SLANG is the language of street humour, of fast, high, and low life.
CANT, as was stated in the chapter upon that subject, is the vulgar
language of secrecy. They are both universal and ancient, and appear
to have been the peculiar concomitants of gay, vulgar, or worthless
persons in every part of the world, at every period of time. Indeed, if
we are to believe implicitly the saying of _the_ wise man, that “there
is nothing new under the sun,” the “fast” men of buried Nineveh, with
their knotty and door-matty looking beards, may have cracked Slang
jokes on the steps of Sennacherib’s palace; and the stocks and stones
of Ancient Egypt, and the bricks of venerable and used-up Babylon,
may, for aught we know, be covered with Slang hieroglyphics unknown
to modern antiquarians, and which have long been stumbling-blocks to
the philologist; so impossible is it at this day to say what was then
authorised, or what then vulgar language. Slang is as old as speech
and the congregating together of people in cities. It is the result of
crowding, and excitement, and artificial life. Even to the classics
it was not unknown, as witness the pages of Aristophanes and Plautus,
Terence and Athenæus. Martial, the epigrammatist, is full of Slang.
When an uninvited guest accompanied his friend, the Slang of the day
styled him his UMBRA; when a man was trussed, neck and heels, it called
him jocosely QUADRUPUS.
Old English Slang was coarser, and depended more upon downright
vulgarity than our modern Slang. It was a jesting speech, or humorous
indulgence for the thoughtless moment, or the drunken hour, and it
acted as a vent-peg for a fit of temper or irritability; but it did not
interlard and permeate every description of conversation as now. It
was confined to nick-names and improper subjects, and encroached but
to a very small extent upon the domain of authorised speech. Indeed,
it was exceedingly limited when compared with the vast territory of
Slang in such general favour and complete circulation at the present
day. Still, although not an alarming encumbrance, as in our time,
Slang certainly did exist in this country centuries ago, as we may
see if we look down the page of any respectable History of England.
Cromwell was familiarly called OLD NOLL,—just the same as Buonaparte
was termed BONEY, and Wellington CONKEY, or NOSEY, only a few years
ago. His Legislature, too, was spoken of in a high-flavoured way as
the BAREBONES, or RUMP Parliament, and his followers were nicknamed
ROUNDHEADS, and the peculiar religious sects of his protectorate were
styled PURITANS and QUAKERS.[35] The Civil War pamphlets, and the
satirical hits of the Cavaliers and the Commonwealth men, originated
numerous Slang words and vulgar similes, in full use at the present
moment. Here is a field of inquiry for the Philological Society, indeed
I may say a territory, for there are thirty thousand of these partisan
tracts. Later still, in the court of Charles the Second, the naughty
ladies and the gay lords, with Rochester at their head, talked Slang;
and very naughty Slang it was too! Fops, in those days, when “over
head and ears” in debt, and in continual fear of arrest, termed their
enemies, the bailiffs, PHILISTINES[36] or MOABITES. At a later period,
when collars were worn detached from shirts, in order to save the
expense of washing—an object it would seem with needy “swells” in all
ages—they obtained the name of JACOBITES. One half of the coarse wit in
Butler’s Hudibras lurks in the vulgar words and phrases which he was
so fond of employing. They were more homely and forcible than the mild
and elegant sentences of Cowley, and the people, therefore, hurrah’d
them, and pronounced Butler one of themselves,—or, as we should say, in
a joyful moment, a jolly good fellow. Orator Henley preached and prayed
in Slang, and first charmed and then swayed the dirty mobs in Lincoln’s
Inn Fields by vulgarisms. Burly Grose mentions Henley, with the remark
that we owe a great many Slang phrases to him. Swift, and old Sir Roger
L’Estrange, and Arbuthnot, were all fond of vulgar or Slang language;
indeed, we may see from a Slang word used by the latter how curious
is the gradual adoption of vulgar terms in our standard dictionaries.
The worthy doctor, in order to annihilate (or, as we should say with a
fitting respect to the subject under consideration, SMASH) an opponent,
thought proper on an occasion to use the word CABBAGE, not in the
ancient and esculentary sense of a flatulent vegetable of the kitchen
garden, but in the at once Slang sense of purloining or cribbing.
Johnson soon met with the word, looked at it, examined it, weighed it,
and shook his head, but out of respect to a brother doctor inserted it
in his dictionary, labelling it, however, prominently “_Cant_;” whilst
Walker and Webster, years after, when _to cabbage_ was to _pilfer_ all
over England, placed the term in their dictionaries as an ancient and
very respectable word. Another Slang term, GULL, to cheat, or delude,
sometimes varied to GULLY, is stated to be connected with the Dean
of St. Patrick. GULL, a dupe, or a fool, is often used by our old
dramatists, and is generally believed to have given rise to the verb;
but a curious little edition of _Bamfylde Moore Carew_, published in
1827, says that TO GULL, or GULLY, is derived from the well known
_Gulliver_, the hero of the famous _Travels_. How crammed with Slang
are the dramatic works of the last century! The writers of the comedies
and farces in those days must have lived in the streets, and written
their plays in the public-houses, so filled are they with vulgarisms
and unauthorised words. The popular phrases, “I owe you one,” “that’s
one for his nob,” and “keep moving, dad,” arose in this way.[37] The
second of these sayings was, doubtless, taken from the card table, for
at cribbage the player who holds the knave of the suit turned up counts
“one for his nob,” and the dealer who turns up a knave counts “two for
his heels.”
In Mrs. Centlivre’s admirable comedy of _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_,
we see the origin of that popular street phrase, THE REAL SIMON PURE.
Simon Pure is the Quaker name adopted by Colonel Feignwell as a trick
to obtain the hand of Mistress Anne Lovely in marriage. The veritable
Quaker, the “real Simon Pure,” recommended by Aminadab Holdfast, of
Bristol, as a fit sojourner with Obadiah Prim, arrives at last to
the discomfiture of the Colonel, who, to maintain his position and
gain time, concocts a letter in which the real Quaker is spoken of as
a housebreaker who had travelled in the “leather conveniency” from
Bristol, and adopted the garb and name of the Western Quaker in order
to pass off as the “REAL SIMON PURE,” but only for the purpose of
robbing the house and cutting the throat of the perplexed Obadiah. The
scene in which the two Simon Pures, the _real_ and the _counterfeit_,
meet, is one of the best in the comedy.
Tom Brown, of “facetious memory,” as his friends were wont to say, and
Ned Ward, who wrote humorous books, and when tired drew beer for his
customers at his ale-house in Long Acre,[38] were both great producers
of Slang in the last century, and to them we owe many popular current
phrases and household words.
Written Slang was checked rather than advanced by the pens of Addison,
Johnson, and Goldsmith, although John Bee, the bottle-holder and
historiographer of the pugilistic band of brothers in the youthful
days of flat-nosed Tom Crib, has gravely stated that Johnson, when
young and rakish, contributed to an early volume of the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ a few pages, by way of specimen, of a Slang dictionary, the
result, Mr. Bee says, “of his midnight ramblings!”[39] And Goldsmith,
I must not forget to remark, certainly coined a few words, although,
as a rule, his pen was pure and graceful, and adverse to neologisms.
The word FUDGE, it has been stated, was first used by him in literary
composition, although it originated with one Captain Fudge, a notorious
fibber, nearly a century before. Street-phrases, nick-names, and
vulgar words were continually being added to the great stock of
popular Slang up to the commencement of the present century, when it
received numerous additions from pugilism, horse-racing, and “fast”
life generally, which suddenly came into great public favour, and
was at its height when the Prince Regent was in his rakish minority.
Slang in those days was generally termed FLASH language. So popular
was it with the “bloods” of high life that it constituted the best
paying literary capital for certain authors and dramatists. Pierce Egan
issued _Boxiana_, and _Life in London_, six portly octavo volumes,
crammed with Slang; and Moncrieff wrote the most popular farce of
the day, _Tom and Jerry_ (adapted from the latter work), which, to
use newspaper Slang, “took the town by storm,” and, with its then
fashionable vulgarisms, made the fortune of the old Adelphi Theatre,
and was, without exception, the most wonderful instance of a continuous
theatrical RUN in ancient or modern times. This, also, was brimful of
Slang. Other authors helped to popularise and extend Slang down to our
own time, when it has taken a somewhat different turn, dropping many
of the Cant and old vulgar words, and assuming a certain quaint and
fashionable phraseology—Frenchy, familiar, utilitarian, and jovial.
There can be no doubt but that common speech is greatly influenced by
fashion, fresh manners, and that general change of ideas which steals
over a people once in a generation. But before I proceed further
into the region of _Slang_, it will be well to say something on the
etymology of the word.
The word SLANG is only mentioned by two lexicographers—Webster and
Ogilvie. Johnson, Walker, and the older compilers of dictionaries, give
_slang_ the preterite of _sling_, but not a word about SLANG in the
sense of low, vulgar, or unrecognised language. The origin of the word
has often been asked for in literary journals and books, but only one
man, as far as I can learn, has ever hazarded an etymology—Jonathan
Bee, the vulgar chronicler of the prize-ring.[40] With a recklessness
peculiar to pugilism, Bee stated that SLANG was derived from “the
_slangs_ or fetters worn by prisoners, having acquired that name from
the manner in which they were worn, as they required a sling of string
to keep them off the ground.” Bee had just been nettled at Pierce Egan
producing a new edition of _Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_,
and was determined to excel him in a vulgar dictionary of his own,
which should be more racy, more pugilistic, and more original. How far
he succeeded in this latter particular his ridiculous etymology of
Slang will show. SLANG is not an English word, it is the Gipsey term
for their secret language, and its synonyme is GIBBERISH—another word
which was believed to have had no distinct origin.[41] Grose—stout and
burly Captain Grose—who we may characterise as the greatest antiquary,
joker, and drinker of porter of his day, was the first author who put
the word SLANG into print. It occurs in his _Classical Dictionary of
the Vulgar Tongue_, of 1785, with the signification that it implies
“Cant or vulgar language.” Grose, I may remark in passing, was a
great favourite with the poet Burns, and so pleased by his extensive
powers of story-telling and grog-imbibing, that the companionable and
humour-loving Scotch bard wrote for his fat friend—or, to use his
own words, “the fine, fat, fodgel wight”—the immortal poem of “Tam
O’Shanter.”
Without troubling the reader with a long account of the transformation
into an English term of the word SLANG, I may remark in passing that
it is easily seen how we obtained it from the Gipseys. Hucksters and
beggars on tramp, or at fairs and races, associate and frequently join
in any rough enterprise with the Gipseys. The word would be continually
heard by them, and would in this manner soon become CANT;[42] and, when
carried by “fast” or vulgar fashionables from the society of thieves
and low characters to their own drawing-rooms, would as quickly become
SLANG, and the representative term for all vulgar or Slang language.
Any sudden excitement, peculiar circumstance, or popular literary
production, is quite sufficient to originate and set going a score
of Slang words. Nearly every election or public agitation throws
out offshoots of the excitement, or scintillations of the humour
in the shape of Slang terms—vulgar at first, but at length adopted
as semi-respectable from the force of habit and custom. There is
scarcely a condition or calling in life that does not possess its own
peculiar Slang. The professions, legal and medical, have each familiar
and unauthorised terms for peculiar circumstances and things, and
I am quite certain that the clerical calling, or “_the cloth_,” is
not entirely free from this peculiarity. Every workshop, warehouse,
factory, and mill throughout the country has its Slang, and so have
the public schools of Eton, Harrow, and Westminster, and the great
Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Sea Slang constitutes the
principal charm of a sailor’s “yarn,” and our soldiers and officers
have each their peculiar nicknames and terms for things and subjects
proper and improper. A writer in _Household Words_ (No. 183) has
gone so far as to remark, that a person “shall not read one single
parliamentary debate, as reported in a first-class newspaper, without
meeting scores of Slang words;” and “that from Mr. Speaker in his
chair, to the Cabinet Ministers whispering behind it—from mover to
seconder, from true blue Protectionist to extremest Radical—Mr. Barry’s
New House echoes and re-echoes with Slang.” Really it seems as if our
boasted English tongue was a very paltry and ill-provided contrivance
after all; or can it be that we are the most vulgar of people?
The universality of Slang is extraordinary. Let any person for a short
time narrowly examine the conversation of their dearest and nearest
friends, aye, censor-like, even slice and analyse their own supposed
correct talk, and they shall be amazed at the numerous unauthorised,
and what we can only call vulgar, words they continually employ. It is
not the number of new words that we are ever introducing that is so
reprehensible, there is not so much harm in this practice (frequently
termed in books “the license of expression”) if neologisms are really
required, but it is the continually encumbering of _old_ words with
fresh and strange meanings. Look at those simple and useful verbs,
_do_, _cut_, _go_, and _take_, and see how they are hampered and
overloaded, and then let us ask ourselves how it is that a French
or German gentleman, be he ever so well educated, is continually
blundering and floundering amongst our _little_ words when trying
to make himself understood in an ordinary conversation. He may have
studied our language the required time, and have gone through the usual
amount of “grinding,” and practised the common allotment of patience,
but all to no purpose as far as accuracy is concerned. I am aware that
most new words are generally regarded as Slang, although afterwards
they may become useful and respectable additions to our standard
dictionaries. JABBER and HOAX were Slang and Cant terms in Swift’s
time; so indeed were MOB and SHAM.[43] Words directly from the Latin
and Greek, and Carlyleisms, are allowed by an indulgent public to pass
and take their places in books. Sound contributes many Slang words—a
source that etymologists too frequently overlook. Nothing pleases an
ignorant person more than a high-sounding term “full of fury.” How
melodious and drum-like are those vulgar coruscations RUMBUMPTIOUS,
SLANTINGDICULAR, SPLENDIFEROUS, RUMBUSTIOUS, and FERRICADOUZER. What
a “pull” the sharp-nosed lodging-house keeper thinks she has over her
victims if she can but hurl such testimonies of a liberal education
at them when they are disputing her charges, and threatening to
ABSQUATULATE! In the United States the vulgar-genteel even excel the
poor “stuck-up” Cockneys in their formation of a native fashionable
language. How charming to a refined ear are ABSKIZE, CATAWAMPOUSLY,
EXFLUNCTIFY, OBSCUTE, KESLOSH, KESOUSE, KESWOLLOP, and KEWHOLLUX!
Vulgar words representing action and brisk movement often owe their
origin to sound. Mispronunciation, too, is another great source of
vulgar or slang words—RAMSHACKLE, SHACKLY, NARY-ONE for neither, or
neither one, OTTOMY for anatomy, RENCH for rinse, are specimens.
The commonalty dislike frequently occurring words difficult of
pronunciation, and so we have the street abridgments of BIMEBY for by
and by, CAZE for because, GIN for given, HANKERCHER for handkerchief,
RUMATIZ for rheumatism, BACKY for tobacco, and many others, not perhaps
Slang, but certainly all vulgarisms. Archbishop Whately, in his
interesting _Remains of Bishop Copleston_, has inserted a leaf from the
Bishop’s note-book on the popular corruption of names, mentioning among
others KICKSHAWS, as from the French, _quelques choses_; BEEFEATER,
the lubberly guardian of royalty in a procession, and the supposed
devourer of enormous beefsteaks, as but a vulgar pronunciation of the
French, _buffetier_; and GEORGE and CANNON, the sign of a public-house,
as nothing but a corruption (although so soon!) of the popular premier
of the last generation, _George Canning_. Literature has its Slang
terms; and the desire on the part of writers to say funny and startling
things in a novel and curious way (the late _Household Words_,[44] for
instance), contributes many unauthorised words to the great stock of
Slang.
_Fashionable_, or _Upper-class Slang_, is of several varieties. There
is the Belgravian, military and naval, parliamentary, dandy, and the
reunion and visiting Slang. Concerning the Slang of the fashionable
world, a writer in _Household Words_ curiously, but not altogether
truthfully, remarks, that it is mostly imported from France; and
that an unmeaning gibberish of Gallicisms runs through English
fashionable conversation, and fashionable novels, and accounts of
fashionable parties in the fashionable newspapers. Yet, ludicrously
enough, immediately the fashionable magnates of England seize on any
French idiom, the French themselves not only universally abandon it
to us, but positively repudiate it altogether from their idiomatic
vocabulary. If you were to tell a well-bred Frenchman that such and
such an aristocratic marriage was on the _tapis_, he would stare with
astonishment, and look down on the carpet in the startled endeavour
to find a marriage in so unusual a place. If you were to talk to him
of the _beau monde_, he would imagine you meant the world which God
made, not half-a-dozen streets and squares between Hyde Park Corner
and Chelsea Bun House. The _thé dansante_[45] would be completely
inexplicable to him. If you were to point out to him the Dowager Lady
Grimguffin acting as _chaperon_ to Lady Amanda Creamville, he would
imagine you were referring to the _petit Chaperon rouge_—to little Red
Riding Hood. He might just understand what was meant by _vis-a-vis_,
_entremets_, and some others of the flying horde of frivolous little
foreign slangisms hovering about fashionable cookery and fashionable
furniture; but three-fourths of them would seem to him as barbarous
French provincialisms, or, at best, but as antiquated and obsolete
expressions, picked out of the letters of Mademoiselle Scuderi, or the
tales of Crebillon the “younger.” Servants, too, appropriate the scraps
of French conversation which fall from their masters’ guests at the
dinner table, and forthwith in the world of flunkeydom the word “know”
is disused, and the lady’s maid, in doubt on a particular point, asks
John whether or no he SAVEYS it?[46] What, too, can be more abominable
than that heartless piece of fashionable newspaper Slang, regularly
employed when speaking of the successful courtship of young people in
the fashionable world:—
MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.—We understand that a marriage is ARRANGED (!)
betwixt the Lady, &c. &c., and the Honourable, &c. &c.
ARRANGED! Is that cold-blooded Smithfield or Mark-lane term for a
sale or a purchase the proper word to express the hopeful, joyous,
golden union of young and trustful hearts? Which is the proper way to
pronounce the names of great people, and what the correct authority?
Lord Cowper, we are often assured, is Lord _Cooper_—on this principle
Lord Cowley would certainly be Lord _Cooley_—and Mr. Carew, we are
told, should be Mr. _Carey_, Ponsonby should be _Punsunby_, Eyre
should he _Aire_, Cholmondeley should be _Chumley_, St. John _Singen_,
Majoribanks _Marshbanks_, Derby _Darby_ (its ancient pronunciation),
and Powell should always be _Poel_. I don’t know that these lofty
persons have as much cause to complain of the illiberality of fate in
giving them disagreeable names as did the celebrated Psyche (as she was
termed by Tom Moore), whose original name, through her husband, was
_Teague_, but which was afterwards altered to Tighe.
_Parliamentary Slang_, excepting a few peculiar terms connected with
“_the_ House” (scarcely Slang, I suppose), is mainly composed of
fashionable, literary, and learned Slang. When members, however, get
excited and wish to be forcible, they are often not very particular
which of the street terms they select, providing it carries, as
good old Dr. South said, plenty of wild-fire in it. Sir Hugh Cairns
very lately spoke of “that homely but expressive phrase, DODGE.”
Out of “the House,” several Slang terms are used in connection with
Parliament or members of Parliament. If Lord Palmerston is known by
name to the tribes of the Caucasus and Asia Minor as a great foreign
diplomatist, when the name of our Queen Victoria is an unknown title
to the inhabitants of those parts—as was stated in the _Times_ a short
time ago,—I have only to remark that amongst the costers and the wild
inhabitants of the streets he is better known as PAM. I have often
heard the cabmen on the “ranks” in Piccadilly remark of the late
Chancellor of the Exchequer, when he has been going from his residence
at Grosvenor Gate, to Derby House in St. James’s Square,—“hollo,
there! de yer see old DIZZY doing a stump?” A PLUMPER is a single vote
at an election,—not a SPLIT-TICKET; and electors who have occupied a
house, no matter how small, and boiled a pot in it, thus qualifying
themselves for voting, are termed POT-WOLLOPERS. A quiet WALK OVER
is a re-election without opposition and much cost. A CAUCUS meeting
refers to the private assembling of politicians before an election,
when candidates are chosen and measures of action agreed upon. The term
comes from America. A JOB, in political phraseology, is a government
office or contract obtained by secret influence or favouritism. Only
the other day the _Times_ spoke of “the patriotic member of Parliament
POTTED OUT in a dusty little lodging somewhere about Bury-street.”
The term QUOCKERWODGER, although referring to a wooden toy figure
which jerks its limbs about when pulled by a string, has been
supplemented with a political meaning. A pseudo-politician, one whose
strings of action are pulled by somebody else, is now often termed
a QUOCKERWODGER. The term RAT, too, in allusion to rats deserting
vessels about to sink, has long been employed towards those turncoat
politicians who change their party for interest. Who that occasionally
passes near the Houses of Parliament has not often noticed stout or
careful M.P.s walk briskly through the Hall and on the curb-stone in
front, with umbrella or walking cane uplifted, shout to the cabmen
on the rank, FOUR-WHEELER! The term is a useful one, but I am afraid
we must consider it Slang, until it is stamped with the mint mark of
lexicographical authority.[47]
_Military_, or _Officers’ Slang_ is on a par, and of a character
with _Dandy Slang_. Inconvenient friends, or elderly and lecturing
relatives, are pronounced DREADFUL BORES. Four-wheel cabs are called
BOUNDERS; and a member of the Four-in-hand Club, driving to Epsom on
the Derby day, would, using fashionable slang phraseology, speak of
it as TOOLING HIS DRAG DOWN TO THE DERBY. A vehicle, if not a DRAG
(or dwag) is a TRAP, or a CASK; and if the TURN OUT happens to be in
other than a trim condition, it is pronounced at once as not DOWN
THE ROAD. Your city swell would say it is not UP TO THE MARK; whilst
the costermonger would call it WERY DICKEY. In the army a barrack
or military station is known as a LOBSTER-BOX; to “cram” for an
examination is to MUG-UP; to reject from the examination is to SPIN;
and that part of the barrack occupied by subalterns is frequently
spoken of as the ROOKERY. In dandy or swell Slang, any celebrity, from
Robson of the Olympic, to the Pope of Rome, is a SWELL. Wrinkled faced
old professors, who hold dress and fashionable tailors in abhorrence,
are called AWFUL SWELLS,—if they happen to be very learned or clever.
I may remark that in this upper class Slang a title is termed a
HANDLE; trousers, INEXPRESSIBLES; or when of a large pattern, or the
inflated Zouave cut, HOWLING BAGS; a superior appearance, EXTENSIVE; a
four-wheeled cab, a BIRDCAGE; a dance, a HOP; dining at another man’s
table, “sitting under his MAHOGANY;” anything flashy or showy, LOUD;
the peculiar make or cut of a coat, its BUILD; full dress, FULL-FIG;
wearing clothes which represent the very extreme of fashion, “dressing
to DEATH;” a reunion, a SPREAD; a friend (or a “good fellow”), a TRUMP;
a difficulty, a SCREW LOOSE; and everything that is unpleasant, “from
bad sherry to a writ from a tailor,” JEUCED INFERNAL. The military
phrase, “to send a man to COVENTRY,” or permit no person to speak to
him, although an ancient saying, must still be considered Slang.
The _Universities of Oxford and Cambridge_, and the great public
schools, are the hotbeds of fashionable Slang. Growing boys and
high-spirited young fellows detest restraint of all kinds, and prefer
making a dash at life in a Slang phraseology of their own, to all the
set forms and syntactical rules of _Alma Mater_. Many of the most
expressive words in a common chit-chat, or free-and-easy conversation,
are old University vulgarisms. CUT, in the sense of dropping an
acquaintance, was originally a Cambridge form of speech; and HOAX, to
deceive or ridicule, we are informed by Grose, was many years since an
Oxford term. Among the words that fast society has borrowed from our
great scholastic [I was going to say _establishments_, but I remembered
the linen drapers’ horrid and habitual use of the word] institutions,
I find CRIB, a house or apartments; DEAD-MEN, empty wine bottles;
DRAWING TEETH,[48] wrenching off knockers; FIZZING, first-rate, or
splendid; GOVERNOR, or RELIEVING OFFICER, the general term for a male
parent; PLUCKED, defeated or turned back; QUIZ, to scrutinise, or a
prying old fellow; and ROW, a noisy disturbance. The Slang words in
use at Oxford and Cambridge would alone fill a volume. As examples
I may instance SCOUT, which at Oxford refers to an undergraduate’s
valet, whilst the same menial at Cambridge is termed a GYP,—popularly
derived by the Cantabs from the Greek, GYPS (γυψ), a vulture; SCULL,
the head, or master of a college; BATTLES, the Oxford term for rations,
changed at Cambridge into COMMONS. The term DICKEY, a half shirt, I
am told, originated with the students of Trinity College, Dublin, who
at first styled it a TOMMY, from the Greek, τομη, a section. CRIB,
a literal translation, is now universal; GRIND refers to a walk,
or “constitutional;” HIVITE is a student of St. Begh’s (St. Bee’s)
College, Cumberland; to JAPAN, in this Slang speech, is to ordain;
MORTAR-BOARD is a square college cap; SIM a student of a Methodistical
turn,—in allusion to the Rev. Charles Simeon; SLOGGERS, at Cambridge,
refers to the second division of race boats, known at Oxford as
TORPIDS; SPORT is to show or exhibit; TROTTER is the jocose term for a
tailor’s man who goes round for orders; and TUFTS are wealthy students
who dine with the DONS, and are distinguished by golden _tufts_, or
tassels, in their caps. There are many terms in use at Oxford not known
at Cambridge; and such Slang names as COACH, GULF, HARRY-SOPH, POKER,
or POST-MORTEM, common enough at Cambridge, are seldom or never heard
at the great sister University. For numerous other examples of college
Slang, the reader is referred to the Dictionary.
_Religious Slang_, strange as the compound may appear, exists with
other descriptions of vulgar speech at the present day. _Punch_, a
short time since, in one of those half-humorous, half-serious articles
in which he is so fond of lecturing any national abuse or popular
folly, remarked that Slang had “long since penetrated into the Forum,
and now we meet it in the Senate, _and even the Pulpit itself is no
longer free from its intrusion_.” I would not, for one moment, wish to
infer that the practice is general. On the contrary, and in justice to
the clergy, it must be said that the principal disseminators of pure
English throughout the country are the ministers of our Established
Church. Yet it cannot be denied but that a great deal of Slang
phraseology and disagreeable vulgarism have gradually crept into the
very pulpits which should give forth as pure speech as doctrine.
Dean Conybeare, in his able _Essay on Church Parties_,[49] has
noticed this wretched addition to our pulpit speech. As stated in
his Essay, the practice appears to confine itself mainly to the
exaggerated forms of the High and Low Church—the Tractarians and
the “Recordites.”[50] By way of illustration, the Dean cites the
evening parties, or social meetings, common amongst the wealthier lay
members of the Recordite (exaggerated Evangelical) Churches, where
the principal topics discussed—one or more favourite clergymen being
present in a quasi-official manner—are “the merits and demerits of
different preachers, the approaching restoration of the Jews, the date
of the Millennium, the progress of the ‘Tractarian heresy,’ and the
anticipated ‘perversion’ of High Church neighbours.” These subjects are
canvassed in a dialect differing considerably from common English. The
words FAITHFUL, TAINTED, ACCEPTABLE, DECIDED, LEGAL, and many others,
are used in a technical sense. We hear that Mr. A. has been more OWNED
than Mr. B; and that Mr. C. has more SEALS[51] than Mr. D. Again, the
word GRACIOUS is invested with a meaning as extensive as that attached
by young ladies to _nice_. Thus, we hear of a “GRACIOUS sermon,” a
“GRACIOUS meeting,” a “GRACIOUS child,” and even a “GRACIOUS whipping.”
The word DARK has also a new and peculiar usage. It is applied to every
person, book, or place, not impregnated with Recordite principles. We
once were witnesses of a ludicrous misunderstanding resulting from this
phraseology. “What did you mean (said A. to B.) by telling me that ——
was such a very DARK village? I rode over there to day, and found the
street particularly broad and cheerful, and there is not a tree in the
place.” “_The Gospel is not preached there_,” was B.’s laconic reply.
The conclusion of one of these singular evening parties is generally
marked by an “_exposition_”—an unseasonable sermon of nearly one hour’s
duration, circumscribed by no text, and delivered from the table by
one of the clerical visitors with a view to “improve the occasion.” In
the same Essay, the religious Slang terms for the two great divisions
of the Established Church, receive some explanation. The old-fashioned
High Church party, rich and “stagnant,” noted for its “sluggish
mediocrity, hatred of zeal, dread of innovation, abuse of dissent,
blundering and languid utterance,” is called the HIGH AND DRY; whilst
the corresponding division, known as the Low Church, equally stagnant
with the former, but poorer, and more lazily inclined (from absence
of education), to dissent, receives the nickname of the LOW AND SLOW.
Already have these terms become so familiar that they are shortened, in
ordinary conversation, to the DRY and the SLOW. The so-called “Broad
Church,” I should remark, is often spoken of as the BROAD AND SHALLOW.
What can be more objectionable than the irreverent and offensive
manner in which many of the dissenting ministers continually pronounce
the names of the Deity, God and Lord. God, instead of pronouncing in
the plain and beautifully simple old English way, G-O-D, they drawl
out into GORDE or GAUDE; and Lord, instead of speaking in the proper
way, they desecrate into LOARD or LOERD,—lingering on the _u_, or
the _r_, as the case may be, until an honest hearer feels disgusted,
and almost inclined to run the gauntlet of beadles and deacons, and
pull the vulgar preacher from his pulpit. I have observed that many
young preachers strive hard to acquire this peculiar pronunciation,
in imitation of the older ministers. What can more properly, then, be
called Slang, or, indeed, the most objectionable of Slang, than this
studious endeavour to pronounce the most sacred names in a uniformly
vulgar and unbecoming manner. If the old-fashioned preacher whistled
Cant through his nose, the modern vulgar reverend whines Slang from
the more natural organ. These vagaries of speech will, perhaps, by
an apologist, he termed “pulpit peculiarities,” and the writer dared
to intermeddle with a subject that is or should be removed from his
criticisms. The terms used by the mob towards the Church, however
illiberal and satirically vulgar, are within his province in such an
inquiry as the present. A clergyman, in vulgar language, is spoken of
as a CHOKER, a CUSHION THUMPER, a DOMINE, an EARWIG, a GOSPEL GRINDER,
a GRAY COAT PARSON—if he is a lessee of the great tithes, ONE IN TEN,
PADRE—if spoken of by an Anglo-Indian, a ROOK, a SPOUTER, a WHITE
CHOKER, or a WARMING PAN RECTOR, if he only holds the living _pro
tempore_, or is simply keeping the place warm for his successor. If a
Tractarian, his outer garment is rudely spoken of as a PYGOSTOLE, or
M.B. (MARK OF THE BEAST) COAT. His profession is termed THE CLOTH, and
his practice TUB THUMPING. Should he belong to the dissenting body,
he is probably styled a PANTILER, or a PSALM SMITER, or, perhaps, a
SWADDLER. His chapel, too, is spoken of as a SCHISM SHOP. A Roman
Catholic, I may remark, is coarsely named a BRISKET BEATER.
Particular as lawyers generally are about the meaning of words, they
have not prevented an unauthorised phraseology from arising, which
we may term _Legal Slang_. So forcibly did this truth impress a late
writer, that he wrote in a popular journal, “You may hear Slang every
day in term from barristers in their robes, at every mess-table,
at every bar-mess, at every college commons, and in every club
dining-room.” Swift, in his _Art of Polite Conversation_ (p. 15),
published a century and a half ago, states that VARDI was the Slang
in his time for “verdict.” A few of the most common and well-known
terms used out of doors, with reference to legal matters, are COOK, to
hash or make up a balance-sheet; DIPPED, mortgaged; DUN, to solicit
payment; FULLIED, to be “_fully_ committed for trial;” LAND-SHARK, a
sailor’s definition of a lawyer; LIMB OF THE LAW, a milder term for
the same “professional;” MONKEY WITH A LONG TAIL, a mortgage—phrase
used in the well-known case for libel, Smith _v._ Jones; MOUTHPIECE,
the coster’s term for his counsel; “to go through the RING,” to take
advantage of the Insolvency Act; SMASH, to become bankrupt; SNIPE, an
attorney with a long bill; and WHITEWASHED, said of any debtor who has
taken the benefit of the Insolvent Act. Lawyers, from their connection
with the police courts, and transactions with persons in every grade of
society, have ample opportunities for acquiring street Slang, which in
cross-questioning and wrangling they frequently avail themselves of.
It has been said there exists a _Literary Slang_, or “the _Slang
of Criticism_—dramatic, artistic, and scientific. Such words as
‘æsthetic,’ ‘transcendental,’ the ‘harmonies,’ the ‘unities,’ a
‘myth:’ such phrases as ‘an exquisite _morceau_ on the big drum,’ a
‘scholarlike rendering of John the Baptist’s great toe,’ ‘keeping
harmony,’ ‘middle distance,’ ‘ærial perspective,’ ‘delicate handling,’
‘nervous chiaroscuro,’ and the like.” More than one literary journal
that I could name are fond of employing such terms in their art
criticisms, but it is questionable, after all, whether they are not
allowable as the generous inflections and bendings of a bountiful
language, for the purpose of expressing fresh phases of thought, and
ideas not yet provided with representative words.[52] The well-known
and ever-acceptable _Punch_, with his fresh and choice little pictorial
bits by Leech, often employs a Slang term to give point to a joke,
or humour to a line of satire. A short time since (4th May, 1859) he
gave an original etymology of the school-boy-ism SLOG. SLOG, said the
classical and studious _Punch_, is derived from the Greek word SLOGO,
to baste, to wallop, to slaughter. And it was not long ago that he
amused his readers with two columns on _Slang and Sanscrit_:—
“The allegory which pervades the conversation of all Eastern
nations,” remarked the philosophical _Punch_, “is the foundation
of Western Slang; and the increased number of students of the
Oriental languages, especially since Sanscrit and Arabic have been
made subjects for the Indian Civil Service Examinations, may have
contributed to supply the English language with a large portion of
its new dialect. While, however, the spirit of allegory comes from
the East, there is so great a difference between the brevity of
Western expression and the more cumbrous diction of the Oriental,
that the origin of a phrase becomes difficult to trace. Thus, for
instance, whilst the Turkish merchant might address his friend
somewhat as follows—‘That which seems good to my father is to his
servant as the perfumed breath of the west wind in the calm night of
the Arabian summer;’ the Western negociator observes more briefly,
‘ALL SERENE!’”
But the vulgar term, BRICK, _Punch_ remarks in illustration,
“must be allowed to be an exception, its Greek derivation being
universally admitted, corresponding so exactly as it does in its
rectangular form and compactness to the perfection of manhood,
according to the views of _Plato_ and _Simonides_; but any deviation
from the simple expression, in which locality is indicated,—as, for
instance, ‘a genuine Bath,’—decidedly breathes the Oriental spirit.”
It is singular that what _Punch_ says, unwittingly and in humour,
respecting the Slang expression, BOSH, should be quite true. BOSH,
remarks _Punch_, after speaking of it as belonging to the stock of
words pilfered from the Turks, “is one whose innate force and beauty
the slangographer is reluctantly compelled to admit. It is the only
word which seems a proper appellation for a great deal which we are
obliged to hear and to read every day of our life.” BOSH, nonsense
or stupidity, is derived from the _Gipsey_ and the _Persian_. The
universality of Slang, I may here remark, is proved by its continual
use in the pages of _Punch_. Whoever thinks, unless belonging to a
past generation, of asking a friend to explain the stray vulgar words
employed by the _London Charivari_?
The _Athenæum_, the most learned and censor-like of all the “weeklies,”
often indulges in a Slang word, when force of expression or a little
humour is desired, or when the writer wishes to say something which
is better said in Slang, or so-called vulgar speech, than in the
authorised language of Dr. Johnson or Lindley Murray. It was but the
other day that a writer in its pages employed an old and favourite
word, used always when we were highly pleased with any article at
school,—STUNNING. _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 excellent literary journal which is so esteemed at the present
day, it was a smaller, and now defunct “weekly.” Many other highly
respectable journals often use Slang words and phrases. The _Times_
(or, in Slang, the THUNDERER) frequently employs unauthorised terms;
and, following a “leader”[53] of the purest and most eloquent English
composition, may sometimes be seen another “article”[53] 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 depository
for rejected articles; and SLATE, to pelt with abuse, or CUT UP in a
review. The Slang names given to newspapers are curious;—thus, the
_Morning Advertiser_ is known as the TAP-TUB, the TIZER, and the GIN
AND GOSPEL GAZETTE. The _Morning Post_ has obtained the suggestive
_soubriquet_ of JEAMES; whilst the _Morning Herald_ has long been
caricatured as MRS. HARRIS, and the _Standard_ as MRS. GAMP.[54]
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. 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 SUP,—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 MENAGERY. A BEN is a benefit;
and SAL is the Slang abbreviation of “salary.” Should no wages be
forthcoming on the Saturday night, it is said that the GHOST DOESN’T
WALK. 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 good or bad success of a performance. A SADDLE is the
additional charge made by a manager to an actor or actress upon their
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 STAR IT is to perform as the centre of attraction,
with 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;
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 another 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. In Lombard-street a MONKEY is £500, a PLUM £100,000, and a
MARYGOLD is one million sterling. But before I proceed further in a
sketch of the different kinds of Slang, I cannot do better than 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 insulted, by no
less 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. But a vulgar or
“fast” society has thought differently, and so we have the Slang
synonymes BEANS, BLUNT, (_i.e._, specie,—not _stiff_ 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,
LOAVER, LOUR (the oldest Cant term for money), MOPUSSES, NEEDFUL,
NOBBINGS (money collected in a hat by street performers), OCHRE (gold),
PEWTER, PALM OIL, QUEEN’S PICTURES, QUIDS, RAGS (bank notes), READY, or
READY GILT, REDGE (gold), RHINO, ROWDY, SHINERS (sovereigns), SKIN (a
purse of money), STIFF (paper, or bill of acceptance), STUFF, STUMPY,
TIN (silver), WEDGE (silver), and YELLOW-BOYS (sovereigns);—just
forty-two 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 double for 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. FLYING THE KITE, or obtaining money on
bills and promissory notes, is a curious allusion to children tossing
about a paper kite; and RAISING THE WIND is a well-known phrase for
procuring money by immediate sale, pledging, or 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.” Each separate piece of money
has its own Slang term, and often half a score of synonymes. 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 MADZA 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. _Two-pence_ is a DEUCE, and _three-pence_ is either a THRUMS or
a THRUPS. _Four-pence_, or a _groat_, may in vulgar speech he termed
a BIT, a FLAG, or a JOEY. _Six-pence_ is well represented in street
talk, and some of the Slangisms are very comical, for instance, BANDY,
BENDER, CRIPPLE, and DOWNER; then we have FYE-BUCK, HALF A HOG, KICK
(thus “two and a kick,” or 2s. 6d.), LORD OF THE MANOR, PIG, POT (the
price of a _pot_ of beer), SNID, SPRAT, SOW’S BABY, TANNER, TESTER,
TIZZY,—sixteen vulgar words to one coin. _Seven-pence_ being an
uncommon amount has only one Slang synonyme, SETTER. The same remark
applies to _eight-pence_ and _nine-pence_, the former being only
represented by OTTER, and the latter by the Cant phrase, NOBBA-SALTEE.
_Ten-pence_ is DACHA-SALTEE, and _eleven-pence_ DACHA-ONE,—both Cant
expressions. _One shilling_ boasts ten Slang equivalents; thus we have
BEONG, BOB, BREAKY-LEG, DEANER, GEN (either from _argent_, silver, or
the back slang), HOG, PEG, STAG, TEVISS, and TWELVER. _Half-a-crown_
is known as an ALDERMAN, HALF A BULL, HALF A TUSHEROON, and a MADZA
CAROON; whilst a _crown_ piece, or _five shillings_, may be called
either a BULL, or a CAROON, or a CARTWHEEL, or a COACHWHEEL, or a
THICK-UN, or a TUSHEROON. 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, or HALF A QUID. A
_sovereign_, or _twenty shillings_, is a BEAN, CANARY, COUTER, FOONT,
GOLDFINCH, JAMES, POONA, QUID, a THICK-UN, or a 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 FINUF is a
five-pound note. 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 omissions, this long list of
Slang terms for the coins of the realm, which for copiousness, I will
engage to say, is not equalled by any other vulgar or unauthorised
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 the Eighth. 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 the period
antecedent to that when monarchs monopolised the surface of coined
money with their own image 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,”[55] so far from being a phrase of modern invention, as is
generally supposed, is in point of fact referable to an era extremely
remote. 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.
It is not a casual eyesore, as newspaper Slang, neither is it an
occasional discomfort to the ear, as in the case of some vulgar
byeword 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 door—if it happens to be empty for a few weeks,—and in bills
thrust into your hand, as you peaceably walk through the streets. Under
your doors, and down your area, Slang hand-bills 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. In this 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, or a STEEL
BAR DRIVER; 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. The percentage 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 creditor (a not
by any means unusual circumstance) he is LET IN, or, as it is sometimes
varied, TAKEN IN. I need scarcely remark 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. They 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. When out
of work, they borrow a word from the flunkey vocabulary, and 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. When they quit
work, they KNOCK OFF; and when out of employ, they ask if any HANDS
are wanted. FAT is the vulgar synonyme 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. I have often thought that many of the Slang terms for money
originally came 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, from the leather-dresser. The subject is
curious. Allow me to call the attention of numismatists to it.
There yet remain several distinct divisions of Slang to be
examined;—the Slang of the _stable_, or _jockey_ Slang; the Slang of
the _prize ring_; the Slang of _servitude_, or _flunkeydom_; vulgar,
or _street_ Slang; the Slang of _softened oaths_; and the Slang of
_intoxication_. I shall only examine the last two. If society, as has
been remarked, is a sham, from the vulgar foundation of commonalty to
the crowning summit of royalty, especially do we perceive the justness
of the remark in the Slang makeshifts for oaths, and sham exclamations
for passion and temper. These apologies for feeling are a disgrace to
our vernacular, although 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.
BLAST, too, although in general vulgar use, may have had a like origin;
so may the phrase, “I wish I may be SHOT, if,” &c. 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 derived from the
truer old phrase, I’LL TAKE MY DAVY ON’T, _i.e._, my _affidavit_, DAVY
being a corruption of that word. BY GOLLY, GOL DARN IT, and SO HELP ME
BOB, are evident shams for profane oaths. NATION 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. 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 stupid forms of mild
swearing,—fearful of committing an open profanity, yet slyly nibbling
at the sin. Both DEUCE and DICKENS are vulgar old synonymes for the
devil; and ZOUNDS is an abbreviation of GOD’S WOUNDS,—a very ancient
catholic 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’s money, with one hundred and twenty Slang terms and
synonymes; 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 of gutterdom
and stretcherdom,—I pray the reader to forgive the expressions. The
Slang synonymes 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 on the RAN-TAN, or on the RE-RAW, or when he
is SEWED UP, or 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.