FLEXIBILITY, VARIETY, ETC. OF WORDS.
The history of English shows that it has been changed from a
synthetical, to an analytical language, that in the course of time
it has lost nearly all its inflections; and that for these endings
have been substituted signs and prepositions. Whether this change
has been for the better, or for the worse, may be a matter for
speculation; but allowing that, in some respects, the language may
have sustained a loss by this process, it is not difficult to show
that for this we have some compensating advantages--and that the
change has been favourable in at least two points: 1st. as regards
variety of sound in the endings of words: and 2. flexibility in
their use and application.
In Latin, the recurrence of the verb in the same person naturally
produced a repetition of the same termination, which must have
had a very disagreeable and monotonous effect. In Cicero’s second
oration ‘in Catilinam,’ he has ‘Abi_it_, excess_it_, erup_it_,
evas_it_.’ Four consecutive words ending in _it_! Another example
of monotonous repetition, quoted by Cicero in his ‘De Naturâ
Deorum’ is, ‘clam_o_, postul_o_, obsecr_o_, or_o_, plor_o_, atque
implor_o_ fidem.’ Cæsar’s often-quoted letter, ‘Ven_i_, vid_i_,
vic_i_’ is open to the same objection, as well as the ‘tædet
h_arum_ quotidian_arum_ form_arum_’ of Terence. In all these cases,
the repetition of the endings must have produced a most harsh and
disagreeable effect; and if these passages were translated into
English, we should probably find that every word had a different
termination.
But the flexibility of our language, which arises partly from the
same cause, is another, and perhaps more important consideration.
We can easily understand that the system of inflection, however
useful in itself, prevents the possibility of one part of speech
being used for another. In English, ‘love’ may be a noun or a verb;
but in Latin or French, we must use ‘amare’ or ‘aimer’ for the
verb, and ‘amor’ or ‘amour’ for the noun. This power of using one
part of speech for another, exists to such an extent in English,
that it may be almost said, that every word in the language may be
applied in a variety of senses and grammatical constructions. That
this is of incalculable advantage, every thoughtful English scholar
will surely allow; and it may be observed that not one of the
modern languages of Europe possesses this elastic power in the same
degree as English. This may be seen in the following cases:--
1st. Almost all our verbs in common use may be used as nouns. We
have ‘to walk,’ or to take ‘a walk;’ ‘to ride,’ or to enjoy ‘a
ride;’ ‘to talk,’ or to have ‘a talk; ‘to offer,’ or to make ‘an
offer;’ ‘to visit,’ or, to pay ‘a visit,’ &c.
2. Nouns may be used as verbs:--We may say ‘a telegraph;’ or ‘to
telegraph’ a message; ‘butter,’ or ‘to butter’ bread; ‘sugar,’ or
‘to sugar’ tea; ‘a quarter,’ or ‘to quarter’ a regiment, &c.
3. Adjectives are used as nouns:--We may say ‘a round table,’ or,
‘a round’ of visits; a ‘green’ tree, or to play on ‘the green;’ a
‘beautiful’ prospect, or a love for ‘the beautiful.’ And not only
can we use the adjective as a noun; we may even give it a plural
form. We often speak of ‘eatables and drinkables.’ A man may have
a fit of the ‘dismals,’ or the ‘blues;’ or he may be anxious about
his ‘good_s_,’ ‘moveable_s_,’ or ‘valuable_s_,’ &c.
4. Adjectives are frequently used as verbs:--as, a ‘clear’ way, or
to ‘clear’ the way; a ‘long’ distance, or to ‘long’ for something;
a ‘still’ evening, or to ‘still’ the waves, &c.
5. Comparative adjectives are occasionally used as verbs; as ‘a
better’ condition, or, ‘to better’ our condition; a ‘lower’ state,
or to ‘lower’ a rope; ‘further’ remarks, or ‘to further’ a design;
‘utter’ nonsense, or ‘to utter’ opinions, &c.
6. Personal pronouns may be used as nouns: as, ‘A
downright _she_‘--(Byron.) ‘Left to be finished by such a
_she_.’--(Shakspere.)
7. Conjunctions are frequently used as nouns; as, ‘But me no
_buts_’ How many ‘_thats_’ are there in the sentence? ‘Let us have
no more _ifs_ and _ands_,’ &c.
8. Prepositions may be used in like manner: as, The _ins_ and
_outs_ of life. The ‘_ups_ and _downs_’ of fortune, &c.
9. Even adverbs are sometimes constructed as nouns; as:--Which are
in the majority; the ‘_ayes_,’ or the ‘_noes_?’
This extraordinary plasticity of English applies particularly to
nouns signifying parts of the body. There is scarcely one of these
which may not be turned into a verb. For example, we commonly hear
that a man ‘_faces_’ his difficulties with courage. Hamlet says
of Polonius, ‘You may _nose_ him in the lobby.’ In Shakspere’s
‘Tempest’ we may read, ‘Full many a lady I have _eyed_ with best
regard.’
To _jaw_ is sometimes used, though not very elegantly, in the sense
of to chatter or scold. We often hear of a man ‘_elbowing_’ his
way through a crowd, and Goldsmith’s ‘Deserted Village’ gives us
‘_Shouldered_ his arms, and showed how fields were won.’
To ‘_hand_’ a plate, and to ‘_finger_’ a passage on the piano,
are everyday expressions. We also frequently hear of a coachman
‘_backing_’ his horses, and Shakspere has ‘to _foot_ it featly.’
Besides these, may be noticed ‘to _thumb_ the leaves of a book’; to
‘_breast_ the waves;’ ‘to _palm_ off (for to cheat or deceive);’ to
_side_ with a party; and to _head_ an expedition. To these may be
added ‘to _bone_’ a fowl; ‘to _skin_’ a rabbit, and many others.
It may be reasonably doubted whether this power exists to anything
like the same extent in the continental languages.
But not only the names of parts of the body; also those of many
articles of domestic use are employed in a similar way. We have
to _chair_ a member; we hear that people are _boarded_, and that
the earth is _carpeted_ with green. ‘_Curtained_’ sleep, and
‘_imbedded_’ in the earth, belong to the same class. One man is
said to _floor_ another in argument. To ‘_picture_ to yourself;’
to _table_ the contents of a book; to be _closeted_ with a friend,
to _book_ a debt; to _pen_ a letter; to _ink_ a dress; to _paper_
a room, and to _shelve_ a subject are all common and daily
expressions. They are, in every sense of the term, _household_
words.
In English, names of domestic animals are all Saxon; whereas wild
beasts for the most part retain their Latin or French names. Thus
‘cat,’ ‘hound,’ ‘horse,’ ‘sheep,’ ‘cow,’ ‘swine,’ &c., are of
Germanic origin; whilst ‘lion,’ ‘tiger,’ ‘elephant,’ ‘leopard,’
‘panther,’ &c., come to us from Greek through Latin. The power we
have to use these names of animals as verbs is another instance of
the elasticity of our language. This can be done with some of the
above Saxon names, though not with those of wild beasts. The noun
‘horse’ is often used as a verb: a stable-keeper is said to _horse_
a coach; i.e. to supply it with horses. We have also _to dodge_;
i.e. to follow a scent in and out like a dog. A man is _hounded_ on
to do such and such work; while to _rat_ is to desert your party.
Every one knows that to _duck_ is to dive in the water like a duck.
People are also said to be _gulled_ when they are easily deceived;
and to _drone_ when they read or speak monotonously.
It is remarkable how often, colloquially, we use the names of
animals as types of temper or character. True, this is not peculiar
to the English language: though the practice is perhaps here more
extended. People continually employ the word ‘ass’ or ‘donkey’ in
the sense of a stupid loutish fellow. They also often stigmatise
a cunning man as a ‘fox;’ or a scolding shrew as a ‘vixen.’ A
proud little strut is called ‘a cock of the walk;’ and a reckless
spendthrift is a ‘sad dog;’ or sometimes a ‘jolly dog.’ ‘Puppy’
is suggestive of conceit and self-sufficiency; and a slothful,
indolent man is spoken of as a lazy ‘hound.’ A ‘hog’ is sometimes
used as a metaphor for a glutton; and a ‘pig’ for a dirty fellow.
‘Pig-headed’ is also applied to one of stubborn temper; a ‘mule’
is a type of obstinacy; and a ‘horse,’ in the sense of a beast
of burden, is found in ‘towel-horse,’ or ‘clothes-horse.’ Men of
rude manners are spoken of as ‘bears,’ and the weak or timid in
disposition are called ‘chicken’-hearted. A fond mother speaks
of her child as her pet ‘lamb,’ or little ‘duck.’ Silliness is
typified by ‘goose,’ and mischief by ‘monkey,’ &c. Here it will be
found that these words are, with one or two exceptions, used in
a disparaging, and not in a favourable, sense. They are, most of
them, terms of reproach, not of praise.
Words have not only degenerated in sense; their outward form has
also suffered. One principle--contraction--has affected both the
pronunciation and spelling of many words. It may be taken as a
general rule that words, as they grow older, become softer and
shorter. They seldom expand, but almost always contract. This
probably originated in a loose careless way of speaking, which
afterwards affected the written language. Contractions appear
in a great variety of forms. 1st. They are made by cutting off
an initial syllable, as ‘‘prentice,’ for ‘apprentice;’ ‘‘peach,’
for ‘impeach;’ ‘‘gin,’ for ‘engine;’ ‘‘suage,’ for ‘assuage;’
‘‘cyclopædia,’ for ‘encyclopædia;’ &c. Among the words which have
lost their initial letters, three are to be especially noticed:
viz. ‘luck,’ ‘irksome,’ and ‘orchard.’ The first of these was
originally ‘Glück,’ and is still so spelled in German, whence
it comes. ‘Irksome’ was in Anglo-Saxon written ‘(w)eorcsam,’
i.e. full of work, and therefore troublesome; and ‘orchard’ is
a corruption of ‘(w)ort-yard,’ that is, a yard in which (worts)
plants or vegetables were grown. 2nd. By cutting off a final
syllable; as in ‘pro and con,’ for ‘contra;’ ‘cit,’ for ‘citizen;’
‘without,’ formerly ‘withouten;’ ‘incog,’ for ‘incognito;’ ‘hyp,’
for ‘hypochondria;’ ‘consols,’ for ‘consolidated annuities,’ &c.
3rd. By taking a letter, or letters, from the middle of a word; as
‘else,’ for ‘elles;’ ‘lark,’ for ‘laverock;’ ‘last,’ for ‘latest;’
‘lord,’ for ‘hlaford;’ ‘since,’ for ‘sithence;’ ‘parrot,’ for
‘perroquet;’ and ‘fortnight,’ for ‘fourteen nights;’ ‘cheer up’
is contracted into ‘chirrup,’ and then into ‘chirp;’ ‘speak’
comes from ‘sp_r_ecan;’ and the Anglo-Saxon ‘wi_f_man’ appears as
‘woman.’ By the same law are formed many proper names. ‘Twell,’
for ‘at the well;’ ‘Thill,’ for ‘at the hill;’ ‘Oxford,’ for
‘Ox_en_ford;’ ‘Cambridge,’ for ‘Cant_e_brigge,’ &c.
Many other cases may be cited as examples of this law. The word
‘(E)piscop(us)’ has suffered a mutilation at both the beginning
and the end; and appears in English as ‘Bishop.’ The prefix ‘ge,’
commonly used in Saxon, and still retained in German participles,
lingered for some time in English in the softened form of _y_; as
in ‘_y_clept,’ ‘_y_clothed,’ &c.; but it has now vanished from the
language. Another instance of the same tendency may be seen in the
present pronunciation of participles ending in ‘ed.’ Formerly, the
word ‘used’ was always pronounced as a dissyllable--‘usèd;’ now it
is universally pronounced as a monosyllable. Indeed, this final
‘ed,’ as a distinct syllable though still occasionally heard in the
pulpit, is fast disappearing from our language.
Contraction was the main principle on which the ancient Latin was
transformed into French. It is curious to observe that though this
contracting power did operate in Italian, it was not there carried
out to the same degree as in French; that is, though Italian words
are, in most cases, shorter than their Latin equivalents, they are
not so contracted as the French words of the same meaning. This may
be easily shown by comparison:--
_Latin._ _Italian._ _French._
apotheca bottega boutique
male-aptus malatto malade
quisque unus ciascuno chacun
ad hanc horam ancora encore
ad illam horam allora alors
ad satis assai assez
in simul insieme ensemble
semetipsissimus medesimo même
de retro dietro derrière
de illo dello du
homo uomo on
gaudium giojo joie
and many others.
_Expansion._
On the other hand, there are some few cases where words are
expanded or widened by the insertion of a letter. 1st. Of
a vowel. We have ‘alar_u_m,’ for ‘alarm;’ ‘law_y_er,’ for
‘lawer;’ ‘cloth_i_er,’ for ‘clother.’ The _i_ is also inserted
in ‘parl_i_ament,’ ‘Sav_i_our,’ ‘hand_i_craft,’ ‘hand_i_work,’
‘per_i_winkle,’ and a few others.
2nd. Sometimes, _l_ or _r_ is inserted; as in ‘princip_l_e,’ from
‘principe;’ ‘syllab_l_e,’ from ‘syllabe;’ ‘cart_r_idge,’ from
‘cartouche;’ ‘part_r_idge,’ from the Latin ‘perdix,’ through the
French ‘perd_r_ix;’ ‘g_r_oom,’ from the Anglo-Saxon ‘guma,’ a man;
‘vag_r_ant,’ from ‘vagans;’ and ‘co_r_poral,’ from ‘caporal.’
3rd. P and B are often inserted after _m_; as ’em_p_ty,’
Anglo-Saxon ‘æmtig,’ ‘tem_p_t,’ from the French ‘tenter;’
’em_b_ers,’ from the Anglo-Saxon ‘æmyrje;’ ‘nim_b_le,’ from the
Anglo-Saxon ‘nemol.’ Also in ‘lam_b_,’ ‘lim_b_,’ ‘crum_b_,’
‘thum_b_,’ and ‘num_b_,’ the _b_ forms no part of the root.
4th. D naturally attaches itself to _n_ final; as in ‘soun_d_,’
‘riban_d_,’ ‘len_d_,’ &c. This may probably account for certain
provincial pronunciations, as ‘gown_d_,’ ‘drown_d_,’ &c. Also in
‘thun_d_er,’ ‘kin_d_red,’ and ‘yon_d_er,’ the _d_ is parasitical.
_Assimilation._
Assimilation, or the coming together of letters which have an
affinity for each other, is a principle which affects the spelling,
as well as the pronunciation, of many English words. This law
softens the pronunciation, and will account for the frequent
occurrence of a double consonant at the beginning of a large class
of words. The rule is here:--‘_When a prefix ending in a consonant
is applied to a root beginning with one, that consonant disappears,
and there is substituted for it the initial consonant of the
root_.’ This happens most frequently in English words compounded
with Latin prepositions. The _d_ in the preposition ‘_ad_’ is often
assimilated to the initial consonant of the root to which it is
applied.
The word ‘a_cc_ede’ is made up of ‘ad’ (to) and ‘cede’ (come).
But the initial _c_ in ‘cede’ assimilated to itself the _d_ in
‘ad,’ i.e. changed it into a _c_. Thus ‘adcede’ became ‘a_cc_ede.’
This law will account for the double consonant in such forms as
‘a_cc_ost,’ ‘a_gg_rieve,’ ‘a_ll_ude,’ ‘a_mm_unition,’ ‘a_nn_ex,’
‘a_pp_ly,’ ‘a_ss_ist,’ ‘a_tt_ract,’ and many others. In all these
cases the first syllable was originally ‘_ad_.’
This law applies with equal force to other Latin prepositions
which enter into the formation of English words; as ‘con,’ ‘in,’
‘per,’ ‘sub,’ &c. We spell the word ‘co_ll_ect’ for ‘conlect;’
‘co_mm_une,’ for ‘conmune,’ &c. On the same principle we write
‘i_ll_egal,’ for ‘inlegal;’ ‘i_rr_egular,’ for ‘inregular;’
‘pe_ll_ucid,’ for ‘perlucid;’ ‘su_cc_umb,’ for ‘subcumb;’ and many
others. But when the root begins with a labial (_b_, _p_, or _m_),
then the final consonant of the preposition is always changed into
_m_. This is why we write ‘i_m_bibe,’ and not ‘ibbibe;’ ‘i_m_bue,’
not ‘ibbue;’ and ‘i_m_possible,’ not ‘ipposible,’ &c.
This principle of assimilation has operated in the formation of the
words ‘ha_mm_ock’ and ‘sti_rr_up.’ The first is from ‘hang-mat,’
where the _ng_ has been assimilated to _m_. The second is from the
Anglo-Saxon ‘stig-rope’ (literally, ‘mount-rope,’ or rope to mount
by), where _r_ is substituted for the _g_ in ‘stig.’
_Attraction._
Attraction is another principle which affects the forms of certain
words. Sometimes a consonant is drawn away from the word to
which it properly belongs, and becomes a part of its neighbour.
The effect of this law is especially remarkable in the article
‘_an_.’ In certain cases the _n_ (of a_n_) does not really belong
to the article, but is the initial letter of the noun following.
This happens in the case of ‘an orange;’ the word ‘orange’ is, in
Spanish, whence it is derived, ‘naranja,’ and we should therefore
write ‘a norange’ rather than ‘an orange.’ But the article _a_ has
attracted to itself the initial _n_ of the noun, and the result
is--‘an orange.’ For the same reason ‘an adder’ should be written
‘a natter,’ or ‘a nadder.’ On the other hand, there are cases in
which the _n_ of the article is attracted into the following word.
If the word ‘apron’ is from the French ‘naperon’ (from nappe,
cloth), we should write ‘a napron,’ and not ‘an apron.’ Several of
these cases may be pointed out. We say and write, ‘a neap tide,’
instead of ‘an ebb tide;’ ‘a newt,’ for ‘an ewt’ (or eft); and,
on the other hand, ‘an auger,’ for ‘a nauger;’ ‘an awl,’ for ‘a
nawl;’ and ‘an umpire’ for ‘a nompire.’ The same principle operates
in certain French expressions. The province of Southern Italy
formerly known as ‘Apulia,’ is in French written ‘La Pouille.’ Here
the _a_ initial of ‘Apulia’ is attracted into the article. The
expression should be ‘L’Apouille,’ and not ‘La Pouille.’ In the
same way, the French call ‘Anatolia’ (Asia Minor), ‘La Natolie;’
whereas it should be written ‘L’Anatolie.’ It is from the Greek
ἀνατολή--the rising of the sun.
_Accent._
The accent of an English word depends chiefly on its derivation.
In words of Saxon origin, it is placed on the root. For example,
‘lóve’ is an accented monosyllable, and preserves its accent on
the root, in all its derivations; as in ‘lóving,’ ‘lóveliness,’
‘lóveable,’ &c. But in Romance words, the tendency is to put
the accent on the branches, and not on the root. In French,
the vocabulary is drawn mainly from Latin words without their
inflections. The French words ‘natúre,’ ‘fatál,’ ‘aimáble,’ &c.,
have the accent on the second syllable, because they are formed
from the Latin ‘natúra,’ ‘fatális,’ and ‘amábilis,’ without the
endings. But in English all these and similar words are accented
on the first syllable; and we pronounce them ‘náture,’ ‘fátal,’
‘ámiable.’ In Chaucer’s poetry, many French words are accented on
the second or third syllable, in accordance with the classical
principle; thus, we there find ‘honóur,’ ‘natión,’ ‘companý,’
&c. All these, after Chaucer’s time, shifted the accent back to
the first syllable, thus conforming themselves to the genius
of the English language. There is, to this day, in English a
conflict in the accent between the two principles, the Teutonic
and the Romance; the former leaning to the root, and the latter
to the branches of the word. But even in classical words, as
regards accent, the Saxon genius clearly prevails. We accent
the word ‘órdinary’ on the first syllable, which contains the
pith of its meaning; whereas the French place the accent on the
last--‘ordináire.’ It was probably the antagonism between these
two principles--the Germanic tendency toward the beginning,
and the Romance toward the end, of the word, which caused the
accent in English to be so long unsettled. But the genius of the
Saxon eventually triumphed over the French element, in accent as
well as in grammatical forms, and the general rule in English
pronunciation, is to put the accent on the root.
The spelling of certain English derivatives depends on the place of
the accent in their roots. Now, when the last syllable of the root
is accented, the final consonant must be doubled in the derivative.
This accounts for the root ‘rób’ (with one b), making ‘ro_bb_ed,’
and ‘ro_bb_er,’ (with two b’s) admí_t_ (one _t_), making admi_tt_ed
(two t’s), &c.
But when the accent lies on any other syllable of the root, the
final consonant must remain single in the derivative, as ‘límit,’
‘lími_t_ed;’ ‘díffer,’ ‘díffe_r_ing;’ ‘bénefit,’ ‘bénefi_t_ed;’ &c.
This rule applies only to root-endings consisting of a single vowel
followed by a single consonant; for if a diphthong precede, the
consonant must remain single in the derivative. We must therefore
write ‘joi_n_er,’ ‘stea_m_ing,’ ‘toi_l_ing,’ ‘rea_d_er,’ &c., with
single consonants.
But there are exceptions to this general rule. One especially
regards roots ending in _l_. These always double the _l_ in the
derivative, whether the last syllable of the root be accented
or not. The verb ‘to expél,’ will, by the above rule, naturally
make its past tense, ‘expelled;’ but why should ‘trável’ give
‘traveller,’ or ‘équal,’ ‘equalled?’ These, though universally
adopted, are clearly against the principle. Two other words are
also exceptions, ‘worship,’ and ‘bias.’ These make ‘worshipped,’
and ‘biassed,’ with double consonants. The Americans refuse to
admit these exceptions, and they write ‘trave_l_er,’ ‘equa_l_ed,’
‘worshi_p_ed,’ and ‘bia_s_ed,’ with single consonants. It must be
admitted that they are right in principle, but the general practice
in English is in these cases decidedly in favour of the double
consonant.
_Inversion._
There appears in certain letters a peculiar tendency to get out of
order--to slip into a wrong place--a restless desire for change. No
letter of the alphabet is more subject to this affection than the
liquid, _r_. Many French words ending in _re_, are found in English
to end in _er_. The French ‘lett_re_’ is in English ‘lett_er_.’
The final syllables of ‘Septembre,’ ‘Octobre,’ ‘Novembre’ and
‘Décembre,’ are inverted in English, and are written ‘Septemb_er_,’
&c. The Greek root ἑρπ (creep) gave in Latin ‘_rep_ĕre;’ whence
we have ‘_rep_tile,’ &c. ‘B_ru_nt,’ is derived from ‘b_ur_n.’ The
‘brunt’ of a battle is where it ‘burns’ most fiercely. Again: a
‘p_ur_pose’ is what we ‘p_ro_pose’ to do; and ‘to t_ru_ndle’ a hoop
is to ‘t_ur_n’ it repeatedly. The Saxon verb ‘_ur_nan,’ is the
source of the English ‘_ru_n.’ ‘B_ri_mstone’ is an inversion of
‘b_ur_n-stone;’ and the verb to ‘ask,’ was in Anglo-Saxon, ‘axian.’
Chaucer has ‘drit’ for ‘dirt;’ ‘briddes,’ for ‘birds,’ &c.
_Corruption._
When a word is warped or distorted from its original form, either
by a vicious pronunciation, or by a mistaken notion of its
derivation, it is said to be a corruption. Though we must accept
and adopt the usual spelling of such words, it may be useful and
interesting to know what brought them into their present forms.
When a word is first pronounced in the hearing of those who do
not know its meaning, its spelling naturally becomes with them,
a mere imitation of the sound. It is remarkable how often these
corruptions appear in the names of taverns and ships. Such words
being most frequently in the mouths of the illiterate, will soon
acquire a false pronunciation, which, after a time, leads to a
false spelling, and hence many of their present forms. It was this
rude attempt to imitate a sound that led the sailors to call their
ship ‘Bellerophon’ the ‘Billy Ruffian.’ From the same cause, the
sign of the ‘Boulogne Mouth’ was corrupted into ‘Bull and Mouth;’
and the ‘Bacchanals’ (a very appropriate name for an inn), was
transformed into the ‘Bag of Nails.’ It is said that our soldiers
in India could never be taught to pronounce properly ‘Surajah
Dowlah,’ the name of that Bengal prince who figured in the affair
of the Black Hole. They persisted in calling him ‘Sir Roger Dowlas!’
Some of these corrupt forms are so firmly rooted in the language,
that they must now be recognised as correct, and adopted
accordingly. We are told that the word ‘grocer’ was originally
‘grosser,’ and meant one who sold articles in the gross (_en
gros_). This is probably the true explanation; but we must not, on
that account, revert to the old spelling. It would be eccentric
and pedantic in the extreme to write ‘rightwise’ for ‘righteous;’
‘frontispice’ for ‘frontispiece,’ or ‘shamefast’ for ‘shamefaced;’
for though the first may have been the true and original form of
these words, custom must here take precedence of derivation, and we
must spell them according to the present usual practice.