often indulge in Slang words when force of expression or a little humour
is desired, or when the various writers wish to say something which is
better said in Slang, or so-called vulgar speech, than in the authorized
language. Bartlett, the compiler of the _Dictionary of Americanisms_,
continually cites the _Athenæum_ as using Slang and vulgar expressions;
but the magazine the American refers to is not the literary journal of
the present day,—it was a smaller, and now defunct, “weekly.” The
present possessor of the classic title is, though, by no means
behindhand in its devotion to colloquialisms. Many other highly
respectable journals often use Slang words and phrases. The _Times_ (or,
in Slang, the “Thunderer”) frequently employs unauthorized terms; and,
following a “leader”[54] of the purest and most eloquent composition, may
sometimes be seen another “article”[54] on a totally different subject,
containing, perhaps, a score or more of exceedingly questionable words.
Among the words and phrases which may be included under the head of
Literary Slang are, “balaam,” matter kept constantly in type about
monstrous productions of nature, to fill up spaces in newspapers;
“balaam-box,” the term given in _Blackwood_ to the repository for
rejected articles; and “slate,” to pelt with abuse, or “cut up” in a
review. “He’s the fellow to slate a piece” is often said of dramatic
critics, especially of those who through youth, inexperience, and the
process of unnatural selection which causes them to be critics, imagine
that to abuse all that is above their comprehension is to properly
exercise the critical faculty. This is, however, dangerous ground. The
Slang names given to newspapers are curious;—thus, the _Morning
Advertiser_ is known as the “Tap-tub,” the “’Tizer,” and was until
recently the “Gin and Gospel Gazette.” The _Morning Post_ has obtained
the suggestive sobriquet of “Jeames;” whilst the _Morning Herald_ was
long caricatured as “Mrs. Harris,” and the _Standard_ as “Mrs.
Gamp.”[55]
The _Stage_, of course, has its Slang—“both before and behind the
curtain,” as a journalist remarks. The stage-manager is familiarly
termed “daddy;” and an actor by profession, or a “professional,” is
called a “pro.” It is amusing at times to hear a young actor—who struts
about padded with copies of all newspapers that have mentioned his
name—talking, in a mixed company, of the stage as _the_ profession.
This is after all but natural, for to him “all the world’s a stage.” A
man who is occasionally hired at a trifling remuneration to come upon
the stage as one of a crowd, or when a number of actors are wanted to
give effect, is named a “supe,”—an abbreviation of “supernumerary.” A
“surf” is a third-rate actor, who frequently pursues another calling;
and the band, or orchestra between the pit and the stage, is generally
spoken of as the “menagerie.” A “ben” is a benefit; and “sal” is the
Slang abbreviation of “salary.” Should no money be forthcoming on the
Saturday night, it is said that the “ghost doesn’t walk;” or else the
statement goes abroad that there is “no treasury,” as though the coffers
themselves had departed. The travelling or provincial theatricals, who
perform in any large room that can be rented in a country village, are
called “barn-stormers.” A “length” is forty-two lines of any dramatic
composition; and a “run” is the continuous term of a piece’s
performance. A “saddle” is the additional charge made by a manager to an
actor or actress upon his or her benefit night. To “mug up” is to paint
one’s face, or arrange the person, to represent a particular character;
to “corpse,” or to “stick,” is to balk, or put the other actors out in
their parts by forgetting yours. A performance is spoken of as either a
“gooser” or a “screamer,” should it be a failure or a great success;—if
the latter, it is not infrequently termed a “hit.” To “goose” a
performance is to hiss it; and continued “goosing” generally ends, or
did end before managers refused to accept the verdict of audiences, in
the play or the players being “damned.” To “star it” is to perform as
the centre of attraction, with your name in large type, and none but
subordinates and indifferent actors in the same performance. The
expressive term “clap-trap,” high-sounding nonsense, is nothing but an
ancient theatrical term, and signified a “trap” to catch a “clap” by way
of applause. “Up amongst the ‘gods,’” refers to being among the
spectators in the gallery,—termed in French Slang “paradis.”
There exists, too, in the great territory of vulgar speech what may not
inappropriately be termed Civic Slang. It consists of mercantile and
Stock Exchange terms, and the Slang of good living and wealth. A turkey
hung with sausages is facetiously styled an “alderman in chains,”—a
term which has spread from the City and become general; and a
half-crown, perhaps from its rotundity, is often termed an “alderman.” A
“bear” is a speculator on the Exchange; and a “bull,” although of an
opposite order, follows a like profession. There is something very
humorous and applicable in the Slang term “lame duck,” a defaulter in
stock-jobbing speculations. The allusion to his “waddling out of the
Alley,” as they say, is excellent. “Breaking shins,” in City Slang, is
borrowing money; a rotten or unsound scheme is spoken of as “fishy;”
“rigging the market” means playing tricks with it; and “stag” was a
common term during the railway mania for a speculator without capital, a
seller of “scrip” in “Diddlesex Junction” and other equally safe lines.
At Tattersall’s a “monkey” is 500_l._, and in the City a “plum” is
100,000_l._, and a “marygold” is one million sterling. But before
proceeding further in a sketch of the different kinds of Slang, it may
be as well to speak here of the extraordinary number of Cant and Slang
terms in use to represent money—from farthings to bank-notes the value
of fortunes. Her Majesty’s coin, collectively or in the piece, is known
by more than one hundred and thirty distinct Slang words, from the
humble “brown” (a halfpenny) to “flimsies,” or “long-tailed ones”
(bank-notes).
“Money,” it has been well remarked, “the bare, simple word itself, has a
sonorous, significant ring in its sound,” and might have sufficed, one
would have imagined, for all ordinary purposes, excepting, of course,
those demanded by direct reference to specific sums. But a vulgar or
“fast” society has thought differently; and so we have the Slang
synonyms—“beans,” “blunt” (_i.e._, specie,—not soft or rags,
bank-notes), “brads,” “brass,” “bustle,” “coppers” (copper money, or
mixed pence), “chink,” “chinkers,” “chips,” “corks,” “dibbs,” “dinarly,”
“dimmock,” “dust,” “feathers,” “gent” (silver,—from argent), “haddock”
(a purse of money), “horse nails,” “huckster,” “loaver,” “lour” (the
oldest Cant term for money), “mopusses,” “needful,” “nobbings” (money
collected in a hat by street-performers), “ochre” (gold), “pewter,”
“palm oil,” “pieces,” “posh,” “queen’s pictures,” “quids,” “rags”
(bank-notes), “ready,” or “ready gilt,” “redge” (gold), “rhino,”
“rowdy,” “shiners” (sovereigns), “skin” (a purse of money), “stiff”
(checks, or bills of acceptance), “stuff,” “stumpy,” “tin” (silver),
“wedge” (silver), and “yellow-boys” (sovereigns);—just forty-three
vulgar equivalents for the simple word money. So attentive is Slang
speech to financial matters, that there are seven terms for bad, or
“bogus,” coin (as our friends the Americans call it): a “case” is a
counterfeit five-shilling piece; “half a case” represents half that sum;
“grays” are halfpence made specially for unfair gambling purposes;
“queer-soft” is counterfeit or lead coin; “schofel” refers to coated or
spurious coin; “sheen” is bad money of any description; and “sinkers”
bears the same and not inappropriate meaning. “Snide” is now the generic
term for all bad money, whether coined or in notes; and “snide-pitching”
or “schoful-tossing” is the term in use among the professors of that
pursuit for what is more generally known as “smashing.” “Flying the
kite,” or obtaining money on bills and promissory-notes, is closely
connected with the allegorical expression of “raising the wind,” which
is a well-known phrase for procuring money by immediate sale, pledging,
or by a forced loan. In winter or in summer any elderly gentleman who
may have prospered in life is pronounced “warm;” whilst an equivalent is
immediately at hand in the phrase “his pockets are well lined,” or “he
is well breeched.” Each separate piece of money has its own Slang term,
and often half a score of synonyms. To begin with that extremely humble
coin, a farthing: first we have “fadge,” then “fiddler;” then “gig,” and
lastly “quartereen.” A halfpenny is a “brown” or a “madzer (pronounced
‘medzer’) saltee” (Cant), or a “mag,” or a “posh,” or a “rap,”—whence
the popular phrase, “I don’t care a rap.” The useful and universal penny
has for Slang equivalents a “copper,” a “saltee” (Cant), and a “winn.”
Twopence is a “deuce,” and threepence is either “thrums” or “thrups.”
“Thrums” has a special peculiarity; for while “thrums-buskin” represents
threepence-halfpenny, the term “buskin” is not used in connexion with
any other number of pence. Fourpence, or a groat, may in vulgar speech
be termed a “bit,” a “flag,” or a “joey.” Sixpence is well represented
in street talk, and some of the slangisms are very comical—for
instance, “bandy,” “bender,” “cripple,” and “downer;” then we have
“buck,” “fye-b’ck,” “half a hog,” “kick” (thus “two and a ‘kick,’” or
2_s._ 6_d._), “lord of the manor,”[56] “pig,” “pot” (the price of a pot
of ale—thus half-a-crown is a “five ‘pot’ piece”), “snid,” “sprat,”
“sow’s baby,” “tanner,” “tester,” “tizzy,”—seventeen vulgar words to
one coin. Sevenpence being an uncommon amount has only one Slang
synonym, “setter.” The same remark applies to eightpence and ninepence,
the former being only represented by “otter,” and the latter by the
Cant phrase “nobba-saltee.” Tenpence is “dacha-saltee,” and elevenpence
“dacha-one,”—both Cant expressions. It is noticeable that coined
pieces, and sums which from their smallness or otherwise are mostly in
use, receive a commensurate amount of attention from promoters of Slang.
One shilling boasts eleven Slang equivalents; thus we have “beong,”
“bob,” “breaky-leg,” “deener,” “gen” (from the back Slang), “hog,”
“levy,” “peg,” “stag,” “teviss,” and “twelver.” One shilling and
sixpence is a “kye,” now and then an “eighteener.” It is noticeable that
so far the florin has escaped, and only receives the shilling titles
with the required numeral adjective prefixed. Half-a-crown is known as
an “alderman,” “half a bull,” “half a wheel,” “half a tusheroon,” and a
“madza (medzer) caroon;” whilst a crown piece, or five shillings, may be
called either a “bull,” a “caroon,” a “cartwheel,” or a “coachwheel,”
or, more generally than either, a “wheel” or a “tusheroon.” The word
“dollar” is in general use among costermongers and their customers, and
signifies exactly five shillings. Any term representing this amount
“takes in two,” and represents the half-crown by the addition of the
usual prefix. The next advance in Slang money is ten shillings, or
half-a-sovereign, which may be either pronounced as “half a bean,” “half
a couter,” “a madza poona,” “half a quid,” or “half a thick ’un.” A
sovereign, or twenty shillings, is a “bean,” “canary,” “couter,”
“foont,” “goldfinch,” “James” (from Jacobus), “poona,” “portrait,”
“quid,” “thick-un,” or “yellow-boy.” Guineas are nearly obsolete, yet
the terms “neds” and “half neds” are still in use. Bank-notes are
“flimsies,” “long-tailed ones,” or “soft.” A “fin,” or a “finnuf,” is a
five-pound note. Twenty-five pounds is a “pony,” and a hundred a
“century.” One hundred pounds (or any other “round sum”), quietly handed
over as payment for services performed, is curiously termed “a ‘cool’
hundred.” Thus ends, with several necessary omissions, this long list of
Slang terms for the coins of the realm which, for copiousness, it is not
too much to say, is not equalled by any other vulgar or unauthorized
language in Europe.
The antiquity of many of these Slang names is remarkable. “Winn” was the
vulgar term for a penny in the days of Queen Elizabeth; and “tester,” a
sixpence (formerly a shilling), was the correct name in the days of
Henry VIII. The reader, too, will have remarked the frequency of
animals’ names as Slang terms for money. Little, as a modern writer has
remarked, do the persons using these phrases know of their remote and
somewhat classical origin, which may, indeed, be traced to a period
anterior to that when monarchs monopolized the surface of coined money
with their own images and superscriptions. They are identical with the
very name of money among the early Romans, which was _pecunia_, from
_pecus_, a flock. The collections of coin-dealers amply show that the
figure of a “hog” was anciently placed on a small silver coin; and that
that of a “bull” decorated larger ones of the same metal. These coins
were frequently deeply crossed on the reverse; this was for the
convenience of easily breaking them into two or more pieces, should the
bargain for which they were employed require it, and the parties making
it had no smaller change handy to complete the transaction. Thus we find
that the “half bull” of the itinerant street-seller, or “traveller,” so
far from being a phrase of modern invention, as is generally supposed,
is in point of fact referable to an era extremely remote. This remark
will safely apply to most descriptions of money; and it must not be
forgotten that farthing is but a corruption of fourthing, or, literally,
fourth part of a penny. The representative coin of the realm was often
in olden times made to break up,—but this by the way. It is a reminder,
however, that the word “smash,” as used by the classes that speak Slang
from motives other than those of affectation, has nothing whatever to do
with base coin, as is generally supposed. It simply means to give
change. Thus:—“Can you smash a thick ’un for me?” means simply, “Can
you give me change for a sovereign?” We learn from Erizzo, in his
_Discorso_, a further illustration of the proverb “that there is nothing
new under the sun;” for he says that the Roman boys at the time of
Hadrian tossed up their coppers and cried, “Head or ship;” of which
tradition our “heads or tails,” and “man or woman,” or “a tanner I heads
’em,” is certainly a less refined version. We thence gather, however,
that the prow of a vessel would appear to have been the more ordinary
device of the reverse of the brass coin of that ancient period. There
are many other Cant words directly from a classic source, as will be
seen in the dictionary.
Shopkeepers’ Slang is perhaps the most offensive of all Slang, though
this is not intended to imply that shopkeepers are perhaps the most
offensive of people. This kind of Slang is not a casual eyesore, as
newspaper Slang, neither is it an occasional discomfort to the ear, as
in the case of some vulgar byword of the street; but it is a perpetual
nuisance, and stares you in the face on tradesmen’s invoices, on labels
in the shop-windows, and placards on the hoardings, in posters against
the house next to your own—if it happen to be empty for a few
weeks—and in bills thrust into your hand, as you peaceably walk through
the streets. Under your door, and down your area, Slang handbills are
dropped by some “pushing” tradesman; and for the thousandth time you are
called upon to learn that an “alarming sacrifice” is taking place in the
next street; that prices are “down again;” that, in consequence of some
other tradesman not “driving a roaring trade,” being in fact, “sold up,”
and for the time being a resident in “Burdon’s Hotel” (Whitecross-Street
Prison), the “pushing” tradesman wishes to sell out at “awfully low
prices,” to “the kind patrons, and numerous customers,” &c. &c., “that
have on every occasion,” &c. &c. These are, though, very venial
offenders compared with those ghouls, the advertising undertakers, who
employ boys, loaded with ghastly little books, to follow up the parish
doctor, and leave their horrible wares wherever he calls. But what can
be expected of ignorant undertakers when a London newspaper of large
circulation actually takes out the death records from the _Times_, and
sends a circular to each address therein, informing the bereaved persons
that the “----” charges so much per line for similar notices, and that
its circulation is most extensive? Surely the typical “death-hunter,”
hardened though he may be, is hardly down to that level. In shopkeeping
Slang any occupation or calling is termed a “line,”—thus, the “building
line.” A tailor usurps to himself a good deal of Slang. Amongst
operatives he is called a “snip,” a “steel-bar driver,” a “cabbage
contractor,” or a “goose persuader;” by the world, a “ninth part of a
man;” and by the young collegian, or “fast” man, a “sufferer.” If he
takes army contracts, it is “sank work;” if he is a “slop” tailor, he is
a “springer up,” and his garments are “blown together.” Perquisites with
him are “spiffs,” and remnants of cloth “peaking, or cabbage.” The
per-centage he allows to his assistants (or “counter jumpers”) on the
sale of old-fashioned articles is termed “tinge.” If he pays his workmen
in goods, or gives them tickets upon other tradesmen, with whom he
shares the profit, he is soon known as a “tommy master.” If his business
succeeds, it “takes;” if neglected, it becomes “shaky,” and “goes to
pot;” if he is deceived by a debtor (a by no means unusual
circumstance), he is “let in,” or, as it is sometimes varied, “taken
in.” It need scarcely be remarked that any credit he may give is termed
“tick.”
Operatives’ or workmen’s Slang, in quality, is but slightly removed from
tradesmen’s Slang. When belonging to the same shop or factory, they
“graft” there, and are “brother chips.” Among printers the favourite
term is “comps,”—not compositors, though the same contraction is used
for that word,—but companions, whether so in actual fact, or as members
of the same “companionship.” A companionship is the number of men
engaged on any one work, and this is in turn reduced to “ship:”
sometimes it is a “’stab ship,” _i.e._, paid by the week, therefore on
the establishment; sometimes it is “on the piece,” and anyhow it is an
extremely critical organization, so perhaps it would be better to
broaden the subject. Workmen generally dine at “slap-bang shops,” and
are often paid at “tommy shops.” At the nearest “pub,” or public-house,
they generally have a “score chalked up” against them, which has to be
“wiped off” regularly on the Saturday night. This is often known as a
“light.” When credit is bad the “light” is said to be out. When out of
work, they describe themselves as being “out of collar.” They term each
other “flints” and “dungs,” if they are “society” or “non-society” men.
Their salary is a “screw,” and to be discharged is to “get the sack,”
varied by the expression “get the bullet,” the connexion of which with
discharge is obvious, as the small lecturers—those at the Polytechnic
for instance—say, to the meanest capacity. When they quit work, they
“knock off;” and when out of employ, they ask if any “hands” are, or any
assistance is, wanted. “Fat” is the vulgar synonym for perquisites;
“elbow grease” signifies labour; and “Saint Monday” is the favourite day
of the week. Names of animals figure plentifully in the workman’s
vocabulary; thus we have “goose,” a tailor’s smoothing-iron;
“sheep’s-foot,” an iron hammer; “sow,” a receptacle for molten iron,
whilst the metal poured from it is termed “pig.” Many of the Slang terms
for money may have originally come from the workshop, thus—“brads,”
from the ironmonger; “chips,” from the carpenter; “dust,” from the
goldsmith; “feathers,” from the upholsterer; “horse-nails,” from the
farrier; “haddock,” from the fishmonger; and “tanner and skin” from the
leather-dresser.
If society, as has been remarked, is a sham, from the vulgar foundation
of commonalty to the crowning summit of royalty, then do we perceive the
justness of the remark in that most peculiar of peculiarities, the Slang
of makeshifts for oaths, and sham exclamations for passion and temper.
These apologies for feeling are an addition to our vernacular, and
though some argue that they are a disgrace, for the reason that no man
should pretend to swear or curse who does not do so, it is some
satisfaction to know that they serve the purpose of reducing the stock
of national profanity. “You be blowed,” or “I’ll be blowed if,” &c., is
an exclamation often heard in the streets. “Blazes,” or “like blazes,”
came probably from the army, unless, indeed, it came from the original
metaphor, afterwards corrupted, to serve all turns, “to smoke like
blazes.” “Blast,” too, although in general vulgar use, may have had an
engineering or military origin, and the phrase, “I wish I may be shot,
if,” smacks much of powder. “Blow me tight” is a very windy and common
exclamation. The same may be said of “strike me lucky,” “never trust
me,” and “so help me Davy;” the latter being evidently derived from the
truer old phrase, “I’ll take my Davy on’t”—_i.e._, my affidavit,
“Davy,” and sometimes “Alfred Davy,” being a corruption of that word.
“By Golly,” “Gol darn it,” and “so help”—generally pronounced “selp” or
“swelp”—“me Bob,” are evident shams for profane oaths. “Tarnation” is
but a softening of damnation; and “od,” whether used in “od drat it,” or
“od’s blood,” is but an apology for the name of the Deity. “Marry,” a
term of asseveration in common use, was originally, in Popish times, a
mode of swearing by the Virgin Mary;—so also “marrow-bones,” for the
knees. “I’ll bring him down upon his marrow-bones,”—_i.e._, I’ll make
him bend his knees as he does to the Virgin Mary. The Irish phrase, “Bad
scran to yer!” is equivalent to wishing a person bad food. “I’m
sniggered if you will,” and “I’m jiggered,” are other mild forms of
swearing among men fearful of committing an open profanity, yet slily
nibbling at the sin. Maybe, some day one of these adventurers will meet
with the object of his desires, and then when fairly “jiggered,”
whatever it may ultimately turn out to be, it is to be hoped he will
prove a fearful example to all persons with the will, but not the pluck,
to swear fierce oaths. Both “deuce” and “dickens” are vulgar old
synonyms for the devil; and “zounds” is an abbreviation of “God’s
wounds,”—a very ancient oath.
In a casual survey of the territory of Slang, it is curious to observe
how well represented are the familiar wants and failings of life. First,
there is money, with one hundred and odd Slang terms and synonyms; then
comes drink, from small beer to champagne; and next as a very natural
sequence, intoxication, and fuddlement generally, with some half a
hundred vulgar terms, graduating the scale of drunkenness, from a slight
inebriation to the soaky state which leads to the gutter, sometimes to
the stretcher, the station-house, the fine, and, most terrible of all,
the “caution.” The Slang synonyms for mild intoxication are certainly
very choice,—they are “beery,” “bemused,” “boozy,” “bosky,” “buffy,”
“corned,” “foggy,” “fou,” “fresh,” “hazy,” “elevated,” “kisky,” “lushy,”
“moony,” “muggy,” “muzzy,” “on,” “screwed,” “stewed,” “tight,” and
“winey.” A higher or more intense state of beastliness is represented by
the expressions, “podgy,” “beargered,” “blued,” “cut,” “primed,”
“lumpy,” “ploughed,” “muddled,” “obfuscated,” “swipey,” “three sheets in
the wind,” and “top-heavy.” But the climax of fuddlement is only
obtained when the “disguised” individual “can’t see a hole in a ladder,”
or when he is all “mops and brooms,” or “off his nut,” or with his
“main-brace well spliced,” or with the “sun in his eyes,” or when he
has “lapped the gutter,” and got the “gravel rash,” or is on the
“ran-tan,” or on the “ree-raw,” or when “sewed up,” and regularly
“scammered,”—then, and not till then, is he entitled, in vulgar
society, to the title of “lushington,” or recommended to “put in the
pin,” _i.e._, the linch-pin, to keep his legs steady.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] An outgrowth of this latter peculiarity consisted in anyone with a
high or prominent nose being, a few years back, called by the street
boys “Duke.”
[33] This term, with a singular literal downrightness, which would be
remarkable in any other people than the French, is translated by them as
the sect of _Trembleurs_.
[34] Swift alludes to this term in his _Art of Polite Conversation_, p.
14, 1738.
[35] See _Notes and Queries_, vol. i. p. 185. 1850.