“Topsy-turvy” is said to be a contraction or corruption of “top-side t’other way.” “Helter-skelter” is either from hilariter et celeriter, “gaily and quickly,” or, more probably, from helter, to hang, and skelter, order, i.e., “hang order.” “Hip! hip! hurrah!” is said to have been originally a war-cry adopted by the stormers of a German town, wherein a great many Jews had taken refuge. The place being sacked, the Jews were all put to the sword, amid the shouts of “Hierosolyma est perdita!” From the first letters of these words (h. e. p.) an exclamation was contrived. When the wine sparkles in the cup, and patriotic or other soul-thrilling sentiments are greeted with a “Hip! hip! hurrah!” it is well enough to remember the origin of a cry which reminds us of the cruelty of Christians toward God’s chosen people. “Sexton” is a corruption of “sacristan,” which is from sacra, the sacred things of a church. The sacristan’s office was to take care of the vessels of the service and the vestments of the clergy. Since the Reformation, his duties in this respect have been greatly lessened, and he has dug the graves,—so that the term now commonly means grave-digger, though it still retains somewhat of its old meaning.
“Toad-eater” is a metaphor supposed to be taken from a mountebank’s boy eating toads, in order to show his master’s skill in expelling poison. It is more probable, however, that the phrase is a version of the French, avaler des couleuvres, which means putting up with all sorts of indignities without showing resentment. The propriety of the term rests on the fact that dependent persons are often forced to do the most nauseous things to please their patrons. The same trick of pretending to eat reptiles, such as toads, is held by some etymologists to be the origin of the terms “buffoon,” “buffoonery,” from the Latin, bufo, a toad. Wedgwood derives it from the French, bouffon, a jester, from the Italian, buffa, a puff, a blast or a blurt with the mouth made at one in scorn. A puff with the mouth indicates contempt; it is emblematically making light of an object. In “David Copperfield” we read: “‘And who minds Dick? Dick’s nobody! Whoo!’ He blew a slight, contemptuous breath, as if he blew himself away.”
“Cant” (Gaelic, cainnt, speech) is properly the language spoken by thieves and beggars among themselves, when they do not wish to be understood by bystanders. Subsequently it came to mean the peculiar terms used by any other profession or community. Some etymologists derive the word from the Latin, cantare, to sing, and suppose it to signify the whining cry of professional beggars, though it may have obtained its beggar sense from some instinctive notion of the quasi-religious one. It has been noted that the whole class of words comprising “enchant,” “incantation,” etc., were primarily referable to religious ceremonies of some kind; and as once an important part of a beggar’s daily labor was invoking, or seeming to invoke, blessings on those who gave him alms, this, with the natural tendency to utter any oft-repeated phrases in a sing-song, rhythmical tone, gave to the word “cant” its present signification. In Scotland the word has a peculiar meaning. About the middle of the seventeenth century, Andrew and Alexander Cant, of Edinburgh, maintained that all refusers of the covenant ought to be excommunicated, and that all excommunicated might lawfully be killed; and in their grace after meat they “praid for those phanaticques and seditious ministers” who had been arrested and imprisoned, that the Lord would pity and deliver them. From these two Cants, Andrew and Alexander, it is said, all seditious praying and preaching in Scotland is called “Canting.”
The tendency to regard money as the source of true happiness is strikingly illustrated in the word “wealth,” which is connected with “weal,” just as in Latin beatus meant both blessed and rich, and ὄλβιος the same in Greek. “Property” and “propriety” come from the same French word, propriété; so that the Frenchman in New York was not far out of the way, when in the panic of 1857 he said he “should lose all his propriety.” The term “blue-stocking,” applied to literary ladies, has a curious origin. Originally, in England in 1760, it was conferred on a society of literary persons of both sexes. The society derived its name from the blue worsted stockings always worn by Benjamin Stillingfleet, a distinguished writer, who was one of the most active promoters of this association. This term was subsequently conferred on literary ladies, from the fact that the accomplished and fascinating Mrs. Jerningham wore blue stockings at the social and literary entertainments given by Lady Montague. “Woman” is the wif or web-man, who stays at home to spin, as distinguished from the weap-man, who goes abroad to use the weapon of war. The term “man” is, of course, generic, including both male and female. “Lady” primarily signifies bread keeper. It is derived from the Anglo-Saxon, hlæfdige, i.e., she who looks after the loaf; or else is a corruption of hlâfweardige, from hlâf, bread, loaf, and weardian, to keep, look after. “Waist” is the same as waste; that part of the figure which wastes,—that is, diminishes.
“Canard” has a very curious origin. M. Quêtelet, a French writer, in the “Annuaire de l’Académie Française,” attributes the first application of this term to Norbert Cornelïssen, who, to give a sly hit at the ridiculous pieces of intelligence in the public journals, stated that an interesting experiment had just been made calculated to prove the voracity of ducks. Twenty were placed together; and one of them having been killed and cut up into the smallest possible pieces, feathers and all, was thrown to the other nineteen, and most gluttonously gobbled up. Another was then taken from the nineteen, and, being chopped small like its predecessor, was served up to the eighteen, and at once devoured like the other; and so on to the last, who thus was placed in the position of having eaten his nineteen companions. This story, most pleasantly narrated, ran the round of all the journals of Europe. It then became almost forgotten for about a score of years, when it went back from America with amplifications; but the word remained in its novel signification.
“Abominable” was once supposed to have been derived from the Latin words ab, from, and homo, a man, meaning repugnant to humanity. It really comes from abominor, which again is from ab and omen; and it conveys the idea of what is in a religious sense profane and detestable,—in short, of evil omen. Milton always applies it to devilish, profane, or idolatrous objects. “Poltroon” is pollice truncus, i.e., with the thumb cut off,—pollex, Latin, meaning thumb, and truncus, maimed or mutilated. When the Roman empire was about falling in pieces, the valor of the citizens had so degenerated, that, to escape fighting, many cut off their right thumbs, thus disabling themselves from using the pike. “Farce” is derived from farcire, a Latin word meaning to stuff, as with flour, herbs, and other ingredients in cooking. A farce is a comedy with little plot, stuffed with ludicrous incidents and expressions. “Racy” is from “race,” meaning family, breed, and signifies having the characteristic flavor of origin, savoring of the source.
“Trivial” may be from trivium, in the sense of tres viæ, a place where three roads meet, and thus indicate that which is commonplace, or of daily occurrence. But it is more probably from trivium, in the sense in which the word was used in the Middle Ages, when it meant the course of three arts, grammar, logic, and rhetoric, which formed the common curriculum of the universities, as distinguished from the quadrivium, which embraced four more, namely, music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. Trivial things in this sense may mean things that occur ordinarily, as distinguished from higher or more abstruse things. The word “quiz” has a remarkable origin, unless the etymologists who give its derivation are themselves quizzing their readers. It is said that many years ago, when one Daly was patentee of the Irish theatres, he spent the evening of a Saturday in company with many of the wits and men of fashion of the day. Gambling was introduced, when the manager staked a large sum that he would have spoken, all through the principal streets of Dublin, by a certain hour next day, Sunday, a word having no meaning, and being derived from no known language. Wagers were laid, and stakes deposited. Daly repaired to the theatre, and dispatched all the servants and supernumeraries with the word “Quiz,” which they chalked on every door and every shop window in town. Shops being all shut next day, everybody going to and coming from the different places of worship saw the word, and everybody repeated it, so that “Quiz” was heard all through Dublin; the circumstance of so strange a word being on every door and window caused much surprise, and ever since, should a strange story be attempted to be passed current, it draws forth the expression “You are ‘quizzing’ me.” Some person who has a just aversion to practical jokes, wittily defines a “quizzer” as “one who believes me to be a fool because I will not believe him to be a liar.”
“Huguenot” is a word whose origin is still a vexata quæstio of etymology. Of the many derivations given, some of which are ridiculously fanciful, Eignots, which Voltaire and others give from the German, Eidgenossen, confederates, is the one generally received. A plausible derivation is from Huguenot, a small piece of money, which, in the time of Hugo Capet, was worth less than a denier. At the time of Amboisi’s conspiracy, some of the petitioners fled through fear; whereupon some of the countrymen said they were poor fellows, not worth a Huguenot,—whence the nickname in question. “Pensive” is a picturesque word, from pensare, the frequentative of pendere, to weigh. The French have pensée, a thought, the result of mental weighing. A pensive figure is that in which a person appears to be holding an invisible balance of reflection. “Bumper” is a corruption of le bon père, meaning “the Holy Father,” or Pope, who was once the great toast of every feast. As this was commonly the first toast, it was considered that the glasses would be desecrated by being again used.
“Nice” is derived by some etymologists from the Anglo-Saxon, hnesc, soft, effeminate; but there is good reason for believing that it is from the Latin, nescius, ignorant, “Wise, and nothing nice,” says Chaucer; that is, no wise ignorant. If so, it is a curious instance of the extraordinary changes of meaning which words undergo, that “nice” should come to signify accurate or fastidious, which implies knowledge and taste rather than ignorance. The explanation is, that the diffidence of ignorance resembles the fastidious slowness of discernment. “Gibberish” is from a famous sage, Giber, an Arab, who sought for the philosopher’s stone, and used, perhaps, senseless incantations. “Alert” is a picturesque word from the Italian, all’ erte,—on the mound or rampart. The “alert” man is one who is wide-awake and watchful, like the warder on the watch-tower, or the sentinel upon the rampart. “By-laws” are not, etymologically, laws of inferior importance, but the laws of “byes” or towns, as distinguished from the general laws of a kingdom. “By” is Danish for town or village; as “Whitby,” White Town, “Derby,” Deer Town, etc.