SLANG WORDS AND AMERICANISMS.
No language is, or ever has been, in the strict sense of the
word, _pure_. All languages are continually borrowing and
lending--adopting words from foreign sources, and contributing from
their own store to that of others. It is now well known that the
ancient Greeks borrowed largely from the Oriental tongues, and lent
words and forms to Latin. Latin, again, borrowed from Greek, and
contributed to form the modern Italian, Spanish, and French. The
modern German language is just now strongly affected by a French
influence; and French itself, though for the most part Latin,
contains many Celtic and not a few Germanic words. Spanish, which
is in the main Latin, has a very considerable admixture of Arabic,
brought in by the Moors in the eighth century; and English is well
known to be made up of Anglo-Saxon, Norman, French, and Latin.
But languages are not only subject to these attacks from without,
a process of internal corruption is also set up, and appears in
various forms. One of these may be recognised in the principle of
contraction. It may be laid down as a rule that words, as they grow
older, degenerate in meaning and contract in form. This contraction
probably originated in a loose, careless way of speaking, which
afterwards affected the written language. Sometimes a letter or
syllable is cut off from the beginning of a word; sometimes one
is taken from the middle, or from the end. ‘_Bus_’ is now all we
have left (at any rate, in ordinary conversation) of ‘_omnibus_.’
‘_Fantasy_’ has lost its middle syllable, and appears as ‘_fancy_’
and ‘_cab_’ does duty for ‘_cabriolet_.’ One conclusion this result
enables us to draw is that the contracted forms are always the more
modern. The form ‘courtesy’ existed before ‘curtsy;’ ‘procurator’
preceded ‘proctor;’ and ‘minute’ was known before ‘mite.’ Whether
these contractions are to be regarded favourably or otherwise may
be a question, but there is no doubt that they are all produced by
the operation of a natural law of language which no human power
will ever be able to prevent.
When a word is warped or distorted from its original form, either
by a vicious or slovenly pronunciation, or from a mistaken notion
of its derivation, it is said to be a corruption. One of these
corruptions appears in our word ‘surgeon.’ The French ‘chirurgien,’
from which it immediately comes, shows more clearly its Greek
origin--χεὶρ (cheir), a hand; and ἔργω (ergo), I work--i.e. a
hand-worker, or manual operator. But a careless pronunciation,
probably aided by a natural tendency to contraction, has caused the
word with us to dwindle down to ‘surgeon.’
As an illustration of corruption arising from a false notion of
its derivation, we may take the word ‘i_s_land.’ 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 ‘Angles_ea_,’ ‘Jers_ey_,’ ‘Guerns_ey_,’ &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
‘cou_l_d;’ and the _l_ was afterwards introduced, from the apparent
analogy of the word to ‘wou_l_d,’ from ‘will,’ and ‘shou_l_d,’
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.’
The Universities also have their slang terms. The graduates use
‘crib’ for a house; ‘deadmen’ for empty wine-bottles; ‘governor,’
or ‘relieving-officer,’ for a father; ‘plucked,’ for defeated or
rejected in an examination; and ‘row’ for a disturbance.
The Eton and Harrow boys make use among themselves of many slang
terms, which are not often heard outside their bounds; but
when they return home for the holidays, they frequently infect
their sisters with some of their strange phraseology. A boy will
sometimes puzzle his sisters at home, by asking them if they do not
find his ‘toggery’ absolutely ‘stunning;’ or what they think of his
‘tile,’ or white ‘choker;’ adding that they are not yet paid for;
but that he supposes the ‘governor’ will have to ‘stump up,’ or
‘fork out the blunt,’ &c.
Lawyers also have their slang; and this is not surprising, when we
remember the many opportunities they must have of hearing it, from
their connection with the police courts, and with life in its worst
phases. With them, taking the benefit of the Insolvent Debtors Act,
is to be ‘white-washed;’ and to draw up a fraudulent balance-sheet
is to ‘cook’ accounts, &c.
But of all the forms of slang, the one most abundant in variety of
terms is the mercantile. It has been calculated that there are as
many as thirty-six vulgar synonyms for the one simple word _money_.
The following are a few of them: ‘_blunt_,’ ‘_tin_,’ ‘_coppers_,’
‘_browns_,’ ‘_shiners_,’ ‘_yellow-boys_,’ ‘_flimsies_’ (bank
notes); ‘_fivers_’ (five pound notes), &c. &c. In city phraseology,
100,000_l._ is called a _plum_, and one million sterling is a
_marigold_. On the Stock Exchange buyers and sellers for the
account are called ‘bulls’ and ‘bears:’ a broker who is unable to
pay his debts, is there called ‘a lame duck;’ and, if expelled from
the house, he is said ‘to waddle.’
But though most of these terms will never form a legitimate part
of the English language, some of them are certainly not considered
so vulgar as others. It is said that the elegant Lord Chesterfield
was the author of the word ‘humbug,’ which, though it may have
been considered as slang in his day, can hardly be so called now.
Another word, ‘hoax,’ was condemned by Swift as low and vulgar,
this, too, has made its way; and is now not so revolting to good
taste as it probably was when first used. Both these words,
‘humbug’ and ‘hoax,’ are to be found in Dr. Latham’s edition of
_Johnson’s Dictionary_.
Thackeray immortalised ‘snob’ in his celebrated ‘papers;’ and
though the word is not to be recommended, it must be allowed that
it is very expressive. Lord Cairns, in a speech in the House of
Commons, called ‘dodge’ ‘that homely but expressive term.’ Nor is
‘crusty,’ in the sense of ‘peevish,’ so low as it was once thought.
It has long been a question, whether the word ‘bamboozle’ should be
admitted. This also is to be found in Latham’s _Johnson_, though it
is there entered as ‘colloquial.’
But though it may be allowed to use some of these terms
occasionally in familiar discourse, no one of any sense or good
taste will ever think of indulging in slang language, either spoken
or written. It is, no doubt, a bad sign of the times, and much to
be deplored, that it is so common. Some writers have calculated
that there are, at least, three thousand slang terms in common use.
The above are but a few examples of this widespread corruption. We
may regard it, as concerns our language, in the light of a pest
to society. It takes a long time to clear the atmosphere from the
baneful influences of certain epidemics. Now, the language of
every-day conversation is suffering from this infectious disease,
and it becomes the duty of every Englishman who has a proper
feeling for his language, to refrain from this evil himself, and to
throw in its way every possible discouragement.
_Americanisms._
The recklessness with which the Americans use the English language
bids fair to flood it with many new and strange terms. It is very
possible that some of these words may some day take their places as
forming part of the legitimate materials of our language; and it
is also possible, as the Americans themselves sometimes declare,
that some of the words and phrases which are now called American,
are, in reality, genuine English words which have become obsolete
in the mother tongue. But, in the mean time, they certainly must be
regarded as interlopers--candidates for an office to which they are
not yet, if they ever will be, entitled.
One rather curious explanation has been given of the word ‘guess.’
It is well known that the Americans use it in the sense of _to know
for certain_. ‘I guess’ is equivalent, in American phraseology, to
‘I know it’--‘I am sure of it.’ Now, it has been argued that this
is the proper meaning of the word--that it is derived from the
German ‘gewiss,’ which comes originally from ‘wissen,’ to know.
When first imported into America, in the seventeenth century, they
say that it had this meaning in English--that we in England have
since then altered the meaning of the word, and that the Americans
have preserved its original signification. Even supposing that this
could be proved, it does not follow that the American practice is
the right one; nor, of course, that we should alter our present
meaning of the word, and conform to the American custom. The
fountain-head of the English language is in England, and in no
other country; and all departures from the English use of English
words must be looked upon as faults against purity of style.
Americanisms may be considered under two heads--1st, legitimate
English words used in a wrong sense; and, 2nd, words of a new
invention, mutilated or distorted from some known or unknown root.
In the first class we may place the adjective ‘tall.’ This the
Americans use in a novel and unrecognised sense. In English it is
properly applied only to concrete nouns; as, ‘a tall man,’ or ‘a
tall tree,’ &c. But, in the United States, we continually hear of
‘tall talk,’ or even ‘a tall smell,’ &c. It is not the word that
is here objected to, but the sense in which it is applied. To
‘raise’ is another of this class, which is constantly used for ‘to
educate,’ or ‘bring up.’ ‘Where were you raised?’ is, in America,
a very common question. Again, the word ‘liquor’ is a perfectly
good English noun; but what a strange innovation is ‘to liquor!’
A genuine Yankee says, ‘Stranger, will you “liquor?”’ ‘Handsome,’
‘clever,’ and ‘fix’ are all three genuine English, but ‘to play
_handsome_ on the flute’ is undoubtedly bad English. We sometimes
qualify persons, but never things, as ‘clever.’ A ‘clever’ boy, or
a ‘clever’ man, &c., but never, as in America, a ‘clever’ house
or a ‘clever’ cargo. Again, in America a very common use of ‘to
fix’ is ‘to prepare,’ or ‘put in order.’ This is not sanctioned
by English usage. But ‘a fix,’ in the sense of a dilemma or
predicament, is condemned by literary men in the United States as
a vulgarism.
The other class consists of words wholly unrecognised in English in
any sense--in fine, genuine Americanisms; such words as ‘secesh,’
‘skedaddle,’ ‘recuperate,’ ‘rowdy,’ ‘rile,’ ‘stampede,’ &c., which
can in no sense be said to belong to our language. Nor is it likely
that English writers of any pretensions to good taste will ever
adopt them. The Americans call the English ‘Britishers;’ to tease
or vex anyone is, with them, ‘to rile’ him; to make a set speech is
to ‘orate;’ a sudden panic and flight of soldiers is a ‘stampede,’
&c. There are other words of this class which it would puzzle most
English writers to explain; such as ‘slick,’ ‘spry,’ ‘kedge,’
‘boss,’ ‘absquatulate,’ &c. These are not English words, and we may
pretty confidently predict that they will never become English.
There can be little doubt, however, that certain expressions now
known as Americanisms were, at one time, very commonly used in
English. Madame D’Arblay, as well as other writers of her time,
has, over and over again, ‘mighty fine,’ ‘mighty pretty,’ &c.
‘Mighty pretty’ is exactly on a par with ‘_uncommon_ nice.’ The one
is just as incorrect as the other. This is a form of expression
continually used by American writers. Forty or fifty years ago the
adjective ‘rare’ was commonly used for ‘underdone’ (meat). Now,
though common enough in the United States, it is seldom, if ever,
applied by us in that sense. Some of these peculiarities appear
to be making way in English, in spite of our struggles against
them. Such are ‘to progress’ for ‘to advance,’ ‘to effectuate’ for
‘to accomplish,’ ‘right off,’ or ‘right away,’ for ‘at once’ or
‘immediately,’ ‘laid over’ for ‘put off,’ &c.
The Americans use ‘tiresome’ for ‘tiring;’ they speak of a
‘tiresome’--for a fatiguing--journey. Also a ‘good’ time is used
for a ‘pleasant’ time, ‘fall’ for ‘autumn,’ and to ‘go-a-head’ for
‘to prosper.’ One American word which seems likely to establish
itself in the English language is, ‘a loafer.’ This would seem to
be derived from the German ‘laufen,’ to run, though it has not that
meaning in the United States, where it signifies one who lounges
about lazily.
In America many new terms are the offspring of a political
excitement, which is sure to occur every four years, i.e. as often
as a new President is elected. On these occasions such words as
‘Copperheads,’ ‘Ring-tailed Roarers,’ ‘Know-nothings,’ ‘Fenians,’
‘Wolverines,’ &c., &c., are sure to make their appearance. These
words may have a meaning for those who invent and use them, but to
the great majority of Englishmen they are altogether a mystery.
Language, in the hands of a great poet, has been often called
‘a flame of fire.’ However this may be, in the hands of certain
American journalists it does seem, now and then, very likely to
burn their own fingers. In the New York papers we meet with the
verb ‘to concertize,’ which may possibly mean to give a succession
of concerts. We remember hearing that process once called ‘going
about matinéeing!’ And there is quite as good authority for the
one as for the other of these expressions. Another unintelligible
phrase, drawn from the same source, is ‘an _emergent_ meeting.’
This word is never used, in modern English, in a concrete sense.
We may say an _emergent_ occasion or _emergent_ doubts, but not an
_emergent_ candidate or an _emergent_ character. It is possible
that the writer meant a meeting called together on an emergency.
The rapid communication established of late years between England
and the United States has brought the two nations into a much
closer connection with each other. This, in a commercial or a
political view, may be of great advantage to both countries.
But every advantage has its drawback, and it is very doubtful
whether this condition of things is likely to benefit the English
language. The Americans are well known to set great store by
liberty, and of course we have no right whatever to interfere
with their opinions concerning principles or forms of political
government. But it becomes a serious matter for us when they
think proper to take liberties with our language. They set up for
themselves, probably by way of showing their independence, new
modes of spelling; and they are perpetually introducing all sorts
of meanings, words, and phrases, none of which have the remotest
title to be called English. In the writings of the late N. P.
Willis, we meet with such terms as the following:--‘An unletupable
nature,’ ‘wideawakeity,’ ‘plumptitude,’ ‘pocketually speaking,’
‘betweenity,’ and ‘go-awayness!’ In the same gentleman’s writings,
we occasionally come across such elegant forms of expression as
‘whipping creation,’ ‘flogging Europe,’ ‘a heap of opinions,’
‘tarnation quick,’ &c. These and all such must be looked upon as
abortions or deformities of our language; and no English writer
who has any respect for his own reputation should ever think of
countenancing, far less of adopting, such monstrosities.