1884. Echo, April 7, p. 3, col. 1. The Oxford men were now all to
pieces! their boat was full of water.
4. (sporting).—In racing and athletic circles equivalent to want of
form.
All to Smash, adv. phr. (common).—Also ‘all to pieces,’ i.e., bankrupt;
ruined; in a state of utter delapidation; or, complete
discomfiture.—See Smash.
1861. Cuthbert Bede, Our New Rector, ch. x., p. 105. ‘There isn’t a
fellow at school can match me, Miss Moore! I beat them all to
smash!’
All Up, adv. phr. (common).—‘It’s all up’ with so-and-so, or with such
and such a thing, or course of action; i.e., the endeavour is
fruitless; utter ruin or collapse is the end of it all; there is
nothing left for hope; sometimes also, death. This phrase, indicative
of total failure, discomfiture, and destruction, does not appear to be
of very ancient standing, and can only be traced back as far as
Fielding (see quotation). The mock epitaph, which the late Mr. W. J.
Conybeare inserted in his novel Perversion, fitly illustrates the
popular usage of all up. It is supposed to be written in commemoration
of a country squire cut off in the midst of festivities.
‘Quite well at ten,
Had a few friends to sup with me;
Taken ill at twelve,
And at one it was all up with me.’
Also Up.
Among English Synonyms may be mentioned:—To have missed stays
(nautical); to have gone to pot; to have gone to smash; to have gone to
the devil.
1752. Fielding, Amelia, book XII., ch. vi. ‘All is up and undone!’
cries Murphy.
1838. Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby, ch. lx. A-double l, all,
everything; a cobbler’s weapon; u-p, up, adjective, not down;
s-q-u-double e-r-s, Squeers, noun substantive, a educator of youth.
Total, all up with Squeers.
Allus, adv. (vulgar).—Always.
All Wag Blue, subs. phr. (American).—A frolicing, rollicking time; a
spree; a kick-up.
Allybeg.—See Llybege.
Almighty, adj. (common).—Mighty; great; exceedingly—a superlative of
all work. For example, in the ‘dialect’ of which this word is a
component part, an over-officious man is put down as ‘almighty fast’;
or a horse with good points as an ‘almighty fine beast’; and so on
throughout the whole range of superlative merit. It ranks with ‘awful,’
‘eternal,’ ‘everlasting,’ ‘lovely,’ and a multitude of other words,
orthodox enough when properly handled, but which become the purest
slang when used, as is frequently the case, of things finite, and even
of trifles. So employed, almighty is generally regarded as an
Americanism, and is credited to our kinsmen across the sea, a view
supported by De Quincey’s use of the term. If this be so, there is, in
truth, little at which to wonder. The ‘wild,’ the boundless West is no
unlikely nursery for big, high-sounding words; and though one may
justly condemn such depravation of our mother-tongue, the fact remains.
Thus, amongst the untutored backwoodsmen and rough pioneers of the West
a week is an ‘eternal’ time; a good officer is an almighty general; and
a spell of rain is spoken of as an ‘everlasting’ deluge. The foregoing
examples by no means exhaust the potentialities of the language; as,
e.g., when people talk of a man playing almighty ‘smash’ with his
prospects, meaning that he is hopelessly ruining his chances of
success: or driving a fellow-citizen into a state of almighty ‘shivers’
through ill-treatment; or of a thing lasting till almighty ‘crack,’
i.e., for an interminable period.
1824. De Quincey, Works (1871), XVI., 261. Such rubbish, such
almighty nonsense (to speak transatlantice) no eye has ever beheld.
1833. Marryat, Peter Simple (1863), 328. An almighty pretty French
privateer lying in St. Pierre’s.
1888. New York Mercury, July 21. ‘This is a rum world,’ said the
driver, with a chuckle, as he drove up the street. ‘And of all
places in it New York is the rummest. And hack-drivin’ is the
rummest business, leadin’ one into the rummest secrets. Another
passenger to the “Rookery.” I wonder whether the other boys gits as
many customers to that place as Luke Hyatt? If they do it must be
almighty full sometimes.’
In another place De Quincey speaks of a man who cannot live and cannot
die as being ‘in an almighty fix,’ and the expression is otherwise
frequently used by him. Captain Marryat likewise constantly employs it;
in fact, the phrase was well ‘acclimatised’ on this side of the
Atlantic long prior to the publication of My Novel [1853], and Prof.
Barrère, in attributing its popularisation ‘in a certain measure’ to
Lord Lytton, failed to render due credit, if any, either to De Quincey
or Marryat.
Almighty Dollar, subs. (American).—The power of money; Mammon regarded
as an embodiment of the worship of, and the quest for gold. This phrase
is, in reality, an old friend with a new face, for Ben Jonson used the
term in its modern sense when speaking of the power of money. Its
modern application to dollars is traceable to Washington Irving, who
made use of it in a charming little sketch, entitled A Creole Village.
1574–1637. Ben Jonson, Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland.
Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,
And almost every vice, almightie gold.
1839. Washington Irving, Wolfert’s Roost: A Creole Village, p. 40.
The almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion
throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotee in these
peculiar villages.
1876. Besant and Rice, Golden Butterfly, ch. xxii. ‘Genius,
gentlemen, is apt to be careless of the main chance. It don’t care
for the almighty dollar; it lets fellows like me heap up the
stamps.’
1886. G. Sutherland, Australia, p. 102. The travelling Yankee, with
an overwearing confidence in the almighty dollar.
Aloft. To go aloft, verb. phr. (common).—To die; the figure of speech
presented here is nautical in origin.
1790. C. Dibdin, Sea Songs: Tom Bowling.
Here a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew;
No more he’ll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below, Tom did his duty,
And now he’s gone aloft.
Few expressions synonymous with the act of dying equal this in force or
pathos; and it is rarely, moreover, that slang climbs on the wings of
hope into a purer atmosphere than that of the vices and follies of men
with which it is mainly concerned. By no means few in number, nor
wanting in sententiousness and dramatic meaning are the phrases
employed in the vulgar tongue to signify the greatest of all human
experiences.
English Synonyms. To kick the bucket; to hop the twig; to go to Davy
Jones’ locker (nautical); to be put to bed with a shovel; to take an
earth bath; to croak; to take a ground sweat; to go under (American:
the visible disposal of the body furnishing a simile for the process of
death); to go up (compare with foregoing: when the victim of lynch law
is enquired after the questioner is told that he has ‘gone up,’ i.e.,
been hanged); to lose the number of one’s mess (a sailor’s phrase); to
snuff it (from snuffing a candle); to lay down one’s knife and fork; to
stick one’s spoon in the wall; to give in; to give up; to peg out; to
slip one’s cable (this, like ‘to go to Davy Jones’ locker,’ is of
nautical origin); to pass in one’s checks (a euphemism drawn from the
game of poker, the simile being that of settling one’s earthly accounts
and the paying in to the banker of the dues at the end of the game);
Kickeraboo (West Indian: a corruption of ‘to kick the bucket’).
French. Passer l’arme à gauche (popular: ‘to lay down one’s arms’);
casser sa pipe (lit. ‘to break one’s pipe’); dévisser or décoller son
billard (lit. ‘to break one’s cue’); graisser ses bottes (lit. ‘to
grease one’s boots’); avaler sa langue (lit. ‘to swallow one’s
tongue’); avaler sa gaffe (‘to lower one’s boat-hook’); avaler sa
cuiller (lit. ‘to lay down one’s spoon’); avaler ses baguettes
(military: lit. ‘to lay aside one’s drum-sticks’); n’avoir plus mal aux
dents (lit. ‘to have toothache no more.’ In Fr. Argot mal de dents is
also synonymous with love); poser sa chique (popular: lit. ‘to lay down
one’s finish, elegance, dash, spirit’—in short all that is distinctive
in a man); claquer (familiar: lit. ‘to chatter with cold’ or ‘fear’);
saluer le public (theat.: lit. ‘to make one’s bow’—to make one’s last
appearance on this world’s stage, and one’s first in that land where
‘the dead are many, and the living few’); recevoir son décompte
(military: lit. ‘to receive deferred pay’; décompte is also military
slang for a ‘mortal wound’); cracher ses embouchures (an expression of
musical origin: the figure is obviously that of losing the power to
perform on wind instruments); déteindre (popular: lit. ‘to wash off the
colour’ or ‘dye.’ Is this a play upon words, or an allusion to death as
the great revealer of man as he is?); donner son dernier bon à tirer
(familiar: equivalent to the American, ‘to pass in one’s checks.’
French printers understand by this phrase ‘to send the last proofs to
press’); lâcher la perche (popular: lit. ‘to slip off one’s perch’);
éteindre son gaz (popular: ‘to turn off the gas.’ Cf., ‘to snuff it’);
épointer son foret (popular: lit. ‘to break off the point of the
drill,’ as in boring); être exproprié (popular: lit. ‘to be
dispossessed’; exproprier is a judicial term signifying ‘to take
possession of the landed property of a debtor’); péter son lof
(sailors’); fumer ses terres; fermer son parapluie (popular: ‘to close
one’s umbrella’); perdre son bâton (popular: ‘to lose one’s walking
stick’); descendre la garde (popular: ‘to come off guard’); défiler la
parade (military: ‘to file off parade’; equivalent to the English ‘to
lose the number of one’s mess’); tourner de l’œil (popular: is there
not here an allusion to the phenomenon attendant on genuine sleep;
feigned sleep can always be detected by turning up the eyelids of the
sleeper, if sleep be genuine only the ‘whites’ of the eyes will be
discoverable); perdre le goût du pain (popular: ‘to lose one’s taste
for bread’); lâcher la rampe (theatrical: ‘to lose sight of the
footlights’); faire ses petits paquets (popular: ‘to pack up one’s
[small] traps’); casser son crachoir (popular: lit. ‘to break one’s
spittoon’ or mouth); remercier son boulanger (thieves’: lit. ‘to thank
the baker.’ It must be explained that boulanger baker is a French
nickname for the devil); canner; dévider à l’estorgue (thieves’);
baiser la camarde (popular: ‘to salute,’ or ‘kiss Death’; camarde is a
popular euphemism for the ‘Messenger of Life’); camarder (popular: see
previous example); fuir (thieves’: lit. ‘to fly’ or ‘escape’—from
justice or capture); casser son câble (popular: ‘to slip the
cable’—evidently a simile drawn from the sea); casser son fouet
(popular: ‘to break’ or ‘lay aside one’s whip’); faire sa crevaison
(popular: crever, ‘to kill’ or ‘die’ is usually only employed in
speaking of animals); déralinguer (sailors’: properly ‘to detach from
the bolt rope’); virer de bord (sailors’: lit. ‘to tack about’);
déchirer son faux-col (popular: verbatim, ‘to burst open one’s
collar’—the allusion is obvious); se dégeler (in good French, ‘to
thaw’); couper sa mèche (coachman’s: ‘to throw down the whip’); piquer
sa plaque (sailors’); mettre la table pour les asticots (popular:
properly ‘to lay the table [become food] for worms’); aller manger les
pissenlits par la racine (popular: ‘to go and feed off dandelion
roots’—observe, by the way, that pissenlit is an exact equivalent for
one of the English field names of the dandelion, viz.,
‘piddle-the-bed’); laisser fuir son tonneau (familiar: lit. ‘to let
fly’ or ‘kick away the cask.’ Cf., ‘to kick the bucket’); calancher
(vagrants’); laisser ses bottes quelque part (familiar: lit. ‘to leave
one’s boots somewhere’); déchirer son habit (popular: properly ‘to
rend’ or ‘cast aside one’s coat’); déchirer son tablier (popular: in
literary French this means, ‘to throw aside or destroy one’s apron’);
souffler sa veilleuse (popular: meaning lit. ‘to blow out one’s
nightlamp’ or ‘floating wick.’ Compare with ‘to snuff it’ or ‘to put
out one’s light’ in English slang); pousser le boum de cygne (popular);
avoir son coke (familiar); prendre sa secousse (popular: i.e., ‘to take
one’s blow’ or ‘shock’); rendre sa buche (tailors’: the allusion is an
obvious one); rendre sa canne au ministre (military: lit. ‘to resign
one’s commission to the Minister [of War]’); rendre sa clef (gypsy:
lit. ‘to give up the key’); rendre son livret (popular: lit. ‘to throw
up one’s cards’).
German Synonyms. See Hop the twig.
Italian Fourbesque. Sbasire (lit. ‘to faint away’); sbasire su le funi
(lit. ‘to faint away on the rope’).
Alone, adv. (old).—In the flash vocabulary of the time of Pierce Egan’s
Tom and Jerry [circa 1800–1825], only an experienced man of the world
could be allowed to go alone. Such a one was said to be fly; up to
snuff (q.v.), etc.
Along Of, adv. (vulgar).—A dialectical form for on account of; owing
to; pertaining, or belonging to. Formerly along on, and it so appeared
as early as A.D. 880: along of was used by Chaucer, but it is now
mainly confined to the illiterate or vulgar.
1369. Chaucer, Troylus ii., 1001. On me is not along thin evil
fare.
1581. W. Stafford, Exam. of Complaints, p. 16 (New Shaks. Soc.:
Ed.). Complaining of general poverty, he says: ‘Whereof it is
longe, I cannot well tell.’
1601. Holland, Pliny, p. 25, quoted in Morris’ Elem. Hist. Eng.
Gram., p. 198. And that is long of contrarie causes.
1858. Dickens, Xmas. Stories (going into Society), p. 65 (II. ed.).
Would he object to say why he left it? Not at all; why should he?
He left it along of a dwarf.
1881. W. Black, Beautiful Wretch, ch. xviii. ‘Mayhap the concert
didn’t come off, along of the snow.’
Alsatia, or Alsatia the Higher, subs. (old slang).—1. Whitefriars, once
a place privileged from arrests for debt, as was also Alsatia the
lower, or the Mint in Southwark. Both were suppressed, in 1697, on
account of the notorious abuses committed there. A charter of liberties
and privileges had been granted, in 1608, by King James I. to the
inhabitants of this district, and it speedily became the haunt of
insolvent debtors, cheats, and gamesters, who conferred upon it the
jocular cant name of Alsatia, a Latinised form of Alsace, a province
which had long enjoyed the reputation of a ‘debateable land.’
1688. Shadwell, Sq. of Alsatia I., in wks. (1720), IV., 25. Who are
these? Some inhabitants of White-fryers; some bullies of Alsatia.
1822. Scott, Fortunes of Nigel, ch. xvi. Whitefriars, adjacent to
the Temple, then well known by the cant name of Alsatia.
2. Hence any rendezvous or asylum for loose characters and criminals,
where immunity from arrest is tolerably certain; a haunt of thieves,
and the criminal classes; a low quarter.
1787. Grose, Prov. Glossary, etc. (1811), p. 82. A ’squire of
Alsatia. A spendthrift or sharper, inhabiting places formerly
privileged from arrests.
1861. Miss Braddon, Trail of the Serpent, bk. II., ch. i. So Blind
Peter was the Alsatia of Slopperton, a refuge for crime and
destitution.
1876. Lord Justice James, in ex parte Saffery re Cooke, Law Times,
35, p. 718. The Stock Exchange is not an Alsatia; the Queen’s laws
are paramount there, and the Queen’s writ runs even into the sacred
precincts of Capel-Court.
Alsatian, subs. (old).—A rogue, or debauchee, such as haunted Alsatia
or Whitefriars.
1691. Luttrell, Brief Rel. (1857), II., 259. The benchers of the
Inner Temple having given orders for bricking up their little gate
leading into White-fryers ... the Alsatians came and pulled it
down.
c. 1700. Gentleman Instructed, p. 491 [10 ed., 1732]. He spurr’d to
London, and left a thousand curses behind him. Here he struck up
with sharpers, scourers, and Alsatians.
1822. Scott, Fortunes of Nigel, ch. xvii. ‘You shall sink a
nobleman in the Temple Gardens, and rise an Alsatian at
Whitefriars.’
Adj.—Pertaining to Alsatia; roguish; debauched.
1688. Shadwell, Sq. of Alsatia I. in wks. (1720), IV., 27. He came
out of White Fryers: he’s some Alsatian bully.
1822. Scott, Fortunes of Nigel, ch. xvii. An extravagantly long
rapier and poinard marked the true Alsatian bully.
1882. Besant, All Sorts and Conditions of Men, ch. vii. The road
has come to be regarded with admiration as one of those Alsatian
retreats, growing every day rarer, which are beyond and above the
law.
Alsatia Phrase, subs. (old).—A slang or cant term, such as was used by
Alsatians; or, now-a-days, by thieves and vagrants.
1704. Swift, Tale of a Tub. Apology for author. The second instance
to shew the author’s wit is not his own, is Peter’s banter (as he
calls it in his Alsatia phrase) upon transubstantiation.
Synonymous terms were Pedler’s French, St. Giles’ Greek, etc.