A Book About Words

by G. F. Graham

One very striking peculiarity of the English language is the extraordinary variety of senses in which many of our words, especially those of Saxon origin, may be used. A curious instance of this variety may be seen in the case of the verb ‘to get.’ For example: ‘After I got (received) your letter; I immediately got (mounted) on horseback; and when I got to (reached) Canterbury, I got (procured) a chaise, and proceeded to town. But, the rain coming on, I got (caught) such a severe cold, that I could not get rid of it for some days. When I got home, I got up-stairs, and got to bed immediately; but the next morning I found I could neither get down stairs, get my breakfast, nor get out of doors. I was afraid I should never get over this attack.’ It may be reasonably doubted whether any English word of Latin or French origin has half so many and such various significations.

‘To put’ is a verb of unsettled derivation; but it has an endless variety of meanings: and is compounded with almost every preposition in the language. Latham’s edition of Johnson’s Dictionary gives about seventy different senses of this one verb, some of which are as follows: ‘A man puts by money when he saves it up; or he puts away his wife when he divorces her. An insurrection may be put down; or a man may put down his name as a subscriber. A tree puts forth leaves, or a man puts into a lottery. He puts off his clothes, or he puts off a disagreeable task; he puts out his money at interest; or he puts out the light when he goes to bed; and he is terribly put out when things do not go well with him. He can put together his thoughts; but he cannot put up with an insult. It is unpleasant to be put upon; and sometimes very hard to put things to rights.’

The French adverb très (very), is the Latin ‘trans’ (over, or across.) The prefix ‘trans’ is of frequent use in English as in ‘transfer,’ ‘transfix,’ ‘transform,’ &c. We have adopted the French ‘très’ in only one word; viz. ‘trespass.’ This signifies either in a physical or moral sense, ‘to pass a boundary.’ It is still used in English, chiefly as a term of law.

Some writers on language have objected to the order of words generally adopted in certain colloquial expressions. They say that in such phrases as ‘bred and born,’ ‘shoes and stockings,’ ‘coat and waistcoat,’ &c., we put the cart before the horse. They would have us say ‘born and bred,’ ‘stockings and shoes,’ &c. Their argument is, that we should put these words in their natural order, as to time—that as a man must be born before he is bred, the proper order is ‘born and bred,’ and so on, in all other cases of this sort. This, however, does not seem to be the right view of the matter. In these expressions it should be remembered that whatever comes first to our knowledge, or makes the deepest impression on the mind, is naturally first uttered. True, a man must be born before he is bred; but the idea conveyed in ‘bred’ is first impressed on the mind, and therefore ‘bred and born’ is the right order. Again, we see the shoes; we can but partially see the stockings; and this is why the usual order is adopted.

Again: we never say ‘the sciences and arts;’ but always ‘the arts and sciences.’ There is here, also, a very good reason for the general practice. It must be remembered that the arts were practised long before the sciences on which they are built were discovered. Practice always precedes theory. Language was spoken before grammars were written; music was played and sung before the laws of harmony were understood; and therefore, it is but reasonable that we should put the ‘arts before the sciences.’

It may seem strange that in addressing an audience, the English always say ‘Ladies and Gentlemen!’ whereas in France we hear, ‘Messieurs et Mesdames,’ and in Germany, ‘Meine Herren und Damen.’ This order may have been adopted at a time when ladies had not the influence in society which they now possess. We have not the reputation for gallantry which our continental neighbours enjoy; and yet, in this instance, we may perhaps set them a lesson of politeness.

Connected with this subject may be mentioned that doubling of terms which occurs in our Liturgy so frequently, that it may be regarded as a characteristic of its style. The compilers of our Church Service, probably in their anxiety to make the text intelligible even to the commonest understanding, continually put two nouns or two verbs together, the second generally explaining the first. In these cases we shall find one of the terms of French, or Latin, and the other of Saxon derivation. This seems to have been done purposely, in order that, if any of the congregation, especially the less educated, should not understand the one term, he should catch the meaning of the other. In the early prayers of the ‘Morning Service,’ we have: ‘We pray and beseech thee.’ We also find ‘We acknowledge and confess,’ ‘sins and wickedness;’ ‘goodness and mercy;’ ‘dissemble nor cloak;’ ‘assemble and meet together;’ ‘requisite and necessary;’ ‘erred and strayed;’ ‘pardoneth and absolveth,’ and many others.

Certain writers on the English language have strongly objected to the lately-introduced practice of forming participial adjectives from nouns; especially in the case of the two words ‘talented’ and ‘gifted.’ As well, say they, might we call a man ‘wisdomed,’ ‘geniused,’ or ‘knowledged.’ Coleridge, arguing against the admission of the word ‘talented’ into English, says: ‘only imagine other participles so formed, and conceive a man being said to be ‘pennied,’ ‘shillinged,’ and ‘pounded!’ But though we do not yet use these latter terms, Coleridge seems to have forgotten that we very commonly speak of a ‘moneyed’ man; and there is very little doubt that these adjectives have struck too deep root in the language to be easily eradicated.

The word ‘reliable,’ a comparatively late introduction, is another of those against which the purists have raised a loud outcry. They argue that as we do not rely a man, but rely on a man, therefore the word, if used at all, should be ‘relionable,’ and not ‘reliable.’ But here is one of the many cases in which philosophy must give way to custom; and, in spite of the above objection, this word is too firmly fixed in the language to be easily driven out. The real difference between ‘reliable’ and ‘trustworthy’ is, that the former applies more property to things, such as news, information, &c., and the latter to persons. A ‘trustworthy’ messenger would probably bring us ‘reliable’ information. But, whatever concession we may make in the case of ‘reliable,’ we should resist, with all our might, the introduction of ‘reliability.’