Our spelling _acre_ according to Webster’s former method[1]—_aker_,
has attracted no little attention, in a small way, both far and near.
It is very difficult to fix on any rule for anything in our language.
Etymology is chiefly useful in settling the primitive signification,
and is, or ought to be, scarcely at all authoritative in orthography.
Where two languages are very different, it is absurd to attempt the
forms of the one in the other. In respect to _idiom_, no one dreams of
transferring it from one to another. Oftentimes it is equally absurd
to transfer mere literation, as in the Greek-blooded word _Phthisic_
for Tisic, or as Walker would have spelled it, _Phthisick_! Who rebels
because _demesne_, as it is written in our best authors until within a
little time, is now spelled _domain_? We see no reason why Anglicized
words should, against all our notions of sound, retain a cumbrous
foreign spelling. Words adopted into a language by the _ear_, which
are spoken before they are written, generally conform, on being
written, to our modes of spelling. But words introduced first by the
eye, as they are written, for a long time wear the original spelling.
Thus some foreign words are spelled by one method, and some by
another.
Custom is usually regarded as determinate, in the matter of spelling,
pronunciation, idiom, purity, etc. But, in respect to spelling, custom
is not long the same. If one will examine our literature from the time
of Henry VIII., he will find a constant succession of changes in
spelling, both for good and for bad. _I_ has been generally
substituted for _Y_, as in _Lykwyse_, _accordynge_, _beyng_,
_certayne_. Sir Thomas More wrote _hym_, _thynges_, _desyer_,
_myndes_. Skelton, the Poet Laureat, has _centencyously_, _dyd_,
_advysynge_, _hyll_, etc., etc.
There has, too, and wisely, been a constant tendency to drop all
_unsounded_ letters. What earthly use is there of lugging along
letters which are entirely mute? In old but classic authors we have
God_de_ dyd_de_, now_e_, which_e_, pull_e_, best_e_, such_e_,
cou_e_rt_e_ (court) be_e_twen_e_, begun_ne_, etc.
Within our own memory the final _k_ is lopped of from words where it
had a perfect sinecure, as in music_k_, etc. “_Kan’t kum it_,” does
not look any more odd to our eyes than our spelling would have looked
to those who wrote one hundred years ago.
If it be asked why we do not spell every word by the same rule that we
do some; we reply, that violent, and sudden changes in languages are
_impracticable_; and as in everything else, are not desirable. We are
glad to see spelling simplified, and shall move along just as fast as
we can do it with a reasonable prospect of carrying the public.
It is not a matter of conscience; we have no necessity laid upon us to
reform the language; no call to be _literal_ martyrs; it is a matter
of _convenience_ and _taste_, to be done or omitted as one pleases. It
would be more inconvenient to stand alone with all writers against us,
for the sake of spelling consistently, than to spell foolishly and
superfluously in conformity to inveterate practice. Therefore, for the
sake of company, we still spell quite absurdly.
It is called _inconsistent_; and by men, too, who spell trough, cough,
enough, though; through, bought, six dissimilar sounds (_ou_, _ow_,
_oo_, _o_, _uf_, _off_), by the same combination of letters! If
consistency be the question, every English writer that ever lived, is
a mere bundle of inconsistencies. Every continental living language,
and the dead classic languages, have thrown in their contributions,
and our tongue comprises the scraps, odds and ends, of all lands, with
all the diverse peculiarities of each language more or less retained.
Under such circumstances, when no man writes a sentence without
spelling inconsistently, it is quite ridiculous to oppose a
simplification of spelling, because we cannot do, at once, what it is
only practicable to do gradually. As fast as the public is able to
bear it, we shall be glad to reduce all cumbrous spelling to a
consistent simplicity.
An acquaintance declares, that the derivation of AKER from the Latin
and Greek, is “without the least foundation in the words as used in
the Greek and Latin and in the English, and built entirely on the
resemblance of sounds,” etc. The facts are the other way. In the
Greek, and in the Latin, it meant simply a field, an open, cultivated
spot. Now, this was the meaning of the word in English, until it was
by statutes limited to a particular quantity (31 Ed. III.; 5 Ed. I.,
24; Henry VIII., as quoted by Webster) and this is the meaning yet, of
the word in German (_acker_) Swedish (_acker_) Dutch (_akker_). There
is, therefore, ample foundation in the _use_ of the word; and the
_sound_ our friend gives up.
In almost all the languages of the Teutonic family, of which ours is
one, the word is still spelled with _k_; and so it is in the Asiatic
languages, from which, probably, both the Teutonic and the Greek,
alike borrowed it.
The spelling a_cre_, as also cent_re_, theat_re_ we, probably, derived
from the French; to which language we owe the emasculation of many a
noble Saxon word.
In the _New England Farmer_ our orthographical sins are thus set in
order before us:
“The _Western Farmer and Gardener_, is an excellent
journal—very. It has only one feature that we dislike,
viz.—it spells ACRE _a-k-e-r_! We are somewhat surprised at
Bro. Beecher, who usually evinces such good taste, as well
as such good sense, should adopt such an ugly-looking
substitute for an old word of so much better appearance,
although supported in it by the prince of lexicographers.
“_A-k-e-r!_ Wheugh! Bro. editors, _hoot_ at it till it shall
become obsolete. In Todd’s, Johnson’s, and Walker’s, and
Worcester’s dictionaries, _fuel_ is spelled _fewel_, as the
most correct way. This is odd enough and bad enough—but it
is hardly so unsightly as _aker_.”
Nothing becomes obsolete until it has been in vogue. But pass that:
what a sight will the hooting confraternity present! I imagine Maine
Farmer Holmes—a plump, short, dapper gentleman, giving a long howl,
that sounds so ludicrous, that he draws back from the open window to
laugh. Our more sober Breck performs the euphonious duty with such
conscientious heartiness, that up starts the man of Buckwheat from his
(mis-spelled) Plo_ugh_man’s chair, as also does the Cultivator Cole—a
trio not practiced to sing together. The uproar reaches Albany, and
surprises him of the Cultivator, who hoots supplementary, with such
voice as he happens, in his surprise, to have on hand. Next, toward
the west, Dr. Lee shall give a scientific roar or hoot such as will
make his laboratory jar again. Down across the lake the hooting (not
_hunting_) chorus goes (what will the sailors think is to pay!) to
Elliot of the yard-long-named Magazine, who, hoarse with lake fogs and
winds, shall put in so bass a hoot, that Wight and Wright of the
_Prairie Farmer_ will howl of mere fright, if for nothing else.
Audacious men! we utterly defy you! We shall pass by the whole crowing
brood of Polands, Dorkings and what-not; and raise a breed of genuine
owls, to be our champions in this dire necessity. We say,
peremptorily, that we will not bet on any match between hooting birds
and hooting editors. But our serious opinion is, that, in grave
solemnity of looks, and in professional hooting, a half dozen
well-trained owls will beat the whole of you. However, we are open to
conviction.
[1] Two-volume edition, imperial octavo.