COMMON IMPROPRIETIES OF SPEECH.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold,
Alike fantastic if too new or old;
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.--POPE.
If a gentleman be to study any language, it ought to be that of
his own country.--LOCKE.
Aristocracy and exclusiveness tend to final overthrow, in
language as well as in politics.--W. D. WHITNEY.
People who write essays to prove that though a word in fact means
one thing, it _ought_ to mean another, or that though all well
educated Englishmen do conspire to use this expression, they
_ought_ to use that, are simply bores.--EDINBURGH REVIEW.
One of the most gratifying signs of the times is the deep interest
which both our scholars and our people are beginning to manifest
in the study of our noble English tongue. Perhaps nothing has
contributed more to awaken a public interest in this matter, and to
call attention to some of the commonest improprieties of speech,
than the publication of “The Queen’s English” and “The Dean’s
English,” and the various criticisms which have been provoked in
England and in the United States by the Moon-Alford controversy.
Hundreds of persons who before felt a profound indifference to this
subject, have had occasion to thank the Dean for awakening their
curiosity in regard to it; and hundreds more who otherwise would
never have read his dogmatic small-talk, or Mr. Moon’s trenchant
dissection of it, have suddenly found themselves, in consequence
of the newspaper criticisms of the two books, keenly interested
in questions of grammar, and now, with their appetites whetted,
will continue the study of their own language, till they have
mastered its difficulties, and familiarized themselves with all
its idioms and idiotisms. Of such discussions we can hardly have
too many, and just now they are imperiously needed to check the
deluge of barbarisms, solecisms, and improprieties, with which our
language is threatened. Not only does political freedom make every
man in America an inventor, alike of labor-saving machines and of
labor-saving words, but the mixture of nationalities is constantly
coining and exchanging new forms of speech, of which our busy
Bartletts, in their lists of Americanisms, find it impossible to
keep account.
It is not merely our spoken language that is disfigured by these
blemishes; but our written language,--the prose of the leading
English authors,--exhibits more slovenliness and looseness of
diction than is found in any other literature. That this is due in
part to the very character of the language itself, there can be no
doubt. Its simplicity of structure and its copiousness both tend
to prevent its being used with accuracy and care; and it is so
hospitable to alien words that it needs more powerful securities
against revolution than other languages of less heterogeneous
composition. But the chief cause must be found in the character of
the English-speaking race. There is in our very blood a certain
lawlessness, which makes us intolerant of syntactical rules,
and restive under pedagogical restraints. “Our sturdy English
ancestors,” says Blackstone, “held it beneath the condition of a
freeman to appear, or to do any other act, at the precise time
appointed.” The same proud, independent spirit which made the
Saxons of old rebel against the servitude of punctuality, prompts
their descendants to spurn the yoke of grammar and purism. In
America this scorn of obedience, whether to political authority or
philological, is fostered and intensified by the very genius of our
institutions. We seem to doubt whether we are entirely free, unless
we apply the Declaration of Independence to our language, and carry
the Monroe doctrine even into our grammar.
The degree to which this lawlessness has been carried will be seen
more strikingly if we compare our English literature with the
literature of France. It has been justly said that the language of
that country is a science in itself, and the labor bestowed on the
acquisition of it has the effect of vividly impressing on the mind
both the faults and the beauties of every writer’s style. Method
and perspicuity are its very essence; and there is hardly a writer
of note who does not attend to these requisites with scrupulous
care. Let a French writer of distinction violate any cardinal rule
of grammar, and he is pounced upon instantly by the critics, and
laughed at from Calais to Marseilles. When Boileau, who is a marvel
of verbal and grammatical correctness, made a slip in the first
line of his Ninth Satire,
“C’est _à_ vous, mon Esprit, _à_ qui je veux parler,”
the grammatical sensibility of the French ear was shocked to a
degree that we, who tolerate the grossest solecisms, find it hard
to estimate. For two centuries the blunder has been quoted by every
writer on grammar, and impressed on the memory of every schoolboy.
Indeed, such is the national fastidiousness on this subject, that
it has been doubted whether a single line in Boileau has been so
often quoted for its beauty, as this unfortunate one for its lack
of grammar. When did an English or an American writer thus offend
the critical ears of his countrymen, even though he were an Alison,
sinning against Lindley Murray on every page?
We are no friends to hypercriticism, or to that finical niceness
which cares more for the body than for the soul of language,
more for the outward expression than for the thought which it
incarnates. Too much rigor is as unendurable as laxity. It is, no
doubt, possible to be so over-nice in the use of words and the
construction of sentences as to sap the vitality of our speech.
We may so refine our expression, by continual straining in our
critical sieves, as to impair both the strength and the flexibility
of our noble English tongue. There are some verbal critics, who,
apparently go so far as to hold that every word must have an
invariable meaning, and that all relations of thoughts must be
indicated by absolute and invariable formulas, thus reducing verbal
expression to the rigid inflexibility of a mathematical equation.
If we understand Mr. Moon’s censures of Murray and Alford, some
of them are based on the assumption that an ellipsis is rarely,
if ever, permissible in English speech. We have no sympathy with
such extremists, nor with the verbal purists who challenge all
words and phrases that cannot be found in the “wells of English
undefiled,” that have been open for more than a hundred years.
We must take the good with the bad in the incessant changes and
masquerades of language. “The severe judgment of the scholar may
condemn as verbiage that undergrowth of words which threatens
to choke up and impoverish the great roots that have occupied
the soil from the earliest times; he may apprehend wreck and
disaster to the fixedness of language when he sees words loosened
from their etymons, and left to drift upon the ocean at the mercy
of wind and tide; and he is justified in every seasonable and
reasonable attempt he makes to reconcile current and established
significations with the sanction of authority.” But it must not be
forgotten that language is a living, organic thing, and by the very
law of its life must always be in a fluctuating state. To petrify
it into immutable forms, to preserve it as one preserves fruits
and flowers in spirits of wine and herbariums, is as hopeless as
it would be undesirable, if we would have it a medium for the
ever-changing thoughts of man.
Language is a growing thing, as truly as a tree; and as a tree,
while it casts off some leaves, will continually put forth others,
so a language will be perpetually growing and expanding with the
discoveries of science, the extension of commerce, and the progress
of thought. Such events as the growth of the Roman Empire, the
introduction of Christianity, the rise of the scholastic and of the
mystic theology in the middle ages, the irruption of the northern
barbarians into Italy, the establishment, of the Papacy, the
introduction of the feudal system, the Crusades, the Reformation,
the French Revolution, the American Civil War, give birth to new
ideas, which clamor for new words to express them. Every age thus
enriches language with new accessions of beauty and strength.
Not only are new words coined, but old ones continually take on
new senses; and it is only in the transition period, before they
have established themselves in the general favor of good speakers
and writers, that purity of style requires them to be shunned.
Those who are so ignorant of the laws of language as to resist
its expansion,--who declare that it has attained at any time the
limit of its development, and seek by philological bulls to check
its growth,--will find that, like a vigorous forest tree, it will
defy any shackles that men may bind about it; that it will reck
as little of their decrees as did the advancing ocean of those of
Canute. The critics who make such attempts do not see that the
immobility of language would be the immobility of history. They
forget that many of the purest words in our language were at one
time startling novelties, and that even the dainty terms in which
they challenge each new-comer, though now naturalized, had once
to fight their way inch by inch. Shakespeare ridicules “element”;
Fulke, in the seventeenth century, objects to such ink-horn
terms as “rational,” “scandal,” “homicide,” “ponderous,” and
“prodigious”; Dryden censures “embarrass,” “grimace,” “repartee,”
“foible,” “tour,” and “rally”; Swift denounces “hoax” as low
and vulgar; Pope condemns “witless,” “welkin,” and “dulcet”;
and Franklin, who could draw from the clouds the electric fluid
which now carries language with the speed of lightning from land
to land, vainly struggled against the introduction of the words
“to advocate” and “to notice.” In the “New World of Words,” by
Edward Phillips, published in 1678, there is a long list of words
which he declared should be either used warily or rejected as
barbarous. Among these words are the following, which are all in
good use to-day: autograph, aurist, bibliograph, circumstantiate,
evangelize, ferocious, holograph, inimical, misanthropist,
misogynist, and syllogize.
The word “Fatherland” seems so natural that we are apt to regard it
as an old word; yet the elder Disraeli claims the honor of having
introduced it. Macaulay tells us that the word “gutted,” which was
doubtless objected to as vulgar, was first used on the night in
which James II fled from London: “The king’s printing-house ...
was, to use a coarse metaphor, which then, for the first time, came
into fashion, completely _gutted_.” How much circumlocution is
saved by the word “antecedents” (formerly a grammatical term only),
in its new sense, denoting a man’s past history; with reference to
which Punch says it would be more satisfactory to know something
of a suspected man’s _relatives_ than of his _antecedents_! What
a happy, ingenious use of an old word is that of “telescope” to
describe a railway accident, when the force of a collision causes
the cars to run or fit into each other, like the shortening slides
of a telescope! The term is so picturesque and so convenient in
avoiding a periphrasis, that it cannot fail to be stamped with the
seal of good usage. How admirably was a real void in the vocabulary
filled by the word “squatter,” when it was first coined! The man
who first uttered it gave vivid expression to an idea which had
existed vaguely in the brains of thousands; and it was hardly
spoken before it was on every tongue. Coleridge observes truly
that any new word expressing a fact or relationship, not expressed
by any other word in the language, is a new organ of thought;
and how true is this of the terms “solidarity” (as in the phrase
“solidarity of the peoples”), and “international,” both of which
express novel and characteristic conceptions of our own century.
The latter word is a coinage of Jeremy Bentham, to whom we are
also indebted for “codify,” “maximise,” and “minimise.” The little
word “its” had to force its way into the language, against the
opposition of “correct” speakers and writers, on the ground of its
apparent analogy with the other English possessives.
Dr. Johnson objected to the word “dun” in Lady Macbeth’s famous
soliloquy, declaring that the “efficacy of this invocation is
destroyed by the insertion of an epithet now seldom heard but in
the stable:--”
“Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell.”
It was a notion of the great critic and lexicographer, with which
his mind was long haunted, that the language should be refined
and fixed so as finally to exclude all rustic and vulgar elements
from the authorized vocabulary of the lettered and polite. Dryden
had hinted at the establishment of an academy for this purpose,
and Swift thought the Government “should devise some means for
ascertaining and _fixing the language forever_,” after the
necessary alterations should be made in it.
If it were possible to exclude needed new words from a language,
the French Academy would have succeeded in its attempts to do so,
consisting as it did of the chief scholars of France. Not content
with crushing political liberty, Richelieu sought to become
autocrat of the French language. No word was to be uttered anywhere
in the realm until he had countersigned it. But in spite of all
the efforts of his Academy to exercise a despotic authority over
the French tongue, new words have continually forced their way in,
and so they will continue to do while the French nation maintains
its vitality, in spite of the protests of all the purists and
academicians in France. “They that will fight custom with grammar,”
says Montaigne, “are fools”; and, with the limitations to be
hereafter stated, the remark is just, and still more true of those
who triumphantly appeal against custom to the dictionary, which is
not merely a home for living words, but a cemetery for the dead.
Even slang words, after long knocking, will often gain admission
into a language, like pardoned outlaws received into the body of
respectable citizens. We need not add to these, words coined in
his lofty moods by the poet, who is a _maker_ by the very right
of his name. That creative energy which distinguishes him,--“the
high-flying liberty of conceit proper to the poet,”--will, of
course, display itself here, and the all-fusing imagination will
at once, as Trench has remarked, suggest and justify audacities in
speech which would not be tolerated from creeping prose-writers.
Great liberties may be allowed, too, within certain bounds, to the
idiosyncrasies of all great writers. We love the rugged, gnarled
oak, with the grotesque contortions of its branches, better than
the smoothly clipped uniformity of the Dutch yew tree. Carlyleisms
may therefore be tolerated from the master, though not from
the _umbræ_ that spaniel him at the heels, and feebly echo his
singularities and oddities. A style that has no smack or flavor of
the man that uses it is a tasteless style. But there is a limit
even to the liberty of great thinkers in coining words. It must not
degenerate into license. Coleridge was a skilful mint-master of
words, yet not all his genius can reconcile us to such expressions
as the following, in a letter to Sir Humphrey Davy: “I was a well
meaning sutor who had ultra-crepidated with more zeal than wisdom.”
No one would hesitate to place Isaac Barrow among the greatest
masters of the English tongue; yet the weighty thoughts which his
words represented did not prevent many of the trial-pieces which
he coined in his verbal mint from being returned on his hands. Who
knows the meaning of such words as “avoce,” “acquist,” “extund”?
Sir Thomas Browne abounds in such hyperlatinistic expressions as
“bivious,” “quodlibetically,” “cunctation,” to which even his
gorgeous rhetoric does not reconcile the reader. Charles Lamb
has “agnise” and “bourgeon.” Coleridge invents “extroitive,”
“retroitive,” “influencive”; Bentley, “commentitious,” “negoce,”
“exscribe.” Sydney Smith was continually coining words, some
of them compounds from the homely Saxon idiom, others big-wig
classical epithets, devised with scholar-like precision, and
exceedingly ludicrous in their effect. Thus he speaks of
“frugiverous” children, of “mastigophorous” schoolmasters,
of “fugacious” or “plumigerous” captains; of “lachrymal and
suspirious” clergymen; of people who are “simious,” and people
who are “anserous”; he enriches the language with the expressive
hybrid, “Foolometer”; and he characterizes the September sins of
the English by the awful name of “perdricide.” In the early ages
of our literature, when the language was less fixed, and there
were few recognized standards of expression, writers coined words
without license, supplying the place of correct terms, when they
did not occur to their minds, by analogy and invention. But a bill
must not only be drawn by the word-maker; it must also be accepted.
The Emperor Tiberius was very properly told that he might give
citizenship to men, but not to words. All innovations in speech,
every new term introduced, should harmonize with the general
principles of the language. No new phrase should be admitted which
is not consonant with its peculiar genius, or which does violence
to its fundamental integrity. Nor should any form of expression
be tolerated that violates the universal laws of language. As
Henry lingers has well said, a philosophical mind will consider
that, whatever deflection may have taken place in the original
principles of a language, whatever modification of form it may have
undergone, it is, at each period of its history, the product of a
slow accumulation and countless multitude of associations, which
can neither be hastily formed nor hastily dismissed; that these
associations extend even to the modes of spelling and pronouncing,
of inflecting and combining words; and that anything which does
violence to such associations impairs, for the time, at least, the
power of the language.
Even good usage itself is but a proximate and strongly presumptive
test of purity. Custom is not an absolute despotism, though it
approaches very nearly to that character. Its decisions are
generally authoritative; but, as there are extreme measures which
even oriental despots cannot put into execution without endangering
the safety of their possessions, so there are things which custom
cannot do without endangering the fixity and purity of language. If
grammatical monstrosities exist in a language, a correct taste will
shun them, as it does physical deformities in the arts of design.
Dean Alford defends some of his own indefensible expressions by
citing the authority of the Scripture; but authority for the most
vicious forms of speech can be found in all our writers, not
excepting King James’s translators,--as Mr. Harrison has shown by
hundreds of examples in his work on “The English Language.” Take,
for example, the following sentence, or part of a sentence, from so
great a writer as Dean Swift: “Breaking a constitution by the very
same errors, _that_ so many have been _broke_ before.” Here, in a
sentence of only fifteen words, we have three grammatical errors,
glaring, and, in such a writer, unpardonable. We smile at the
rustic ignorance which has engraved on a Hampshire tombstone such
lines as
“_Him_ shall never come again to _we_;
But _us_ shall one day surely go to _he_;”
but is this couplet a whit more ungrammatical than Scott’s “I
know not _whom_ else are expected,” in “the Pirate”; or Southey’s
sentence in “the Doctor,” “Gentle reader, let you and _I_, in
like manner, endeavor to improve the enclosure of the Carr;” or
Professor Aytoun’s
“But it were vain for you and _I_
In single fight our strength to try.”
A writer in “Blackwood” affirms that, “with the exception of
Wordsworth, there is not one celebrated author of this day who has
written two pages consecutively without some flagrant impropriety
in the grammar;” and the statement, we believe, is undercharged.
The usage, therefore, of a good writer is only _prima facie_
evidence of the correctness of a disputed word or phrase; for he
may have used the word carelessly or inadvertently, and it is
altogether probable that, were his attention called to it, he
would be prompt to admit his error. It has been remarked that
“nowadays” and “had have” meet all the conditions of good usage,
being reputable, national, and present; but one is a solecism,
the other a barbarism. Again, if the writer is an old writer,
like Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, or Addison, his authority must
always be received with caution, and with increasing caution as
we recede from the age in which he flourished. The great changes
which our language has undergone within even a hundred years, show
that the writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are
unsafe guides for the nineteenth, unless they are corroborated
by contemporary usage. Let the English language he enriched in
the spirit, and according to the principles of which we have
spoken, and it will be, not a tank, but a living stream, casting
out everything effete and impure, refreshed by new sources of
inspiration and wealth, keeping pace with the stately march of
the ages, and still retaining much of its original sweetness,
expression and force.
It is our intention in this chapter, not to notice all the
improprieties of speech that merit censure,--to do which would
require volumes,--but to criticise some of those which most
frequently offend the ear of the scholar in this country. The term
_impropriety_ we shall use, not merely in the strictly rhetorical
sense of the word, but in the popular meaning, to include in it
all inaccuracies of speech, whether offences against etymology,
lexicography, or syntax. To pillory such offences, to point out
the damage which they inflict upon our language, and to expose the
moral obliquity which often lurks beneath them, is, we believe,
the duty of every scholar who knows how closely purity of speech,
like personal cleanliness, is allied to purity of thought and
rectitude of action. To say that every person who aspires to
be esteemed a gentleman should carefully shun all barbarisms,
solecisms, and other faults in his speech, is to utter the merest
truism. The man who habitually deviates from the custom of his
country in expressing his thoughts, is hardly less ridiculous than
one who walks the streets in a Spanish cloak or a Roman toga. An
accurate knowledge and a correct and felicitous use of words are,
of themselves, almost sure proofs of good breeding. No doubt it
marks a weak mind to care more for the casket than for the jewel it
contains,--to prefer elegantly turned sentences to sound sense;
but sound sense always acquires additional value when expressed
in pure English. Moreover, he who carefully studies accuracy of
expression, the proper choice and arrangement of words in any
language, will be also advancing toward accuracy of thought,
as well as toward propriety and energy of speech; “for divers
philosophers hold,” says Shakespeare, “that the lip is parcel of
the mind.” Few things are more ludicrous than the blunders by
which even persons moving in refined society often betray the
grossest ignorance of very common words. A story is told in England
of an over-classical Member of Parliament, who, not knowing or
forgetting that “omnibus” is the plural of the Latin “_omnis_,” and
means “for all,”--that is, a vehicle in which people of all ranks
may sit together,--spoke of “two omnibi.” There are hundreds of
educated persons who speak of the “banister” of a staircase, when
they mean “balustrade,” or “baluster”; there is no such word as
“banister.” There are hundreds of others who never _eat_ anything,
not even an apple, but always _partake_, even though they consume
all the food before them; and even the London “Times,” in one of
its issues, spoke of a jury “immersing” a defendant in damages. We
once knew an old lady in a New England village, quite aristocratic
in her feelings and habits, who complained to her physician that
“her blood seemed to have all _stackpoled_;” and we have heard of
another descendant of Mrs. Malaprop, who, in answer to the question
whether she would be sure to keep an appointment, replied, “I will
come,--_alluding_ it does not rain.”
Goldsmith is one of the most charming writers in our language; yet
in his “History of England,” the following statement occurs in a
chapter on the reign of Elizabeth. Speaking of a communication to
Mary, Queen of Scots, he says: “This they effected by conveying
their letters to her by means of a brewer, _that supplied the
family with ale through a chink in the wall of her apartment_.” A
queer brewer that, to supply his ale through a chink in the wall!
Again, we read in Goldsmith’s “History of Greece”: “_He_ wrote to
that distinguished philosopher in terms polite and flattering,
begging of _him_ to come and undertake _his_ education, and bestow
on _him_ those useful lessons of magnanimity and virtue which every
great man ought to possess, and which _his_ numerous avocations
rendered impossible for _him_.” In this sentence the pronoun _he_
is employed six times, under different forms; and as, in each case,
it may refer to either of two antecedents, the meaning, but for our
knowledge of the facts, would be involved in hopeless confusion.
First, the pronoun stands for Philip, then for Aristotle, then for
Alexander, again for Alexander, and then twice for Philip. A still
greater offender against clearness in the use of pronouns is Lord
Clarendon; _e.g._, “On which, with the king’s and queen’s so ample
promises to _him_ (the Treasurer) so few hours before, conferring
the place upon another, and the Duke of York’s manner of receiving
_him_ (the Treasurer), after _he_ (the Chancellor) had been shut
up with _him_ (the Duke), as _he_ (the Treasurer) was informed
might very well excuse _him_ (the Treasurer) from thinking _he_
(the Chancellor) had some share in the effront _he_ (the Treasurer)
had undergone.” It would be hard to match this passage even in the
writings of the humblest penny-a-liner; it is “confusion, worse
confounded.”
Solecisms so glaring as these may not often disfigure men’s
writing or speech; and some of the faults we shall notice
may seem so petty and microscopic that the reader may deem us
“word-catchers that live on syllables.” But it is the little
foxes that spoil the grapes, in the familiar speech of the people
as well as in Solomon’s vineyards; and, as a garment may be
honey-combed by moths, so the fine texture of a language may be
gradually destroyed, and its strength impaired, by numerous and
apparently insignificant solecisms and inaccuracies. Nicety in
the use of particles is one of the most decisive marks of skill
and scholarship in a writer; and the accuracy, beauty, and force
of many a fine passage in English literature depend largely on
the use of the pronouns, prepositions, and articles. How emphatic
and touching does the following enumeration become through the
repetition of one petty word! “_By_ thine agony and bloody sweat;
_by_ thy cross and passion; _by_ thy precious death and burial;
_by_ thy glorious resurrection and ascension; and _by_ the coming
of the Holy Ghost.” How much pathos is added to the prayer of the
publican by the proper translation of the Greek article,--“God be
merciful to me _the_ sinner!”
De Quincey strikingly observes: “People that have practised
composition as much, and with as vigilant an eye as myself, know
also, by thousands of cases, how infinite is the disturbance
caused in the logic of a thought by the mere position of a word
as despicable as the word _even_. A mote that is in itself
invisible, shall darken the august faculty of sight in a human
eye,--the heavens shall be hid by a wretched atom that dares
not show itself,--and the station of a syllable shall cloud the
judgment of a council. Nay, even an ambiguous emphasis falling
to the right-hand word, or the left-hand word, shall confound a
system.” It is a fact well known to lawyers, that, the omission
or misplacement of a monosyllable in a legal document has rendered
many a man bankrupt. Fifteen years ago an expensive lawsuit arose
in England, on the meaning of two phrases in the will of a deceased
nobleman. In the one he gives his property “to my brother and
_to_ his children in succession”; in the other, “to my brother
and his children in succession.” This diversity gives rise to
quite different interpretations. In another case, by omitting the
letter _s_ in a legal document, an English attorney is said to have
inflicted on a client a loss of £30,000.
In language, as in the fine arts, there is but one way to attain to
excellence, and that is by study of the most faultless models. As
the air and manner of a gentleman can be acquired only by living
constantly in good society, so grace and purity of expression must
be attained by a familiar acquaintance with the standard authors.
It is astonishing how rapidly we may by this practice enrich
our vocabularies, and how speedily we imitate and unconsciously
reproduce in our language the niceties and delicacies of expression
which have charmed us in a favorite author. Like the sheriff whom
Rufus Choate satirized for having “overworked the participle,” most
persons make one word act two, ten or a dozen parts; yet there
is hardly any man who may not, by moderate painstaking, learn to
express himself in terms as precise, if not as vivid, as those of
Pitt, whom Fox so praised for his accuracy.[46] The account which
Lord Chesterfield gives of the method by which he became one of the
most elegant and polished talkers and orators of Europe, strikingly
shows what miracles may be achieved by care and practice. Early
in life he determined not to speak one word in conversation which
was not the fittest he could recall; and he charged his son never
to deliver the commonest order to a servant, but in the best
language he could find, and with the best utterance. For years
Chesterfield wrote down every brilliant passage he met with in his
reading, and translated it into French, or, if it was in a foreign
language, into English. By this practice a certain elegance became
habitual to him, and it would have given him more trouble, he says,
to express himself inelegantly than he had ever taken to avoid
the defect. Lord Bolingbroke, who had an imperial dominion over
all the resources of expression, and could talk all day just as
perfectly as he wrote, told Chesterfield that he owed the power to
the same cause,--an early and habitual attention to his style. When
Boswell expressed to Johnson his surprise at the constant force and
propriety of the Doctor’s words, the latter replied that he had
long been accustomed to clothe his thoughts in the fittest words he
could command, and thus a vivid and exact phraseology had become
habitual.
It has been affirmed by a high authority that a knowledge
of English grammar is rather a matter of convenience as a
nomenclature,--a medium of thought and discussion _about_ the
language,--than a guide to the actual use of it; and that it is
as impossible to acquire the complete command of our own tongue
by the study of grammatical precept, as to learn to walk or swim
by attending a course of lectures on anatomy. “Undoubtedly I have
found,” says Sir Philip Sydney, “in divers smal learned courtiers
a more sound stile than in some possessors of learning; of which
I can ghesse no other cause, but that the courtier following that
which by practice he findeth fittest to nature, therein (though he
know it not) doth _according_ to art, though not _by_ art; where
the other, using art to shew art, and not to hide art (as in these
cases he should doe), flieth from nature, and indeed abuseth art.”
Let it not be inferred, however, from all this that grammatical
knowledge is unnecessary. A man of refined taste may detect many
errors by the ear; but there are other errors, equally gross,
that have not a harsh sound, and consequently cannot be detected
without a knowledge of the rules that are violated. Besides, it
often happens, as we have already seen, that even the purest
writers inadvertently allow some inaccuracies to creep into
their productions. The works of Addison, Swift, Bentley, Pope,
Young, Blair, Hume, Gibbon, and even Johnson, that leviathan of
literature, are disfigured by numberless instances of slovenliness
of style. Cobbett, in his “Grammar of the English Language,” says
that he noted down about two hundred improprieties of language in
Johnson’s “Lives of the Poets” alone; and he points out as many
more, at least, in the “Rambler,” which the author says he revised
and corrected with extraordinary care. Sydney Smith, one of the
finest stylists of this century, has not a few flagrant solecisms;
and, strange to say, some of them occur in a passage in which
he is trying to show that the English language “may be learned,
practically and _unerringly_,” without a knowledge of grammatical
rules. “When,” he asks, “do we ever find a well educated Englishman
_or_ Frenchman embarrassed by an ignorance of the grammar of
_their_ respective languages? _They_ first learn it practically
and unerringly; and then, if _they_ chose (choose?) to look back
and smile at the idea of having proceeded by a number of rules,
without knowing one of them by heart, or being conscious that
they had any rule at all, this is a philosophical amusement; but
who ever _thinks_ of learning the grammar of _their_ own tongue,
before _they_ are very good grammarians!” The best refutation of
the reasoning in this passage is found in the bad grammar of the
passage itself.
Even the literary detectives, who spend their time in hunting
down and showing up the mistakes of others, enjoy no immunity
from error. Harrison, in his excellent work on “The English
Language,” written expressly to point out some of the most
prevalent solecisms in its literature, has such solecisms as the
following: “The _authority_ of Addison, in matters of grammar;
of Bentley, who never made the English grammar his study; of
Bolingbroke, Pope, and others, _are_ as nothing.” Breen, who
in his “Modern English Literature: its Blemishes and Defects,”
has shown uncommon critical acumen, writes thus: “There is _no_
writer so addicted to this blunder as Isaac D’Israeli.” Again,
in criticising a faulty expression of Alison, he sins almost as
grievously himself by saying: “It would have been correct to say:
‘Suchet’s administration was incomparably less oppressive than
that of _any_ of the French generals in the Peninsula.’” This
reminds one of the statement that “Noah and his family outlived all
who lived before the flood,”--that is, they outlived themselves.
Latham, in his profound treatise on “The English Language,” has
such sentences as this: “The logical and historical _analysis_ of
a language generally in some degree _coincides_.” Here the syntax
is correct; but the sense is sacrificed, since a coincidence
implies at least two things. In the London “Saturday Review,”
which “is nothing if not critical,” we find such a cacophonous
sentence as the following: “In personal relations Mr. Bright is
probab_ly_ general_ly_ kind_ly_.” Blair’s “Rhetoric” has been used
as a text-book for half a century; yet it swarms with errors of
grammar and rhetoric, against almost every law of which he has
sinned. Moon, in his review of Alford, has pointed out hundreds of
faults in “The Dean’s English,” as censurable as any which he has
censured; and newspaper critics, at home and abroad, have pointed
out scores of obscurations, as well as of glaring faults, in Moon.
It has been well observed by Professor Marsh that most men would
be unable to produce a good caricature of their own individual
speech, and that the shibboleth of our personal dialect is unknown
to ourselves, however ready we may be to remark the characteristic
phraseology of others. “It is a mark of weakness, of poverty of
speech, or, at least, of bad taste, to continue the use of pet
words, or other peculiarities of language, after we have once
become conscious of them as such.” There are certain stock phrases,
also, which, though not objectionable in themselves, have been
so worn to shreds by continual repetition in speech and in the
press, that a man of taste will shun using them as instinctively
as he shuns a solecism. A few examples are the following: “History
repeats itself,” “The irony of fate,” “That goes without saying,”
“Ample scope and verge enough,” “We are free to confess,”
“Conspicuous by its absence,” “The courage of his convictions.”
We proceed to notice some of the common improprieties of speech.
Many of them are of recent origin, others are old offenders that
have been tried and condemned at the bar of criticism again and
again:--
_But_, for that, or if. Example: “I have no doubt but he will come
to-night.” “I should not wonder but that was the case.”
_Agriculturalist_, for agriculturist, is an impropriety of the
grossest sort. Nine-tenths of our writers on agriculture use the
former expression. They might as well say geologicalist, instead of
geologist, or chemicalist, instead of chemist.
_Deduction_, for induction. _Induction_ is the mental process by
which we ascend to the discovery of general truths; _deduction_ is
the process by which the law governing particulars is derived from
a knowledge of the law governing the class to which particulars
belong.
_Illy_ is a gross barbarism, quite common in these days, especially
with newly fledged poets. There is no such word as _illy_ in the
language. The noun, adjective, and adverb, are _ill_.
_Plenty_, for plentiful. Stump politicians tell us that the
adoption of a certain measure “will make money plenty in every
man’s pocket.”
_I have got_, for I have. Hardly any other word in the language is
so abused as the word _get_. A man says, “I have got a cold”; he
means simply, “I have a cold.” Another says that a certain lady
“has got a fine head of hair,” which may be true if the hair is
false, but it is probably intended as a compliment. A third says:
“I have got to leave the city for New York this evening,” meaning
only that he _has_ to leave the city, etc. Nine out of ten ladies
who enter a dry-goods store, ask, “Have you got” such or such an
article? If such a phrase as “I have possess” were used, all noses
would turn up together; but “I have got,” when used to signify
“I have,” is equally a departure from propriety. A man may say,
“I have got more than my neighbor has, because I have been more
industrious”; but he cannot with propriety say, “I have got a long
nose,” however long his nose may be, unless it be an artificial
one. Even so able a writer as Prof. Whitney expresses himself thus:
“Who ever yet got through learning his mother tongue, and could
say, ‘The work is done’?”
_Recommend._ This word is used in a strange sense by many persons.
Political conventions often pass resolutions beginning thus:
“Resolved, that the Republicans (or Democrats) of this county be
recommended to meet,” etc.
_Differ with_ is often used, in public debate, instead of
_differ from_. Example: “I differ with the learned gentleman,
entirely,”--which is intended to mean, that the speaker holds views
different from those of the gentleman; not that he agrees with the
gentleman in differing from the views of a third person. _Different
to_ is often spoken and written in England, and occasionally in
this country, instead of _different from_. An example of this
occurs in Queen Victoria’s book, edited by Mr. Helps.
_Corporeal_, for corporal, is a gross vulgarism, the use of which
at this day should almost subject an educated man to the kind of
punishment which the latter adjective designates. _Corporeal_
means, having a body corporal, or belonging to a body.
_Wearies_, for is wearied. Example: “The reader soon wearies of
such stuff.”
_Any how_ is an exceedingly vulgar phrase, though used even by
so elegant a writer as Blair. Example: “If the damage can be any
how repaired,” etc. The use of this expression, _in any manner_,
by one who professes to write and speak the English tongue with
purity, is unpardonable.
_It were_, for it is. Example: “It were a consummation devoutly
to be wished for.” Dr. Chalmers says: “It were an intolerable
spectacle, even to the inmates of a felon’s cell, did they behold
one of their fellows in the agonies of death.” For _were_ put
_would be_, and for _did_ put _should_.
_Doubt_ is a word much abused by a class of would-be laconic
speakers, who affect an Abernethy-like brevity of language. “I
doubt such is the true meaning of the Constitution,” say our “great
expounders,” looking wondrous wise. They mean, “I doubt whether,”
etc.
_Lie_, _lay_. Gross blunders are committed in the use of these
words; _e.g._, “He laid down on the grass,” instead of “he laid
himself down,” or, “he lay down.” The verb _to lie_ (to be in a
horizontal position) is _lay_ in the preterite. The book does not
_lay_ on the table; it _lies_ there. Some years ago an old lady
consulted an eccentric Boston physician, and, in describing her
disease, said: “The trouble, Doctor, is that I can neither lay nor
set.” “Then, Madam,” was the reply, “I would respectfully suggest
the propriety of roosting.”
“_Like I did_,” is a gross western and southern vulgarism for “as
I did.” “You will feel like lightning ought to strike you,” said
a learned Doctor of Divinity at a meeting in the East. Even so
well informed a writer as R. W. Dale, D.D., says: “A man’s style,
if it is a good one, fits his thought _like_ a good coat fits his
figure.” _Like_ is a preposition, and should not be used as a
conjunction.
_Less_, for fewer. “Not less than fifty persons.” _Less_ relates to
quantity; _fewer_, to number.
_Balance_, for remainder. “I’ll take the balance of the goods.”
_Revolt_, for are revolting to. “Such doctrines revolt us.”
_Alone_, for only. Quackenboss, in his “Course of Composition and
Rhetoric,” says, in violation of one of his own rules: “This means
of communication, as well as that which follows, is employed by
man alone.” _Only_ is often misplaced in a sentence. Miss Braddon
says, in the prospectus of “Belgravia,” her English magazine,
that “it will be written in good English. In its pages papers of
sterling merit will only appear.” A poor beginning this! She means
that “only papers of sterling merit will appear.” Bolingbroke
says: “Believe me, the providence of God has established such an
order in the world, that, of all that belongs to us, the least
valuable parts can alone fall under the will of others.” The last
clause should be, “only the least valuable parts can fall under the
will of others.” The word _merely_ is misplaced in the following
sentence from a collegiate address on eloquence: “It is true of men
as of God, that words merely meet no response,--only such as are
loaded with thought.”
_Likewise_, for also. _Also_ classes together things or qualities,
whilst _likewise_ couples actions or states of being. “He did it
likewise,” means he did it in like manner. An English Quaker was
once asked by a lawyer whether he could tell the difference between
_also_ and _likewise_. “O, yes,” was the reply, “Erskine is a great
lawyer; his talents are universally admired. You are a lawyer also,
but not like-_wise_.”
_Avocation_, for vocation, or calling. A man’s _avocations_ are
those pursuits or amusements which engage his attention when he is
“called away from” his regular business or profession,--as music,
fishing, boating.
_Crushed out_, for crushed. “The rebellion has been crushed out.”
Why _out_, rather than _in_? If you tread on a worm, you simply
crush him,--that is all. It ought to satisfy the most vengeful
foe of “the rebels” that they have been crushed, without adding
the needless cruelty of crushing them _out_, which is to be as
vindictive as Alexander, of whom Dryden tells us that
“Thrice he routed all his foes,
And thrice he slew the slain.”
_Of_, for from. Example: “Received of John Smith fifty dollars.”
Usage, perhaps, sanctions this.
_At all_ is a needless expletive, which is employed by many writers
of what may be called the forcible-feeble school. For example: “The
coach was upset, but, strange to say, not a passenger received the
slightest injury at all.” “It is not at all strange.”
_But that_, for that. This error is quite common among those who
think themselves above learning anything more from the dictionary
and grammar. Trench says: “He never doubts but that he knows their
intention.” A worse error is _but what_, as in the reply of Mr.
Jobling, of “Bleak House”: “Thank you, Guppy, I don’t know but what
I will take a marrow pudding.” “He would not believe but what I was
joking.”
_Convene_ is used by many persons in a strange sense. “This road
will convene the public.”
_Evidence_ is a word much abused by learned judges and
attorneys,--being continually used for _testimony_. _Evidence_
relates to the convictive view of any one’s mind; _testimony_, to
the knowledge of another concerning some fact. The evidence in a
case is often the reverse of the testimony.
_Had have._ _E.g._ The London “Times” says “Sir Wilfred Lawson
_had_ better _have_ kept to his original proposal.” This is a very
low vulgarism, notwithstanding it has the authority of Addison. It
is quite common to say “Had I have seen him,” “Had you have known
it,” etc. We can say, “I have been,” “I had been,” but what sort of
a tense is _had have_ been?
_Had ought_, _had better_, _had rather_. All these expressions
are absurdities, no less gross than _hisn_, _tother_, _baint_,
_theirn_. No doubt there is plenty of good authority for _had
better_ and _had rather_; but how can future action be expressed by
a verb that signifies past and completed possession?
_At_, for by. _E.g._, “Sales at auction.” The word auction
signifies a _manner_ of sale; and this signification seems to
require the preposition _by_.
_The above_, as an adjective. “The above extract is sufficient to
verify my assertion.” “I fully concur in the above statement” (the
statement above, or the foregoing statement). Charles Lamb speaks
of “the above boys and the below boys.”
_Then_, as an adjective. “The then King of Holland.” This error,
to which even educated men are addicted, springs from a desire of
brevity; but verbal economy is not commendable when it violates the
plainest rules of language.
_Final completion._ As every completion is final, the adjective
is superfluous. A similar objection applies to _first beginning_.
Similar to these superabundant forms of expression is another, in
which _universal_ and _all_ are brought into the same construction.
A man is said to be “universally esteemed by all who know him.” If
_all_ esteem him, he is, of course, _universally_ esteemed; and the
converse is equally true.
_Party_, for man or woman. This error, so common in England, is
becoming more and more prevalent here. An English witness once
testified that he saw “a short party” (meaning person) “go over
the bridge.” Another Englishman, who had looked at a portrait of
St. Paul in a gallery at Florence, being asked his opinion of the
picture, said that he thought “the party was very well executed.”
It is hardly necessary to say that it takes several persons to make
a party.
_Celebrity_ is sometimes applied to celebrated persons, instead
of being used abstractly; _e.g._, “Several celebrities are at the
Palmer House.”
_Equanimity of mind._ As equanimity (_æquus animus_) means evenness
of mind, why should “of mind” be repeated? “Anxiety of mind” is
less objectionable, but the first word is sufficient.
_Don’t_ for doesn’t, or does not. Even so scholarly a divine as the
Rev. Dr. Bellows, of New York, employs this vulgarism four times in
an article in the “Independent.” “A man,” he says, “who knows only
his family and neighbors, don’t know them; a man who only knows the
present don’t know that.... Many a man, with a talent for making
money, don’t know whether he is rich or poor, because he don’t
understand bookkeeping,” etc.
_Predicate_, for found. _E.g._, “His argument was predicated on the
assumption,” etc.
_Try_, for make. _E.g._, “Try the experiment.”
_Superior_, for able, virtuous, etc. _E.g._, “He is a superior
man.” Not less vulgar is the expression, “an inferior man,” for a
man of small abilities.
_Deceiving_, for trying to deceive. _E.g._, a person says to
another, “You are deceiving me,” when he means exactly the
opposite, namely, “You are trying to deceive me, but you cannot
succeed, for your trickery is transparent.”
_The masses_, for the people generally. “The masses must be
educated.” The masses of what?
_In our midst._ This vulgarism is continually heard in
prayer-meetings, and from the lips of Doctors of Divinity,
though its incorrectness has been exposed again and again. The
second chapter in Prof. Schele De Vere’s excellent “Studies in
English” begins thus: “When a man rises to eminence in our midst,”
etc.,--which is doubtless one of the few errors in his book _quas
incuria fudit_. The possessive pronoun can properly be used only to
indicate possession or appurtenance. “The midst” of a company or
society is not a thing belonging or appurtenant to the company, or
to the individuals composing it. It is a mere term of relation of
an adverbial, not of a substantive character, and is an intensified
form of expression for _among_. Would any one say, “In our middle”?
_Excessively_, for exceedingly. Ladies often complain that the
weather is “excessively hot,” thereby implying that they do not
object to the heat, but only to the excess of heat. They mean
simply that the weather is _very_ hot.
_Either_ is applicable only to two objects; and the same remark
is true of _neither_ and _both_. “Either of the three” is wrong;
so is this,--“Ten burglars broke into the house, but neither of
them could be recognized.” Say, “_none_ of them,” or “_not one_
of them could be recognized.” _Either_ is sometimes improperly
used for _each_; _e.g._, “On either side of the river was the tree
of life,”--Rev. xxi, 2. Here it is not meant that if you do not
find that the tree of life was on _this_ side, it was on _that_;
but that the tree of life was on each side,--on this side, and on
that. The proper use of _either_ was vindicated some years ago
in England, by the Court of Chancery. A certain testator left
property, the disposition of which was affected by “the death of
either” of two persons. One learned counsel contended that the word
“either” meant both; in support of this view he quoted Richardson,
Webster, Chaucer, Dryden, Southey, the history of the crucifixion,
and a passage from the Revelation. The learned judge suggested that
there was an old song in the “Beggar’s Opera,” known to all, which
took the opposite view:
“How happy could I be with either,
Were t’other dear charmer away.”
In pronouncing judgment, the judge dissented entirely from the
argument of the learned counsel. “Either,” he said, “means one of
two, and does not mean both.” Though occasionally, by poets and
some other writers, the word was employed to signify _both_, it did
not in the case before the court.
_Whether_ is a contraction of _which of either_, and therefore
cannot be correctly applied to more than two objects.
_Never_, for ever. _E.g._, “Charm he never so wisely”; “Let the
offence be of never so high a nature.” Many grammarians approve
of this use of _never_; but its correctness, to say the least, is
doubtful. In such sentences as these, “He was deaf to the voice
of the charmer, charm he ever so wisely,” “Were it ever so fine a
day, I would not go out,” the word _ever_ is an adverb of degree,
and has nothing to do with time. “If I take ever so little of this
drug, it will kill me,” is equivalent to “however little,” or “how
little soever I take of this drug, it will kill me.” Harrison well
says on this point: “Let any one translate one of these phrases
into another language, and he will find that ‘ever’ presents
itself as a term expressive of degree, and not of time at all.
‘Charm he ever so wisely’: Quamvis incantandi sit _peritus_ aut
_peritissimus_.”
_Seldom, or never_ is a common vulgarism. Say “seldom, if ever.”
_Sit_, _sat_, are much abused words. It is said that the brilliant
Irish lawyer, Curran, once carelessly observed in court, “an
action lays,” and the judge corrected him by remarking: “Lies,
Mr. Curran,--hens lay;” but when afterward the judge ordered a
counsellor to “set down,” Curran retaliated, “Sit down, your
honor,--hens set.” The retort was characterized by more wit than
truth. Hens do not set; they sit. It is not unusual to hear persons
say, “The coat sets well”; “The wind sets fair.” _Sits_ is the
proper word. The preterite of _sit_ is often incorrectly used for
that of _set_; _e.g._, “He sat off for Boston.”
_From thence_, _from whence_. As the adverbs _thence_ and _whence_
literally supply the place of a noun and preposition, there is a
solecism in employing a preposition in conjunction with them.
_Conduct._ In conversation, this verb is frequently used without
the personal pronoun; as, “he conducts well,” for “he conducts
himself well.”
_Least_, for less. “Of two evils, choose the least.”
_A confirmed invalid._ Can weakness be strong? If not, how can a
man be a _confirmed_, or strengthened, invalid?
_Proposition_, for proposal. This is not a solecism, but, as a
univocal word is preferable to one that is equivocal, _proposal_,
for a thing offered or proposed, is better than _proposition_.
Strictly, a proposal is something offered to be done; a proposition
is something submitted to one’s consideration. _E.g._, “He rejected
the proposal of his friend;” “he demonstrated the fifth proposition
in Euclid.”
_Previous_, for previously. “Previous to my leaving America.”
_Appreciates_, for rises in value. “Gold appreciated yesterday.”
Even the critical London Athenæum is guilty of this solecism. It
says: “A book containing personal reminiscences of one of our great
schools appeals to a public limited, no doubt, but certain, and
sure _to appreciate_.”
_Proven_ for proved, and _plead_ for pleaded, are clearly
vulgarisms.
_Bound_, for ready or determined. “I am bound to do it.” We may
say properly that a ship is “bound to Liverpool”; but in that case
we do not employ, as many suppose, the past participle of the verb
_to bind_, but the old northern participial adjective, _buinn_,
from the verb, _at bua_, signifying “to make ready, or prepare.”
The term is strictly a nautical one, and to employ it in a sense
that unites the significations both of _buinn_ and the English
participle _bound_ from _bind_, is a plain abuse of language.
_No_, for not. _E.g._, “Whether I am there or no.” Cowper writes:
“I will not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,
Whether birds confabulate or no.”
By supplying the ellipsis, we shall see that _not_ is here the
proper word. “Whether birds confabulate, or do not confabulate,”
“whether I am there, or not there.” _No_ never properly qualifies a
verb.
_Such_ for so. _E.g._, “I never saw such a high spire.” This
means, “I never saw a high spire of such a form,” or “of such
architecture” whereas the speaker, in all probability, means only
that he never saw _so_ high a spire. _Such_ denotes quality; _so_,
degree.
_Incorrect orthography._ Orthography means “correct writing, or
spelling.” “Incorrect orthography” is, therefore, equivalent to
“incorrect correct writing.”
_How_ for that. “I have heard _how_ some critics have been pacified
with claret and a supper.”
_Directly_, for as soon as. “Directly he came, I went away with
him.”
_Equally as well_, for equally well. _E.g._, “It will do equally as
well.”
_Supplement_, used as a verb. There is considerable authority for
this use of the word; but it is a case where usage is clearly
opposed to the very principles of the language.
_Greet_ and _greeting_ are often improperly used. A greeting is a
salutation; to say, therefore, as newspaper reporters often do,
that a speaker in the Legislature, or on the platform, was “greeted
with hisses,” or “with groans,” is a decided “malapropism.”
_To a degree_ is a phrase often used by English writers and
speakers. _E.g._, “Mr. Gladstone is sensitive to a degree.” To what
degree?
_Farther_ for _further_. “Farther” is the comparative of far,
and should be used in speaking of bodies relatively at rest; as,
“Jupiter is farther from the earth than Mars.” “_Further_” is
the comparative of “forth,” and should be used when motion is
expressed; as “He ran further than you.”
_Quite_ for very. _E.g._, In Mrs. Stowe’s “Sunny Memories of
Foreign Lands,” we read: “The speeches were _quite_ interesting”;
“we had _quite_ a sociable time up in the gallery”; and we are told
that at Mrs. Cropper’s, “in the evening, _quite_ a circle came in,”
etc., etc. The true meaning of “quite” is _completely_, _entirely_.
_Effluvium._ The plural of this word is often used as if it meant
bad odors; whereas an “effluvium” may be a stream either of pure
air or of foul air,--of pure water or of impure, etc.
_None_ is a contraction of _no one_, and therefore to say “none
are,” or “none were,” is just as improper as to say “no one are,”
or “no one were.”
_I watched him do it._ This is an impropriety of speech rarely
heard in this country, but often in England.
_Looks beautifully._ In spite of the frequency with which this
impropriety has been censured, one hears it almost daily from the
lips of educated men and women. The error arises from confounding
_look_ in the sense of to direct the eye, and look in the sense of
to seem, to appear. In English, many verbs take an adjective with
them to form the predicate, where in other languages an adverb
would be used; _e.g._, “he fell ill”; “he feels cold”; “her smiles
amid the blushes lovelier show.” No cultivated person would say,
“she is beautifully,” or “she seems beautifully,” yet these phrases
are no more improper than “she looks beautifully.” We qualify what
a person does by an adverb; what a person _is_, or _seems to be_,
by an adjective; _e.g._, “she looks coldly on him”; “she looks
cold.”
_Leave_, as an intransitive verb. _E.g._, “He left yesterday.”
Many persons who use this phrase are misled by what they deem the
analogous expression, _to write_, _to read_. These verbs express an
occupation, as truly as _to run_, _to walk_, _to stand_. In answer
to the question, “What is A. B. doing?” it is sufficient to say,
“He is reading.” Here a complete idea is conveyed, which is not
true of the phrase, “He left yesterday.”
_Myself_, for I. _E.g._, “Mrs. Jones and myself will be happy to
dine with you”; “Prof. S. and myself have examined the work.” The
proper use of _myself_ is either as a reflective pronoun, or for
the sake of distinction and emphasis; as when Juliet cries, “Romeo,
doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take
all myself”; or, in Milton’s paradisiacal hymn: “These are thy
glorious works, Parent of Good, Almighty! Thine this universal
frame thus wondrous fair! Thyself how wondrous then!”
_Restive._ This word, which means _inclined to rest_, _obstinate_,
_unwilling to go_, is employed, almost constantly, in a sense
directly the reverse of this; that is, for restless.
_Quantity_, for number. _E.g._, “A quantity of books”; “a quantity
of postage stamps.” In speaking of a collection, or mass, it is
proper to use _quantity_; but in speaking of individual objects,
however many, we must use the word number. “A quantity of meat,”
or “a quantity of iron” is good English, but not “a quantity of
bank-notes.” We may say “a quantity of wood,” but we should say a
“number of sticks.”
_Carnival._ This word literally means “Farewell to meat,” or, as
some etymologists think, “Flesh, be strong!” In Catholic countries
it signifies a festival celebrated with merriment and revelry
during the week before Lent. In this country, especially in
newspaper use, it is employed in the sense of fun, frolic, spree,
festival; and that so generally as almost to have banished some of
these words from the language. If many persons are skating, that is
a carnival; so, if they take a sleigh-ride, or if there is a rush
to Long Branch in the summer. As we have a plenty of legitimate
words to describe these festivities, the use of this outlandish
term has not a shadow of justification.
_All of them._ As _of_ here means _out of_, corresponding with the
Latin preposition _e_, or _ex_, it cannot be correct to say _all
of them_. We may say, “take one of them” or “take two of them,”
or “take them all”; but the phrase we are criticising is wholly
unjustifiable.
_To allude._ Among the improprieties of speech which even those
sharp-eyed literary detectives, Alford, Moon, and Gould have failed
to pounce upon and pillory, are the misuses of the word that heads
this paragraph. Once the verb had a distinct, well defined meaning,
but it is now rapidly losing its true signification. _To allude_ to
a thing,--what is it? Is it not to speak of it _darkly_,--to _hint_
at it playfully (from _ludo_, _ludere_,--to play), without any
direct mention? Yet the word is used in a sense directly opposite
to this. Suppose you lose in the street some package, and advertise
its loss in the newspapers. The person who finds the package is
sure to reply to your advertisement by speaking of “the package
you alluded to in your advertisement,” though you have alluded
to nothing, but have told your story in the most distinct and
straightforward manner possible, without an approximation to a hint
or innuendo. Newspaper reporters, by their abuse of this unhappy
word, will transform a bold and daring speech in Congress, in
which a senator has taken some bull by the horns,--in other words,
dealt openly and manfully with the subject discussed,--into a heap
of dark and mysterious innuendoes. The honorable gentleman _alluded
to_ the currency--to the war--to Andrew Johnson--to the New Orleans
massacre; he _alluded to_ the sympathizers with the South, though
he denounced them in the most caustic terms; he _alluded to_ the
tax-bill, and he _alluded to_ fifty other things, about every one
of which he spoke out his mind in emphatic and unequivocal terms.
An English journal tells a ludicrous story of an M.P. who, his
health having been drunk by name, rose on his legs, and spoke of
“the flattering way in which he had been alluded to.” Another
public speaker spoke of a book which had been _alluded to_ by name.
But the climax of absurdity in the use of this word was attained by
an Irish M.P., who wrote a life of an Italian poet. Quoting Byron’s
lines about “the fatal gift of beauty,” he then goes on to talk
about “the fatal gift which has been already alluded to!”
_Either alternative._ _E.g._, “You may take either alternative.”
“Two alternatives were presented to me.” _Alternative_ evidently
means a choice,--one choice,--between two things. If there be only
one offered, we say there is _no alternative_. _Two alternatives_
is, therefore, a palpable contradiction in terms; yet some speakers
talk of “several alternatives” having been presented to them.
_Whole_, for all. The “Spectator” says: “The Red-Cross Knight runs
through the whole steps of the Christian life.” Alison, who is one
of the loosest writers in our literature, declares, in his “History
of the French Revolution,” that “the whole Russians are inspired
with the belief that their mission is to conquer the world.” This
can only mean that those Russians who are entire,--who have not
lost a leg, an arm, or some other part of the body,--are inspired
with the belief of which he speaks. _Whole_ refers to the component
parts of a single body, and is therefore singular in meaning.
_Jeopardize._ There is considerable authority for this word, which
is beginning to supplant the good old English word _jeopard_. But
why is it more needed than _perilize_, _hazardize_?
_Preventative_, for preventive; _conversationalist_, for converser;
_underhanded_, for underhand; _casuality_, for casualty;
_speciality_, for specialty; _leniency_, for lenity; _firstly_,
for first; are all base coinages, barbarisms which should be
excommunicated by “bell, book, and candle.”
_Dangerous_, for in danger. A leading Boston paper says of a
deceased minister: “His illness was only of a week’s duration, and
was pleurisy and rheumatism. He was not supposed to be dangerous.”
_Nice._ One of the most offensive barbarisms now prevalent is
the use of this as a pet word to express almost every kind of
approbation, and almost every quality. Strictly, _nice_ can be
used only in a subjective, not in an objective, sense; though both
of our leading lexicographers approve of such expressions as “a
nice bit of cheese.” Of the vulgarity of such expressions as “a
nice man” (meaning a good or pleasing man), “a nice day,” “a nice
party,” etc., there cannot be a shadow of doubt. “A nice man”
means a fastidious man; a “nice letter” is a letter very delicate
in its language. Some persons are more nice than wise. Archdeacon
Hare complains that “this characterless domino,” as he stigmatizes
the word _nice_, is continually used by his countrymen, and that
“a universal deluge of _niaserie_ (for the word was originally
_niais_) threatens to whelm the whole island.” The Latin word
_elegans_ seems to have had a similar history; being derived from
_elego_, and meaning primarily _nice_ or _choice_, and subsequently
_elegant_.
_Mutual_, for common, or reciprocal. Dean Alford justly protests
against the stereotyped vulgarism, “a mutual friend.” Mutual is
applicable to sentiments and acts, but not to persons. Two friends
may have a mutual love, but for either to speak of a third person
as being “their mutual friend,” is sheer nonsense. Yet Dickens
entitled one of his novels, “Our Mutual Friend.”
_Stopping_, for staying. “The Hon. John Jones is stopping at
the Sherman House.” In reading such a statement as this, we are
tempted to ask, When will Mr. Jones stop stopping? A man may stop a
dozen times at a place, or on a journey, but he cannot _continue_
stopping. One may stop at a hotel without becoming a guest. The
true meaning of the word _stop_ was well understood by the man who
did not invite his professed friend to visit him: “If you come, at
any time, within ten miles of my house, just stop.”
_Trifling minutiæ._ Archbishop Whately, in his “Rhetoric,” speaks
of “trifling minutiæ of style.” In like manner, Henry Kirke White
speaks of his poems as being “the juvenile efforts of a youth,”
and Disraeli, the author of “The Curiosities of Literature,”
speaks of “the battles of logomachy,” and of “the mysteries of
the arcana of alchemy.” The first of these phrases may be less
palpably tautological than the other three; yet as _minutiæ_ means
nearly the same things as _trifles_, a careful writer would be as
adverse to using such an expression as Whately’s, as he would be to
talking, like Sir Archibald Alison, of representative institutions
as having been reëstablished in our time “by the influence of
English _Anglo_mania.”
_Indices_, for indexes. “We have examined our indices,” etc., say
the Chicago abstract-makers. _Indices_ are algebraic signs; tables
of contents are indexes.
_Rendition_, for rendering. _E.g._, “Mr. Booth’s rendition of
Hamlet was admirable.” _Rendition_ means surrender, giving up,
relinquishing to another; as when we speak of the rendition of
a beleaguered town to the besieger, or of a pledge upon the
satisfaction of a debt.
_Extend_, for give. Lecture committees, instead of simply inviting
a public speaker, or giving him an invitation, almost universally
_extend_ an invitation; perhaps, because he is generally at a
considerable distance. Richard Grant White says pertinently; “As
extend (from _ex_ and _tendo_) means merely to stretch forth, it is
much better to say that a man put out, offered, or stretched forth
his hand than that he extended it. Shakespeare makes the pompous,
pragmatical _Malvolio_ say: ‘I extend my hand to him thus’; but
‘Paul stretched forth the hand, and answered for himself.’ This,
however, is a question of taste, not of correctness.”
_Except_, for unless. _E.g._, “No one, except he has served an
apprenticeship, need apply.” The former word is a preposition, and
must be followed by a noun or pronoun, and not by a proposition.
_Couple_, for a pair or brace. When two persons or things are
joined or linked together, they form a _couple_. The number
of things that can be coupled is comparatively small, yet the
expression is in constant use; as “a couple of books,” “a couple of
partridges,” “a couple of weeks,” etc. One might as well speak of
“a pair of dollars.”
_Every._ _E.g._, “I have every confidence in him”; “they rendered
me every assistance.” _Every_ denotes all the individuals of a
number greater than two, separately considered. Derived from the
Anglo-Saxon, _œfer_, ever, _œlc_, each, it means each of all,
not all in mass. By “every confidence” is meant simply perfect
confidence; by “every assistance,” all possible assistance.
_Almost_, as an adjective. Prof. Whitney, in his able work on
“Language, and the Study of Language,” speaks of “the almost
universality of instruction among us.”
_Condign._ _E.g._, “He does not deserve the condign punishment
he has received.” As the meaning of _condign_ is that which is
deserved, we have here a contradiction in terms, the statement
being equivalent to this: “he does not deserve the deserved
punishment he has received.”
_Paraphernalia._ This is a big, sounding word from the Greek,
which some newspaper writers are constantly misusing. It is
strictly a law-term, and means whatever the wife brings with her
at marriage in addition to her dower. Her dress and her ornaments
are _paraphernalia_. To apply the term to an Irishman’s sash on St.
Patrick’s day, or to a Freemason’s hieroglyphic apron, it has been
justly said, is not only an abuse of language, but a clear invasion
of woman’s rights.
_Setting-room_, for sitting-room, is a gross vulgarism, which is
quite common, even with those who deem themselves _nice_ people.
“I saw your children in the setting-room, as I went past,” said a
well-dressed woman in our hearing, in a horse-car. How _could_ she
go _past_? It is not difficult to go _by_ any object; but to go
_past_ is a contradiction in terms.
_An innumerable number_ is an absurd expression, which is used by
some persons,--not, it is to be hoped, “an innumerable number” of
times.
_Seraphim_, for seraph; the plural for the singular. Even Addison
says: “The zeal of the seraphim breaks forth,” etc. This is as
ludicrous as the language of the Indiana justice, who spoke of “the
first claw of the statute,” or the answer of the man who, when
asked whether he had no politics, replied, “Not a single politic.”
_People_, for persons, “Many people think so.” Better, persons;
people means a body of persons regarded collectively, a nation.
_Off of_, for off. “Cut a yard off of the cloth.”
_More perfect_, _most perfect_. What shall be said of these and
similar forms of expression? Doubtless they should be discouraged,
though used by Shakespeare and Milton. It may be argued in
their favor, that, though not logically correct, yet they are
rhetorically so. It is true that, as “twenty lions cannot be more
twenty than twenty flies,” so nothing can be more perfect than
perfection. But we do not object to say that one man is _braver_
than another, or _wiser_, though, if we had an absolute standard
of bravery or wisdom,--that is, a clear idea of them,--we should
pronounce either of the two persons to be simply brave or not
brave, wise or not wise. We say that Smith is a _better_ man than
Jones, though no one is absolutely good but God. These forms are
used because language is inadequate to express the intensity of the
thought,--as in Milton’s “most wisest, virtuousest, discreetest,
best,” or the lines,
“And _in the lowest deep a lower deep_,
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.”
Milton abounds in these illogical expressions, as do the best Greek
poets; and one of the happiest verses in the poems of W. W. Story
is a similar intentional contradiction, as
“Of every noble work the silent part is best;
Of all expression, that which cannot be expressed.”
_Ugly_, for ill-tempered. A leading New York divine is reported as
saying of an ill-tempered child, that “he wants all he sees, and
screams if he does not get it; ugly as he can be, no matter who is
disturbed by it.”
_Is_, for are. One of the most frequent blemishes in English prose
is the indiscriminate use of singulars and plurals. _E.g._, Junius
writes: “Both minister and magistrate is compelled to choose
between his duty and his reputation.” Even Lindley Murray writes:
“Their general scope and tendency is not remembered at all”; and
Milton sings:
“For their mind and spirit remains invincible.”
Some grammarians defend these forms of expression on the ground
that when two or more nouns singular represent a _single_ idea, the
verb to which they are the nominative may be put in the singular.
The answer to this is, that if the nouns express the _same_ idea,
one of them is superfluous; if _different_ ideas, then they form
a plural, and the verb should be plural also. Another quibble
employed to justify such expressions, is that the verb, which is
expressed after the last noun, is considered as understood _after_
the first. But we are not told how this process of subaudition can
go on in the mind of the reader, _before_ he knows what the verb
is to be; and while ellipsis not only is in many cases permissible,
but gives conciseness and energy to style, yet there is a limit
beyond which it cannot be pushed without leading to literary
anarchy.
_Caption_, for heading. _E.g._, “The caption of this newspaper
article.” _Caption_ means that part of a legal instrument which
shows where, when, and by what authority it was taken, found, or
executed.
_To extremely maltreat._ This phrase from Trench is an example of
a very common solecism. _To_, the sign of the infinitive, should
never be separated from the verb. Say “to maltreat extremely,” or
“extremely to maltreat.”
_Accord_, for grant. “He accorded them (or to them) all they asked
for.” _To accord with_ means properly to agree or to suit; as, “He
accorded with my views.”
_Enthuse_, a word used by some clergymen, is not to be found either
in Worcester’s Dictionary or in Webster’s “Unabridged.”
_Personalty._ This word is supposed by some persons to mean
articles worn on one’s person. Some years ago, a lady, in England,
who had made this mistake, and who wished to leave to her servant
her clothing, jewels, etc., described them as her _personalty_, and
unwittingly included in her bequest ten thousand pounds.
_Do._ This verb is often used incorrectly as a substitute for other
verbs; as, “I did not say, as some have done.” We may properly say,
“I did not say, as some do” (_say_), for here the ellipsis of the
preceding verb may be supplied.
_On to_, for on, or upon. “He got on to an omnibus;” “He jumped on
to a chair.” The preposition _to_ is superfluous. Say, “He got upon
an omnibus,” etc. Some persons speak of “continuing on,” which is
as objectionable as “He went to Boston for to see the city.”
_Older_, for elder. _Older_ is properly applied to objects, animate
and inanimate; _elder_, to rational beings.
_Overflown_, for overflowed. “The river has overflown.” _Flowed_ is
the participle of “to flow”; _flown_, of “to fly.”
_Spoonsful_, for spoonfuls, and _effluvia_ for effluvium, are very
common errors. “A disagreeable effluvia” is as gross a mistake as
“an inexplicable phenomena.”
_Scarcely_, for hardly. _Scarcely_ pertains to quantity; _hardly_,
to degree; as, “There is scarcely a bushel”; “I shall hardly finish
my job by night-fall.”
_Fare thee well_, which has Byron’s authority, is plainly wrong.
_Community_, for the community; as “Community will not submit to
such outrages.” Prof. Marsh has justly censured this vulgarism. Who
would think of saying, “Public is interested in this question”?
When we _personify_ common nouns used definitely in the singular
number, we may omit the article, as when we speak of the doings
of Parliament, or of Holy Church. “During the Revolution,” says
Professor M., “while the federal government was a body of doubtful
authority and permanence, ... the phrase used was always ‘_the_
Congress,’ and such is the form of expression in the Constitution
itself. But when the Government became consolidated, and Congress
was recognized as the paramount legislative power of the Union, ...
it was personified, and the article dropped, and, in like manner,
the word Government is often used in the same way.”
_Folks_ for folk. As _folk_ implies plurality, the _s_ is needless.
_Mussulmen._ Mussulman is not a compound of man, and, therefore,
like _German_, it forms its plural by adding _s_.
_Drive_, for ride. A lady says that “she is going to drive in the
park,” when she intends that her servant shall drive (not her, but)
the horses.
_Try and_, for try to. _E.g._, “Try and do it.”
_Whole_, _entire_, _complete_, and _total_, are words which are
used almost indiscriminately by many persons. That is _whole_,
from which nothing has been taken; that is _entire_, which has not
been divided; that is _complete_, which has all its parts. _Total_
refers to the aggregate of the parts. Thus we say, a _whole_ loaf
of bread; an _entire_ set of spoons; a _complete_ harness; the
_total_ cost or expense.
_Succeed_, for give success to, or cause to succeed. _E.g._, “If
Providence succeed us in this work.” Both Webster and Worcester
justify this use of _succeed_ as a transitive verb; but if not now
grammatically objectionable, as formerly, it is still to be avoided
on the ground of ambiguity. In the phrase quoted, _succeed_ may
mean either cause to succeed, or follow.
_Tartar_ should be, strictly, _Tatar_. When the Tatar hordes, in
the thirteenth century, burst forth from the Asiatic steppes, this
fearful invasion was thought to be a fulfilment of the prediction
of the opening of the bottomless pit, as portrayed in the ninth
chapter of Revelations. To bring the name into relation with
Tartarus, _Tatar_ was written, as it still continues to be written,
_Tartar_.
The following is an example of a very common error in the
arrangement of words:
“Dead in sins and in transgressions
Jesus cast his eyes on me,
And of his divine possessions
Bade me then a sharer be;” etc.
Though such is not the writer’s intention, he really speaks of
Jesus as being “dead in sins and in transgressions”; for the syntax
of the verse admits of no other meaning.
_Numerous_, for many. To speak of “our numerous friends” is to say
that each friend is numerous.
_That of_; as, “He chose for a profession _that of_ the law.” This
is equivalent to saying: He chose for a profession the profession
of law; or, he chose a profession for a profession. Why not say,
“He chose law for a profession”?
_Fellow countrymen._ What is the difference between “countrymen”
and “fellow countrymen?”
_Distinguish_, for discriminate. To distinguish is to mark broad
and plain differences; to discriminate is to notice minute and
subtle shades of difference.
_Transpire_, for to happen. “Transpire” meant originally to emit
insensible vapor through the pores of the skin. Afterward it was
used metaphorically in the sense of to become known, to pass from
secrecy into publicity. But to say that a certain event “transpired
yesterday,” meaning that it occurred then, is a gross vulgarism.
_Ventilate_, for discuss.
_Hung_, for hanged. “Hang,” when it means to take away life by
public execution, is a regular verb.
_Bid_, for bade. _E.g._, The London “Times” says: “He called his
servants, and _bid_ them procure fire-arms.”
_Dare_, for durst. “Neither her maidens nor the priest _dare_ speak
to her for half an hour,” says the Rev. Charles Kingsley, in one of
his novels.
_In_, for within. _E.g._, “Is Mr. Smith in?”
_Notwithstanding_, for although. _E.g._, “_Notwithstanding_
they fought bravely, they were defeated.” “Notwithstanding” is a
preposition, and cannot be correctly used as a conjunction.
_Two good ones._ “Among all the apples there were but two good
ones.” Two _ones_?
_Raising the rent_, for increasing the rent. A landlord notified
his tenant that he should raise his rent. “Thank you,” was the
reply; “I find it very hard to raise it myself.”
_Was_, for is. “Two young men,” says Swift, “have made a discovery,
that there was a God.” That there _was_ a God? When? This year, or
last year, or ages ago? All general truths should be expressed by
the use of verbs in the present tense.
_Shall_ and _will_. There are, perhaps, no two words in the
language which are more frequently confounded or used inaccurately,
than _shall_ and _will_. Certain it is, that of all the rocks on
which foreigners split in the use of the Queen’s English, there
is none which so puzzles and perplexes them as the distinction
between these little words. Originally both words were employed
for the same purpose in other languages of the same stock with
ours; but their use has been worked out by the descendants of the
Anglo-Saxons, until it has attained a degree of nicety remarkable
in itself, and by no means easy of acquisition even by the subjects
of Victoria or by Americans. Every one has heard of the Dutchman
who, on falling into a river, cried out, “I will drown, and nobody
shall help me.” The Irish are perpetually using _shall_ for _will_,
while the Scotch use of _will_ for _shall_ is equally inveterate
and universal. Dr. Chalmers says: “I am not able to devote as
much time and attention to other subjects as I will be under the
necessity of doing next winter.” The use of _shall_ for _will_,
in the following passage, has led some critics strongly to suspect
that the author of the anonymous work, “Vestiges of Creation,” is
a Scotchman: “I do not expect that any word of praise which this
work may elicit shall ever be responded to by me; or that any word
of censure shall ever be parried or deprecated.” This awkward use
of _shall_, we have seen, is not a Scotticism; yet it is curious to
see how a writer who pertinaciously shrouds himself in mystery, may
be detected by the blundering use of a monosyllable. So the use of
the possessive neuter pronoun _its_ in the poems which Chatterton
wrote and palmed off as the productions of one Rowlie, a monk in
the fifteenth century, betrayed the forgery,--inasmuch as that
little monosyllable, _its_, now so common and convenient, did not
find its way into the language till about the time of Shakespeare.
Milton never once uses it, nor, except as a misprint, is it to be
found anywhere in the Bible.
Gilfillan, a Scotch writer, thus uses _will_ for shall: “If we
look within the rough and awkward outside, we will be richly
rewarded by its perusal.” So Alison, the historian: “We know to
what causes our past reverses have been owing, and we will have
ourselves to blame if they are again incurred.” Macaulay observes
that “not one Londoner in a thousand ever misplaces his _will_
and _shall_. Doctor Robinson could, undoubtedly, have written a
luminous dissertation on the use of those words. Yet, even in his
latest work, he sometimes misplaced them ludicrously.” But Doctor
Johnson was a Londoner, and he did not always use his _shalls_ and
_wills_ correctly, as will be seen by the following extract from a
letter to Boswell in 1774: “You must make haste and gather me all
you can, and do it quickly, or I _will_ and _shall_ do without
it.” In this anti-climax Johnson meant to emphasize the latter of
the auxiliaries. But _shall_ (Saxon, _sceal_ = _necesse est_) in
the first person, simply foretells; as, “I shall go to New York
to-morrow.” On the other hand, _will_, in the first person, not
only foretells, but promises, or declares the resolution to do
a thing; as, “I will pay you what I owe you.” The Doctor should
have said: “I shall and will do without it.” putting the strongest
term last. The confusion of the two words is steadily increasing
in this country. Formerly the only Americans who confounded them
were Southerners; now, the misuse of the word is stealing through
the North. _E.g._, “I will go to town to-morrow, and shall take
an early opportunity of calling on your friend there.” “We will
never look on his like again.” A writer in a New York paper says:
“None of our coal mines are deep, but the time is coming when we
will have to dig deeper in search of both coal and metallic ores.”
Again, we hear persons speak thus: “Let us keep a sharp lookout,
and we will avoid all danger.”
Shakespeare rarely confounded the two words; for example, in
“Coriolanus”:
“_Cor._ Shall remain!
Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you
His absolute _shall_?”
Again, in Antony and Cleopatra:
“_Meno._ Wilt thou be lord of the whole world?
_Senator._ He shall to the market-place.”
Wordsworth, too, who is one of the most accurate writers in our
literature, nicely discriminates in his use of _shall_ and _will_:
“This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.”
In the last passage determination is expressed, and therefore
_shall_ is properly used.
When the Bible was translated, the language was in a state of
transition; hence we read in Kings ii: “Ahab shall slay me,”
for _will_. In Genesis xliii, 3-5, the two words are nicely
discriminated. The distinction between them, strange to say, is
entirely ignored in the Revised Version; as _e.g._, Peter is told,
“Thou shalt deny me thrice”; and we read: “One of you shall betray
me,” where futurity only is expressed in the Greek.
According to Grimm, “shall” is derived from _skalan_, the
Scandinavian word for the pain of death, which is also the source
of our word “kill.” The predominant idea in “shall” is that of
doom. When choosing a term to express the inevitable future,
the founders of our language chose a term the most expressive
possible of a fatal, inevitable future. As “shall” contains the
idea of doom, “will” conveys the idea of choice. The general rule
to be followed in the use of the two words is, that when the
simple idea of future occurrence is to be expressed, unconnected
with the speaker’s resolve, we must use _shall_ in the first
person, and _will_ in the second and third; as, “I shall die,
you will die, he will die”; but when the idea of compulsion or
necessity is to be conveyed,--a futurity connected with the will
of the speaker,--_will_ must be employed in the first person,
and _shall_ in the second and third; as, “I will go, you shall
go, he shall go.” “I shall attain to thirty at my next birthday”
merely foretells the age to which the speaker will have reached at
his next birthday; “I will attain to thirty at my next birthday”
would imply a determination to be so old at the time mentioned.
“You shall have some money to-morrow” would imply a promise to
pay it; “you will have some money to-morrow” would only imply an
expectation that the person addressed would receive some money.
Similar to the misuse of _shall_ and _will_, is that of _would_
for should; as, “You promised that it would be done;” “But for
reinforcements we would have been beaten.” Mr. Brace, in his work
on Hungary, makes the people of that country say of Kossuth: “He
ought to have known that we would be ruined,”--which can only mean
“we wished to be ruined.”
The importance of attending to the distinction of _shall_ and
_will_, and to the nice distinctions of words generally, is
strikingly illustrated by an incident in Massachusetts. In
1844, Abner Rogers was tried in that state for the murder of
the warden of the penitentiary. The man who had been sent to
search the prisoner, said in evidence: “He (Rogers) said, ‘I have
fixed the warden, and I’ll have a rope round my neck.’ On the
strength of what he said, I took his suspenders from him.” Being
cross-examined, the witness said his words were: “I will have a
rope,” not “I shall have a rope.” The counsel against the prisoner
argued that he declared an intention of suicide, to escape from the
penalty of the law, which he knew he had incurred. On the other
hand, _shall_ would, no doubt, have been regarded as a betrayal
of his consciousness of having incurred a felon’s doom. The
prisoner was acquitted on the ground of insanity. Strange that the
fate of an alleged murderer should turn upon the question which
he used of two little words that are so frequently confounded,
and employed one for the other! It would be difficult to conceive
of a more pregnant comment on the importance of using words with
discrimination and accuracy.
It would be impossible, in the limits to which we are restricted,
to give all the nice distinctions to be observed in the use of
_shall_ and _will_. For a full explanation of the subject we
must refer the unlearned reader to the various English grammars,
and such works as Sir E. W. Head’s treatise on the two words,
and the works on Synonyms by Graham, Crabb, and Whately. Prof.
Schele DeVere, in his late “Studies in Language,” expresses the
opinion that this double future is a great beauty of the English
language, but that it is impossible to give any rule for its use,
which will cover all cases, and that the only sure guide is “that
instinct which is given to all who learn a language with their
mother’s milk, or who acquire it so successfully as to master
its spirit as well as its form.” His use of _will_ for _shall_,
in this very work, verifies the latter part of this statement,
and shows that a foreigner may have a profound knowledge of the
genius and constitution of a language, and yet be sorely puzzled
by its niceties and subtleties. “If we go back,” he says, “for
the purpose of thus tracing the history of nouns to the oldest
forms of English, we _will_ there find the method of forming them
from the first and simplest elements” (page 140). The “Edinburgh
Review” denounces the distinction of _shall_ and _will_, by their
neglect of which the Scotch are so often bewrayed, as one of the
most capricious and inconsistent of all imaginable irregularities,
and as at variance not less with original etymology than with
former usage. Prof. Marsh regards it as a verbal quibble, which
will soon disappear from our language. It is a quibble just as any
distinction is a quibble to persons who are too dull, too lazy,
or too careless to apprehend it. With as much propriety might the
distinction between the indicative and subjunctive forms of the
verb, or the distinction between _farther_ and _further_, _strong_
and _robust_, _empty_ and _vacant_, be pronounced a verbal quibble.
Sir Edmund W. Head has shown that the difference is not one which
has an existence only in the pedagogue’s brain, but that it is as
real and legitimate as that between _be_ and _am_, and dates back
as far as Wicliffe and Chaucer, while it has also the authority of
Shakespeare.
We conclude this chapter with the following lines by an English
poet:
“Beyond the vague Atlantic deep,
Far as the farthest prairies sweep,
Where forest glooms the nerves appall,
Where burns the radiant western fall,
One duty lies on old and young,--
With filial piety to guard,
As on its greenest native sward,
The glory of the English tongue.
That ample speech! That subtle speech!
Apt for the need of all and each:
Strong to endure, yet prompt to bend
Wherever human feelings tend.
Preserve its force,--conserve its powers;
And through the maze of civic life,
In letters, commerce, even in strife,
Forget not it is yours and ours.”
FOOTNOTE:
[46] See page 26.
PRINCIPAL BOOKS CONSULTED.
JOSEPH ANGUS. _Hand-Book of the English Tongue._ London, 1863.
ARISTOTLE. _Rhetoric._ Translated by John Gillies. London, 1823.
SAMUEL BAILEY. _Discourses on Various Subjects._ London, 1862.
W. L. BLACKLEY. _Word-Gossip._ London, 1869.
FRANCIS BOWEN. _Treatise on Logic._ Boston, 1874.
BREEN. _Modern English Literature._ London.
JOHN EARLE. _Philology of the English Tongue._ Oxford, 1871.
WILLIAM C. FOWLER. _The English Language in its Elements and Forms._
New York, 1860.
F. W. FARRAR. _The Origin of Language._ London, 1860.
“ _Chapters on Language._ London, 1873.
“ _Families of Speech._ London, 1873.
I. PLANT FLEMING. _Analysis of the English Language._ London, 1869.
G. F. GRAHAM. _A Book about Words._ London, 1869.
RICHARD GARNETT. _Philological Essays._ London, 1859.
MATTHEW HARRISON. _The Rise, Progress, and Present Structure of the
English Language._ London, 1848.
EDWARD N. HOARE. _Exotics, or English Words Derived from Latin Roots._
London, 1863.
EDMUND W. HEAD. _“Shall” and “Will.”_ London, 1858.
R. G. LATHAM. _The English Language._ London, 1873.
GEORGE C. LEWIS. _Remarks on the Use and Abuse of Some Political
Terms._ Oxford, 1877.
MARK A. LOWER. _An Essay on Family Nomenclature._ (Two Volumes.)
London, 1875.
GEORGE P. MARSH. _Lectures on the English Language._ New York, 1860.
“ _The Origin and History of the English Language._
New York, 1862.
J. S. MILL. _A System of Logic._ New York, 1869.
MAX MÜLLER. _Lectures on the Science of Language._ (First and Second
Series.) New York, 1865.
J. H. NEWMAN. _The Idea of a University._ London, 1873.
NOTES AND QUERIES. London, 1852.
ERNEST RENAN. _De l’Origine du Langage._ Paris, 1864.
W. T. SHEDD. _Homiletics and Pastoral Theology._ New York, 1867.
ARCHDEACON SMITH. _Common Words with Curious Derivations._ London,
1865.
JOHN STODDARD. _The Philosophy of Language._ London, 1854.
WILLIAM THOMSON. _Outline of the Necessary Laws of Thought._ London,
1857.
JOHN HORNE TOOKE. _The Diversions of Purley._ London, 1860.
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. _On the Study of Words._ London, 1869.
“ _English, Past and Present._ 6th ed. London,
1868.
“ _Select Glossary of English Words._ 3d ed.
London, 1865.
RICHARD WHATELY. _Elements of Logic._ New York, 1865.
“ _Elements of Rhetoric._ New York, 1866.
HENSLEIGH WEDGWOOD. _Etymological Dictionary._ London, 1872.
W. D. WHITNEY. _Language and the Study of Language._ New York, 1867.
“ _The Life and Growth of Language._ New York, 1875.
E. P. WHITTLE. _Essays and Reviews._ Boston, 1856.
“ _Literature and Life._ Boston, 1871.
ESSAYS BY A BARRISTER. London, 1862.
INDEX.
A.
abdicate and desert, 282.
abominable, 392.
accord, 467.
a confirmed invalid, 455.
Addington, nicknamed by Sheridan, 361.
Adullamites, 362.
agriculturalist, 445.
alert, 395.
Alexander, Addison, D.D., his lines on small words, 157.
alligator, 387.
all of them, 459.
all right, 72.
almost, 464.
alms, 419.
alone, 448.
American orators, their diffuseness, 179-181;
their exaggeration, 185.
Americans, spendthrifts of language, 179;
their exaggeration, 184, 187.
Amphibolous sentences, 291.
and, 285.
anecdote, 378.
Animals, cannot generalize, or designate things by signs, 1-2.
an innumerable number, 465.
animosity, 384.
antecedents, 430.
anyhow, 446.
apology, 271.
apple-pie order, 402.
appreciates, 455.
Aristotle, on frigidity of style, 117.
Armstrong, 338.
Arnold, Dr. Thomas, on the styles of historians, 65, 66.
artesian, 408.
artillery, 379.
assassin, 396.
astonish, 376.
atom, 320.
at all, 449.
_atte_, _at_, 331.
attraction, 84.
avocation, 448.