . 
 
 Liberal, 
 
 Libertine, 
 
 Lieutenant, 
 
 Lien, . 
 
 I-ively, 
 
 Loco-foco, 
 
 Lointain, 
 
 Longfellow, 
 
 Longman, 
 
 Longshanks 
 
 Loose, 
 
 Loose-fish, 
 
 Lord, . 
 
 Lose, . 
 
 Loss, , 
 
 Lout, . 
 
 Lowndes, 
 
 Lnggage, 
 
 Lunatic, 
 
 Lust, . 
 
 Lyceum, 
 
 Lynch, 
 
 Lyon, 
 
 Macadamize, 
 Macdonald, 
 Macliiavclism, 
 Main, 
 Magnate, . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 232 
 
 Magnet, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 199 
 
 . 258 
 
 Magnificent, 
 
 . 46 
 
 197, 226 
 
 Majesty, 
 
 . 45 
 
 139, 206 
 
 Malevolent, 
 
 . 185 
 
 . 172 
 
 Malheur, 
 
 . 59 
 
 . 204 
 
 Maudragora, 
 
 . 113 
 
 . 224 
 
 Mandrake, . 
 
 112, 113 
 
 . 156 
 
 Manger, 
 
 . 97 
 
 . 46 
 
 Manly, 
 
 . 184 
 
 . 206 
 
 Mansion, . 
 
 . 221 
 
 . 66 
 
 Manual, 
 
 . 230 
 
 56, 224 
 
 Marriage, . 
 
 . 220 
 
 . 107 
 
 Marsh, 
 
 . 203 
 
 . 46 
 
 Martial, 
 
 . 58 
 
 . 242 
 
 Mason, 
 
 . 204 
 
 . 181 
 
 Mausoleum, 
 
 . 188 
 
 97, 221 
 
 Maxim, 
 
 . 46 
 
 . 139 
 
 Mayor, 
 
 . 205 
 
 . 228 
 
 Mealy-mouthed, 
 
 . 156 
 
 122, 132 
 
 Mean, 
 
 107, 1C9 
 
 . 255 
 
 Medley, 
 
 . 63 
 
 . 206 
 
 Medullary, . 
 
 . 232 
 
 . 206 
 
 Meek, 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 207 
 
 Meeting, 
 
 . 44 
 
 . 178 
 
 Menstruum, 
 
 . 95 
 
 . 121 
 
 Mental, 
 
 . 231 
 
 . 205 
 
 Mercurial, . 
 
 . 58 
 
 . 178 
 
 Mercy, 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 178 
 
 Mesmerism, 
 
 . 188 
 
 . 120 
 
 Messiah, 
 
 . 258 
 
 . 203 
 
 Metapliysical, 
 
 . 241 
 
 . 156 
 
 Methodist, . 
 
 . 122 
 
 95, 220 
 
 Mill, . 
 
 . 203 
 
 180, 224 
 
 Miller, 
 
 . 204 
 
 . 41 
 
 Mille tonucres, 
 
 . 125 
 
 . 1112 
 
 Mind, 
 
 . 231 
 
 • 206 
 
 Mind's eye, 
 
 . 28 
 
 
 Minion, 
 
 . 181 
 
 . 188 
 
 Minister, . 
 
 . 98 
 
 . 208 
 
 Misanthropist, 
 
 . 185 
 
 . 191 
 
 Miscreants, 
 
 86, 117 
 
 . 66 
 
 Miser, 
 
 10, 177 
 
 . 45 
 
 Misery, 
 
 . 179
 
 2S0 
 
 INDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 Miserlcorde, 
 
 ^lob, . 
 
 Moccasin, 
 
 Modest, 
 
 Jlonicntous 
 
 Moiieypenn 
 
 Monster, 
 
 Month, 
 
 Moonshine, 
 
 [Moral, 
 
 Mordant, 
 
 Morn, 
 
 Morning G 
 
 Morose, 
 
 Morrow, 
 
 Mors, . 
 
 Mortified, 
 
 Mose, 
 
 Moss, 
 
 Mot, . 
 
 Mountain, 
 
 Mounteban 
 
 Mouse, 
 
 Muddled, 
 
 Munipsimus 
 
 Mundane, 
 
 Muscle, 
 
 Muslin, 
 
 Myriad, 
 
 Myrtle, 
 
 Naive, 
 
 Naivetd, 
 
 Nankeen, 
 
 Nasal, 
 
 Nasty, 
 
 Natal, 
 
 Nativity, 
 
 Nature, 
 
 Natural, 
 
 Nearness, 
 
 Ne'er- do-W( 
 
 Negro, 
 
 92, IIG, 
 
 120, 
 
 ory, 
 
 199, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAOR 
 
 255 
 
 Negus, 
 
 . 188 
 
 260 
 
 Nervous, 
 
 . 48 
 
 258 
 
 News, 
 
 . 132 
 
 107 
 
 Night-mare, 
 
 . 131 
 
 242 
 
 Nihil (note). 
 
 . 134 
 
 207 
 
 Nincompoop, 
 
 . J20 
 
 168 
 
 Ninny, 
 
 . 120 
 
 95 
 
 Nobility, 
 
 . 169 
 
 95 
 
 Noble, 
 
 1 68, 206 
 
 173 
 
 Nocturnal, . 
 
 . 230 
 
 25 
 
 Nonchalance, 
 
 . 262 
 
 55 
 
 > on-plus, . 
 
 . 132 
 
 57 
 
 North, 
 
 . 203 
 
 34 
 
 Nose, . 
 
 21, 22, 232 
 
 56 
 
 Nostrum, . 
 
 . 17, 138 
 
 68 
 
 Not a straw (not 
 
 c), . 134 
 
 41 
 
 Novel, 
 
 . 225 
 
 192 
 
 Nuisance, . 
 
 . 40 
 
 203 
 
 Numskull, . 
 
 . 121 
 
 261 
 
 Nuncle, 
 
 . 146 
 
 203 
 
 
 
 138 
 
 Objective, . 
 
 . 258 
 
 123 
 
 Obs. and sols., 
 
 . 146 
 
 156 
 
 Obsequies, . 
 
 . 46 
 
 137 
 
 Obsequious, 
 
 . 46 
 
 229 
 
 Obvious, 
 
 . 33 
 
 140 
 
 Occident, . 
 
 . 56 
 
 199 
 
 Ocean, 
 
 . 188 
 
 42 
 
 Ocular, 
 
 . 232 
 
 206 
 
 Odd's death 1 
 
 . 125 
 
 
 Officious, . 
 
 . 182 
 
 262 
 
 Ogres, 
 
 . 197 
 
 262 
 
 Olfactory, . 
 
 . 232 
 
 , 258 
 
 Lord, sir, 
 
 . 153 
 
 232 
 
 Omnibus, . 
 
 . 97 
 
 22 
 
 Once, 
 
 . 207 
 
 232 
 
 On the anvil, 
 
 . 99 
 
 58 
 
 On the carpet. 
 
 . 99 
 
 52 
 
 Out- Herod Hero 
 
 d, . 133 
 
 120 
 
 Out of one's witt 
 
 5, . 23 
 
 239 
 
 On tick. 
 
 . 132 
 
 109 
 
 Opponent, . 
 
 . 225 
 
 97 
 
 Optic, 
 
 . 232
 
 INDEX OF WOEDS. 
 
 281 
 
 Ordeal, 
 
 Orient, 
 
 Orrery, 
 
 Outre, 
 
 Overflowing, 
 
 Pagan, 
 Palate, 
 Palaver, 
 Pale, with! I 
 
 out tlie. 
 Palmer, 
 Palm, 
 Palmy, 
 Pamper, 
 Pander, 
 Pantheism, 
 Paper, 
 Papouse, 
 Paradise, 
 Paragon, 
 Paramour, 
 Parasite, 
 Par bleu. 
 Parchment, 
 Pardon, 
 Parish, 
 Park, . 
 Parliament, 
 Parlour, 
 Parsons, 
 Passd, 
 Pasqnin, 
 Patavinity, 
 Patois, 
 Patron, 
 Pattern, 
 Peasant, 
 Peace, 
 Pectoral, 
 Peculate, 
 Peculiar, 
 Pecuniary, 
 
 and 
 
 with 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAfiB 
 
 . 74 
 
 Pedal, 
 
 . 232 
 
 66, 22i 
 
 Pedler, 
 
 . 210 
 
 . 189 
 
 Peel, . 
 
 , 206 
 
 . 262 
 
 Penchant, . 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 241 
 
 Penetrability, . 
 
 . 239 
 
 
 Penny, 
 
 . 207 
 
 . 107 
 
 Pensive, . . !(. 
 
 8,221 
 
 . 25 
 
 Pepper, 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 257 
 
 Peremptory, 
 
 . 41 
 
 1- 
 
 Perdy, 
 
 , 126 
 
 . 133 
 
 Pernicious, 
 
 . 40 
 
 86, 205 
 
 Persiflage, . 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 156 
 
 Personnel, . 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 62 
 
 Perspicuous, 
 
 . 22 
 
 . 43 
 
 Pest, . 
 
 . 39 
 
 . 191 
 
 Peterson, . 
 
 . 208 
 
 . 39 
 
 Petrified, . 
 
 . 48 
 
 . 97 
 
 Pettifogger, 
 
 . 120 
 
 . 258 
 
 Petty, 
 
 . 41 
 
 . 42 
 
 Phantasm, . 
 
 . 27 
 
 . 45 
 
 Phantasy, . 
 
 27 
 
 . 45 
 
 Phantom, . 
 
 . 27 
 
 . 94 
 
 Phase, 
 
 . 27 
 
 . 125 
 
 Phenomena, 
 
 27 
 
 . 199 
 
 Philanthropist, 
 
 185 
 
 . 242 
 
 Pliilippic, . 
 
 . 188 
 
 . 204 
 
 Phren, 
 
 . 26 
 
 . 203 
 
 Physic, 
 
 207 
 
 . 2:^5 
 
 Pickle, 
 
 . 156 
 
 . 2:15 
 
 Picts, 
 
 194 
 
 04, 205 
 
 Pierrie, 
 
 255 
 
 . 202 
 
 Piety, 
 
 234 
 
 . 192 
 
 Pike, . 
 
 206 
 
 . 197 
 
 Pilgrim, . . 8 
 
 6, 205 
 
 . 197 
 
 Piquant, . 
 
 25 
 
 . 235 
 
 Pithy, 
 
 225 
 
 . 235 
 
 Pitt 
 
 203 
 
 . 223 
 
 I'iiy 
 
 234 
 
 . 200 
 
 Placer, 
 
 2(10 
 
 . 232 
 
 Plagiary, . 
 
 79 
 
 . 81 
 
 Pi;iginm, . 
 
 79 
 
 . 81 
 
 Phmne, . 
 
 39 
 
 17, 80 
 
 Platonic, . 
 
 188
 
 282 
 
 INDEX OF WOEDS. 
 
 Plough, 
 
 Poltroon, . 
 
 Ponder, 
 
 Poole, 
 
 Pope, . 
 
 Portmanteau, 
 
 Port, '. 
 
 Potato, 
 
 Potent, 
 
 Pot-valiant, 
 
 Powell, . 
 
 Pragmatical, 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 Precipitancy, 
 
 Precis, 
 
 Precocious, 
 
 Prejudice, . 
 
 Premature, 
 
 Preposterous, 
 
 Presbyterian, 
 
 Prestige, . 
 
 Prevaricate, 
 
 Priest, 
 
 Primrose, . 
 
 Prince, 
 
 Prison, 
 
 Pritchard, . 
 
 Privilege, . 
 
 Pro, . 
 
 Probity, 
 
 Profligate, . 
 
 Programme, 
 
 Promethean, 
 
 Property, . 
 
 Propinquity, 
 
 Proprietar}% 
 
 Propriety, . 
 
 Protege, 
 
 Providence, 
 
 Prudence, . 
 
 Puerile, 
 
 Pug, . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 258 
 . 114 
 . 86 
 . 203 
 . 205 
 . 97 
 . 199 
 . 258 
 . 242 
 . 166 
 . 208 
 . 182 
 . 220 
 . 34 
 . 263 
 33 
 . 180 
 . 33 
 . 131 
 . 77 
 . 263 
 37 
 204, 205 
 . 57 
 . 205 
 . 98 
 . 208 
 . 98 
 . 146 
 . 179 
 . 178 
 . 263 
 . 188 
 . 235 
 . 239 
 . 239 
 . 235 
 . 263 
 28, 223 
 . 223 
 . 227 
 . 146 
 
 Pulmonary, 
 Punctilious, 
 Purgatoiy, 
 Puritan, 
 
 Quaker, 
 
 Quandary, 
 
 Quantity, 
 
 Quarantine, 
 
 Quarrel, 
 
 Quean, 
 
 Quiddits, 
 
 Quidnuncs, 
 
 Quillets, 
 
 Quixotic, 
 
 Quiz, , 
 
 Quodlibets, 
 
 Quorums, 
 
 'R,' . 
 Racy, . 
 Radical, 
 Rage, 
 Rajpoot, 
 Rank, 
 Rapport, 
 Rapscallion 
 Rascal, 
 Rational, 
 Rationalism 
 Rattan, 
 Ravenous, 
 Real, . 
 Recherche, 
 Recipe, 
 Recompence, 
 Rectitude, 
 Red, . 
 Redacteur, 
 Redaction, 
 Reed, . 
 , Reeve, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 232 
 
 36, 242 
 
 . 97 
 
 . 122 
 
 . 122 
 18, 135 
 
 . 242 
 
 . 135 
 
 . 44 
 
 . 112 
 
 . 137 
 
 . 138 
 
 . 137 
 
 . 191 
 
 . 156 
 
 . 137 
 
 . 138 
 
 . 148 
 
 . 25 
 91, 231 
 
 . 224 
 
 . 198 
 
 . 22 
 
 . 263 
 
 . 121 
 18, 104 
 
 . 281 
 
 . 181 
 
 . 258 
 
 . 140 
 27, 231 
 
 . 224 
 
 . 97 
 
 . 220 
 
 . 172 
 
 . 146 
 
 . 263 
 
 . 268 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 205
 
 INDEX OF "WOEDS. 
 
 283 
 
 Reflect, 
 
 Refraiuing, 
 
 Regal, 
 
 Regard, 
 
 Regular, 
 
 Relish, 
 
 Reluctance, 
 
 Remorse, . 
 
 Renaissance, 
 
 Rendez-yous, 
 
 Renown, 
 
 Reor, 
 
 Repugnance, 
 
 Reputation, 
 
 Resentment, 
 
 Resist, 
 
 Respect, 
 
 Respectable, 
 
 Restarateur, 
 
 Reyealed, 
 
 Reyerend, 
 
 Reyohuion, 
 
 Ribald, 
 
 Rich, . 
 
 Rift'-)-aflF, 
 
 Right, 
 
 Ritto, 
 
 Rival, 
 
 Rivulet, 
 
 Robe, . 
 
 Robert, 
 
 Rodomontade, 
 
 Rogue, 
 
 Roguish, 
 
 Romance, 
 
 Rondeur, 
 
 Rooke, 
 
 Rosary, 
 
 Rosemary, 
 
 Rosicrucian, 
 
 Rostrum, 
 
 Rou6, 
 
 17 
 
 36 
 33 
 223 
 28,29 
 172 
 25 
 40 
 178 
 263 
 97 
 170 
 23 
 40 
 170 
 182 
 242 
 28, 29 
 29 
 97 
 29 
 46 
 91 
 190 
 156 
 157 
 2, 173 
 172 
 10,84 
 10 
 42 
 209 
 189 
 123 
 123 
 73 
 255 
 206 
 97 
 148 
 95 
 158 
 120 
 
 ! Roundheads, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 122 
 
 1 Royal, 
 
 . 223 
 
 Rub-a-dub, 
 
 . 157 
 
 Rubbish, 
 
 . 120 
 
 Rubric, 
 
 . 97 
 
 Ruby, 
 
 . 96 
 
 Ruffian, 
 
 . 120 
 
 Ruin, . 
 
 . 36 
 
 Rule the roost, . 
 
 . 156 
 
 Run amuck, 
 
 155, 257 
 
 Rustic, 
 
 107, 203 
 
 'S ' 
 
 . 148 
 
 Sabbath, . 
 
 . 258 
 
 Safe, . 
 
 . 233 
 
 Safety, 
 
 . 233 
 
 Sage, . 
 
 . 206 
 
 Sago, . 
 
 . 258 
 
 Salaam, 
 
 . 101 
 
 Salary, 
 
 . 80 
 
 Sallust, 
 
 . 148 
 
 Salutary, . 
 
 . 230 
 
 Salvation, . 
 
 . 233 
 
 Salve, 
 
 . 101 
 
 Salt, above and b 
 
 jlow 
 
 the, 
 
 . 133 
 
 Sanctimonious, . 
 
 . 182 
 
 Sands, 
 
 . 203 
 
 Sandwich, . 
 
 . 188 
 
 Sanguine, . 
 
 . 228 
 
 Sanguinary (note) 
 
 , . 229 
 
 Sansculotte, 
 
 . 91 
 
 Sapience, . 
 
 . 26 
 
 Sarcasm, . 
 
 . 63 
 
 Sardonic, . 
 
 82 
 
 Saucy, 
 
 . 25 
 
 Satire, 
 
 . 03 
 
 Saturnine, . 
 
 . 58 
 
 Saunter, 
 
 17,86 
 
 . Savage, 
 
 . 107 
 
 i Savory, 
 
 26 
 
 1 Saxou, 
 
 . 193
 
 284 
 
 INDEX OF "WOEDS. 
 
 Scamp, 
 Scandal, 
 Scape-grace, 
 Scarlet, 
 Sceptre, 
 School, 
 Schooner, . 
 Schuld, 
 Scruple, 
 Scotland, . 
 Scots, 
 
 Scoundrel, . 
 Scurrility, . 
 Seance, 
 Sedate, 
 Seer, . 
 Select, 
 Senate, 
 Se'niglit (note), 
 Sense, 
 Senses, 
 Sensible, . 
 Sensual, 
 Sensuous, . 
 Septembrist, 
 Serenade, . 
 Serious, 
 Sermon, 
 Severe, 
 Sexton, 
 Shabby, . 
 Sheepislmess, 
 Shepherd, . 
 Shrew, 
 
 .Shrewd (note), 
 Shrove- tide, 
 Sidereal, . 
 Sign-manual, 
 Silly, 
 Sincere, 
 Sine-risus, . 
 Sinister, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 121 
 
 Six, . 
 
 
 33 
 
 Skipper, 
 
 
 121 
 
 Slave, 
 
 
 258 
 
 Slip-slop, . 
 
 
 42 
 
 Sloop, 
 
 
 . 88 
 
 SlubberdeguUion 
 
 
 . 258 
 
 Small, 
 
 
 . 1G6 
 
 Smeared, . 
 
 
 . 32 
 
 Smell-feast, 
 
 
 . 198 
 
 Smelling, . 
 
 
 . 194 
 
 Smith, 
 
 1 
 
 0, 115 
 
 Snob, 
 
 
 . 120 
 
 Snow, 
 
 
 . 2G3 
 
 Sociology, . 
 
 
 . 34 
 
 Soft Shell, . 
 
 
 . 29 
 
 Soiree, 
 
 
 . 224 
 
 Solar, 
 
 
 . 77 
 
 Sole, . 
 
 
 . 230 
 
 Solidarity, . 
 
 
 24 
 
 Sophist, 
 
 
 . 23 
 
 Sordid, 
 
 
 . 22 
 
 Sore, . 
 
 '. 2 
 
 4, 183 
 
 Sorrow, 
 
 
 . 183 
 
 South, 
 
 
 . 91 
 
 Sparrow-grass, 
 
 
 . 64 
 
 Specious, . 
 
 
 . 16 
 
 Speculation, 
 
 
 . 242 
 
 Spell, . 
 
 
 , 168 
 
 Spencer, 
 
 
 . 206 
 
 Spicy, 
 
 
 . 98 
 
 Spinster, . 
 
 
 . 189 
 
 Spire, 
 
 
 . 204 
 
 Spleen, 
 
 
 . Ill 
 
 Splendidious, 
 
 
 111 
 
 Spoil, 
 
 . 
 
 98 
 
 Squire, 
 
 
 . 230 
 
 Staidness, , 
 
 
 . 85 
 
 Star, . 
 
 
 . 120 
 
 Stationer, . 
 
 
 9 
 
 Staves-acre, 
 
 
 . 16 
 
 Steele, 
 
 
 . 34 
 
 Sterling, . 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 . 207 
 
 . 205 
 
 . 194 
 
 . 157 
 
 . 258 
 
 121, 143 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 239 
 
 . 121 
 
 . 232 
 
 . 204 
 
 . 105 
 
 . 207 
 
 . 260 
 
 . 122 
 
 . 263 
 
 . 230 
 
 . 207 
 
 . 260 
 
 . 181 
 
 . 178 
 
 . 178 
 
 . 178 
 
 . 203 
 
 . 149 
 
 . 242 
 27,28 
 
 . 60 
 
 188, 205 
 
 . 25 
 
 . 78 
 
 . 203 
 
 . 99 
 
 . 143 
 
 . 82 
 
 . 205 
 
 . 34 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 210 
 
 . 149 
 
 . 206 
 
 . 200
 
 INDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 285 
 
 Sterne, 
 
 Steward, . 
 
 Stickler, 
 
 Stigma, 
 
 Stigmatize, 
 
 Stilletto, . 
 
 Stone, 
 
 Storm, 
 
 Story, 
 
 Stout, 
 
 Stratagem, 
 
 Street, 
 
 Strong, 
 
 Study, 
 
 Stupendous, 
 
 Style, 
 
 Subjective, 
 
 Subtle, 
 
 Suitable, . 
 
 Sun, . 
 
 Supercilioup, 
 
 Superfluity, 
 
 Supernatural, 
 
 Supine, 
 
 Sujipliance, 
 
 Support, 
 
 Supposition, 
 
 Surloin, 
 
 Surprise, . 
 
 Surd, 
 
 Surdas, 
 
 Surveyor, . 
 
 Suspense, , 
 
 Suspicion, . 
 
 Sustain, 
 
 Sweet, 
 
 Sweet William, 
 
 Swift, 
 
 Sycophant, 
 
 Sylvan, 
 
 Symmetrical, 
 
 Sympathy, 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 206 
 
 Synagogue, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 241 
 
 
 . 220 
 
 
 
 
 . 115 
 
 Tabernacle, 
 
 . 42 
 
 
 . 40 
 
 Taboo, 
 
 . 257 
 
 
 . 40 
 
 Tact, 
 
 21, 22 
 
 
 . 63 
 
 Tailor, 
 
 . 204, 210 
 
 
 . 206 
 
 Tale, . 
 
 , 225 
 
 
 . 207 
 
 Tandem, . 
 
 . 162 
 
 .* u 
 
 n, 225 
 
 Tangible, . 
 
 . 22 
 
 
 . 206 
 
 Tantalize, . 
 
 . 188 
 
 
 . 216 
 
 Tariff, 
 
 . 200 
 
 
 . 203 
 
 Tartar, 
 
 . 196 
 
 
 . 206 
 
 Taste, 
 
 . 21 
 
 
 . 168 
 
 Tasty, 
 
 . 232 
 
 
 . 39 
 
 Tawdry, . 
 
 . 113 
 
 
 . 63 
 
 Taylor, 
 
 . 204 
 
 
 . 258 
 
 Tea, . 
 
 . 258 
 
 
 9 
 
 Teetotal ism, 
 
 . 132 
 
 
 . 243 
 
 Telegram, . 
 
 . 260 
 
 
 . 206 
 
 Tell tales, . 
 
 . 181 
 
 
 32, 35 
 
 Tempest, . 
 
 . 217 
 
 
 . 241 
 
 Ten (note). 
 
 . 43 
 
 
 . 241 
 
 Terminus, . 
 
 . 188 
 
 
 . 35 
 
 Terrestrial, 
 
 . 229 
 
 
 35 
 
 Testy, 
 
 . 221 
 
 
 . 224 
 
 Theory, 
 
 . 27 
 
 
 241 
 
 Thicksknll, 
 
 . 121 
 
 
 98 
 
 Thought, . 
 
 . 23 
 
 
 191 
 
 Thoughtful, 
 
 . 221 
 
 
 36 
 
 Throne, , 
 
 . 42 
 
 
 10 
 
 Tiger, 
 
 . 1S9 
 
 
 242 
 
 Tight, 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 IG 
 
 Tin, . 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 33 
 
 Tipsy, 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 241 
 
 Tip-top, , 
 
 . 157 
 
 
 206 
 
 Tobacco, . 
 
 . 258 
 
 
 57 
 
 Toe, . 
 
 . 207 
 
 
 206 
 
 Toilet, 
 
 . 41 
 
 '. 10," 
 
 D2, 93 1 
 
 Tolerate, . 
 
 . 224 
 
 
 23fi 
 
 Tontine, 
 
 . 188 
 
 
 241 
 
 Tornado, , 
 
 . 218 
 
 
 186: 
 
 Tort (note). 
 
 . 172
 
 2S6 
 
 INDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Torto (note), - 
 
 - 172 
 
 Viands, - 
 
 - 43 
 
 Tortuous, - 
 
 - 173 
 
 Villain, 
 
 - 107 
 
 Tory, 
 
 - 121 
 
 Virgil, 
 
 - 148 
 
 Tower, 
 
 - 203 
 
 Virtu, 
 
 - 167 
 
 Tractable, - 
 
 32,35 
 
 Virtue, 
 
 - 166, 177 
 
 Traduce, - 
 
 - 180 
 
 Virtuoso, - 
 
 - 257 
 
 Transgression, - 
 
 32, 173 
 
 Visionary, 
 
 - 28 
 
 Transient, 
 
 - 61 
 
 Visual, 
 
 - 232 
 
 Travail, - 
 
 - IGO 
 
 Vital, 
 
 - 228 
 
 Travel, - 
 
 - 100 
 
 Vitreous, - 
 
 - 230 
 
 Tree, 
 
 203, 207 
 
 Vixen, 
 
 18, 111 
 
 Trenchant, 
 
 - 242 
 
 Volcano, - 
 
 91, 188 
 
 Trenclier-friend, 
 
 - 121 
 
 Voluntary, 
 
 - 231 
 
 Trick, 
 
 - 216 
 
 Vulgar, 
 
 - 107 
 
 True. 
 
 - 175 
 
 Vulgate, - 
 
 - 107 
 
 Truth, 
 
 - 175 
 
 
 
 Tulip, 
 
 - 258 
 
 Wanton, - 
 
 - 109 
 
 Turban, - 
 
 - 258 
 
 Ware (note), 
 
 - 75 
 
 Turk, 
 
 - 196 
 
 Wasp, 
 
 - 206 
 
 Turkey, - 
 
 - 199 
 
 Wayward, 
 
 - 225 
 
 Tutor, 
 
 - 98 
 
 Weal (note), 
 
 - 81 
 
 Twice, 
 
 - 207 
 
 Wealth, - 
 
 - 81 
 
 
 
 Weave. 
 
 - 78 
 
 Umbrage, - 
 
 - 32 
 
 Web (note), 
 
 - 78 
 
 Umbilical, 
 
 - 232 
 
 Webster, - 
 
 - 204 
 
 Uncouth (note), 
 
 - 76 
 
 Wedding, - 
 
 - 220 
 
 Uphold, - 
 
 - 241 
 
 Welkin, - 
 
 - 62 
 
 Upright, - 
 
 - 173 
 
 West, 
 
 - 203 
 
 Usquebaugh, 
 
 - 157 
 
 Whew! - 
 
 - 124 
 
 Usury, 
 
 - 180 
 
 Whig, - 
 
 - 121 
 
 
 
 White, 
 
 - 206 
 
 Vaccine, - 
 
 - 232 
 
 Whiten, - 
 
 - 221 
 
 Vagabond, 
 
 - 108 
 
 Whitman, 
 
 - 206 
 
 Vagrant (note), 
 
 - 108 
 
 Wife, 
 
 17, 78 
 
 Vale, 
 
 - 101 
 
 Wigwam, - 
 
 - 258 
 
 Valet (note), - 
 
 - 106 
 
 Wild, 
 
 - 36 
 
 Valoui', 
 
 - 167 
 
 William, - 
 
 - 209 
 
 Vandals, - 
 
 - 197 
 
 Witch, - 
 
 - 94 
 
 Vanity, 
 
 19, 172 
 
 Wite, 
 
 - 15 
 
 Varlet (note). - 
 
 - 100 
 
 Wits, 
 
 23 
 
 Vaunting, 
 
 - 177 
 
 Wizard, - 
 
 94 
 
 Very (note), 
 
 - 227 
 
 Womanly, 
 
 - 225
 
 INDEX OF WORDS. 
 
 287 
 
 ■Woodcock, 
 Work, 
 Worldly, - 
 Worse for liqnor. 
 Worship, - 
 Wrath, - 
 Wretch, - 
 Wrong, - 
 
 PAGE 
 
 - 139 
 
 Yacht, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 - 258 
 
 - 100 
 
 Yankee, - 
 
 - 258 
 
 - 229 
 
 Yearning, 
 
 - 168 
 
 - 156 
 
 Yeoman, - 
 
 - 205 
 
 19,75 
 
 
 
 - 224 
 
 Zero, 
 
 - 258 
 
 - 109 
 
 Zounds ! - 
 
 - 126 
 
 9, 172, 173 
 
 
 
 GLAIiOOW: 
 rmSTED BT B. ASD T. VXTHV, 
 
 26 Went NUc Street.
 
 /
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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