A Book About Words

by G. F. Graham

As an illustration of corruption arising from a false notion of its derivation, we may take the word ‘island.’ How did the s get into it? This s is not sounded, and yet it must be written. In the one word ‘island,’ there is a mixture of Latin and German. The first syllable is of Romance, and the second of Teutonic origin. The Latin for ‘island’ is ‘insula,’ from ‘in’ and ‘salo,’ the ‘salt,’ i.e. in the salt (sea, understood). The Anglo-Saxon word for the same idea was ‘ea-land.’ Here ‘ea’ means ‘water.’ This ‘ea,’ or ‘ey,’ is found in many names of islands, as ‘Anglesea,’ ‘Jersey,’ ‘Guernsey,’ &c. ‘Ea-land,’ then meant ‘water-land,’ or ‘land surrounded by water.’ In the earlier editions of ‘Paradise Lost,’ the word always appears written ‘iland’ (without the s), which points more clearly to its Saxon derivation, and is nearer in spelling to the modern German—‘Eiland.’ The ‘s’ was afterwards inserted, from a mistaken notion that the word was of Latin, and not German, origin.

A false analogy will sometimes give rise to a corrupted form of spelling. The past tense of ‘can’ was originally ‘coude,’ not ‘could;’ and the l was afterwards introduced, from the apparent analogy of the word to ‘would,’ from ‘will,’ and ‘should,’ from ‘shall.’ This, then, is a corruption. But, though at first incorrect, the l must, of course, be now retained.

Proper names, both of places and persons, have suffered a good deal from this influence. Words of this class are most likely to be corrupted, because they are most frequently in the mouths of the common people. That ‘Birmingham’ should be called ‘Brummagem,’ ‘Cirencester,’ ‘Siseter,’ and ‘Wavertree,’ ‘Wartree,’ is not surprising when we remember that these corruptions originated with those who had often to pronounce, but seldom, if ever, to write these names. But what is, perhaps, more strange, many of these corruptions are now adopted by the upper classes. Thus, in all ranks of society, the proper name ‘Beauchamp’ is now pronounced ‘Beecham;’ ‘St. John’ is called ‘Sinjon;’ ‘Cholmondeley’ is pronounced ‘Chumley,’ and ‘Marjoribanks’ ‘Marchbanks.’

Slang Words.

Among the many signs of the corruption of the English language, one, which is not the least remarkable, is the prevalent use of slang words and phrases. That certain terms should be peculiar to certain callings, trades, or professions, may be naturally expected, but that these should be extended into general conversation, is a corroborative proof of the strong liking people now have for any thing unusual or out-of-the-way. One very curious fact may be here observed. While the style of most of our periodical writers soars upwards, and affects the lofty and sublime, that of general conversation is the very reverse, and sinks to the low and vulgar.

A difference must be here made between ‘cant’ and ‘slang.’ The first signifies the secret language of thieves, beggars, and tramps, by which they endeavour to conceal their evil deeds from the public. The knowledge and practice of this kind of language is confined to the above-named fraternities. But slang consists of those vulgar, unauthorised terms, which have come into fashion during the last eighty or ninety years, and which are not confined to one class, but may be now heard in almost every grade of society.

In all trades and professions there are certain terms peculiar to each, which are properly called ‘technical;’ these can hardly be denominated slang. For example, in the language of actors, a ‘length’ signifies forty-two lines of the part each has to study for the stage. They say, a part consists of so many ‘lengths.’ This, and other such terms, are seldom, if ever, heard beyond the circle to which they properly belong. But slang is found in almost all classes of society. That of high life is drawn from various sources. One of its phases may be seen in the French words and forms which would-be fashionable people so delight in using. To call a breakfast a déjeuner is absurd, especially as we have a very good word of our own to express that meal. Leaders of fashion never speak of the fashionable world; but always of the ‘beau monde.’ This ‘beau monde,’ they tell us, give ‘recherchés’ entertainments, attended by the ‘élite’ of society. Lady So-and-So gave a ‘thé dansant,’ which, of course, ‘went off with éclat,’ &c. &c. Many so-called fashionable ladies and gentlemen would, probably, be deeply offended to hear such language termed slang; but any words or forms which are not recognised English certainly deserve to be so stigmatised.

This form of slang is confined chiefly to the would-be fashionables, and to those writers of very questionable taste, who use what they think funny and startling expressions in a novel and flippant way. Cookery also has given us much slang of this sort. If we were to ask, in an ordinary English hotel, for ‘côtelettes à la jardinière,’ or a ‘vol-au-vent à la financière,’ the people of the house would probably stare at us; but these and such expressions form the staple of the style of many popular novelists.

Of parliamentary slang, too, there is no lack of examples. Lord Palmerston, and Mr. Disraeli are perhaps better known as Pam and Dizzy, than by their proper names. A single vote to one candidate at an election is called a ‘plumper;’ and those who have boiled a pot in a house, to qualify themselves to vote, are termed ‘potwallopers.’ Among military men, anyone unusually particular about his dress or personal appearance, is a ‘dandy’ or a ‘swell.’ They also call a ‘title’ a ‘handle to your name,’ and a kind-hearted, good-natured fellow is, with them, a ‘trump,’ or a ‘brick.’