THE COMIC ENGLISH GRAMMAR.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
[Illustration]
THE COMIC ENGLISH GRAMMAR;
A NEW AND FACETIOUS
Introduction to the English Tongue.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE COMIC LATIN GRAMMAR.
EMBELLISHED WITH UPWARDS OF FIFTY
CHARACTERISTIC ILLUSTRATIONS
BY J. LEECH.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1840.
TO MR. GEORGE ROBINS,
A Writer unrivalled in this or any other Age for
AN ORIGINALITY OF STYLE,
(if the expression may be pardoned) _quite unique_, and a Dexterity in
the USE OF METAPHOR unparalleled; whose multifarious and sublime--it
would not be too much to say talented--COMPOSITIONS would, it may be
fearlessly asserted, afford any
ENTERPRISING PUBLISHER
a not-every-day-to-be-met-with, and not in-a-hurry-to-be-relinquished
opportunity for an
ELIGIBLE INVESTMENT OF CAPITAL,
forming a Property which, under judicious management, would soon become
entitled to the well-merited appellation of a
PRINCELY DOMAIN!
which, without exciting a blush in the mind of veracity, might be said
(in a literary point of view) to be fertilised by a meandering rivulet
of Poetry, comparable for Beauty and Picturesque Effect to
THE SILVERY STREAM OF THE ISIS;
whose richness (equalled only by his fidelity) of description,
presenting a refreshing contrast to the style of his various compeers,
precludes the attempt to perpetrate a panegyric, otherwise than by
assuming the responsibility and risk of applying to him the words of our
IMMORTAL BARD:
“Take him for all in all
We ne’er shall see his like again.”
This little Treatise on
COMIC ENGLISH
is, with the most profound VENERATION, ADMIRATION, nay, even with
RESPECT (and the term is used “advisedly”)
humbly dedicated
by
HIS MOST OBLIGED AND MOST
OBEDIENT SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
It may be considered a strange wish on the part of an Author, to have his
preface compared to a donkey’s gallop. We are nevertheless desirous that
our own should be considered both short and sweet. For our part, indeed,
we would have every preface as short as an orator’s cough, to which, in
purpose, it is so nearly like; but Fashion requires, and like the rest of
her sex, requires _because_ she requires, that before a writer begins the
business of his book, he should give an account to the world of his
reasons for producing it; and therefore, to avoid singularity, we shall
proceed with the statement of our own, excepting only a few private ones,
which are neither here nor there.
To advance the interests of mankind by promoting the cause of Education;
to ameliorate the conversation of the masses; to cultivate Taste, and
diffuse Refinement; these are the objects which we have in view in
submitting a Comic English Grammar to the patronage of a discerning
Public. Nor have we been actuated by philanthropic motives alone, but also
by a regard to Patriotism, which, as it has been pronounced on high
authority to be the last refuge of a scoundrel, must necessarily be the
first concern of an aspiring and disinterested mind. We felt ourselves
called upon to do as much, at least, for Modern England as we had before
done for Ancient Rome; and having been considered by competent judges to
have infused a little liveliness into a dead language, we were bold enough
to hope that we might extract some amusement from a living one.
Few persons there are, whose ears are so extremely obtuse, as not to be
frequently annoyed at the violations of Grammar by which they are so often
assailed. It is really painful to be forced, in walking along the streets,
to hear such phrases as, “That _’ere h_omnibus.” “Where’ve you _bin_.”
“_Vot’s_ the _h_odds?” and the like. Very dreadful expressions are also
used by draymen and others in addressing their horses. What can possibly
induce a human being to say “Gee woot!” “’Mather way!” or “Woa?” not to
mention the atrocious “Kim aup!” of the ignorant and degraded
costermonger. We once actually heard a fellow threaten to “pitch into” his
dog! meaning, we believe, to beat the animal.
It is notorious that the above and greater enormities are perpetrated in
spite of the number of Grammars already before the world. This fact
sufficiently excuses the present addition to the stock; and as serious
English Grammars have hitherto failed to effect the desired reformation,
we are induced to attempt it by means of a Comic one.
With regard to the moral tendency of our labours, we may here be permitted
to remark, that they will tend, if successful, to the suppression of _evil
speaking_.
We shall only add, that as the Spartans used to exhibit a tipsy slave to
their children with a view to disgust them with drunkenness, so we, by
giving a few examples here and there, of incorrect phraseology, shall
expose, in their naked deformity, the vices of speech to the ingenuous
reader.
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FRONTISPIECE. Page
MINERVA TEACHING x
JOHN BULL 12
THE “PRODIGY” 14
“JANE YOU KNOW WHO” 18
MUTES AND LIQUIDS 23
AWKWARD LOUT 24
HA! HA! HA! HO! HO! HO! HE! HE! HE! 27
“O!, WHAT, A, LARK!--HERE, WE, ARE!” 28
ALDIBORONTIPHOSCOPHORMIO AND CHRONONHOTONTHOLOGOS 34
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS 40
APPLE SAUCE 45
MATILDA 48
A SOCIALIST 50
“SHAN’T I SHINE TO NIGHT, DEAR?” 51
JULIA 57
A VERY BAD CASE 59
A SELECT VESTRY 69
SELF-ESTEEM 78
“FACT, MADAM!”--“GRACIOUS, MAJOR!” 82
YEARS OF DISCRETION 89
“I SHALL GIVE YOU A DRUBBING!” 97
A COMICAL CONJUNCTION 106
“AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED” 108
“HOW’S YOUR INSPECTOR?” 119
“WHAT A DUCK OF A MAN!” 120
THE FLIRT 122
THE CAPTAIN 128
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON 131
“OH! YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING MAN!” 137
THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN 139
“VIRTUE’S REWARD” 142
“NOT TO MINCE MATTERS, MISS, I LOVE YOU” 145
THE FRENCH MARQUIS 149
“THE ENGAGED ONES” 153
“THE LADIES!” 156
“HIT ONE OF YOUR OWN SIZE!” 158
ALL FOR LOVE 169
“TALE OF A TUB” 170
“A RESPECTABLE MAN” 177
DOING WHAT YOU LIKE WITH YOUR OWN 180
“WHAT A LITTLE DEAR!” 183
BRUTUS 187
THE TWO DOVES 190
“THE NASTY LITTLE SQUALLING BRAT” 205
“OH, JEMIMA!” 214
LOVE AND MURDER 216
STANDING ON POINTS 218
“WHERE GOT’ST THOU THAT GOOSE?” 219
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE.
Our native country having been, from time immemorial, entitled _Merry_
England, it is clear that, provided it has been called by a right name, a
Comic Grammar will afford the most hopeful means of teaching its
inhabitants their language.
That the epithet in question has been correctly applied, it will therefore
be our business to show.
If we can only prove that things which foreigners regard in the most
serious point of view, and which, perhaps, ought in reality to be so
considered, afford the modern Minotaur John Bull, merely matter of
amusement, we shall go far towards the establishment of our position. We
hope to do this and more also.
Births, marriages, and deaths, especially the latter, must be allowed to
be matters of some consequence. Every one knows what jokes are made upon
the two first subjects. Those which the remaining one affords, we shall
proceed to consider.
Suicide, for instance, is looked upon by Mr. Bull with a very different
eye from that with which his neighbours regard it. As to an abortive
attempt thereat, it excites in his mind unmitigated ridicule, instead of
interest and sympathy. In Paris a foolish fellow, discontented with the
world, or, more probably, failing in some attempt to make himself
conspicuous, ties a brickbat to his neck, and jumps, at twelve o’clock of
the day, into the Seine. He thereby excites great admiration in the minds
of the bystanders; but were he to play the same trick on London Bridge, as
soon as he had been pulled out of the water he would only be laughed at
for his pains.
There was a certain gentleman, an officer in the navy, one Lieutenant
Luff; at least we have never heard the fact of his existence disputed; who
used to spend all his time in drinking grog; and at last, when he could
get no more, thought proper to shoot himself through the chest. In France
he would have been buried in Père La Chaise, or some such place, and would
have had an ode written to his memory. As his native country, however, was
the scene of his exploit, he was interred, for the affair happened some
years ago, in a cross-road; and his fate has been made the subject of a
comic song.
That our countrymen regard Death as a jest, no one who considers their
bravery in war or their appetite in peace, can possibly doubt. And the
expressions, “to hop the twig,” “to kick the bucket,” “to go off the
hooks,” “to turn up the toes,” and so on, vernacularly used as synonymous
with “to expire,” sufficiently show the jocular light in which the last
act of the farce of Life is viewed in Her Majesty’s dominions.
An execution is looked upon abroad as a serious affair; but with us it is
quite another matter. Capital punishments, whatever they may be to the
sufferers, are to the spectators, if we may judge from their behaviour,
little else than capital jokes. The terms which, in common discourse, are
used by the humble classes to denote the pensile state, namely, “dancing
on nothing,” “having a drop too much,” or “being troubled with a line,”
are quite playful, and the “Last Dying Speech” of the criminal is usually
a species of composition which might well be called “An Entertaining
Narrative illustrated with Humourous Designs.”
The play of George Barnwell, in which a deluded linendraper’s apprentice
commits a horrid murder on the body of a pious uncle, excites, whenever it
is represented, as much amusement as if it were a comedy; and there is
also a ballad detailing the same circumstances, which, when sung at
convivial meetings, is productive of much merriment. Billy Taylor, too,
another ballad of the same sort, celebrates, in jocund strains, an act of
unjustifiable homicide.
Even the terrors of the other world are converted, in Great Britain, into
the drolleries of this. The awful apparitions of the unfortunate Miss
Bailey, and the equally unfortunate Mr. Giles Scroggins, have each of them
furnished the materials of a comical ditty; and the terrific appearance of
the Ghost of a Sheep’s Head to one William White,--a prodigy which would
be considered in Germany as fearful in the extreme, has been applied, by
some popular but anonymous writer, to the same purpose. The bodily
ablation of an unprincipled exciseman by the Prince of Darkness, a
circumstance in itself certainly of a serious nature, has been recorded by
one of our greatest poets in strains by no means remarkable for gravity.
The appellation, “Old Nick,” applied by the vulgar to the Prince in
question, is, in every sense of the words, a nickname; and the aliases by
which, like many of his subjects, he is also called and known, such as
“Old Scratch,” “Old Harry,” or “The Old Gentleman,” are, to say the very
least of them, terms that border on the familiar.
In the popular drama of Punch,[1] we observe a perfect climax of
atrocities and horrors. Victim after victim falls prostrate beneath the
cudgel of the deformed and barbarous monster; the very first who feels his
tyranny being the wife of his bosom. He, meanwhile, behaves in the most
heartless manner, actually singing and capering among the mangled
carcases. Benevolence is shocked, Justice is derided, Law is set at
nought, and Constables are slain. The fate to which he had been consigned
by a Jury of his Country is eluded; and the Avenger of Crime is
circumvented by the wily assassin. Lastly, to crown the whole, Retribution
herself is mocked; and the very Arch Fiend is dismissed to his own
dominions with a fractured skull. And at every stage of these frightful
proceedings shouts of uproarious laughter attest the delight of the
beholders, increasing in violence with every additional terror, and
swelling at the concluding one to an almost inextinguishable peal.
Indeed there is scarcely any shocking thing out of which we can extract no
amusement, except the loss of money, wherein, at least when it is our own,
we cannot see anything to laugh at.
Some will say that we make it a principle to convert whatever frightens
other people into a jest, in order that we may imbibe a contempt for
danger; and that our superiority (universally admitted) over all nations
in courage and prowess, is, in fact, owing to the way which we have
acquired of laughing all terrors, natural and supernatural, utterly to
scorn. With these, however, we do not agree. Our national laughter is, in
our opinion, as little based on principle as our national actions have of
late years been. We laugh from impulse, or, as we do everything else,
because we choose. And we shall find, on examination, that we have
contrived, amongst us, to render a great many things exceedingly droll and
absurd, without having the slightest reason to assign for so doing.
For example, there is nothing in the office of a Parish Clerk that makes
it desirable that he should be a ludicrous person. There is no reason why
he should have a cracked voice; an inability to use, or a tendency to
omit, the aspirate; a stupid countenance; or a pompous manner. Nor do we
clearly see why he should be unable to pronounce proper names; should say
Snatchacrab for Sennacherib, or Leftenant for Leviathan. Such,
nevertheless, are the peculiarities by which he is commonly distinguished.
We are likewise at a loss to divine why so studiously ridiculous a costume
has been made to enhance the natural absurdity of a Beadle; for we can
hardly believe that his singular style of dress was really intended to
inspire small children with veneration and awe.
It can scarcely be supposed that a Lord Mayor’s Show was instituted only
to be laughed at; yet who would contend that it is of any other use? Nor
could the office of the Chief Magistrate of a Corporation, nor that of an
Alderman, have been created for the amusement of the Public: there is,
however, no purpose which both of them so frequently serve.
If the wig and robes of a Judge were meant to excite the respect of the
community in general, and the fear of the unconscientious part of it, we
cannot but think that the design has been unsuccessful. That the ministers
of justice are not, in fact, so reverently held, by any means, as from the
nature of their functions they might be expected to be, is certain. A
magistrate, to go no further, is universally known, if not designated, by
the jocose appellation of “Beak.”
Butchers, bakers, cobblers, tinkers, costermongers, and tailors; to say
nothing of footmen, waiters, dancing-masters, and barbers have become the
subjects of ridicule to an extent not warranted by their avocations,
simply considered.
But the comical mind, like the jaundiced eye, views everything through a
coloured medium. Such a mind is that of the generality of Britons. We
distinguish even the nearest ties of relationship by facetious names. A
father is called “Dad,” or “The Governor;” an uncle, “Nunkey;” and a wife,
“a rib,” or more pleasantly still, as in the advertisements, an
“encumbrance.” Almost every being or thing, indeed, has in English two
words to express it, an ordinary and an odd one; and so greatly has the
number of expressions of the kind last mentioned increased of late, that,
as it appears to us, a new edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, enriched with
modern additions, is imperatively called for. When we talk of odd words,
we have no fear that our meaning will be misunderstood. It is true that
there are some few individuals who complain that they do not see any wit
in calling a sheep’s-head a “jemmy,” legs “bandies,” or a hand a “mawley;”
and it is also true that there was once a mathematician, who, after
reading through Milton’s Paradise Lost, wanted to know what it all proved?
And now that we are speaking of names, we may mention a few which are
certainly of a curious nature, and which no foreigner could possibly have
invented; unless, which would be likely enough, he meant to apply them
seriously. The names we allude to are names of places--and pretty places
they are too; as, “Mount Pleasant,” “Paradise Row,” “Golden Lane.”
Then there are a great many whimsical things that we do:--
When a man cannot pay his debts, and has no prospect of being able to do
so except by working, we shut him up in gaol, and humorously describe his
condition as that of being in Quod.
We will not allow a man to give an old woman a dose of rhubarb if he have
not acquired at least half a dozen sciences; but we permit a quack to sell
as much poison as he pleases, with no other diploma than what he gets from
the “College of Health.”
When a thief pleads “Guilty” to an indictment, he is advised by the Judge
to recall his plea; as if a trial were a matter of sport, and the culprit,
like a fox, gave no amusement unless regularly run down. This perhaps is
the reason why allowing an animal to start some little time before the
pursuit is commenced, is called giving him _law_.
When one man runs away with another’s wife, and, being on that account
challenged to fight a duel, shoots the aggrieved party through the head,
the latter is said to receive _satisfaction_.
We never take a glass of wine at dinner without getting somebody else to
do the same, as if we wanted encouragement; and then, before we venture to
drink, we bow to each other across the table, preserving all the while a
most wonderful gravity. This, however, it may be said, is the natural
result of endeavouring to keep one another in countenance.
The way in which we imitate foreign manners and customs is very amusing.
Savages stick fish-bones through their noses; our fair countrywomen have
hoops of metal poked through their ears. The Caribs flatten the forehead;
the Chinese compress the foot; and we possess similar contrivances for
reducing the figure of a young lady to a resemblance to an hour-glass or a
devil-on-two-sticks.
There being no other assignable motive for these and the like proceedings,
it is reasonable to suppose that they are adopted, as schoolboys say, “for
fun.”
We could go on, were it necessary, adducing facts to an almost unlimited
extent; but we consider that enough has now been said in proof of the
comic character of the national mind. And in conclusion, if any foreign
author can be produced, equal in point of wit, humour, and drollery, to
Swift, Sterne, or Butler, we hereby engage to eat him; albeit we have no
pretensions to the character of a “helluo librorum.”
[Illustration]
THE COMIC ENGLISH GRAMMAR.
“English Grammar,” according to Lindley Murray, “is the art of speaking
and writing the English language with propriety.”
The English language, written and spoken with propriety, is commonly
called the King’s English.
A monarch, who, three or four generations back, occupied the English
throne, is reported to have said, “If beebles will be boets, they must
sdarve.” This was a rather curious specimen of “King’s English.” It is,
however, a maxim of our law, that “the King can do no wrong.” Whatever bad
English, therefore, may proceed from the royal mouth, is not “King’s
English,” but “Minister’s English,” for which they alone are responsible.
For illustrations of this kind of “English” we beg to refer the reader to
the celebrated English Grammar which was written by the late Mr. Cobbett.
King’s English (or, perhaps, under existing circumstances we should say,
_Queen’s_ English) is the current coin of conversation, to mutilate
which, and unlawfully to _utter_ the same, is called _clipping_ the King’s
English; a high crime and misdemeanour.
Clipped English, or bad English, is one variety of Comic English, of which
we shall adduce instances hereafter.
[Illustration: He’s only a little “prodigy” of mine, Doctor.]
Slipslop, or the erroneous substitution of one word for another, as
“prodigy” for “protégée,” “derangement” for “arrangement,” “exasperate”
for “aspirate,” and the like, is another.
Slang, which consists in cant words and phrases, as “dodge” for “sly
trick,” “no go” for “failure,” and “carney” “to flatter,” may be
considered a third.
Latinised English, or Fine English, sometimes assumes the character of
Comic English, especially when applied to the purposes of common
discourse; as “Extinguish the luminary,” “Agitate the communicator,” “Are
your corporeal functions in a condition of salubrity?” “A sable visual
orb,” “A sanguinary nasal protuberance.”
American English is Comic English in a “_pretty particular considerable
tarnation_” degree.
Among the various kinds of Comic English it would be “_tout-à-fait_”
inexcusable, were we to “_manquer_” to mention one which has, so to speak,
quite “_bouleversé_’d” the old-fashioned style of conversation;
French-English, that is what “_nous voulons dire_.” “_Avec un poco_” of
the “_Italiano_,” this forms what is also called the Mosaic dialect.
English Grammar is divided into four parts--Orthography, Etymology,
Syntax, and Prosody; and as these are points that a good grammarian always
stands upon, he, particularly when a pedant, and consequently somewhat
_flat_, may very properly be compared to a table.
PART I.
ORTHOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER. I.
OF THE NATURE OF THE LETTERS, AND OF A COMIC ALPHABET.
Orthography is like a junior usher, or instructor of youth. It teaches us
the nature and powers of letters and the right method of spelling words.
_Note._--In a public school, the person corresponding to an usher is
called a master. As it is sometimes his duty to flog, we propose that he
should henceforth be called the “Usher of the Birch Rod.”
Comic Orthography teaches us the oddity and absurdities of _letters_, and
the wrong method of spelling words. The following is an example of Comic
Orthography:--
islinton foteenth of
febuary 1840.
my Deer jemes
wen fust i sawed yu doun the middle and up agin att Vite condick ouse
i maid Up my Mind to skure you for my hone for i Felt at once that my
appiness was at Steak, and a sensashun in my Bussum I coudent no ways
accompt For. And i said to mary at missis Igginses said i theres the
Mann for my money o ses Shee i nose a Sweeter Yung Man than that Air
Do you sez i Agin then there we Agree To Differ, and we was sittin by
the window and we wos wery Neer fallin Out. my deer gemes Sins that
Nite i Havent slept a Wink and Wot is moor to the Porpus i Have quit
Lost my Happy tight and am gettin wus and wus witch i Think yu ort to
pitty Mee. i am Tolled every Day that ime Gettin Thinner and a Jipsy
sed that nothin wood Cure me But a Ring.
i wos a Long time makin my Mind Up to right to You for of Coarse i
Says jemes will think me too forrad but this bein Leep yere i thout
ide Make a Plunge speshialy as her grashius madjesty as Set the
Exampel of Popin the queshton, leastways to all Them as dont Want to
Bee old Mades all their blessed lives. so my Deer Jemes if yow want a
Pardoner for Better or for wus nows Your Time dont think i Behave
despicable for tis my Luv for yu as makes Me take this Stepp.
please to Burn this Letter when Red and excuse the scralls and
Blotches witch is Caused by my Teers i remain
till deth Yure on Happy
Vallentine
_jane you No who_.
poscrip
nex Sunday Is my sunday out And i shall be Att the corner of Wite lion
Street pentonvil at a quawter pas Sevn.
Wen This U. C.
remember Mee
j. g.
[Illustration]
Now, to proceed with Orthography, we may remark, that
A letter is the least part of a word.
Of a _comic letter_ an instance has already been given.
Dr. Johnson’s letter to Lord Chesterfield is a capital letter.
The letters of the Alphabet are the representatives of articulate sounds.
The Alphabet is a Republic of Letters.
There are many things in this world erroneously as well as vulgarly
compared to “bricks.” In the case of the letters of the Alphabet, however,
the comparison is just; they constitute the fabric of a language, and
grammar is the mortar. The wonder is that there should be so few of them.
The English letters are twenty-six in number. There is nothing like
beginning at the beginning; and we shall now therefore enumerate them,
with the view also of rendering their insertion subsidiary to mythological
instruction, in conformity with the plan on which some account of the
Heathen Deities and ancient heroes is prefixed or subjoined to a
Dictionary. We present the reader with a form of Alphabet composed in
humble imitation of that famous one, which, while appreciable by the
dullest taste, and level to the meanest capacity, is nevertheless that by
which the greatest minds have been agreeably inducted into knowledge.
THE ALPHABET.
A was Apollo, the god of the carol,
B stood for Bacchus, astride on his barrel;
C for good Ceres, the goddess of grist,
D was Diana, that wouldn’t be kiss’d;
E was nymph Echo, that pined to a sound,
F was sweet Flora, with buttercups crown’d;
G was Jove’s pot-boy, young Ganymede hight,
H was fair Hebe, his barmaid so tight;
I, little Io, turn’d into a cow,
J, jealous Juno, that spiteful old sow;
K was Kitty, more lovely than goddess or muse;
L, Lacooon--I wouldn’t have been in _his_ shoes!
M was blue-eyed Minerva, with stockings to match,
N was Nestor, with grey beard and silvery thatch;
O was lofty Olympus, King Jupiter’s shop,
P, Parnassus, Apollo hung out on its top;
Q stood for Quirites, the Romans, to wit;
R, for rantipole Roscius, that made such a hit;
S, for Sappho, so famous for felo-de-se,
T, for Thales the wise, F.R.S. and M.D.:
U was crafty Ulysses, so artful a dodger,
V was hop-a-kick Vulcan, that limping old codger;
_Wenus_--Venus I mean--with a W begins,
(_Vell_, if I _ham_ a Cockney, _wot_ need of your grins?)
X was Xantippe, the scratch-cat and shrew,
Y, I don’t know what Y was, whack me if I do!
Z was Zeno the Stoic, Zenobia the clever,
And Zoilus the critic, Victoria for ever!
Letters are divided into Vowels and Consonants.
The vowels are capable of being perfectly uttered by themselves. They are,
as it were, independent members of the Alphabet, and like independent
members elsewhere form a small minority. The vowels are _a_, _e_, _i_,
_o_, _u_, and sometimes _w_ and _y_.
An I. O. U. is a more pleasant thing to have, than it is to give.
A blow in the stomach is very likely to W up.
W is a consonant when it begins a word, as “Wicked Will Wiggins whacked
his wife with a whip;” but in every other place it is a vowel, as
crawling, drawling, sawney, screwing, Jew. Y follows the same rule.
A consonant is an articulate sound; but, like an old bachelor, if it exist
alone it exists to no purpose. It cannot be perfectly uttered without the
aid of a vowel; and even then the vowel has the greatest share in the
production of the sound. Thus a vowel joined to a consonant becomes, so to
speak, a “better half:” or at all events very strongly resembles one.
Consonants are divided into mutes and semi-vowels.
The mutes cannot be sounded _at all_ without the aid of a vowel. Like
young ladies just “come out,” they are silent as long as you let them
alone. Some have compared them, on account of their name, to the “Original
Good Woman;” but how joining her to anything except to her head again
would have cured her of her dumbness, it is not easy to see. _B_, _p_,
_t_, _d_, _k_, and _c_ and _g_ hard, are the letters called mutes, or, as
some have denominated them, _black letters_.
The semi-vowels, which are _f_, _l_, _m_, _n_, _r_, _v_, _s_, _x_, _z_,
and _c_ and _g_ soft, have an imperfect sound of themselves. Well! half a
loaf is better than no bread.
_L_, _m_, _n_, _r_, are further distinguished by the name of liquids. Like
certain other liquids they are good for mixing, that is to say, they
readily unite with other consonants; and flow, as it were, into their
sounds.
The specific gravity of liquids can only be rendered amusing by comical
_figures_. The gravity, too, of a _solid_ is generally the more ludicrous.
[Illustration: MUTES AND LIQUIDS.]
A diphthong is the union of two vowels in one sound, as _ea_ in heavy,
_eu_ in Meux, _ou_ in stout.
A triphthong is a similar union of three vowels, as _eau_ in the word
beau; a term applied to dandies, and addressed to geese: probably because
they are birds of a feather.
A proper diphthong is that in which the sound is formed by both the
vowels: as, _aw_ in awkward, _ou_ in lout.
[Illustration]
An improper diphthong is that in which the sound is formed by one of the
vowels only, as _ea_ in heartless, _oa_ in hoax.
According to our notions there are a great many improper diphthongs in
common use. By improper diphthongs _we_ mean vowels unwarrantably dilated
into diphthongs, and diphthongs mispronounced, in defiance of good
English, and against our Sovereign Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity.
For instance, the rustics say,--
“Loor! whaut a foine gaal! Moy oy!”
“Whaut a precious soight of crows!”
“As I was a comin’ whoam through the corn fiddles (fields) I met Willum
Jones.”
After this manner cockneys express themselves:--
“I sor (saw) him.”
“Dror (draw) it out.”
“Hold your jor (jaw).”
“I caun’t. You shaun’t. How’s your Maw and Paw? Do you like taut (tart)?”
We have heard young ladies remark,--
“Oh, my! What a naice young man!”
“What a bee--eautiful day!”
“I’m so fond of dayncing!”
Dandies frequently exclaim,--
“I’m postively tiawed (tired).”
“What a sweet tempaw! (temper).”
“How daughty (dirty) the streets au!”
And they also call,--
Literature, “literetchah.”
Perfectly, “pawfacly.”
Disgusted, “disgasted.”
Sky (theatrical dandies do this chiefly) “ske-eye.”
Blue, “ble--ew.”
We might here insert a few remarks on the nature of the human voice, and
of the mechanism by means of which articulation is performed; but besides
our dislike to prolixity, we are afraid of getting _down in the mouth_,
and thereby going the _wrong way_ to please our readers. We may
nevertheless venture to invite attention to a few comical peculiarities in
connection with articulate sounds.
Ahem! at the commencement of a speech, is a sound agreeably droll.
The vocal comicalities of the infant in arms are exceedingly laughable,
but we are unfortunately unable to spell them.
The articulation of the Jew is peculiarly ridiculous. The “peoplesh” are
badly spoken of, and not well spoken.
Bawling, croaking, hissing, whistling, and grunting, are elegant vocal
accomplishments.
Lisping, as, “thweet, Dthooliur, thawming, kweechau,” is by some
considered interesting, by others absurd.
Stammering is sometimes productive of amusement.
Humming and hawing are ludicrous embellishments to a discourse. Crowing
like a cock, braying like a donkey, _quacking_ like a duck, and hooting
like an owl, are modes of exerting the voice which are usually regarded as
diverting.
But of all the sounds which proceed from the human mouth, by far the
funniest are Ha! ha! ha!--Ho! ho! ho! and He! he! he!
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
OF SYLLABLES.
Syllable is a nice word, it sounds so much like syllabub!
A syllable, whether it constitute a word or part of a word, is a sound,
either simple or compound, produced by one effort of the voice, as, “O!,
what, a, lark!--Here, we, are!”
[Illustration]
Spelling is the art of putting together the letters which compose a
syllable, or the syllables which compose a word.
Comic spelling is usually the work of imagination. The chief rule to be
observed in this kind of spelling, is, to spell every word as it is
pronounced; though the rule is not universally observed by comic spellers.
The following example, for the genuineness of which we can vouch, is one
so singularly apposite, that although we have already submitted a similar
specimen of orthography to the reader, we are irresistibly tempted to make
a second experiment on his indulgence. The epistolary curiosity, then,
which we shall now proceed to transcribe, was addressed by a patient to
his medical adviser.
“SIR,
“My Granmother wos very much trubeld With the Gout and dide with it my
father wos also and dide with it when i was 14 years of age i wos in
the habbet of Gettin whet feet Every Night by pumping water out of a
Celler Wich Cas me to have the tipes fever wich Cas my Defness when i
was 23 of age i fell in the Water betwen the ice and i have Bin in the
habbet of Getting wet when traviling i have Bin trubbeld with Gout
for seven years
“Your most humbel
“Servent
........
......
Clearkenwell”
Chelsea College has been supposed by foreigners to be an institution for
the teaching of orthography; probably in consequence of a passage in the
well known song in “The Waterman,”
“Never more at Chelsea Ferry,
Shall your Thomas take a _spell_.”
_Q._ Why is a dunce no conjuror?
_A._ Because he cannot _spell_.
Among the various kinds of spelling may be enumerated spelling for a
favour; or giving what is called a broad hint.
Certain rules for the division of words into syllables are laid down in
some grammars, and we should be very glad to follow the established usage,
but, limited as we are by considerations of comicality and space, we
cannot afford to give more than two very general directions. If you do
not know how to spell a word, look it out in the dictionary, and if you
have no dictionary by you, write the word in such a way, that, while it
may be guessed at, it shall not be legible.
CHAPTER III.
OF WORDS IN GENERAL.
There is no one question that we are aware of more puzzling than this,
“What is your opinion of _things_ in general?” _Words_ in general are,
fortunately for us, a subject on which the formation of an opinion is
somewhat more easy. Words stand for things: they are a sort of counters,
checks, bank-notes, and sometimes, indeed, they are _notes_ for which
people get a great deal of money. Such words, however, are, alas! not
English words, or words sterling. Strange! that so much should be given
for a mere song. It is quite clear that the givers, whatever may be their
pretensions to a refined or literary taste, must be entirely unacquainted
with _Words_worth.
Fine words are oily enough, and he who uses them is vulgarly said to “cut
it fat;” but for all that it is well known that they will not butter
parsnips.
Some say that words are but wind: for this reason, when people are having
words, it is often said, that “the wind’s up.”
Different words please different people. Philosophers are fond of hard
words; pedants of tough words, long words, and crackjaw words; bullies, of
rough words; boasters, of big words; the rising generation, of slang
words; fashionable people, of French words; wits, of sharp words and smart
words; and ladies, of nice words, sweet words, soft words, and soothing
words; and, indeed, of words in general.
Words (when spoken) are articulate sounds used by common consent as signs
of our ideas.
A word of one syllable is called a Monosyllable: as, you, are, a, great,
oaf.
A word of two syllables is named a Dissyllable; as, cat-gut, mu-sic.
A word of three syllables is termed a Trisyllable; as, Mag-net-ism,
Mum-mer-y.
A word of four or more syllables is entitled a Polysyllable; as,
in-ter-mi-na-ble, cir-cum-lo-cu-ti-on, ex-as-pe-ra-ted, func-ti-o-na-ry,
met-ro-po-li-tan, ro-tun-di-ty.
Words of more syllables than one are sometimes comically contracted into
one syllable; as, in s’pose for suppose, b’lieve for believe, and ’scuse
for excuse: here, perhaps, ’buss, abbreviated from omnibus, deserves to be
mentioned.
In like manner, many long words are elegantly trimmed and shortened; as,
ornary for ordinary, ’strornary for extraordinary, and curosity for
curiosity; to which mysterus for mysterious may also be added.
Polysyllables are an essential element in the sublime, both in poetry and
in prose; but especially in that species of the sublime which borders very
closely on the ridiculous; as,
“Aldiborontiphoscophormio,
Where left’st thou Chrononhotonthologos?”
[Illustration]
All words are either primitive or derivative. A primitive word is that
which cannot be reduced to any simpler word in the language; as, brass,
York, knave. A derivative word, under the head of which compound words are
also included, is that which may be reduced to another and a more simple
word in the English language; as, brazen, Yorkshire, knavery, mud-lark,
lighterman.
Broadbrim is a derivative word; but it is one often applied to a very
_primitive_ kind of person.
PART II.
ETYMOLOGY.
CHAPTER I.
A COMICAL VIEW OF THE PARTS OF SPEECH.
Etymology teaches the varieties, modifications, and derivation of words.
The derivation of words means that which they come from _as words_; for
what they come from as _sounds_, is another matter. Some words come from
the heart, and then they are pathetic; others from the nose, in which case
they are ludicrous. The funniest place, however, from which words can
come, is the stomach. By the way, the Lord Mayor would do well to keep a
ventriloquist, from whom, at a moment’s notice, he might ascertain the
voice of the corporation.
Comic Etymology teaches us the varieties, modifications, and derivation,
of words invested with a comic character.
Grammatically speaking, we say that there are, in English, as many sorts
of words as a cat is said to have lives, nine; namely, the Article, the
Substantive or Noun, the Adjective, the Pronoun, the Verb, the Adverb, the
Preposition, the Conjunction, and the Interjection.
Comically speaking, there are a great many sorts of words which we have
not room enough to particularise individually. We can therefore only
afford to classify them. For instance; there are words which are spoken in
the _Low Countries_, and are _High Dutch_ to persons of quality; as in
Billingsgate, Whitechapel, and St. Giles’s.
Words in use amongst all those who have to do with horses.
Words that pass between rival cab-men.
Words peculiar to the P. R. where the order of the day is generally a word
and a blow.
Words spoken in a state of intoxication.
Words uttered under excitement.
Words of endearment, addressed to children in arms.
Similar words, sometimes called burning, tender, soft, and broken words,
addressed to young ladies, and whispered, lisped, sighed, or drawled,
according to circumstances.
Words of honour; as, tailors’ words and shoemakers’ words; which, like the
above-mentioned, or lovers’ words, are very often broken.
With many other sorts of words, which will be readily suggested by the
reader’s fancy.
But now let us go on with the parts of speech.
1. An Article is a word prefixed to substantives to point them out, and to
show the extent of their meaning; as, _a_ dandy, _an_ ape, _the_
simpleton.
One kind of comic article is otherwise denominated an oddity, or queer
article.
Another kind of comic article is often to be met with in Bentley’s
Miscellany.
2. A Substantive or Noun is the name of anything that exists, or of which
we have any notion; as, _tinker_, _tailor_, _soldier_, _sailor_,
_apothecary_, _ploughboy_, _thief_.
Now the above definition of a substantive is Lindley Murray’s, not ours.
We mention this, because we have an objection, though, not, perhaps, a
serious one, to urge against it; for, in the first place, we have “no
notion” of impudence, and yet impudence is a substantive; and, in the
second, we invite attention to the following piece of Logic,
A substantive is something,
But nothing is a substantive;
Therefore, nothing is something.
A substantive may generally be known by its taking an article before it,
and by its making sense of itself: as, a _treat_, the _mulligrubs_, an
_ache_.
3. An Adjective is a word joined to a substantive to denote its quality;
as a _ragged_ regiment, an _odd_ set.
You may distinguish an adjective by its making sense with the word thing:
as, a _poor_ thing, a _sweet_ thing, a _cool_ thing; or with any
particular substantive, as a _ticklish_ position, an _awkward_ mistake, a
_strange_ step.
4. A Pronoun is a word used in lieu of a noun, in order to avoid
tautology: as, “The man wants calves; _he_ is a lath; _he_ is a
walking-stick.”
5. A Verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer: as, I am;
I calculate; I am fixed.
A verb may usually be distinguished by its making sense with a personal
pronoun, or with the word _to_ before it: as I _yell_, he _grins_, they
_caper_; or to _drink_, to _smoke_, to _chew_.
Fashionable accomplishments!
Certain substantives are, with peculiar elegance, and by persons who call
themselves _genteel_, converted into verbs: as, “Do you _wine_?” “Will you
_malt_?” “Let me persuade you to _cheese_?”
6. An Adverb is a part of speech which, joined to a verb, an adjective, or
another adverb, serves to express some quality or circumstance concerning
it: as, “She swears _dreadfully_; she is _incorrigibly_ lazy; and she is
_almost continually_ in liquor.”
7. An adverb is generally characterised by answering to the question, How?
how much? when? or where? as in the verse, “_Merrily_ danced the
Quaker’s wife,” the answer to the question, How did she dance? is,
merrily.
8. Prepositions serve to connect words together, and to show the relation
between them: as,
“Off _with_ his head, so much _for_ Buckingham!”
9. A Conjunction is used to connect not only words, but sentences also:
as, Smith _and_ Jones are happy _because_ they are single. A miss is _as_
good _as_ a mile.
[Illustration: SINGLE BLESSEDNESS.]
10. An Interjection is a short word denoting passion or emotion: as,
“_Oh_, Sophonisba! Sophonisba, _oh_!” Pshaw! Pish! Pooh! Bah! Ah! Au!
Eughph! Yah! Hum! Ha! Lauk! La! Lor! Heigho! Well! There! &c.
Among the foregoing interjections there may, perhaps, be some unhonoured
by the adoption of genius, and unknown in the domains of literature. For
the present notice of them some apology may be required, but little will
be given; their insertion may excite astonishment, but their omission
would have provoked complaint: though unprovided with a Johnsonian title
to a place in the English vocabulary, they have long been recognised by
the popular voice; and let it be remembered, that as custom supplies the
defects of legislation, so that which is not sanctioned by magisterial
authority may nevertheless be justified by vernacular usage.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE ARTICLES.
The Articles in English are two, _a_ and _the_; _a_ becomes _an_ before a
vowel, and before an _h_ which is not sounded: as, _an_ exquisite, _an_
hour-glass. But if the _h_ be pronounced, the _a_ only is used: as, _a_
homicide, _a_ homœopathist, _a_ hum.
This rule is reversed in what is termed the Cockney dialect: as, _a_
inspector, _a_ officer, _a_ object, _a_ omnibus, _a_ individual, _a_
alderman, _a_ honour, _an_ horse, or rather, a _norse_, _an_ hound, _an_
hunter, &c.
It is usual in the same dialect, when the article _an_ should, in strict
propriety, precede a word, to omit the letter _n_, and further, for the
sake of euphony and elegance, to place the aspirate _h_ before the word;
as, a _h_egg, a _h_accident, a _h_adverb, a _h_ox. But sometimes, when a
word begins with an _h_, and has the article _a_ before it, the aspirate
is omitted, the letter _a_ remaining unchanged: as, a ’ogg, a ’edge, a
’emisphere, a ’ouse.
The slight liberties which it is the privilege of the people to take with
the article and aspirate become always most evident in the expression of
excited feeling, when the stress which is laid upon certain words is
heightened by the peculiarity of the pronunciation: as, “You _h_ignorant
_h_upstart! you _h_illiterate ’og! ’ow dare you to _h_offer such a
_h_insult to my _h_understanding?--You are a _h_object of contempt, you
_h_are, and a _h_insolent _w_agobond! your mother was nothing but a
_h_apple-woman, and your father was an ’uckster!”
_Note._--In the above example, the ordinary rules of language relative to
the article and aspirate (to say nothing of the maxims of politeness) are
completely set at nought; but it must be remembered, that in common
discourse the modification of the article, and the omission or use of the
aspirate, are determined by the Cockneys according to the ease with which
particular words are pronounced; as, “Though _h_impudent, he warn’t as
_i_mpudent as Bill wur.” Here the word _impudent_, following a
vowel-sound, is most easily pronounced as _h_impudent, while the same
word, coming after a consonant, even in the same sentence, is uttered with
greater facility in the usual way.
_A_ or _an_ is called the indefinite article, because it is used, in a
vague sense, to point out some one thing belonging to a certain kind, but
in other respects indeterminate; as,
“_A_ horse, _a_ horse, my kingdom for _a_ horse!”
So say grammarians. Eating-house keepers tell a different story. A cheese,
in common discourse, means an object of a certain shape, size, weight, and
so on, entire and perfect; so that to call half a cheese a cheese, would
constitute a flaw in an indictment against a thief who had stolen one. But
a waiter will term a fraction, or a modicum of cheese, _a_ cheese; a
plate-full of pudding, _a_ pudding; and _a_ stick of celery, a celery, or
rather, a _salary_. Nay, he will even apply the article _a_ to a word
which does not stand for an individual object at all; as _a_ bread, _a_
butter, _a_ bacon. Here we are reminded of the famous exclamation of one
of these gentry:--“Master! master! there’s two teas and a brandy-and-water
just hopped over the palings!”
_The_ is termed the definite article, inasmuch as it denotes what
particular thing or things are meant; as,
“_The_ miller he stole corn,
_The_ weaver he stole yarn,
And _the_ little tailòr he stole broad-cloth
To keep _the_ three rogues warm.”
A substantive to which no article is prefixed is taken in a general sense;
as, “Apple sauce is proper for goose;” that is, for all geese.
[Illustration: APPLE-SAUCE.]
A few additional remarks may advantageously be made with respect to the
articles. The mere substitution of the definite for the indefinite article
is capable of changing entirely the meaning of a sentence. “That is _a_
ticket” is the assertion of a certain fact; but “That is _the_ ticket!”
means something which is quite different.
The article is not prefixed to a proper name; as, Stubbs, Wiggins, Chubb,
or Hobson, except for the sake of distinguishing a particular family, or
description of persons; as, He is _a_ Burke; that is, one of the Burkes,
or _a_ person resembling Burke. The article is sometimes also prefixed to
a proper name, to point out some distinguished individual; as, _The_
Burke, or the great politician, or the resurrectionist, Burke.
Who is _the_ Smith?
The indefinite article is joined to substantives in the singular number
only. We have heard people say, however, “He keeps _a_ wine-vaults;” or,
to quote more correctly--waltz. The definite article may be joined to
plurals also.
The definite article is frequently used with adverbs in the comparative
and superlative degree: as, “_The_ longer I live, _the_ broader I grow;”
or, as we have all heard the showman say, “This here, gentlemen and
ladies, is the vonderful heagle of the sun; _the_ ’otterer it grows, _the_
higherer he flies!”
CHAPTER III.
SECTION I.
OF SUBSTANTIVES IN GENERAL.
Substantives are either proper or common.
Proper names, or substantives, are the names belonging to individuals: as
William, Birmingham.
These are sometimes converted into nicknames, or _im_proper names: as
Bill, Brummagem.
Common names, or substantives, denote kinds containing many sorts, or
sorts containing many individuals under them: as brute, beast, bumpkin,
cherub, infant, goblin, &c.
Proper names, when an article is prefixed to them, are employed as common
names: as, “They thought him a perfect _Chesterfield_; he quite astonished
the _Browns_.”
Common names, on the other hand, are made to denote individuals, by the
addition of articles or pronouns: as,
“There was _a_ little man, and he had _a_ little gun.”
“_That_ boy will be the death of me!”
Substantives are considered according to gender, number, and case; they
are all of the third person when spoken _of_, and of the second when
spoken _to_: as,
Matilda, fairest maid, who art
In countless bumpers toasted,
O let thy pity baste the heart
Thy fatal charms have roasted!
[Illustration]
SECTION II.
OF GENDER.
The distinction between nouns with regard to sex is called Gender. There
are three genders; the Masculine, the Feminine, and the Neuter.
The masculine gender belongs to animals of the male kind: as, a fop, a
jackass, a boar, a poet, a lion.
The feminine gender is peculiar to animals of the female kind: as, a
poetess, a lioness, a goose.
The neuter gender is that of objects which are neither males nor females:
as, a toast, a tankard, a pot, a pipe, a pudding, a pie, a sausage, a
roll, a muffin, a crumpet, a puff, a cheesecake, a bun, an apricot, an
orange, a lollipop, a cream, an ice, a jelly, &c. &c. &c.
We might go on to enumerate an infinity of objects of the neuter gender,
of all sorts and kinds; but in the selection of the foregoing examples we
have been guided by two considerations:--
1. The desire of exciting agreeable emotions in the mind of the reader.
2. The wish to illustrate the following proposition, “That almost
everything nice is also neuter.”
Except, however, a nice young lady, a nice duck, and one or two other
nice things, which we do not at present remember.
Some neuter substantives are by a figure of speech converted into the
masculine or feminine gender: thus we say of the sun, that when _he_
shines upon a Socialist, he shines upon a thief; and of the moon, that she
affects the minds of lovers.
[Illustration: A SOCIALIST.]
There are certain nouns with which notions of strength, vigour, and the
like qualities, are more particularly connected; and these are the neuter
substantives which are figuratively rendered masculine. On the other hand,
beauty, amiability, and so forth, are held to invest words with a
feminine character. Thus the sun is said to be masculine, and the moon
feminine. But for our own part, and our view is confirmed by the
discoveries of astronomy, we believe that the sun is called masculine from
his supporting and sustaining the moon, and finding her the wherewithal
to shine away as she does of a night, when all quiet people are in bed;
and from his being obliged to keep such a family of stars besides. The
moon, we think, is accounted feminine, because she is thus maintained and
kept up in her splendour, like a fine lady, by her husband the sun.
Furthermore, the moon is continually changing; on which account alone she
might be referred to the feminine gender. The earth is feminine, tricked
out, as she is, with gems and flowers. Cities and towns are likewise
feminine, because there are as many windings, turnings, and little odd
corners in them as there are in the female mind. A ship is feminine,
inasmuch as she is blown about by every wind. Virtue is feminine by
courtesy. Fortune and _mis_fortune, like mother and daughter, are both
feminine. The Church is feminine, because she is married to the state; or
married to the state because she is feminine--we do not know which. Time
is masculine, because he is so trifled with by the ladies.
[Illustration: “Shan’t I shine to-night, dear?”]
The English language distinguishes the sex in three manners; namely,
1. By different words; as,
MALE. FEMALE.
Bachelor Maid.
Boar Sow.
Boy Girl.
Bull Cow.
Brother Sister.
Buck Doe.
Bullock Heifer.
Hart Roe.
Cock Hen.
Dog Bitch.
Drake Duck.
Wizard Witch.
Earl Countess.
Father Mother.
Friar Nun.
And several other
Words we don’t mention,
(Pray pardon the crime,)
Worth your attention,
But wanting in rhyme.
2. By a difference of termination; as,
MALE. FEMALE.
Poet Poetess.
Lion Lioness, &c.
3. By a noun, pronoun, or adjective being prefixed to the substantive; as,
MALE. FEMALE.
A cock-lobster A hen-lobster.
A jack-ass A jenny-ass (vernacular).
A man-servant, or flunkey. A maid-servant, or Abigail.
A he-bear (like King Harry). A she-bear (like Queen Bess).
A male flirt (a rare animal). A female flirt (a common animal).
We have heard it said, that every Jack has his Jill. That may be; but it
is by no means true that every cock has his hen; for there is a
Cock-swain, but no Hen-swain.
Cock-eye, but no Hen-eye.
Cock-ade, but no Hen-ade.
Cock-atrice, but no Hen-atrice.
Cock-horse, but no Hen-horse.
Cock-ney, but no Hen-ney.
Then we have a weather-cock, but no weather-hen; a turn-cock, but no
turn-hen; and many a jolly cock, but not one jolly hen; unless we except
some of those by whom their mates are pecked.
Some words; as, parent, child, cousin, friend, neighbour, servant, and
several others, are either male or female, according to circumstances. The
word blue (used as a substantive) is one of this class.
It is a great pity that our language is so poor in the terminations that
denote gender. Were we to say of a woman, that she is a rogue, a knave, a
scamp, or a vagabond, we feel that we should use, not only strong but
improper expressions. Yet we have no corresponding terms to apply, in case
of necessity, to the female. Why is this? Doubtless because we never want
them. For the same reason, our forefathers transmitted to us the words,
philosopher, astronomer, philologer, and so forth, without any feminine
equivalent. Alas! for the wisdom of our ancestors! They never calculated
on the March of Intellect.
We understand that it is in contemplation to coin a new word, _memberess_;
it being confidently expected that by the time the new Houses of
Parliament are finished, the progress of civilisation will have furnished
us with female representatives.
In that case the House will be an assembly of _Speakers_.
But if all the old women are to be turned out of St. Stephen’s, and their
places to be filled with young ones, the nation will hardly be a loser by
the change.
SECTION III.
OF NUMBER.
Number is the consideration of an object as one or more; as, one _poet_,
two, three, four, five _poets_; and so on, ad infinitum.
Other countries may reckon up as many poets as they please; England has
_one more_.
The singular number expresses one object only; as, a towel, a viper.
The plural signifies more objects than one; as, towels, vipers.
Some nouns are used only in the singular number; dirt, pitch, tallow,
grease, filth, butter, asparagus, &c.; others only in the plural; as,
galligaskins, breeches, &c.
Some words are the same in both numbers; as, sheep, swine, and some
others.
“A doctor, both to sheep and swine,”
Said Mrs. Glass, “I am;
For legs of mutton I can _dress_,
And shine in _curing_ ham.”
The plural number of nouns is usually formed by adding s to the singular;
as, dove, doves, love, loves, &c.
Julia, _dove_ returns to _dove_,
Quid pro quo, and _love_ for _love_;
Happy in our mutual _loves_,
Let us live like turtle _doves_!
[Illustration]
When, however, the substantive singular ends in x, ch _soft_, sh, ss, or
s, we add es in the plural.
But remember, though box
In the plural makes boxes,
That the plural of ox
Should be _oxen_, not _oxes_.
A few _Singular Plurals_, or Plurals popularly varied, are as follow:--
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
Beast Beastes, beastices.
Crust Crustes.
Gust Gustes.
Ghost Ghostes.
Host Hostes.
Joist Joistes.
Mist Mistes.
Nest Nestes.
Post, &c. Postes, postices, &c.
_Note._--The singular is often used, by a kind of licence conceded to
persons of refinement, for the plural; as, “May I trouble you for _a
bean_?” “Will you assist Miss Spriggins to _a pea_?” So also people say,
“A few _green_.” “Two or three _radish_,” &c.
SECTION IV.
OF CASE.
There is nearly as much difference between Latin and English substantives,
with respect to the number of cases pertaining to each, as there is
between a quack-doctor and a physician; for while in Latin substantives
have six cases, in English they have but three. But the analogy should
not be strained too far; for the fools in the world (who furnish the
quack with his cases) more than double the number of the wise.
[Illustration: A VERY BAD CASE.]
The cases of substantives are these: the Nominative, the Possessive or
Genitive, and the Objective or Accusative.
The Nominative Case merely expresses the name of a thing, or the subject
of the verb: as, “The doctors differ;”--“The patient dies!”
Possession, which is nine points of the law, is what is signified by the
Possessive Case. This case is distinguished by an apostrophe, with the
letter s subjoined to it: as, “My soul’s idol!”--“A pudding’s end.”
But when the plural ends in _s_, the apostrophe only is retained, and the
other _s_ is omitted: as, “The Ministers’ Step;”--“The Rogues’
March;”--“Crocodiles’ tears;”--“Butchers’ mourning.”
When the singular terminates in _ss_, the letter _s_ is sometimes, in like
manner, dispensed with: as, “For goodness’ sake!”--“For righteousness’
sake!” Nevertheless, we have no objection to “Guinness’s” Stout.
The Objective Case follows a verb active, and expresses the object of an
action, or of a relation: as, “Spring beat Bill;” that is, Bill or
“William _Neate_.” Hence, perhaps, the American phrase, “I’ll lick you
_elegant_.”
By the by, it seems to us, that when the Americans revolted from the
authority of England, they determined also to revolutionise their
language.
The Objective Case is also used with a preposition: as, “You are in a
mess.”
English substantives may be declined in the following manner:--
SINGULAR.
What is the nominative case
Of her who used to wash your face,
Your hair to comb, your boots to lace?
A _mother_!
What the possessive? Whose the slap
That taught you not to spill your pap,
Or to avoid a like mishap?
A _mother’s_!
And shall I the objective show?
What do I hear where’er I go?
How is your?--whom they mean I know,
My _mother_!
PLURAL.
Who are the anxious watchers o’er
The slumbers of a little bore,
That screams whene’er it doesn’t snore?
Why, _mothers_!
Whose pity wipes its piping eyes,
And stills maturer childhood’s cries,
Stopping its mouth with cakes and pies?
Oh! _mothers’_!
And whom, when master, fierce and fell,
Dusts truant varlets’ jackets well,
Whom do they, roaring, run and tell?
Their _mothers_!
CHAPTER IV.
OF ADJECTIVES.
SECTION I.
OF THE NATURE OF ADJECTIVES AND THE DEGREES OF COMPARISON.
An English Adjective, whatever may be its gender, number, or case, like a
rusty weathercock, never varies. Thus we say, “A certain cabinet; certain
rogues.”
But as a rusty weathercock may vary in being more or less rusty, so an
adjective varies in the degrees of comparison.
The degrees of comparison, like the genders, the Graces, the Fates, the
Kings of Cologne, the Weird Sisters, the Jolly Postboys, and many other
things, are three; the Positive, the Comparative, and the Superlative.
The Positive state simply expresses the quality of an object; as, fat,
ugly, foolish.
The Comparative degree increases or lessens the signification of the
positive; as, fatter, uglier, more foolish, less foolish.
The Superlative degree increases or lessens the positive to the highest or
lowest degree; as, fattest, ugliest, most foolish, least foolish.
Amongst the ancients, Ulysses was the _fattest_, because nobody could
_compass_ him.
Aristides the Just was the _ugliest_, because he was so very _plain_.
The most _foolish_, undoubtedly, was Homer; for who was more _natural_
than he?
The positive becomes the comparative by the addition of _r_ or _er_; and
the superlative by the addition of _st_ or _est_ to the end of it; as,
brown, browner, brownest; stout, stouter, stoutest; heavy, heavier,
heaviest; wet, wetter, wettest. The adverbs _more_ and _most_, prefixed to
the adjective, also form the superlative degree; as, heavy, more heavy,
most heavy.
Most heavy is the drink of draymen: hence, perhaps, the _weight_ of those
important personages. More of this, however, in our forthcoming work on
Phrenology.
Monosyllables are usually compared by _er_ and _est_, and dissyllables by
_more_ and _most_; except dissyllables ending in _y_ or in _le_ before a
mute, or those which are accented on the last syllable; for these, like
monosyllables, easily admit of _er_ and _est_. But these terminations are
scarcely ever used in comparing words of more than two syllables.
We have some words, which, from custom, are irregular in respect of
comparison; as, good, better, best; bad, worse, worst, &c. Much amusement
may be derived from the comparisons of adjectives, as made by natural
grammarians; a class of beings who generally inhabit the kitchen or
stable, but may sometimes be met with in more elevated regions. A few
examples will not be out of place. We are not speaking of _servants_, but
of degrees of comparison; as,
POSITIVE. COMPARATIVE. SUPERLATIVE.
Good More better, Most best,
betterer or more bestest.
betterer.
Tight More tighter, Most tightest.
tighterer or more
tighterer.
Bad Wuss or wusser. Wust or wussest.
Handsome More handsomer like. Most handsomest.
Extravagant Extravaganter, Extravagantest,
more extravaganter. most extravagantest.
Stupid Stupider, Stupidest,
more stupider. most stupidest.
Little Littler, more littler. Littlest, most littlest.
With many others.
Here also may be adduced the Yankee’s “notion” of comparison; “My uncle’s
a tarnation rogue; but I’m a tarnation_er_.”
SECTION II.
A FEW REMARKS ON THE SUBJECT OF COMPARISON.
Comparisons appear to have been strongly disapproved of by Dr. Johnson.
“Sir,” said he, “the Whigs make comparisons.” It must be confessed that
the Doctor’s meaning is not quite so evident here as it is in general; but
that may be the fault of his biographer. Perhaps some of the Whigs had
been making comparisons at his expense, or impertinent comparisons, which
his temper, being _positive_, may have tempted them to indulge in. Or they
may have been _out_ in making their comparisons, which, in that case, must
of course have been bad. But a truce to speculations of this kind, on the
saying of one, another of whose dogmas was, that “the man who could make a
pun would also pick a pocket.” We only hope, that such comparisons as we
may make, will no more vex his spirit now than they would once have
aroused his bile.
Lindley Murray judiciously observes, that “if we consider the subject of
comparison attentively, we shall perceive that the degrees of it are
infinite in number, or at least indefinite:” and he proceeds to say, “A
mountain is larger than a mite; by how many degrees? How much bigger is
the earth than a grain of sand? By how many degrees was Socrates wiser
than Alcibiades? or by how many is snow whiter than this paper? It is
plain,” quoth Lindley, “that to these and the like questions no definite
answers can be returned.”
No; but an impertinent one may. Ask the first charity-boy you meet any one
of them, and see if he does not immediately respond, “Ax my eye;” or, “As
much again as half.”
But when quantity can be exactly measured, the degrees of excess may be
exactly ascertained. A foot is just twelve times as long as an inch; a
tailor is nine times less than a man.
Moreover, to compensate for the indefiniteness of the degrees of
comparison, we use certain adverbs and words of like import, whereby we
render our meaning tolerably intelligible; as, “Byron was a _much_ greater
poet than Muggins.” “Honey is _a great deal_ sweeter than wax.” “Sugar is
_considerably_ more pleasant than the cane.” “Maria says, that Dick the
butcher is _by far_ the most killing young man she knows.”
The words very, exceedingly, and the like, placed before the positive,
give it the force of the superlative; and this is called by some the
superlative of eminence, as distinguished from the superlative of
comparison. Thus, Very Reverend is termed the superlative of eminence,
although it is the title of a dean, not of a cardinal; and Most Reverend,
the appellation of an Archbishop, is called the superlative of comparison.
A _Bishop_, in our opinion, is _Most Excellent_.
The comparative is sometimes so employed as to express the same
pre-eminence or inferiority as the superlative. For instance; the
sentence, “Of all the cultivators of science, the botanist is the most
crafty,” has the same meaning as the following “The botanist is more
crafty than any other cultivator of science.”
Why? some of our readers will ask--
Because he is acquainted with all sorts of _plants_.
CHAPTER V.
OF PRONOUNS.
Pronouns or proxy-nouns are of three kinds; namely, the Personal, the
Relative, and the Adjective Pronouns.
_Note._--That when we said, some few pages back, that a pronoun was a word
used instead of a noun, we did not mean to call such words as thingumibob,
whatsiname, what-d’ye-call-it, and the like, pronouns.
And that, although we shall proceed to treat of the pronouns in the
English language, we shall have nothing to do, at present, with what some
people please to call pronoun-_ciation_.
SECTION I.
OF THE PERSONAL PRONOUNS.
“Mr. Haddams, don’t be personal, Sir!”
“I’m not, Sir.”
“You har, Sir!”
“What did I say, Sir?--tell me that.”
“You reflected on my perfession, Sir; you said, as there was _some_ people
as always stuck up for the _cloth_; and you insinnivated that certain
parties dined off _goose_ by means of _cabbaging_ from the parish. I ask
any gentleman in the westry, if that an’t personal?”
[Illustration: A SELECT VESTRY.]
“Vell, Sir, vot I says I’ll stick to.”
“Yes, Sir, like vax, as the saying is.”
“Wot d’ye mean by that, Sir?”
“Wot I say, Sir!”
“You’re a individual, Sir!”
“You’re another, Sir!”
“You’re no gentleman, Sir!”
“You’re a humbug, Sir!”
“You’re a knave, Sir!”
“You’re a rogue, Sir!”
“You’re a wagabond, Sir!”
“You’re a willain, Sir!”
“You’re a tailor, Sir!”
“You’re a cobbler, Sir!” (Order! order! chair! chair! &c.)
The above is what is called personal language. How many different things
one word serves to express in English! A pronoun may be as personal as
possible, and yet nobody will take offence at it.
There are five Personal Pronouns; namely, I, thou, he, she, it; with their
plurals, we, ye or you, they.
Personal Pronouns admit of person, number, gender, and case.
Pronouns have three persons in each number.
In the Singular;
I, is the first person.
Thou, is the second person.
He, she, or it, is the third person.
In the plural;
We, is the first person.
Ye or you, is the second person.
They, is the third person.
This account of persons will be very intelligible when the following
Pastoral Fragment is reflected on:--
HE.
_I_ love thee, Susan, on my life:
_Thou_ art the maiden for a wife.
_He_ who lives single is an ass;
_She_ who ne’er weds a luckless lass.
_It’s_ tiresome work to live alone;
So come with me, and be my own.
SHE.
_We_ maids are oft by men deceived;
_Ye_ don’t deserve to be believed;
_You_ don’t--but there’s my hand--heigho!
_They_ tell us, women can’t say no!
The speaker or speakers are of the first person; those spoken to, of the
second; and those spoken of, of the third.
Of the three persons, the first is the most universally admired.
The second is the object of much adulation and flattery, and now and then
of a little abuse.
The third person is generally made small account of; and, amongst other
grievances, suffers a great deal from being frequently bitten about the
back.
The Numbers of pronouns, like those of substantives, are, as we have
already seen, two; the singular and the plural.
In addressing yourself to anybody, it is customary to use the second
person plural instead of the singular. This practice most probably arose
from a notion, that to be thought twice the man that the speaker was,
gratified the vanity of the person addressed. Thus, the French put a
double Monsieur on the backs of their letters.
Editors say “We,” instead of “I,” out of modesty.
The Quakers continue to say “thee” and “thou,” in the use of which
pronouns, as well as in the wearing of broad-brimmed hats and of stand-up
collars, they perceive a peculiar sanctity.
Gender has to do only with the third person singular of the pronouns, he,
she, it. He is masculine; she is feminine; it is neuter.
Pronouns have the like cases with substantives; the nominative, the
possessive, and the objective.
Would that they were the hardest cases to be met with in this country!
The personal pronouns are thus declined:--
FIRST PERSON FIRST PERSON
CASE. SINGULAR. PLURAL.
Nom. I We.
Poss. Mine Ours.
Obj. Me Us.
Pronouns, you see, are declined without fuss.
CASE. SECOND PERSON. SECOND PERSON.
Nom. Thou Ye or you.
Poss. Thine Yours.
Obj. Thee You.
How glad I shall be when my task I’ve got through!
Now the third person singular, as we before observed, has genders; and we
shall therefore decline it in a different way. Variety is charming.
THIRD PERSON SINGULAR.
CASE. MASC. FEM. NEUT.
Nom. He She It.
Well done Kit!
Poss. His. Hers Its.
Now Tom’s quits.
Obj. Him Her It.
Deuce a bit!
CASE. PLURAL.
Nom. They
Poss. Theirs.
Obj. Them.
Reader, Mem.
We beg to inform thee, that the third person plural has no distinction of
gender.
SECTION II.
OF THE RELATIVE PRONOUNS.
The Pronouns called Relative are such as relate, for the most part, to
some word or phrase, called the antecedent, on account of its going
before: they are, _who_, _which_, and _that_: as, “The man _who_ does not
drink enough when he can get it, is a fool; but he _that_ drinks too much
is a beast.”
_What_ is usually equivalent to _that which_, and is, therefore, a kind of
compound relative, containing both the antecedent and the relative; as,
“You want _what_ you’ll very soon have!” that is to say, _the thing which_
you will very soon have.
_Who_ is applied to persons, _which_ to animals and things without life;
as, “He is a _gentleman who_ keeps a horse and lives respectably.” “To the
_dog which_ pinned the old woman, they cried, ‘Cæsar!’” “This is the _tree
which_ Larkins called a _h_elm.”
Larkins.--I say, Nibbs, ven is a helm box like a asthmatical chest?
Nibbs.--Ven it’s a _coffin_.
_That_, as a relative, is used to prevent the too frequent repetition of
_who_ and _which_, and is applied both to persons and things; as, “_He
that_ stops the bottle is a _Cork_ man.” “This is the house _that_ Jack
built.”
_Who_ is of both numbers; and so is an Editor; for, according to what we
observed just now, he is both singular and plural. _Who_, we repeat, is of
both numbers, and is thus declined:--
SINGULAR AND PLURAL.
Nominative. Who
Is the maiden to woo?
Genitive. Whose
Hand shall I choose?
Accusative. Whom
To despair shall I doom?
_Which_, _that_, and _what_ are indeclinable; except that _whose_ is
sometimes used as the possessive case of _which_; as,
“The roe, poor dear, laments amain,
_Whose_ sweet hart was by hunter slain.”
Thus _whose_ is substituted for _of which_, in the following example:--
“There is a blacking famed, _of which_
The sale made Day and Martin rich;
There is another blacking, _whose_
Compounder patronised the Muse.”[2]
_Who_, _which_, and _what_, when they are used in asking questions, are
called Interrogatives; as, “_Who_ is Mr. Walker?” “_Which_ is the left
side of a round plum-pudding?” “_What_ is the damage?”
Those who have made popular phraseology their study, will have found that
_which_ is sometimes used for _whereas_, and words of like signification;
as in Dean Swift’s “Mary the Cookmaid’s Letter to Dr. Sheridan”:--
“And now I know whereby you would fain make an excuse,
Because my master one day in anger call’d you a goose;
_Which_, and I am sure I have been his servant since October,
And he never called me worse than sweetheart, drunk or sober.”
_What_, or, to speak more _im_properly, _wot_, is generally substituted by
cabmen and costermongers for _who_; as, “The donkey _wot_ wouldn’t go.”
“The man _wot_ sweeps the crossing.”
_That_, likewise, is very frequently rejected by the vulgar, who use _as_
in its place; as, “Them _as_ asks shan’t have any; and them _as_ don’t ask
don’t want any.”
SECTION III.
OF THE ADJECTIVE PRONOUNS.
Adjective pronouns partake of the nature of both pronouns and adjectives.
They may be subdivided into four sorts: the possessive, the distributive,
the demonstrative, and the indefinite.
The possessive pronouns are those which imply possession or property. Of
these there are seven; namely, _my_, _thy_, _his_, _her_, _our_, _your_,
_their_.
The word _self_ is added to possessives; as, myself, yourself, “Says I to
myself, says I.” _Self_ is also sometimes used with personal pronouns;
as, himself, itself, themselves. _His_ self is a common, but not a proper
expression.
[Illustration: SELF-ESTEEM.]
The distributive are three: _each_, _every_, _either_; they denote the
individual persons or things separately, which, when taken together, make
up a number.
_Each_ is used when two or more persons or things are mentioned singly;
as, “_each_ of the Catos;” “_each_ of the Browns.”
_Every_ relates to one out of several; as, “_Every_ mare is a horse, but
_every_ horse is not a mare.”
_Either_ refers to one out of two; as,
“When I between two jockeys ride,
I have a knave on _either_ side.”
_Neither_ signifies “not either;” as “_Neither_ of the Bacons was related
to Hogg.”
The demonstrative pronouns precisely point out the subjects to which they
relate; such are _this_ and _that_, with their plurals _these_ and
_those_; as, “_This_ is a foreign Prince; _that_ is an English Peer.”
_This_ refers to the nearest person or thing, and to the latter or last
mentioned; _that_ to the most distant, and to the former or first
mentioned; as, “_This_ is a man; _that_ is a nondescript.” “At the period
of the Reformation in Scotland, a curious contrast between the ancient and
modern ecclesiastical systems was observed; for while _that_ had been
always maintained by a _Bull_, _this_ was now supported by a _Knox_.”
The indefinite are those which express their subjects in an indefinite or
general manner; as, _some_, _other_, _any_, _one_, _all_, _such_, &c.
When the definite article _the_ comes before the word _other_, those who
do not know better, are accustomed to strike out the _he_ in _the_, and to
say, _t’other_.
The same persons also use _other_ in the comparative degree; for
sometimes, instead of saying quite the reverse, or perhaps re_w_erse, they
avail themselves of the expression, _more t’other_.
So much for the Pronouns.
CHAPTER VI.
OF VERBS.
SECTION I.
OF THE NATURE OF VERBS IN GENERAL.
The nature of Verbs in general, and that in all languages, is, that they
are the most difficult things in the Grammar.
Verbs are divided into Active, Passive, and Neuter; and also into Regular,
Irregular, and Defective. To these divisions we beg to add another; Verbs
Comic.
A Verb Active implies an agent, and an object acted upon; as, to love; “I
love Wilhelmina Stubbs.” Here, I am the agent; that is, the lover; and
Wilhelmina Stubbs is the object acted upon, or the beloved object.
A Verb Passive expresses the suffering, feeling, or undergoing of
something; and therefore implies an object acted upon, and an agent by
which it is acted upon; as, to be loved; “Wilhelmina Stubbs is loved by
me.”
A Verb Neuter expresses neither action nor passion, but a state of being;
as, I bounce, I lie.
[Illustration: “Fact, Madam!”
“Gracious, Major!”]
Of Verbs Regular, Irregular, and Defective, we shall have somewhat to say
hereafter.
Verbs Comic are, for the most part, verbs which cannot be found in the
dictionary, and are used to express ordinary actions in a jocular manner;
as, to “morris,” to “bolt,” to “mizzle,” which signify to go or to depart;
to “bone,” to “prig,” that is to say, to steal; to “collar,” which means
to seize, an expression probably derived from the mode of prehension, or
rather apprehension characteristic of the New Police, as it is one very
much in the mouths of those who most frequently come in contact with that
body: to “lush,” or drink; to “grub,” or eat; to “sell,” or deceive, &c.
Under the head of Verbs Comic, the Yankee-isms, I “calculate,” I “reckon,”
I “realise,” I “guess,” and the like, may also be properly enumerated.
Auxiliary, or helping Verbs (by the way, we marvel that the Americans do
not call their servants auxiliaries instead of helps,) are those, by the
help of which we are chiefly enabled to conjugate our verbs in English.
They are, do, be, have, shall, will, may, can, with their variations; and
let and must, which have no variation.
Let, however, when it is _anything but_ a _helping_ verb, as, for
instance, when it signifies to _hinder_, makes lettest and letteth. The
phrase, “This House to Let,” generally used instead of “to be let,” really
meaning the reverse of what it is intended to convey, is a piece of comic
English.
To verbs belong Number, Person, Mood, and Tense. These may be called the
properties of a verb; and like those of opium, they are soporiferous
properties. There are two very important objects which the writer of every
book has, or ought to have in view, to get a reader who is wide awake, and
to keep him so:--the latter of which, when Number, Person, Mood, and Tense
are to be treated of, is no such easy matter; seeing that the said writer
is then in some danger of going to sleep himself. Never mind. If we nod,
let the reader wink. What can’t be cured must be endured.