Some one asks: “If W-o-r-c-e-s-t-e-r is pronounced Wooster, wouldn’t r-o-r-c-e-s-t-e-r be an excellent way to spell rooster?”
That is “the English of it,” and, on the same principle—whatever it is—C-h-o-l-m-o-n-d-e-l-e-y is pronounced Chumley; M-i-c-h-i-l-i-m-a-c-i-n-a-c, Mackinaw; M-a-r-j-o-r-i-b-a-n-k-s, Marchbank; L-e-i-c-e-s-t-e-r, Lester; N-o-r-w-i-c-h, Norrij, and C-o-l-o-n-e-l, Curnel.
The ways of English pronunciation are, indeed, past finding out.
So are the secret motives of those who, having once adopted a false pronunciation, adhere to it in the face of all precept and example; who persist in calling Garibaldi, Gar-i-bawld-i; guipure, gim-pure; alpaca, al-a-pac-a; and a polonaise, a polo-nay. Of this class was the young person of Boston—she couldn’t have been a young person of BOSTON!—who, passing out of an Art Gallery with a friend not long since, read aloud the inscription beneath a statuette of Psyche, and pronounced it Pi-sish. Her friend mildly suggesting the true pronunciation, the young person rejoined: “I know it. Some folks call it Si-kee, and some Pi-sish. I like Pi-sish the best.”
THE QUESTION.
It is said that when a young lady enters society in one of our leading Eastern cities, the question invariably asked about her, by those who have not met her, is, in New York, “How much is she worth?” in Baltimore, “How does she look?” in Boston, “What does she know?” in Philadelphia, “Who is she?”
ALLITERATION.