CHAPTER. I.
OF THE NATURE OF THE LETTERS, AND OF A COMIC ALPHABET.
Orthography is like a junior usher, or instructor of youth. It teaches us the nature and powers of letters and the right method of spelling words.
Note.—In a public school, the person corresponding to an usher is called a master. As it is sometimes his duty to flog, we propose that he should henceforth be called the “Usher of the Birch Rod.”
Comic Orthography teaches us the oddity and absurdities of letters, and the wrong method of spelling words. The following is an example of Comic Orthography:—
islinton foteenth of
febuary 1840.
my Deer jemes
wen fust i sawed yu doun the middle and up agin att Vite condick ouse i maid Up my Mind to skure you for my hone for i Felt at once that my appiness was at Steak, and a sensashun in my Bussum I coudent no ways accompt For. And i said to mary at missis Igginses said i theres the Mann for my money o ses Shee i nose a Sweeter Yung Man than that Air Do you sez i Agin then there we Agree To Differ, and we was sittin by the window and we wos wery Neer fallin Out. my deer gemes Sins that Nite i Havent slept a Wink and Wot is moor to the Porpus i Have quit Lost my Happy tight and am gettin wus and wus witch i Think yu ort to pitty Mee. i am Tolled every Day that ime Gettin Thinner and a Jipsy sed that nothin wood Cure me But a Ring.
i wos a Long time makin my Mind Up to right to You for of Coarse i Says jemes will think me too forrad but this bein Leep yere i thout ide Make a Plunge speshialy as her grashius madjesty as Set the Exampel of Popin the queshton, leastways to all Them as dont Want to Bee old Mades all their blessed lives. so my Deer Jemes if yow want a Pardoner for Better or for wus nows Your Time dont think i Behave despicable for tis my Luv for yu as makes Me take this Stepp.
please to Burn this Letter when Red and excuse the scralls and Blotches witch is Caused by my Teers i remain
till deth Yure on Happy
Vallentine
jane you No who.
nex Sunday Is my sunday out And i shall be Att the corner of Wite lion Street pentonvil at a quawter pas Sevn.
Wen This U. C.
remember Mee
j. g.
Now, to proceed with Orthography, we may remark, that
A letter is the least part of a word.
Of a comic letter an instance has already been given.
Dr. Johnson’s letter to Lord Chesterfield is a capital letter.
The letters of the Alphabet are the representatives of articulate sounds.
The Alphabet is a Republic of Letters.
There are many things in this world erroneously as well as vulgarly compared to “bricks.” In the case of the letters of the Alphabet, however, the comparison is just; they constitute the fabric of a language, and grammar is the mortar. The wonder is that there should be so few of them. The English letters are twenty-six in number. There is nothing like beginning at the beginning; and we shall now therefore enumerate them, with the view also of rendering their insertion subsidiary to mythological instruction, in conformity with the plan on which some account of the Heathen Deities and ancient heroes is prefixed or subjoined to a Dictionary. We present the reader with a form of Alphabet composed in humble imitation of that famous one, which, while appreciable by the dullest taste, and level to the meanest capacity, is nevertheless that by which the greatest minds have been agreeably inducted into knowledge.
THE ALPHABET.
A was Apollo, the god of the carol,
B stood for Bacchus, astride on his barrel;
C for good Ceres, the goddess of grist,
D was Diana, that wouldn’t be kiss’d;
E was nymph Echo, that pined to a sound,
F was sweet Flora, with buttercups crown’d;
G was Jove’s pot-boy, young Ganymede hight,
H was fair Hebe, his barmaid so tight;
I, little Io, turn’d into a cow,
J, jealous Juno, that spiteful old sow;
K was Kitty, more lovely than goddess or muse;
L, Lacooon—I wouldn’t have been in his shoes!
M was blue-eyed Minerva, with stockings to match,
N was Nestor, with grey beard and silvery thatch;
O was lofty Olympus, King Jupiter’s shop,
P, Parnassus, Apollo hung out on its top;
Q stood for Quirites, the Romans, to wit;
R, for rantipole Roscius, that made such a hit;
S, for Sappho, so famous for felo-de-se,
T, for Thales the wise, F.R.S. and M.D.:
U was crafty Ulysses, so artful a dodger,
V was hop-a-kick Vulcan, that limping old codger;
Wenus—Venus I mean—with a W begins,
(Vell, if I ham a Cockney, wot need of your grins?)
X was Xantippe, the scratch-cat and shrew,
Y, I don’t know what Y was, whack me if I do!
Z was Zeno the Stoic, Zenobia the clever,
And Zoilus the critic, Victoria for ever!
Letters are divided into Vowels and Consonants.
The vowels are capable of being perfectly uttered by themselves. They are, as it were, independent members of the Alphabet, and like independent members elsewhere form a small minority. The vowels are a, e, i, o, u, and sometimes w and y.
An I. O. U. is a more pleasant thing to have, than it is to give.
A blow in the stomach is very likely to W up.
W is a consonant when it begins a word, as “Wicked Will Wiggins whacked his wife with a whip;” but in every other place it is a vowel, as crawling, drawling, sawney, screwing, Jew. Y follows the same rule.
A consonant is an articulate sound; but, like an old bachelor, if it exist alone it exists to no purpose. It cannot be perfectly uttered without the aid of a vowel; and even then the vowel has the greatest share in the production of the sound. Thus a vowel joined to a consonant becomes, so to speak, a “better half:” or at all events very strongly resembles one.
Consonants are divided into mutes and semi-vowels.
The mutes cannot be sounded at all without the aid of a vowel. Like young ladies just “come out,” they are silent as long as you let them alone. Some have compared them, on account of their name, to the “Original Good Woman;” but how joining her to anything except to her head again would have cured her of her dumbness, it is not easy to see. B, p, t, d, k, and c and g hard, are the letters called mutes, or, as some have denominated them, black letters.
The semi-vowels, which are f, l, m, n, r, v, s, x, z, and c and g soft, have an imperfect sound of themselves. Well! half a loaf is better than no bread.
L, m, n, r, are further distinguished by the name of liquids. Like certain other liquids they are good for mixing, that is to say, they readily unite with other consonants; and flow, as it were, into their sounds.
The specific gravity of liquids can only be rendered amusing by comical figures. The gravity, too, of a solid is generally the more ludicrous.
MUTES AND LIQUIDS.
A diphthong is the union of two vowels in one sound, as ea in heavy, eu in Meux, ou in stout.
A triphthong is a similar union of three vowels, as eau in the word beau; a term applied to dandies, and addressed to geese: probably because they are birds of a feather.
A proper diphthong is that in which the sound is formed by both the vowels: as, aw in awkward, ou in lout.
An improper diphthong is that in which the sound is formed by one of the vowels only, as ea in heartless, oa in hoax.
According to our notions there are a great many improper diphthongs in common use. By improper diphthongs we mean vowels unwarrantably dilated into diphthongs, and diphthongs mispronounced, in defiance of good English, and against our Sovereign Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity.
For instance, the rustics say,—
“Loor! whaut a foine gaal! Moy oy!”
“Whaut a precious soight of crows!”
“As I was a comin’ whoam through the corn fiddles (fields) I met Willum Jones.”
After this manner cockneys express themselves:—
“I sor (saw) him.”
“Dror (draw) it out.”
“Hold your jor (jaw).”
“I caun’t. You shaun’t. How’s your Maw and Paw? Do you like taut (tart)?”
We have heard young ladies remark,—
“Oh, my! What a naice young man!”
“What a bee—eautiful day!”
“I’m so fond of dayncing!”
Dandies frequently exclaim,—
“I’m postively tiawed (tired).”
“What a sweet tempaw! (temper).”
“How daughty (dirty) the streets au!”
And they also call,—
Literature, “literetchah.”
Perfectly, “pawfacly.”
Disgusted, “disgasted.”
Sky (theatrical dandies do this chiefly) “ske-eye.”
Blue, “ble—ew.”
We might here insert a few remarks on the nature of the human voice, and of the mechanism by means of which articulation is performed; but besides our dislike to prolixity, we are afraid of getting down in the mouth, and thereby going the wrong way to please our readers. We may nevertheless venture to invite attention to a few comical peculiarities in connection with articulate sounds.
Ahem! at the commencement of a speech, is a sound agreeably droll.
The vocal comicalities of the infant in arms are exceedingly laughable, but we are unfortunately unable to spell them.
The articulation of the Jew is peculiarly ridiculous. The “peoplesh” are badly spoken of, and not well spoken.
Bawling, croaking, hissing, whistling, and grunting, are elegant vocal accomplishments.
Lisping, as, “thweet, Dthooliur, thawming, kweechau,” is by some considered interesting, by others absurd.
Stammering is sometimes productive of amusement.
Humming and hawing are ludicrous embellishments to a discourse. Crowing like a cock, braying like a donkey, quacking like a duck, and hooting like an owl, are modes of exerting the voice which are usually regarded as diverting.
But of all the sounds which proceed from the human mouth, by far the funniest are Ha! ha! ha!—Ho! ho! ho! and He! he! he!
