{84} Postscript to his Translation of the Aeneid.

{85} Multa renascentur, quae jam cecidere.

De A. P. 46-72; cf. Ep. 2, 2, 115.

{86} Etymologicon vocum omnium antiquarum quae usque a Wilhelmo Victore invaluerunt, et jam ante parentum aetatem in usu esse desierunt.

{87} [As a matter of fact the N.E.D. fails to give any quotation for this word in the period named.]

{88} [The verb 'to advocate' had long before been employed by Nash, 1598, Sanderson, 1624, and Heylin, 1657 (F. Hall, Mod. English, p. 285).]

{89} In like manner La Bruyere, in his Caracteres, c. 14, laments the extinction of a large number of French words which he names. At least half of these have now free course in the language, as 'valeureux', 'haineux', 'peineux', 'fructueux', 'mensonger', 'coutumier', 'vantard', 'courtois', 'jovial', 'fetoyer', 'larmoyer', 'verdoyer'. Two or three of these may be rarely used, but every one would be found in a dictionary of the living language.

{90} Preface to Juvenal.

{91} Preface to Troilus and Cressida. In justice to Dryden, and lest it should be said that he had spoken poetic blasphemy, it ought not to be forgotten that 'pestered' had not in his time at all so offensive a sense as it would have now. It meant no more than inconveniently crowded; thus Milton: "Confined and pestered in this pinfold here".

{92} Thus in North's Plutarch, p. 499: "After the fire was quenched, they found in niggots of gold and silver mingled together, about a thousand talents"; and again, p. 323: "There was brought a marvellous great mass of treasure in niggots of gold". The word has not found its way into our dictionaries or glossaries.

{93} ['Niggot' rather stands for 'ningot', due to a coalescence of the article in 'an ingot' (as if 'a ningot'); just as, according to some, in French l'ingot became lingot.]

{94} [Such collections were essayed in J. C. Hare's Two Essays in English Philology, 1873, "Words derived from Names of Persons", and in R. S. Charnock's Verba Nominalia, pp. 326.]

{95} [In a strangely similar way the stone-worshipper in the Malay Peninsula gives to his sacred boulder the title of Mohammed (Tylor, Primitive Culture, 3rd ed. ii. 254).]

{96} [But Wolsey's jester was most probably so called from his wearing a varicoloured or patchwork coat; compare the Shakespearian use of 'motley'. Similarly the maquereaux of the old French comedy were clothed in a mottled dress like our harlequin, just as the Latin maccus or mime wore a centunculus or patchwork coat, his name being perhaps connected with macus (in macula), a spot (Gozzi, Memoirs, i, 38). In stage slang the harlequin was called patchy, as his Latin counterpart was centunculus.]

{97} [An error. Prof. Skeat shows that 'tram' was an old word in Scottish and Northern English (Etym. Dict., 655 and 831).]

{98} Several of these we have in common with the French. Of their own they have 'sardanapalisme', any piece of profuse luxury, from Sardanapalus; while for 'lambiner', to dally or loiter over a task, they are indebted to Denis Lambin, a worthy Greek scholar of the sixteenth century, whom his adversaries accused of sluggish movement and wearisome diffuseness in style. Every reader of Pascal's Provincial Letters will remember Escobar, the great casuist among the Jesuits, whose convenient subterfuges for the relaxation of the moral law have there been made famous. To the notoriety which he thus acquired he owes his introduction into the French language; where 'escobarder' is used in the sense of to equivocate, and 'escobarderie' of subterfuge or equivocation. The name of an unpopular minister of finance, M. de Silhouette, unpopular because he sought to cut down unnecessary expenses in the state, was applied to whatever was cheap, and, as was implied, unduly economical; it has survived in the black outline portrait which is now called a 'silhouette'. (Sismondi, Histoire des Francais, tom. xix, pp. 94, 95.) In the 'mansarde' roof we have the name of Mansart, the architect who introduced it. I need hardly add 'guillotine'.

{99} See Col. Mure, Language and Literature of Ancient Greece, vol. i, p. 350.

{100} See Genin, Des Variations du Langage Francais, p. 12.

{101} [Dr. Murray in the N.E.D. calls these by the convenient term 'nonce-words'.]

{102} Persa, iv. 6, 20-23. At the same time these words may be earnest enough; such was the {Greek: elachistoteros} of St. Paul (Ephes. iii, 8); just as in the Middle Ages some did not account it sufficient to call themselves "fratres minores, minimi, postremi", but coined 'postremissimi' to express the depth of their "voluntary humility".

{103} It is curious that a correspondent of Skinner (Etymologicon, 1671), although quite ignorant of this story, and indeed wholly astray in his application, had suggested that 'chouse' might be thus connected with the Turkish 'chiaus'. I believe Gifford, in his edition of Ben Jonson, was the first to clear up the matter. A passage in The Alchemist (Act i. Sc. 1) will have put him on the right track. [But Dr. Murray notes that Gifford's story, as given above, has not hitherto been substantiated from any independent source, and is so far open to doubt.]

{104} [These are quite distinct words, though perhaps distantly related.]

{105} If there were any doubt about this matter, which indeed there is not, a reference to Latimer's famous Sermon on Cards would abundantly remove it, where 'triumph' and 'trump' are interchangeably used.

{106} [Dr. Murray does not regard these words as ultimately identical.]

{107} ['Rant' (old Dutch ranten) has no connection with 'rend' (Anglo-Saxon hrendan) (Skeat).]

{108} On these words see a learned discussion in English Retraced, Cambridge, 1862.

{109} [These are quite unconnected (Skeat).]

{110} [Neither are these words to be confused with one another.]

{111} The appropriating of 'Frances' to women and 'Francis' to men is quite of modern introduction; it was formerly nearly as often Sir Frances Drake as Sir Francis, while Fuller (Holy State, b. iv, c. 14) speaks of Francis Brandon, eldest daughter of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk; and see Ben Jonson's New Inn, Act. ii, Sc. 1.

{112} [Not connected.]

{113} ['Sad' akin to 'sated' bears no relationship to 'set'; neither does 'medley' to 'motley'.]

{114} [On the connection of these words see my Folk and their Word-Lore, p. 110.]

{115} [Not connected, see Skeat.]

{116} Were there need of proving that these both lie in 'beneficium', which there is not, for in Wiclif's translation of the Bible the distinction is still latent (1 Tim. vi. 2), one might adduce a singularly characteristic little trait of Papal policy, which once turned upon the double use of this word. Pope Adrian the Fourth writing to the Emperor Frederic the First to complain of certain conduct of his, reminded the Emperor that he had placed the imperial crown upon his head, and would willingly have conferred even greater 'beneficia' upon him than this. Had the word been allowed to pass, it would no doubt have been afterwards appealed to as an admission on the Emperor's part, that he held the Empire as a feud or fief (for 'beneficium' was then the technical word for this, though the meaning had much narrowed since) from the Pope—the very point in dispute between them. The word was indignantly repelled by the Emperor and the whole German nation, whereupon the Pope appealed to the etymology, that 'beneficium' was but 'bonum factum', and protested that he meant no more than to remind the Emperor of the 'benefits' which he had done him, and which he would have willingly multiplied still more. ['Benefice' from Latin beneficium, and 'benefit' from Latin bene-factum, are here confused.]

{117} ['Hoard' (Anglo-Saxon hord) cannot be equated with 'horde' (from Persian ordu).]

{118} [These words have been differentiated in comparatively modern times. 'Ingenuity' was once used for 'ingenuousness'.]

{119} [The words are really unconnected, 'to gamble' being 'to gamle' or 'game', and 'to gambol' being akin to French gambiller, to fling up the legs (gambes or jambes) like a frisking lamb.]

{120} The same happens in other languages. Thus in Greek '{Greek: anathema}' and '{Greek: anathe:ma}' both signify that which is devoted, though in very different senses, to the gods; '{Greek: tharsos}', boldness, and '{Greek: thrasos}', temerity, were no more at first than different spellings of the same word; not otherwise is it with {Greek: gripos} and {Greek: griphos}, {Greek: ethos} and {Greek: e:thos}, {Greek: bryko:} and {Greek: brycho:}, while {Greek: obelos} and {Greek: obolos}, {Greek: soros} and {Greek: so:ros}, are probably the same words. So too in Latin 'penna' and 'pinna' differ only in form, and signify alike a 'wing'; while yet 'penna' has come to be used for the wing of a bird, 'pinna' (its diminutive 'pinnaculum', has given us 'pinnacle') for that of a building. So is it with 'Thrax' a Thracian, and 'Threx' a gladiator; with 'codex' and 'caudex'; 'forfex' and 'forceps'; 'anticus' and 'antiquus'; 'celeber' and 'creber'; 'infacetus' and 'inficetus'; 'providentia', 'prudentia', and 'provincia'; 'columen' and 'culmen'; 'coitus' and 'coetus'; 'aegrimonia' and 'aerumna'; 'Lucina' and 'luna'; 'navita' and 'nauta'; in German with 'rechtlich' and 'redlich'; 'schlecht' and 'schlicht'; 'ahnden' and 'ahnen'; 'biegsam' and 'beugsam'; 'fuersehung' and 'vorsehung'; 'deich' and 'teich'; 'trotz' and 'trutz'; 'born' and 'brunn'; 'athem' and 'odem'; in French with 'harnois' the armour, or 'harness', of a soldier, 'harnais' of a horse; with 'Zephire' and 'zephir', and with many more.

{121} Coleridge, Church and State, p. 200.

{122} [One hardly expects to find this otiose Americanism (first used by J. Adams in 1759) in the work of a verbal purist, when 'longish' or the old 'longsome' were at hand. No one, as yet, has ventured on 'strengthy' or 'breadthy' for somewhat strong or broad.]

{123} [This prediction was correct. 'Dissimilation' is first found in philological works published in the decade 1874-85. See N.E.D.]

{124} [Coblenz, at the junction of the Moselle and Rhine (from Confluentes), reminds us that the word was so used.]

{125} A passage from Hacket's Life of Archbishop Williams, part 2, p. 144, marks the first rise of this word, and the quarter from whence it arose: "When they [the Presbyterians] saw that he was not selfish (it is a word of their own new mint), etc". In Whitlock's Zootomia (1654) there is another indication of it as a novelty, p. 364: "If constancy may be tainted with this selfishness (to use our new wordings of old and general actings)"—It is he who in his striking essay, The Grand Schismatic, or Suist Anatomized, puts forward his own words, 'suist', and 'suicism', in lieu of those which have ultimately been adopted. 'Suicism', let me observe, had not in his time the obvious objection of resembling another word nearly, and being liable to be confused with it; for 'suicide' did not then exist in the language, nor indeed till some twenty years later. The coming up of 'suicide' is marked by this passage in Phillips' New World of Words, 1671, 3rd ed.: "Nor less to be exploded is the word 'suicide', which may as well seem to participate of sus a sow, as of the pronoun sui". In the Index to Jackson's Works, published two years later, it is still 'suicidium'—"the horrid suicidium of the Jews at York". 'Suicide' is apparently of much later introduction into French. Genin (Recreations Philol. vol. i, p. 194) places it about the year 1728, and makes the Abbe Desfontaines its first sponsor. He is wrong, as the words just quoted show, in supposing that we borrowed it from the French, or that the word did not exist in English till the middle of last century. The French sometimes complain that the fashion of suicide was borrowed from England. It would seem at all events probable that the word was so borrowed.

Let me urge here the advantage of a complete collection, or one as nearly complete as the industry of the collectors would allow, of all the notices in our literature, which mark, and would serve as dates for, the first incoming of new words into the language. These notices are of the most various kinds. Sometimes they are protests and remonstrances, as that just quoted, against a new word's introduction; sometimes they are gratulations at the same; while many hold themselves neuter as to approval or disapproval, and merely state, or allow us to gather, the fact of a word's recent appearance. There are not a few of these notices in Richardson's Dictionary: thus one from Lord Bacon under 'essay'; from Swift under 'banter'; from Sir Thomas Elyot under 'mansuetude'; from Lord Chesterfield under 'flirtation'; from Davies and Marlowe's Epigrams under 'gull'; from Roger North under 'sham' (Appendix); the third quotation from Dryden under 'mob'; one from the same under 'philanthropy', and again under 'witticism', in which he claims the authorship of the word; that from Evelyn under 'miss'; and from Milton under 'demagogue'. There are also notices of the same kind in Todd's Johnson. The work, however, is one which no single scholar could hope to accomplish, which could only be accomplished by many lovers of their native tongue throwing into a common stock the results of their several studies. The sources from which these illustrative passages might be gathered cannot beforehand be enumerated, inasmuch as it is difficult to say in what unexpected quarter they would not sometimes be found, although some of these sources are obvious enough. As a very slight sample of what might be done in this way by the joint contributions of many, let me throw together references to a few passages of the kind which I do not think have found their way into any of our dictionaries. Thus add to that which Richardson has quoted on 'banter', another from The Tatler, No. 230. On 'plunder' there are two instructive passages in Fuller's Church History, b. xi, Section 4, 33; and b. ix, Section 4; and one in Heylin's Animadversions thereupon, p. 196. On 'admiralty' see a note in Harington's Ariosto, book 19; on 'maturity' Sir Thomas Elyot's Governor, b. i, c. 22; and on 'industry' the same, b. i, c. 23; on 'neophyte' a notice in Fulke's Defence of the English Bible, Parker Society's edition, p. 586; and on 'panorama', and marking its recent introduction (it is not in Johnson), a passage in Pegge's Anecdotes of the English Language, first published in 1803, but my reference is to the edition of 1814, p. 306; on 'accommodate', and supplying a date for its first coming into popular use, see Shakespeare's 2 Henry IV. Act 3, Sc. 2; on 'shrub', Junius' Etymologicon, s. v. 'syrup'; on 'sentiment' and 'cajole' Skinner, s. vv., in his Etymologicon ('vox nuper civitate donata'); and on 'opera' Evelyn's Memoirs and Diary, 1827, vol. i, pp. 189, 190. In such a collection should be included those passages of our literature which supply implicit evidence for the non-existence of a word up to a certain moment. It may be urged that it is difficult, nay impossible, to prove a negative; and yet a passage like this from Bolingbroke makes certain that when it was written the word 'isolated' did not exist in our language: "The events we are witnesses of in the course of the longest life, appear to us very often original, unprepared, signal and unrelative: if I may use such a word for want of a better in English. In French I would say isoles" (Notes and Queries, No. 226). Compare Lord Chesterfield in a letter to Bishop Chenevix, of date March 12, 1767: "I have survived almost all my cotemporaries, and as I am too old to make new acquaintances, I find myself isole". So, too, it is pretty certain that 'amphibious' was not yet English, when one writes (in 1618): "We are like those creatures called {Greek: amphibia}, who live in water or on land". {Greek: Zo:ologia}, the title of a book published in 1649, makes it clear that 'zoology' was not yet in our vocabulary, as {Greek: zo:ophyton} (Jackson) proves the same for 'zoophyte', and {Greek: polytheismos} (Gell) for 'polytheism'. One precaution, let me observe, would be necessary in the collecting, or rather in the adopting of any statements about the newness of a word—for the passages themselves, even when erroneous, ought not the less to be noted—namely, that, where there is the least motive for suspicion, no one's affirmation ought to be accepted simply and at once as to the novelty of a word; for all here are liable to error. Thus more than one which Sir Thomas Elyot indicates as new in his time, 'magnanimity' for example (The Governor, 2, 14), are to be met in Chaucer. When Skinner affirmed of 'sentiment' that it had only recently obtained the rights of English citizenship from the translators of French books, he was altogether mistaken, this word being also one of continual recurrence in Chaucer. An intelligent correspondent gives in Notes and Queries, No. 225, a useful catalogue of recent neologies in our speech, which yet would require to be used with caution, for there are at least half a dozen in the list which have not the smallest right to be so considered.

{126} There is an admirable Essay by Leibnitz with this view (Opera, vol. vi, part 2, pp. 6-51) in French and German, with this title, Considerations sur la Culture et la Perfection de la Langue Allemande.

{127} Zur Geschichte und Beurtheilung der Fremdwoerter im Deutschen, von. Aug. Fuchs, Dessau, 1842, pp. 85-91.



III

DIMINUTIONS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE

I took occasion to observe at the commencement of my last lecture that it is the essential character of a living language to be in flux{128} and flow, to be gaining and losing; the words which constitute it as little continuing exactly the same, or in the same relations to one another, as do the atoms which at any one moment make up our bodies remain for ever without subtraction or addition. As I then undertook for my especial subject to trace some of the acquisitions which our own language had made, I shall consider in the present some of the losses, or at any rate diminutions, which during the same period it has endured. But it will be well here, by one or two remarks going before, to avert any possible misapprehensions of my meaning.

It is certain that all languages must, or at least all languages do in the end, perish. They run their course; not at all at the same rate, for the tendency to change is different in different languages, both from internal causes (mechanism and the like), and also from causes external to the language, laid in the varying velocities of social progress and social decline; but so it is, that whether of shorter or longer life, they have their youth, their manhood, their old age, their decrepitude, their final dissolution. Not indeed that, even when this last hour has arrived, they disappear, leaving no traces behind them. On the contrary, out of their death a new life comes forth; they pass into new forms, the materials of which they were composed more or less survive, but these now organized in new shapes and according to other laws of life. Thus for example, the Latin perishes as a living language, but a chief part of the words that composed it live on in the four daughter languages, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese; or the six, if we count the Provencal and Wallachian; not a few in our own. Still in their own proper being languages perish and pass away; there are dead records of what they were in books; not living men who speak them any more. Seeing then that they thus die, they must have had the germs of a possible decay and death in them from the beginning.

{Sidenote: Languages Gain and Lose}

Nor is this all; but in such mighty strong built fabrics as these, the causes which thus bring about their final dissolution must have been actually at work very long before the results began to be visible. Indeed, very often it is with them as with states, which, while in some respects they are knitting and strengthening, in others are already unfolding the seeds of their future and, it may be, still remote overthrow. Equally in these and those, in states and in languages, it would be a serious mistake to assume that all up to a certain point and period is growth and gain, while all after is decay and loss. On the contrary, there are long periods during which growth in some directions is going hand in hand with decay in others; losses in one kind are being compensated, or more than compensated, by gains in another; during which a language changes, but only as the bud changes into the flower, and the flower into the fruit. A time indeed arrives when the growth and gains, becoming ever fewer, cease to constitute any longer a compensation for the losses and the decay; which are ever becoming more; when the forces of disorganization and death at work are stronger than those of life and order. It is from this moment the decline of a language may properly be dated. But until that crisis and turning point has arrived, we may be quite justified in speaking of the losses of a language, and may esteem them most real, without in the least thereby implying that the period of its commencing degeneracy has begun. This may yet be far distant, and therefore when I dwell on certain losses and diminutions which our own has undergone, or is undergoing, you will not conclude that I am seeking to present it to you as now travelling the downward course to dissolution and death. This is very far from my intention. If in some respects it is losing, in others it is gaining. Nor is everything which it lets go, a loss; for this too, the parting with a word in which there is no true help, the dropping of a cumbrous or superfluous form, may itself be sometimes a most real gain. English is undoubtedly becoming different from what it has been; but only different in that it is passing into another stage of its development; only different, as the fruit is different from the flower, and the flower from the bud; having changed its merits, but not having renounced them; possessing, it may be, less of beauty, but more of usefulness; not, perhaps, serving the poet so well, but serving the historian and philosopher and theologian better than before.

One observation more let me make, before entering on the special details of my subject. It is this. The losses and diminutions of a language differ in one respect from its gains and acquisitions—namely, that they are of two kinds, while its gains are only of one. Its gains are only in words; it never puts forth in the course of its evolution a new power; it never makes for itself a new case, or a new tense, or a new comparative. But its losses are both in words and in powers—in words of course, but in powers also: it leaves behind it, as it travels onwards, cases which it once possessed; renounces the employment of tenses which it once used; forgets its dual; is content with one termination both for masculine and feminine, and so on. Nor is this a peculiar feature of one language, but the universal law of all. "In all languages", as has been well said, "there is a constant tendency to relieve themselves of that precision which chooses a fresh symbol for every shade of meaning, to lessen the amount of nice distinction, and detect as it were a royal road to the interchange of opinion". For example, a vast number of languages had at an early period of their development, besides the singular and plural, a dual number, some even a trinal, which they have let go at a later. But what I mean by a language renouncing its powers will, I trust, be more clear to you before my lecture is concluded. This much I have here said on the matter, to explain and justify a division which I shall make, considering first the losses of the English language in words, and then in powers.

{Sidenote: Words become Extinct}

And first, there is going forward a continual extinction of the words in our language—as indeed in every other. When I speak of this, the dying out of words, I do not refer to mere tentative, experimental words, not a few of which I adduced in my last lecture, words offered to the language, but not accepted by it; I refer rather to such as either belonged to the primitive stock of the language, or if not so, which had been domiciled in it long, that they might have been supposed to have found in it a lasting home. Thus not a few pure Anglo-Saxon words which lived on into the times of our early English, have subsequently dropped out of our vocabulary, sometimes leaving a gap which has never since been filled, but their places oftener taken by others which have come up in their room. Not to mention those of Chaucer and Wiclif, which are very numerous, many held their ground to far later periods, and yet have finally given way. That beautiful word 'wanhope' for despair, hope which has so waned that now there is an entire want of it, was in use down to the reign of Elizabeth; it occurs so late as in the poems of Gascoigne{129}. 'Skinker' for cupbearer, (an ungraceful word, no doubt) is used by Shakespeare and lasted till Dryden's time and beyond.

Spenser uses often 'to welk' (welken) in the sense of to fade, 'to sty' for to mount, 'to hery' as to glorify or praise, 'to halse' as to embrace, 'teene' as vexation or grief: Shakespeare 'to tarre' as to provoke, 'to sperr' as to enclose or bar in; 'to sag' for to droop, or hang the head downward. Holland employs 'geir'{130} for vulture ("vultures or geirs"), 'specht' for woodpecker, 'reise' for journey, 'frimm' for lusty or strong. 'To schimmer' occurs in Bishop Hall; 'to tind', that is, to kindle, and surviving in 'tinder', is used by Bishop Sanderson; 'to nimm', or take, as late as by Fuller. A rogue is a 'skellum' in Sir Thomas Urquhart. 'Nesh' in the sense of soft through moisture, 'leer' in that of empty, 'eame' in that of uncle, mother's brother (the German 'oheim'), good Saxon-English once, still live on in some of our provincial dialects; so does 'flitter-mouse' or 'flutter-mouse' (mus volitans), where we should use bat. Indeed of those above named several do the same; it is so with 'frimm', with 'to sag', 'to nimm'. 'Heft' employed by Shakespeare in the sense of weight, is still employed in the same sense by our peasants in Hampshire{131}.

{Sidenote: Vigorous Compound Words}

A number of vigorous compounds we have dropped and let go. 'Earsports' for entertainments of song or music ({Greek: akroamata}) is a constantly recurring word in Holland's Plutarch. Were it not for Shakespeare, we should have quite forgotten that young men of hasty fiery valour were called 'hotspurs'; and even now we regard the word rather as the proper name of one than that which would have been once alike the designation of all{132}. Fuller warns men that they should not 'witwanton' with God. Severe austere old men, such as, in Falstaff's words would "hate us youth", were 'grimsirs', or 'grimsires' once (Massinger). 'Realmrape' (=usurpation), occurring in The Mirror for Magistrates, is a vigorous word. 'Rootfast' and 'rootfastness'{133} were ill lost, being worthy to have lived; so too was Lord Brooke's 'bookhunger'; and Baxter's 'word-warriors', with which term he noted those whose strife was only about words. 'Malingerer' is familiar enough to military men, but I do not find it in our dictionaries; being the soldier who, out of evil will (malin gre) to his work, shams and shirks and is not found in the ranks{134}.

Those who would gladly have seen the Anglo-Saxon to have predominated over the Latin element in our language, even more than it actually has done, must note with regret that in many instances a word of the former stock had been dropped, and a Latin coined to supply its place; or where the two once existed side by side, the Saxon has died, and the Latin lived on. Thus Wiclif employed 'soothsaw', where we now use proverb; 'sourdough', where we employ leaven; 'wellwillingness' for benevolence; 'againbuying' for redemption; 'againrising' for resurrection; 'undeadliness' for immortality; 'uncunningness' for ignorance; 'aftercomer' for descendant; 'greatdoingly' for magnificently; 'to afterthink' (still in use in Lancashire) for to repent; 'medeful', which has given way to meritorious; 'untellable' for ineffable; 'dearworth' for precious; Chaucer has 'forword' for promise; Sir John Cheke 'freshman' for proselyte; 'mooned' for lunatic; 'foreshewer' for prophet; 'hundreder' for centurion; Jewel 'foretalk', where we now employ preface; Holland 'sunstead' where we use solstice; 'leechcraft' instead of medicine; and another, 'wordcraft' for logic; 'starconner' (Gascoigne) did service once, if not instead of astrologer, yet side by side with it; 'halfgod' (Golding) had the advantage over 'demigod', that it was all of one piece; 'to eyebite' (Holland) told its story at least as well as to fascinate; 'shriftfather' as confessor; 'earshrift' (Cartwright) is only two syllables, while 'auricular confession' is eight; 'waterfright' is a better word than our awkward Greek hydrophobia. The lamprey (lambens petram) was called once the 'suckstone' or the 'lickstone'; and the anemone the 'windflower'. 'Umstroke', if it had lived on (it appears as late as Fuller, though our dictionaries know nothing of it), might have made 'circumference' and 'periphery' unnecessary. 'Wanhope', as we saw just now, has given place to despair, 'middler' to mediator; and it would be easy to increase this list.

{Sidenote: Local and Provincial English}

I had occasion just now to notice the fact that many words survive in our provincial dialects, long after they have died out from the main body of the speech. The fact is one connected with so much of deep interest in the history of language that I cannot pass it thus slightly over. It is one which, rightly regarded, may assist to put us in a just point of view for estimating the character of the local and provincial in speech, and rescuing it from that unmerited contempt and neglect with which it is often regarded. I must here go somewhat further back than I could wish; but only so, only by looking at the matter in connexion with other phenomena of speech, can I hope to explain to you the worth and significance which local and provincial words and usages must oftentimes possess.

Let us then first suppose a portion of those speaking a language to have been separated off from the main body of its speakers, either through their forsaking for one cause or other of their native seats, or by the intrusion of a hostile people, like a wedge, between them and the others, forcibly keeping them asunder, and cutting off their communications one with the other, as the Saxons intruded between the Britons of Cornwall and of Wales. In such a case it will inevitably happen that before very long differences of speech will begin to reveal themselves between those to whom even dialectic distinctions may have been once unknown. The divergences will be of various kinds. Idioms will come up in the separated body, which, not being recognized and allowed by those who remain the arbiters of the language, will be esteemed by them, should they come under their notice, violations of its law, or at any rate departures from its purity. Again, where a colony has gone forth into new seats, and exists under new conditions, it is probable that the necessities, physical and moral, rising out of these new conditions, will give birth to words, which there will be nothing to call out among those who continue in the old haunts of the nation. Intercourse with new tribes and people will bring in new words, as, for instance, contact with the Indian tribes of North America has given to American English a certain number of words hardly or not at all allowed or known by us; or as the presence of a large Dutch population at the Cape has given to the English spoken there many words, as 'inspan', 'outspan'{135}, 'spoor', of which our home English knows nothing.

{Sidenote: Antiquated English}

There is another cause, however, which will probably be more effectual than all these, namely, that words will in process of time be dropped by those who constitute the original stock of the nation, which will not be dropped by the offshoot; idioms which those have overlived, and have stored up in the unhonoured lumber-room of the past, will still be in use and currency among the smaller and separated section which has gone forth; and thus it will come to pass that what seems and in fact is the newer swarm, will have many older words, and very often an archaic air and old-world fashion both about the words they use, their way of pronouncing, their order and manner of combining them. Thus after the Conquest we know that our insular French gradually diverged from the French of the Continent. The Prioress in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales could speak her French "full faire and fetishly", but it was French, as the poet slyly adds,

"After the scole of Stratford atte bow, For French of Paris was to hire unknowe".

One of our old chroniclers, writing in the reign of Elizabeth, informs us that by the English colonists within the Pale in Ireland numerous words were preserved in common use, "the dregs of the old ancient Chaucer English", as he contemptuously calls it, which had become quite obsolete and forgotten in England itself. For example, they still called a spider an 'attercop'—a word, by the way, still in popular use in the North;—a physician a 'leech', as in poetry he still is called; a dunghill was still for them a 'mixen'; (the word is still common all over England in this sense;) a quadrangle or base court was a 'bawn'{136}; they employed 'uncouth' in the earlier sense of unknown. Nay more, their general manner of speech was so different, though containing English still, that Englishmen at their first coming over often found it hard or impossible to comprehend. We have another example of the same in what took place after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and the consequent formation of colonies of Protestant French emigrants in various places, especially in Amsterdam and other chief cities of Holland. There gradually grew up among these what came to be called 'refugee French', which within a generation or two diverged in several particulars from the classical language of France; its divergence being mainly occasioned by this, that it remained stationary, while the classical language was in motion; it retained usages and words, which the latter had dismissed{137}.

{Sidenote: Provincial English}

Nor is it otherwise in respect of our English provincialisms. It is true that our country people who in the main employ them, have not been separated by distance of space, nor yet by insurmountable obstacles intervening, from the main body of their fellow-countrymen; but they have been quite as effectually divided by deficient education. They have been, if not locally, yet intellectually, kept at a distance from the onward march of the nation's mind; and of them also it is true that many of their words, idioms, turns of speech, which we are ready to set down as vulgarisms, solecisms of speech, violations of the primary rules of grammar, do merely attest that those who employ them have not kept abreast with the advance of the language and nation, but have been left behind by it. The usages are only local in the fact that, having once been employed by the whole body of the English people, they have now receded from the lips of all except those in some certain country districts, who have been more faithful than others to the tradition of the past{138}.

It is thus in respect of a multitude of isolated words, which were excellent Anglo-Saxon, which were excellent early English, and which only are not excellent present English, because use, which is the supreme arbiter in these matters, has decided against their further employment. Several of these I enumerated just now. It is thus also with several grammatical forms and flexions. For instance, where we decline the plural of "I sing", "we sing", "ye sing", "they sing", there are parts of England in which they would decline, "we singen", "ye singen", "they singen". This is not indeed the original form of the plural, but it is that form of it which, coming up about Chaucer's time, was just going out in Spenser's; he, though we must ever keep in mind that he does not fairly represent the language of his time, or indeed of any time, affecting a certain artificial archaism both in words and forms, continually uses it{139}. After him it becomes ever rarer, the last of whom I am aware as occasionally using it being Fuller, until it quite disappears.

{Sidenote: Earlier and Later English}

Of such as may now employ forms like these we must say, not that they violate the laws of the language, but only that they have taken their permanent stand at a point which was only a point of transition, and which it has now left behind, and overlived. Thus, to take examples which you may hear at the present day in almost any part of England—a countryman will say, "He made me afeard"; or "The price of corn ris last market day"; or "I will axe him his name"; or "I tell ye". You would probably set these phrases down for barbarous English. They are not so at all; in one sense they are quite as good English as "He made me afraid"; or "The price of corn rose last market day"; or "I will ask him his name". 'Afeard', used by Spenser, is the regular participle of the old verb to 'affear', still existing as a law term, as 'afraid' is of to 'affray', and just as good English{140}; 'ris' or 'risse' is an old praeterite of 'to rise'; to 'axe' is not a mispronunciation of 'to ask', but a genuine English form of the word, the form which in the earlier English it constantly assumed; in Wiclif's Bible almost without exception; and indeed 'axe' occurs continually, I know not whether invariably, in Tyndale's translation of the Scriptures; there was a time when 'ye' was an accusative, and to have used it as a nominative or vocative, the only permitted uses at present, would have been incorrect. Even such phrases as "Put them things away"; or "The man what owns the horse" are not bad, but only antiquated English{141}. Saying this, I would not in the least imply that these forms are open to you to employ, or that they would be good English for you. They would not; inasmuch as they are contrary to present use and custom, and these must be our standards in what we speak, and in what we write; just as in our buying and selling we are bound to employ the current coin of the realm, must not attempt to pass that which long since has been called in, whatever merits or intrinsic value it may possess. All which I affirm is that the phrases just brought forward represent past stages of the language, and are not barbarous violations of it.

{Sidenote: Luncheon, Nuncheon}

The same may be asserted of certain ways of pronouncing words, which are now in use among the lower classes, but not among the higher; as, for example, 'contr{-a}ry', 'mischi{-e}vous', 'blasph{-e}mous', instead of 'contr{)a}ry', 'mischi{)e}vous', 'blasph{)e}mous'. It would be abundantly easy to show by a multitude of quotations from our poets, and those reaching very far down, that these are merely the retention of the earlier pronunciation by the people, after the higher classes have abandoned it{142}. And on the strength of what has just been spoken, let me here suggest to you how well worth your while it will prove to be on the watch for provincial words and inflexions, local idioms and modes of pronunciation, and to take note of these. Count nothing in this kind beneath your notice. Do not at once ascribe anything which you hear to the ignorance or stupidity of the speaker. Thus if you hear 'nuncheon', do not at once set it down for a malformation of 'luncheon'{143}, nor 'yeel'{144}, of 'eel'. Lists and collections of provincial usage, such as I have suggested, always have their value. If you are not able to turn them to any profit yourselves, and they may not stand in close enough connexion with your own studies for this, yet there always are those who will thank you for them; and to whom the humblest of these collections, carefully and intelligently made, will be in one way or another of real assistance{145}. And there is the more need to urge this at the present, because, notwithstanding the tenacity with which our country folk cling to their old forms and usages, still these forms and usages must now be rapidly growing fewer; and there are forces, moral and material, at work in England, which will probably cause that of those which now survive the greater part will within the next fifty years have disappeared{146}.

{Sidenote: 'Its' of Late Introduction}

Before quitting this subject, let me instance one example more of that which is commonly accounted ungrammatical usage, but which is really the retention of old grammar by some, where others have substituted new; I mean the constant application by our rustic population in the south, and I dare say through all parts of England, of 'his' to inanimate objects, and to these not personified, no less than to persons; where 'its' would be employed by others. This was once the manner of speech among all; for 'its' is a word of very recent introduction, many would be surprised to learn of how recent introduction, into the language. You will look for it in vain through the whole of our Authorized Version of the Bible; the office which it now fulfils being there accomplished, as our rustics accomplish it at the present, by 'his' (Gen. i. 11; Exod. xxxvii. 17; Matt. v. 15) or 'her' (Jon. i. 15; Rev. xxii. 2) applied as freely to inanimate things as to persons, or else by 'thereof' (Ps. lxv. 10) or 'of it' (Dan. vii. 5). Nor may Lev. xx. 5 be urged as invalidating this assertion; for reference to the exemplar edition of 1611, or indeed to any earlier editions of King James' Bible, will show that in them the passage stood, "of it own accord"{147}. 'Its' occurs very rarely in Shakespeare, in many of his plays it will not once be found. Milton also for the most part avoids it, and this, though in his time others freely allowed it. How soon all this was forgotten we have striking evidence in the fact that when Dryden, in one of his fault-finding moods with the great men of the preceding generation, is taking Ben Jonson to task for general inaccuracy in his English diction, among other counts of his indictment, he quotes this line from Catiline

"Though heaven should speak with all his wrath at once",

and proceeds, "heaven is ill syntax with his"; while in fact up to within forty or fifty years of the time when Dryden began to write, no other syntax was known; and to a much later date was exceedingly rare. Curious also, is it to note that in the earnest controversy which followed on Chatterton's publication of the poems ascribed by him to a monk Rowlie, who should have lived in the fifteenth century, no one appealed to such lines as the following,

"Life and all its goods I scorn",

as at once deciding that the poems were not of the age which they pretended. Warton, who denied, though with some hesitation, the antiquity of the poems, giving many and sufficient reasons for this denial, failed to take note of this little word; while yet there needed no more than to point it out, for the disposing of the whole question; the forgery at once was betrayed.

{Sidenote: American English}

What has been here affirmed concerning our provincial English, namely that it is often old English rather than bad English, may be affirmed with equal right of many so-called Americanisms. There are parts of America where 'het' is used, or was used a few years since, as the perfect of 'to heat'; 'holp' as the perfect of 'to help'; 'stricken' as the participle of 'to strike'. Again there are the words which have become obsolete during the last two hundred years, which have not become obsolete there, although many of them probably retain only a provincial existence. Thus 'slick', which indeed is only another form of 'sleek', was employed by our good writers of the seventeenth century{148}. Other words again, which have remained current on both sides of the Atlantic, have yet on our side receded from their original use, while they have remained true to it on the other. 'Plunder' is a word in point{149}.

In the contemplation of facts like these it has been sometimes asked, whether a day will ever arrive when the language spoken on this side of the Atlantic and on the other, will divide into two languages, an old English and a new. We may confidently answer, No. Doubtless, if those who went out from us to people and subdue a new continent, had left our shores two or three centuries earlier than they did, when the language was very much farther removed from that ideal after which it was unconsciously striving, and in which, once reached, it has in great measure acquiesced; if they had not carried with them to their distant homes their English Bible, and what else of worth had been already uttered in the English tongue; if, having once left us, the intercourse between Old and New England had been entirely broken off, or only rare and partial; there would then have unfolded themselves differences between the language spoken here and there, which in tract of time accumulating and multiplying, might in the end have justified the regarding of the languages as no longer one and the same. It could not have failed but that such differences should have displayed themselves; for while there is a law of necessity in the evolution of languages, while they pursue certain courses and in certain directions, from which they can be no more turned aside by the will of men than one of the heavenly bodies could be pushed from its orbit by any engines of ours, there is a law of liberty no less; and this liberty must inevitably have made itself in many ways felt. In the political and social condition of America, so far removed from our own, in the many natural objects which are not the same with those which surround us here, in efforts independently carried out to rid the language of imperfections, or to unfold its latent powers, even in the different effects of soil and climate on the organs of speech, there would have been causes enough to have provoked in the course of time not immaterial divergencies of language.

As it is, however, the joint operation of those three causes referred to already, namely, that the separation did not take place in the infancy or youth of the language, but only in its ripe manhood, that England and America owned a body of literature, to which they alike looked up and appealed as containing the authoritative standards of the language, that the intercourse between the one people and the other has been large and frequent, hereafter probably to be larger and more frequent still, has effectually wrought. It has been strong enough so to traverse, repress, and check all those causes which tended to divergence, that the written language of educated men on both sides of the water remains precisely the same, their spoken manifesting a few trivial differences of idiom; while even among those classes which do not consciously acknowledge any ideal standard of language, there are scarcely greater differences, in some respects far smaller, than exist between inhabitants of different provinces in this one island of England; and in the future we may reasonably anticipate that these differences, so far from multiplying, will rather diminish and disappear.

{Sidenote: Extinct English}

But I must return from this long digression. It seems often as if an almost unaccountable caprice presided over the fortunes of words, and determined which should live and which die. Thus in instances out of number a word lives on as a verb, but has ceased to be employed as a noun; we say 'to embarrass', but no longer an 'embarrass'; 'to revile', but not, with Chapman and Milton, a 'revile'; 'to dispose', but not a 'dispose'{150}; 'to retire' but not a 'retire'; 'to wed', but not a 'wed'; we say 'to infest', but use no longer the adjective 'infest'. Or with a reversed fortune a word lives on as a noun, but has perished as a verb—thus as a noun substantive, a 'slug', but no longer 'to slug' or render slothful; a 'child', but no longer 'to child', ("childing autumn", Shakespeare); a 'rape', but not 'to rape' (South); a 'rogue', but not 'to rogue'; 'malice', but not 'to malice'; a 'path', but not 'to path'; or as a noun adjective, 'serene', but not 'to serene', a beautiful word, which we have let go, as the French have 'sereiner'{151}; 'meek', but not 'to meek' (Wiclif); 'fond', but not 'to fond' (Dryden); 'dead', but not 'to dead'; 'intricate', but 'to intricate' (Jeremy Taylor) no longer.

Or again, the affirmative remains, but the negative is gone; thus 'wisdom', 'bold', 'sad', but not any more 'unwisdom', 'unbold', 'unsad' (all in Wiclif); 'cunning', but not 'uncunning'; 'manhood', 'wit', 'mighty', 'tall', but not 'unmanhood', 'unwit', 'unmighty', 'untall' (all in Chaucer); 'buxom', but not 'unbuxom' (Dryden); 'hasty', but not 'unhasty' (Spenser); 'blithe', but not 'unblithe'; 'ease', but not 'unease' (Hacket); 'repentance', but not 'unrepentance'; 'remission', but not 'irremission' (Donne); 'science', but not 'nescience' (Glanvill){152}; 'to know', but not 'to unknow' (Wiclif); 'to give', but not 'to ungive'. Or once more, with a curious variation from this, the negative survives, while the affirmative is gone; thus 'wieldy' (Chaucer) survives only in 'unwieldy'; 'couth' and 'couthly' (both in Spenser), only in 'uncouth' and 'uncouthly'; 'rule' (Foxe) only in 'unruly'; 'gainly' (Henry More) in 'ungainly'; these last two were both of them serviceable words, and have been ill lost{153}; 'gainly' is indeed still common in the West Riding of Yorkshire; 'exorable' (Holland) and 'evitable' only in 'inexorable' and 'inevitable'; 'faultless' remains, but hardly 'faultful' (Shakespeare). In like manner 'semble' (Foxe) has, except as a technical law term, disappeared; while 'dissemble' continues. So also of other pairs one has been taken and one left; 'height', or 'highth', as Milton better spelt it, remains, but 'lowth' (Becon) is gone; 'righteousness', or 'rightwiseness', as it would once more accurately have been written, for 'righteous' is a corruption of 'rightwise', remains, but its correspondent 'wrongwiseness' has been taken; 'inroad' continues, but 'outroad' (Holland) has disappeared; 'levant' lives, but 'ponent' (Holland) has died; 'to extricate' continues, but, as we saw just now, 'to intricate' does not; 'parricide', but not 'filicide' (Holland). Again, of whole groups of words formed on some particular scheme it may be only a single specimen will survive. Thus 'gainsay', that is, again say, survives; but 'gainstrive' (Foxe), 'gainstand', 'gaincope' (Golding), and other similarly formed words exist no longer. It is the same with 'foolhardy', which is but one, though now indeed the only one remaining, of at least five adjectives formed on the same principle; thus 'foollarge', quite as expressive a word as prodigal, occurs in Chaucer, and 'foolhasty', found also in him, lived on to the time of Holland; while 'foolhappy' is in Spencer; and 'foolbold' in Bale. 'Steadfast' remains, but 'shamefast', 'rootfast', 'bedfast' (=bedridden), 'homefast', 'housefast', 'masterfast' (Skelton), with others, are all gone. 'Exhort' remains; but 'dehort' a word whose place neither 'dissuade' nor any other exactly supplies, has escaped us{154}. We have 'twilight', but 'twibill' = bipennis (Chapman) is extinct.

Let me mention another real loss, where in like manner there remains in the present language something to remind us of that which is gone. The comparative 'rather' stands alone, having dropped on one side its positive 'rathe'{155}, and on the other its superlative 'rathest'. 'Rathe', having the sense of early, though a graceful word, and not fallen quite out of popular remembrance, inasmuch as it is embalmed in the Lycidas of Milton,

"And the rathe primrose, which forsaken dies",

might still be suffered without remark to share the common lot of so many words which have perished, though worthy to have lived; but the disuse of 'rathest' has left a real gap in the language, and the more so, seeing that 'liefest' is gone too. 'Rather' expresses the Latin 'potius'; but 'rathest' being out of use, we have no word, unless 'soonest' may be accepted as such, to express 'potissimum', or the preference not of one way over another or over certain others, but of one over all; which we therefore effect by aid of various circumlocutions. Nor has 'rathest' been so long out of use, that it would be playing the antic to attempt to revive it. It occurs in the Sermons of Bishop Sanderson, who in the opening of that beautiful sermon from the text, "When my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord taketh me up", puts the consideration, "why these", that is, father and mother, "are named the rathest, and the rest to be included in them"{156}.

It is sometimes easy enough, but indeed oftener hard, and not seldom quite impossible, to trace the causes which have been at work to bring about that certain words, little by little, drop out of the language of men, come to be heard more and more rarely, and finally are not heard any more at all—to trace the motives which have induced a whole people thus to arrive at a tacit consent not to employ them any longer; for without this tacit consent they could never have thus become obsolete. That it is not accident, that there is a law here at work, however hidden it may be from us, is plain from the fact that certain families of words, words formed on certain patterns, have a tendency thus to fall into desuetude.

{Sidenote: Words in '-some'}

Thus, I think, we may trace a tendency in words ending in 'some', the Anglo-Saxon and early English 'sum', the German 'sam' ('friedsam', 'seltsam') to fall out of use. It is true that a vast number of these survive, as 'gladsome', 'handsome', 'wearisome', 'buxom' (this last spelt better 'bucksome', by our earlier writers, for its present spelling altogether disguises its true character, and the family to which it belongs); being the same word as the German 'beugsam' or 'biegsam', bendable, compliant{157}; but a larger number of these words than can be ascribed to accident, many more than the due proportion of them, are either quite or nearly extinct. Thus in Wiclif's Bible alone you might note the following, 'lovesum', 'hatesum', 'lustsum', 'gilsum' (guilesome), 'wealsum', 'heavysum', 'lightsum', 'delightsum'; of these 'lightsome' long survived, and indeed still survives in provincial dialects; but of the others all save 'delightsome' are gone; and that, although used in our Authorized Version (Mal. iii, 12), is now only employed in poetry. So too 'mightsome' (see Coleridge's Glossary), 'brightsome' (Marlowe), 'wieldsome', and 'unwieldsome' (Golding), 'unlightsome' (Milton), 'healthsome' (Homilies), 'ugsome' and 'ugglesome' (both in Foxe), 'laboursome' (Shakespeare), 'friendsome', 'longsome' (Bacon), 'quietsome', 'mirksome' (both in Spenser), 'toothsome' (Beaumont and Fletcher), 'gleesome', 'joysome' (both in Browne's Pastorals), 'gaysome' (Mirror for Magistrates), 'roomsome', 'bigsome', 'awesome', 'timersome', 'winsome', 'viewsome', 'dosome' (=prosperous), 'flaysome' (=fearful), 'auntersome' (=adventurous), 'clamorsome' (all these still surviving in the North), 'playsome' (employed by the historian Hume), 'lissome'{158}, have nearly or quite disappeared from our English speech. They seem to have held their ground in Scotland in considerably larger numbers than in the south of the Island{159}.

{Sidenote: Words in '-ard'}

Neither can I esteem it a mere accident that of a group of depreciatory and contemptuous words ending in 'ard', at least one half should have dropped out of use; I refer to that group of which 'dotard', 'laggard', 'braggard', now spelt 'braggart', 'sluggard', 'buzzard', 'bastard', 'wizard', may be taken as surviving specimens; 'blinkard' (Homilies), 'dizzard' (Burton), 'dullard' (Udal), 'musard' (Chaucer), 'trichard' (Political Songs), 'shreward' (Robert of Gloucester), 'ballard' (a bald-headed man, Wiclif); 'puggard', 'stinkard' (Ben Jonson), 'haggard', a worthless hawk, as extinct.

Thus too there is a very curious province of our language, in which we were once so rich, that extensive losses here have failed to make us poor; so many of its words still surviving, even after as many or more have disappeared. I refer to those double words which either contain within themselves a strong rhyming modulation, such for example as 'willy-nilly', 'hocus-pocus', 'helter-skelter', 'tag-rag', 'namby-pamby', 'pell-mell', 'hodge-podge'; or with a slight difference from this, though belonging to the same group, those of which the characteristic feature is not this internal likeness with initial unlikeness, but initial likeness with internal unlikeness; not rhyming, but strongly alliterative, and in every case with a change of the interior vowel from a weak into a strong, generally from i into a or o; as 'shilly-shally', 'mingle-mangle', 'tittle-tattle', 'prittle-prattle', 'riff-raff', 'see-saw', 'slip-slop'. No one who is not quite out of love with the homelier yet more vigorous portions of the language, but will acknowledge the life and strength which there is often in these and in others still current among us. But of the same sort what vast numbers have fallen out of use, some so fallen out of all remembrance that it may be difficult almost to find credence for them. Thus take of rhyming the following: 'hugger-mugger', 'hurly-burly', 'kicksy-wicksy' (all in Shakespeare); 'hibber-gibber', 'rusty-dusty', 'horrel-lorrel', 'slaump paump' (all in Gabriel Harvey), 'royster-doyster' (Old Play), 'hoddy-doddy' (Ben Jonson); while of alliterative might be instanced these: 'skimble-skamble', 'bibble-babble' (both in Shakespeare), 'twittle-twattle', 'kim-kam' (both in Holland), 'hab-nab' (Lilly), 'trim-tram', 'trish-trash', 'swish-swash' (all in Gabriel Harvey), 'whim-wham' (Beaumont and Fletcher), 'mizz-mazz' (Locke), 'snip-snap' (Pope), 'flim-flam' (Swift), 'tric-trac', and others{160}.

{Sidenote: Words under Ban}

Again, there was once a whole family of words whereof the greater number are now under ban; which seemed at one time to have been formed almost at pleasure, the only condition being that the combination should be a happy one—I mean all those singularly expressive words formed by a combination of verb and substantive, the former governing the latter; as 'telltale', 'scapegrace', 'turncoat', 'turntail', 'skinflint', 'spendthrift', 'spitfire', 'lickspittle', 'daredevil' (=wagehals), 'makebate' (=stoerenfried), 'marplot', 'killjoy'. These with a certain number of others, have held their ground, and may be said to be still more or less in use; but what a number more are forgotten; and yet, though not always elegant, they constituted a very vigorous portion of our language, and preserved some of its most genuine idioms{161}. It could not well be otherwise; they are almost all words of abuse, and the abusive words of a language are always among the most picturesque and vigorous and imaginative which it possesses. The whole man speaks out in them, and often the man under the influence of passion and excitement, which always lend force and fire to his speech. Let me remind you of a few of them; 'smellfeast', if not a better, is yet a more graphic, word than our foreign parasite; as graphic indeed for us as {Greek: trechedeipnos} to Greek ears; 'clawback' (Hackett) is a stronger, if not a more graceful, word than flatterer or sycophant; 'tosspot' (Fuller), or less frequently 'reel-pot' (Middleton), tells its own tale as well as drunkard; and 'pinchpenny' (Holland), or 'nipfarthing' (Drant), as well as or better than miser. And then what a multitude more there are in like kind; 'spintext', 'lacklatin', 'mumblematins', all applied to ignorant clerics; 'bitesheep' (a favourite word with Foxe) to such of these as were rather wolves tearing, than shepherds feeding, the flock; 'slip-string' = pendard (Beaumont and Fletcher), 'slip-gibbet', 'scapegallows'; all names given to those who, however they might have escaped, were justly owed to the gallows, and might still "go upstairs to bed".

{Sidenote: Obsolete Compounds}

How many of these words occur in Shakespeare. The following list makes no pretence to completeness; 'martext', 'carrytale', 'pleaseman', 'sneakcup', 'mumblenews', 'wantwit', 'lackbrain', 'lackbeard', 'lacklove', 'ticklebrain', 'cutpurse', 'cutthroat', 'crackhemp', 'breedbate', 'swinge-buckler', 'pickpurse', 'pickthank', 'picklock', 'scarecrow', 'breakvow', 'breakpromise', 'makepeace'—this last and 'telltruth' (Fuller) being the only ones in the whole collection wherein reprobation or contempt is not implied. Nor is the list exhausted yet; there are further 'dingthrift' = prodigal (Herrick), 'wastegood' (Cotgrave), 'stroygood' (Golding), 'wastethrift' (Beaumont and Fletcher), 'scapethrift', 'swashbuckler' (both in Holinshed), 'shakebuckler', 'rinsepitcher' (both in Bacon), 'crackrope' (Howell), 'waghalter', 'wagfeather' (both in Cotgrave), 'blabtale' (Racket), 'getnothing' (Adams), 'findfault' (Florio), 'tearthroat' (Gayton), 'marprelate', 'spitvenom', 'nipcheese', 'nipscreed', 'killman' (Chapman), 'lackland', 'pickquarrel', 'pickfaults', 'pickpenny' (Henry More), 'makefray' (Bishop Hall), 'make-debate' (Richardson's Letters), 'kindlecoal' (attise feu), 'kindlefire' (both in Gurnall), 'turntippet' (Cranmer), 'swillbowl' (Stubbs), 'smell-smock', 'cumberwold' (Drayton), 'curryfavor', 'pinchfist', 'suckfist', 'hatepeace' (Sylvester), 'hategood' (Bunyan), 'clutchfist', 'sharkgull' (both in Middleton), 'makesport' (Fuller), 'hangdog' ("Herod's hangdogs in the tapestry", Pope), 'catchpoll', 'makeshift' (used not impersonally as now), 'pickgoose' ("the bookworm was never but a pickgoose"){162}, 'killcow' (these three last in Gabriel Harvey), 'rakeshame' (Milton, prose), with others which it will be convenient to omit. 'Rakehell', which used to be spelt 'rakel' or 'rakle' (Chaucer), a good English word, would be only through an error included in this list, although Cowper, when he writes 'rakehell' ("rake-hell baronet") evidently regarded it as belonging to this group{163}.

{Sidenote: Words become Vulgar}

Perhaps one of the most frequent causes which leads to the disuse of words is this: in some inexplicable way there comes to be attached something of ludicrous, or coarse, or vulgar to them, out of a feeling of which they are no longer used in earnest serious writing, and at the same time fall out of the discourse of those who desire to speak elegantly. Not indeed that this degradation which overtakes words is in all cases inexplicable. The unheroic character of most men's minds, with their consequent intolerance of that heroic which they cannot understand, is constantly at work, too often with success, in taking down words of nobleness from their high pitch; and, as the most effectual way of doing this, in casting an air of mock-heroic about them. Thus 'to dub', a word resting on one of the noblest usages of chivalry, has now something of ludicrous about it; so too has 'doughty'; they belong to that serio-comic, mock-heroic diction, the multiplication of which, as of all parodies on greatness, and the favour with which it is received, is always a sign of evil augury for a nation, is at present a sign of evil augury for our own.

'Pate' in the sense of head is now comic or ignoble; it was not so once; as is plain from its occurrence in the Prayer Book Version of the Psalms (Ps. vii. 17); as little was 'noddle', which occurs in one of the few poetical passages in Hawes. The same may be said of 'sconce', in this sense at least; of 'nowl' or 'noll', which Wiclif uses; of 'slops' for trousers (Marlowe's Lucan); of 'cocksure' (Rogers), of 'smug', which once meant no more than adorned ("the smug bridegroom", Shakespeare). 'To nap' is now a word without dignity; while yet in Wiclif's Bible it is said, "Lo he schall not nappe, nether slepe that kepeth Israel" (Ps. cxxi. 4). 'To punch', 'to thump', both of which, and in serious writing, occur in Spenser, could not now obtain the same use, nor yet 'to wag', or 'to buss'. Neither would any one now say that at Lystra Barnabas and Paul "rent their clothes and skipped out among the people" (Acts xiv. 14), which is the language that Wiclif employs; nor yet that "the Lord trounced Sisera and all his host" as it stands in the Bible of 1551. "A sight of angels", for which phrase see Cranmer's Bible (Heb. xii. 22), would be felt as a vulgarism now. We should scarcely call now a delusion of Satan a "flam of the devil" (Henry More). It is not otherwise in regard of phrases. "Through thick and thin", occurring in Spenser, "cheek by jowl" in Dubartas{164}, do not now belong to serious poetry. In the glorious ballad of Chevy Chase, a noble warrior whose legs are hewn off, is described as being "in doleful dumps"; just as, in Holland's Livy, the Romans are set forth as being "in the dumps" as a consequence of their disastrous defeat at Cannae. In Golding's Ovid, one fears that he will "go to pot". In one of the beautiful letters of John Careless, preserved in Foxe's Martyrs, a persecutor, who expects a recantation from him, is described as "in the wrong box". And in the sermons of Barrow, who certainly intended to write an elevated style, and did not seek familiar, still less vulgar, expressions, we constantly meet such terms as 'to rate', 'to snub', 'to gull', 'to pudder', 'dumpish', and the like; which we may confidently affirm were not vulgar when he used them.

Then too the advance of refinement causes words to be forgone, which are felt to speak too plainly. It is not here merely that one age has more delicate ears than another; and that matters are freely spoken of at one time which at another are withdrawn from conversation. This is something; but besides this, and even if this delicacy were at a standstill, there would still be a continual process going on, by which the words, which for a certain while have been employed to designate coarse or disagreeable facts or things, would be disallowed, or at all events relinquished to the lower class of society, and others adopted in their place. The former by long use being felt to have come into too direct and close relation with that which they designate, to summon it up too distinctly before the mind's eye, they are thereupon exchanged for others, which, at first at least, indicate more lightly and allusively the offensive thing, rather hint and suggest than paint and describe it: although by and by these new will also in their turn be discarded, and for exactly the same reasons which brought about the dismissal of those which they themselves superseded. It lies in the necessity of things that I must leave this part of my subject, very curious as it is, without illustration{165}. But no one, even moderately acquainted with the early literature of the Reformation, can be ignorant of words freely used in it, which now are not merely coarse and as such under ban, but which no one would employ who did not mean to speak impurely and vilely.

* * * * *

{Sidenote: Lost Powers of a Language}

Thus much in respect of the words, and the character of the words, which we have lost or let go. Of these, indeed, if a language, as it travels onwards, loses some, it also acquires others, and probably many more than it loses; they are leaves on the tree of language, of which if some fall away, a new succession takes their place. But it is not so, as I already observed, with the forms or powers of a language, that is, with the various inflections, moods, duplicate or triplicate formation of tenses; which the speakers of a language come gradually to perceive that they can do without, and therefore cease to employ; seeking to suppress grammatical intricacies, and to obtain grammatical simplicity and so far as possible a pervading uniformity, sometimes even at the hazard of letting go what had real worth, and contributed to the more lively, if not to the clearer, setting forth of the inner thought or feeling of the mind. Here there is only loss, with no compensating gain; or, at all events, diminution only, and never addition. In regard of these inner forces and potencies of a language, there is no creative energy at work in its later periods, in any, indeed, but quite the earliest. They are not as the leaves, but may be likened to the stem and leading branches of a tree, whose shape, mould and direction are determined at a very early stage of its growth; and which age, or accident, or violence may diminish, but which can never be multiplied. I have already slightly referred to a notable example of this, namely, to the dropping of the dual number in the Greek language. Thus in all the New Testament it does not once occur, having quite fallen out of the common dialect in which that is composed. Elsewhere too it has been felt that the dual was not worth preserving, or at any rate, that no serious inconvenience would follow on its loss. There is no such number in the modern German, Danish or Swedish; in the old German and Norse there was.

{Sidenote: Extinction of Powers}

How many niceties, delicacies, subtleties of language, we, speakers of the English tongue, in the course of centuries have got rid of; how bare (whether too bare is another question) we have stripped ourselves; what simplicity for better or for worse reigns in the present English, as compared with the old Anglo-Saxon. That had six declensions, our present English but one; that had three genders, English, if we except one or two words, has none; that formed the genitive in a variety of ways, we only in one; and the same fact meets us, wherever we compare the grammars of the two languages. At the same time, it can scarcely be repeated too often, that in the estimate of the gain or loss thereupon ensuing, we must by no means put certainly to loss everything which the language has dismissed, any more than everything to gain which it has acquired. It is no real wealth in a language to have needless and superfluous forms. They are often an embarrassment and an encumbrance to it rather than a help. The Finnish language has fourteen cases. Without pretending to know exactly what it is able to effect, I yet feel confident that it cannot effect more, nor indeed so much, with its fourteen as the Greek is able to do with its five. It therefore seems to me that some words of Otfried Mueller, in many ways admirable, do yet exaggerate the losses consequent on the reduction of the forms of a language. "It may be observed", he says, "that in the lapse of ages, from the time that the progress of language can be observed, grammatical forms, such as the signs of cases, moods and tenses have never been increased in number, but have been constantly diminishing. The history of the Romance, as well as of the Germanic, languages shows in the clearest manner how a grammar, once powerful and copious, has been gradually weakened and impoverished, until at last it preserves only a few fragments of its ancient inflections. Now there is no doubt that this luxuriance of grammatical forms is not an essential part of a language, considered merely as a vehicle of thought. It is well known that the Chinese language, which is merely a collection of radical words destitute of grammatical forms, can express even philosophical ideas with tolerable precision; and the English, which, from the mode of its formation by a mixture of different tongues, has been stripped of its grammatical inflections more completely than any other European language, seems, nevertheless, even to a foreigner, to be distinguished by its energetic eloquence. All this must be admitted by every unprejudiced inquirer; but yet it cannot be overlooked, that this copiousness of grammatical forms, and the fine shades of meaning which they express, evince a nicety of observation, and a faculty of distinguishing, which unquestionably prove that the race of mankind among whom these languages arose was characterized by a remarkable correctness and subtlety of thought. Nor can any modern European, who forms in his mind a lively image of the classical languages in their ancient grammatical luxuriance, and compares them with his mother tongue, conceal from himself that in the ancient languages the words, with their inflections, clothed as it were with muscles and sinews, come forward like living bodies, full of expression and character, while in the modern tongues the words seem shrunk up into mere skeletons"{166}.

{Sidenote: Words in '-ess'}

Whether languages are as much impoverished by this process as is here assumed, may, I think, be a question. I will endeavour to give you some materials which shall assist you in forming your own judgment in the matter. And here I am sure that I shall do best in considering not forms which the language has relinquished long ago, but mainly such as it is relinquishing now; which, touching us more nearly, will have a far more lively interest for us all. For example, the female termination which we employ in certain words, such as from 'heir' 'heiress', from 'prophet' 'prophetess', from 'sorcerer' 'sorceress', was once far more widely extended than at present; the words which retain it are daily becoming fewer. It has already fallen away in so many, and is evidently becoming of less frequent use in so many others, that, if we may augur of the future from the analogy of the past, it will one day altogether vanish from our tongue. Thus all these occur in Wiclif's Bible; 'techeress' as the female teacher (2 Chron. xxxv. 25); 'friendess' (Prov. vii. 4); 'servantess' (Gen. xvi. 2); 'leperess' (=saltatrix, Ecclus. ix. 4); 'daunceress' (Ecclus. ix. 4); 'neighbouress' (Exod. iii. 22); 'sinneress' (Luke vii. 37); 'purpuress' (Acts xvi. 14); 'cousiness' (Luke i. 36); 'slayeress' (Tob. iii. 9); 'devouress' (Ezek. xxxvi. 13); 'spousess' (Prov. v. 19); 'thralless' (Jer. xxxiv. 16); 'dwelleress' (Jer. xxi. 13); 'waileress' (Jer. ix. 17); 'cheseress' (=electrix, Wisd. viii. 4); 'singeress', 'breakeress', 'waiteress', this last indeed having recently come up again. Add to these 'chideress', the female chider, 'herdess', 'constabless', 'moveress', 'jangleress', 'soudaness' (=sultana), 'guideress', 'charmeress' (all in Chaucer); and others, which however we may have now let them fall, reached to far later periods of the language; thus 'vanqueress' (Fabyan); 'poisoneress' (Greneway); 'knightess' (Udal); 'pedleress', 'championess', 'vassaless', 'avengeress', 'warriouress', 'victoress', 'creatress' (all in Spenser); 'fornicatress', 'cloistress', 'jointress' (all in Shakespeare); 'vowess' (Holinshed); 'ministress', 'flatteress' (both in Holland); 'captainess' (Sidney); 'saintess' (Sir T. Urquhart); 'heroess', 'dragoness', 'butleress', 'contendress', 'waggoness', 'rectress' (all in Chapman); 'shootress' (Fairfax); 'archeress' (Fanshawe); 'clientess', 'pandress' (both in Middleton); 'papess', 'Jesuitess' (Bishop Hall); 'incitress' (Gayton); 'soldieress', 'guardianess', 'votaress' (all in Beaumont and Fletcher); 'comfortress', 'fosteress' (Ben Jonson); 'soveraintess' (Sylvester); 'preserveress' (Daniel); 'solicitress', 'impostress', 'buildress', 'intrudress' (all in Fuller); 'favouress' (Hakewell); 'commandress' (Burton); 'monarchess', 'discipless' (Speed); 'auditress', 'cateress', 'chantress', 'tyranness' (all in Milton); 'citess', 'divineress' (both in Dryden); 'deaness' (Sterne); 'detractress' (Addison); 'hucksteress' (Howell); 'tutoress' (Shaftesbury); 'farmeress' (Lord Peterborough, Letter to Pope); 'laddess', which however still survives in the contracted form of 'lass'{167}; with more which, I doubt not, it would not be very hard to bring together{168}.

{Sidenote: Words in '-ster'}

Exactly the same thing has happened with another feminine affix. I refer to 'ster', taking the place of 'er' where a feminine doer is intended{169}. 'Spinner' and 'spinster' are the only pair of such words, which still survive. There were formerly many such; thus 'baker' had 'bakester', being the female who baked: 'brewer' 'brewster'; 'sewer' 'sewster'; 'reader' 'readster'; 'seamer' 'seamster'; 'fruiterer' 'fruitester'; 'tumbler' 'tumblester'; 'hopper' 'hoppester' (these last three in Chaucer; "the shippes hoppesteres", about which so much difficulty has been made, are the ships dancing, i.e., on the waves){170}, 'knitter' 'knitster' (a word, I am told, still alive in Devon). Add to these 'whitster' (female bleacher, Shakespeare), 'kempster' (pectrix), 'dryster' (siccatrix), 'brawdster', (I suppose embroideress){171}, and 'salster' (salinaria){172}. It is a singular example of the richness of a language in forms at the earlier stages of its existence, that not a few of the words which had, as we have just seen, a feminine termination in 'ess', had also a second in 'ster'. Thus 'daunser', beside 'daunseress', had also 'daunster' (Ecclus. ix. 4); 'wailer', beside 'waileress', had 'wailster' (Jer. ix. 17); 'dweller' 'dwelster' (Jer. xxi. 13); and 'singer' 'singster' (2 Kin. xix. 35); so too, 'chider' had 'chidester' (Chaucer), as well as 'chideress', 'slayer' 'slayster' (Tob. iii. 9), as well as 'slayeress', 'chooser' 'chesister', (Wisd. viii. 4), as well as 'cheseress', with others that might be named.

{Sidenote: Deceptive Analogies}

It is difficult to understand how Marsh, with these examples before him should affirm, "I find no positive evidence to show that the termination 'ster' was ever regarded as a feminine termination in English". It may be, and indeed has been, urged that the existence of such words as 'seamstress', 'songstress', is decisive proof that the ending 'ster' of itself was not counted sufficient to designate persons as female; for if, it has been said, 'seamster' and 'songster' had been felt to be already feminine, no one would have ever thought of doubling on this, and adding a second female termination; 'seamstress', 'songstress'. But all which can justly be concluded from hence is, that when this final 'ess' was added to these already feminine forms, and examples of it will not, I think, be found till a comparatively late period of the language, the true principle and law of the words had been lost sight of and forgotten{173}. The same may be affirmed of such other of these feminine forms as are now applied to men, such as 'gamester', 'youngster', 'oldster', 'drugster' (South), 'huckster', 'hackster', (=swordsman, Milton, prose), 'teamster', 'throwster', 'rhymester', 'punster' (Spectator), 'tapster', 'whipster' (Shakespeare), 'trickster'. Either, like 'teamster', and 'punster', the words first came into being, when the true significance of this form was altogether lost{174}; or like 'tapster', which was female in Chaucer ("the gay tapstere"), as it is still in Dutch and Frisian, and distinguished from 'tapper', the man who keeps the inn, or has charge of the tap, or as 'bakester', at this day used in Scotland for 'baker', as 'dyester' for 'dyer', the word did originally belong of right and exclusively to women; but with the gradual transfer of the occupation to men, and an increasing forgetfulness of what this termination implied, there went also a transfer of the name{175}, just as in other words, and out of the same causes, the exact converse has found place; and 'baker' or 'brewer', not 'bakester' or 'brewster'{176}, would be now in England applied to the woman baking or brewing. So entirely has this power of the language died out, that it survives more apparently than really even in 'spinner' and 'spinster'; seeing that 'spinster' has obtained now quite another meaning than that of a woman spinning, whom, as well as the man, we should call not a 'spinster', but a 'spinner'{177}. It would indeed be hard to believe, if we had not constant experience of the fact, how soon and how easily the true law and significance of some form, which has never ceased to be in everybody's mouth, may yet be lost sight of by all. No more curious chapter in the history of language could be written than one which should trace the violations of analogy, the transgressions of the most primary laws of a language, which follow hereupon; the plurals like 'welkin' (=wolken, the clouds){178}, 'chicken'{179}, which are dealt with as singulars, the singulars, like 'riches' (richesse){180}, 'pease' (pisum, pois){181}, 'alms', 'eaves'{182}, which are assumed to be plurals.

{Sidenote: The Genitival Inflexion '-s'}

There is one example of this, familiar to us all; probably so familiar that it would not be worth while adverting to it, if it did not illustrate, as no other word could, this forgetfulness which may overtake a whole people, of the true meaning of a grammatical form which they have never ceased to employ. I refer to the mistaken assumption that the 's' of the genitive, as 'the king's countenance', was merely a more rapid way of pronouncing 'the king his countenance', and that the final 's' in 'king's' was in fact an elided 'his'. This explanation for a long time prevailed almost universally; I believe there are many who accept it still. It was in vain that here and there a deeper knower of our tongue protested against this "monstrous syntax", as Ben Jonson in his Grammar justly calls it{183}. It was in vain that Wallis, another English scholar of the seventeenth century, pointed out in his Grammar that the slightest examination of the facts revealed the untenable character of this explanation, seeing that we do not merely say "the king's countenance", but "the queen's countenance"; and in this case the final 's' cannot stand for 'his', for "the queen his countenance" cannot be intended{184}; we do not say merely "the child's bread", but "the children's bread", where it is no less impossible to resolve the phrase into "the children his bread"{185}. Despite of these protests the error held its ground. This much indeed of a plea it could make for itself, that such an actual employment of 'his' had found its way into the language, as early as the fourteenth century, and had been in occasional, though rare use, from that time downward{186}. Yet this, which has only been elicited by the researches of recent scholars, does not in the least justify those who assumed that in the habitual 's' of the genitive were to be found the remains of 'his'—an error from which the books of scholars in the seventeenth, and in the early decades of the eighteenth, century are not a whit clearer than those of others. Spenser, Donne, Fuller, Jeremy Taylor, all fall into it; I cannot say confidently whether Milton does. Dryden more than once helps out his verse with an additional syllable gained by its aid. It has even forced its way into our Prayer Book itself, where in the "Prayer for all sorts and conditions of men", added by Bishop Sanderson at the last revision of the Liturgy in 1661, we are bidden to say, "And this we beg for Jesus Christ his sake"{187}. I need hardly tell you that this 's' is in fact the one remnant of flexion surviving in the singular number of our English noun substantives; it is in all the Indo-Germanic languages the original sign of the genitive, or at any rate the earliest of which we can take cognizance; and just as in Latin 'lapis' makes 'lapidis' in the genitive, so 'king', 'queen', 'child', make severally 'kings', 'queens', 'childs', the comma, an apparent note of elision, being a mere modern expedient, "a late refinement", as Ash calls it{188}, to distinguish the genitive singular from the plural cases{189}.

{Sidenote: Adjectives in '-en'}

Notice another example of this willingness to dispense with inflection, of this endeavour on the part of the speakers of a language to reduce its forms to the fewest possible, consistent with the accurate communication of thought. Of our adjectives in 'en', formed on substantives, and expressing the material or substance of a thing, some have gone, others are going, out of use; while we content ourselves with the bare juxtaposition of the substantive itself, as sufficiently expressing our meaning. Thus instead of "golden pin" we say "gold pin"; instead of "earthen works" we say "earth works". 'Golden' and 'earthen', it is true, still belong to our living speech, though mainly as part of our poetic diction, or of the solemn and thus stereotyped language of Scripture; but a whole company of such words have nearly or quite disappeared; some lately, some long ago. 'Steelen' and 'flowren' belong only to the earliest period of the language; 'rosen' also went early. Chaucer is my latest authority for it ("rosen chapelet"). 'Hairen' is in Wiclif and in Chaucer; 'stonen' in the former (John iii. 6){190}. 'Silvern' stood originally in Wiclif's Bible ("silverne housis to Diane", Acts xix. 24); but already in the second recension of this was exchanged for 'silver'; 'hornen', still in provincial use, he also employs, and 'clayen' (Job iv. 19) no less. 'Tinnen' occurs in Sylvester's Du Bartas; where also we meet with "Jove's milken alley", as a name for the Via Lactea, in Bacon also not "the Milky", but "the Milken Way". In the coarse polemics of the Reformation the phrase, "breaden god", provoked by the Romish doctrine of transubstantiation, was of frequent employment, and occurs as late as in Oldham. "Mothen parchments" is in Fulke; "twiggen bottle" in Shakespeare; 'yewen', or, according to earlier spelling, "ewghen bow", in Spenser; "cedarn alley", and "azurn sheen" are both in Milton; "boxen leaves" in Dryden; "a treen cup" in Jeremy Taylor; "eldern popguns" in Sir Thomas Overbury; "a glassen breast", in Whitlock; "a reeden hat" in Coryat; 'yarnen' occurs in Turberville; 'furzen' in Holland; 'threaden' in Shakespeare; and 'bricken', 'papern' appear in our provincial glossaries as still in use.

It is true that many of these adjectives still hold their ground; but it is curious to note how the roots which sustain even these are being gradually cut away from beneath them. Thus 'brazen' might at first sight seem as strongly established in the language as ever; it is far from so being; its supports are being cut from beneath it. Even now it only lives in a tropical and secondary sense, as 'a brazen face'; or if in a literal, in poetic diction or in the consecrated language of Scripture, as 'the brazen serpent'; otherwise we say 'a brass farthing', 'a brass candlestick'. It is the same with 'oaten', 'birchen', 'beechen', 'strawen', and many more, whereof some are obsolescent, some obsolete, the language manifestly tending now, as it has tended for a long time past, to the getting quit of these, and to the satisfying of itself with an adjectival apposition of the substantive in their stead.