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The Comic English Grammar
The Comic English Grammar
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THE COMIC ENGLISH GRAMMAR.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
Larger Image
THE COMIC
ENGLISH GRAMMAR;
A NEW AND FACETIOUS
Introduction to the English Tongue.
AN ORIGINALITY OF STYLE,
(if the expression may be pardoned) quite unique, and a Dexterity in the USE
OF METAPHOR unparalleled; whose multifarious and sublime—it would not
be too much to say talented—COMPOSITIONS would, it may be fearlessly
asserted, afford any
ENTERPRISING PUBLISHER
a not-every-day-to-be-met-with, and not in-a-hurry-to-be-relinquished
opportunity
for an
PRINCELY DOMAIN!
which, without exciting a blush in the mind of veracity, might be said (in a
literary point of view) to be fertilised by a meandering rivulet of Poetry,
comparable for Beauty and Picturesque Effect to
IMMORTAL BARD:
COMIC ENGLISH
is, with the most profound VENERATION, ADMIRATION, nay, even with
RESPECT (and the term is used “advisedly”)
humbly dedicated
by
HIS MOST OBLIGED AND MOST
OBEDIENT SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
It may be considered a strange wish on the part of an Author, to have his preface
compared to a donkey’s gallop. We are nevertheless desirous that our own
should be considered both short and sweet. For our part, indeed, we would have
every preface as short as an orator’s cough, to which, in purpose, it is so nearly
like; but Fashion requires, and like the rest of her sex, requires because she
requires, that before a writer begins the business of his book, he should give an
account to the world of his reasons for producing it; and therefore, to avoid
singularity, we shall proceed with the statement of our own, excepting only a few
private ones, which are neither here nor there.
To advance the interests of mankind by promoting the cause of Education; to
ameliorate the conversation of the masses; to cultivate Taste, and diffuse
Refinement; these are the objects which we have in view in submitting a Comic
English Grammar to the patronage of a discerning Public. Nor have we been
actuated by philanthropic motives alone, but also by a regard to Patriotism,
which, as it has been pronounced on high authority to be the last refuge of a
scoundrel, must necessarily be the first concern of an aspiring and disinterested
mind. We felt ourselves called upon to do as much, at least, for Modern England
as we had before done for Ancient Rome; and having been considered by
competent judges to have infused a little liveliness into a dead language, we
were bold enough to hope that we might extract some amusement from a living
one.
Few persons there are, whose ears are so extremely obtuse, as not to be
frequently annoyed at the violations of Grammar by which they are so often
assailed. It is really painful to be forced, in walking along the streets, to hear
such phrases as, “That ’ere homnibus.” “Where’ve you bin.” “Vot’s the hodds?”
and the like. Very dreadful expressions are also used by draymen and others in
addressing their horses. What can possibly induce a human being to say “Gee
woot!” “’Mather way!” or “Woa?” not to mention the atrocious “Kim aup!” of
the ignorant and degraded costermonger. We once actually heard a fellow
threaten to “pitch into” his dog! meaning, we believe, to beat the animal.
It is notorious that the above and greater enormities are perpetrated in spite of
the number of Grammars already before the world. This fact sufficiently excuses
the present addition to the stock; and as serious English Grammars have hitherto
failed to effect the desired reformation, we are induced to attempt it by means of
a Comic one.
With regard to the moral tendency of our labours, we may here be permitted to
remark, that they will tend, if successful, to the suppression of evil speaking.
We shall only add, that as the Spartans used to exhibit a tipsy slave to their
children with a view to disgust them with drunkenness, so we, by giving a few
examples here and there, of incorrect phraseology, shall expose, in their naked
deformity, the vices of speech to the ingenuous reader.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
FRONTISPIECE. Frontispiece
MINERVA TEACHING x
JOHN BULL 12
THE “PRODIGY” 14
“JANE YOU KNOW WHO” 18
MUTES AND LIQUIDS 23
AWKWARD LOUT 24
HA! HA! HA! HO! HO! HO! HE! HE! HE! 27
“O!, WHAT, A, LARK!—HERE, WE, ARE!” 28
ALDIBORONTIPHOSCOPHORMIO AND
34
CHRONONHOTONTHOLOGOS
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS 40
APPLE SAUCE 45
MATILDA 48
A SOCIALIST 50
“SHAN’T I SHINE TO NIGHT, DEAR?” 51
JULIA 57
A VERY BAD CASE 59
A SELECT VESTRY 69
SELF-ESTEEM 78
“FACT, MADAM!”—“GRACIOUS, MAJOR!” 82
YEARS OF DISCRETION 89
“I SHALL GIVE YOU A DRUBBING!” 97
A COMICAL CONJUNCTION 106
“AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED” 108
“HOW’S YOUR INSPECTOR?” 119
“WHAT A DUCK OF A MAN!” 120
THE FLIRT 122
THE CAPTAIN 128
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON 131
“OH! YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING MAN!” 137
THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN 139
“VIRTUE’S REWARD” 142
“NOT TO MINCE MATTERS, MISS, I LOVE YOU” 145
THE FRENCH MARQUIS 149
“THE ENGAGED ONES” 153
“THE LADIES!” 156
“HIT ONE OF YOUR OWN SIZE!” 158
ALL FOR LOVE 169
“TALE OF A TUB” 170
“A RESPECTABLE MAN” 177
DOING WHAT YOU LIKE WITH YOUR OWN 180
“WHAT A LITTLE DEAR!” 183
BRUTUS 187
THE TWO DOVES 190
“THE NASTY LITTLE SQUALLING BRAT” 205
“OH, JEMIMA!” 214
LOVE AND MURDER 216
STANDING ON POINTS 218
“WHERE GOT’ST THOU THAT GOOSE?” 219
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE.
Our native country having been, from time immemorial, entitled Merry England,
it is clear that, provided it has been called by a right name, a Comic Grammar
will afford the most hopeful means of teaching its inhabitants their language.
That the epithet in question has been correctly applied, it will therefore be our
business to show.
If we can only prove that things which foreigners regard in the most serious
point of view, and which, perhaps, ought in reality to be so considered, afford the
modern Minotaur John Bull, merely matter of amusement, we shall go far
towards the establishment of our position. We hope to do this and more also.
Births, marriages, and deaths, especially the latter, must be allowed to be matters
of some consequence. Every one knows what jokes are made upon the two first
subjects. Those which the remaining one affords, we shall proceed to consider.
Suicide, for instance, is looked upon by Mr. Bull with a very different eye from
that with which his neighbours regard it. As to an abortive attempt thereat, it
excites in his mind unmitigated ridicule, instead of interest and sympathy. In
Paris a foolish fellow, discontented with the world, or, more probably, failing in
some attempt to make himself conspicuous, ties a brickbat to his neck, and
jumps, at twelve o’clock of the day, into the Seine. He thereby excites great
admiration in the minds of the bystanders; but were he to play the same trick on
London Bridge, as soon as he had been pulled out of the water he would only be
laughed at for his pains.
There was a certain gentleman, an officer in the navy, one Lieutenant Luff; at
least we have never heard the fact of his existence disputed; who used to spend
all his time in drinking grog; and at last, when he could get no more, thought
proper to shoot himself through the chest. In France he would have been buried
in Père La Chaise, or some such place, and would have had an ode written to his
memory. As his native country, however, was the scene of his exploit, he was
interred, for the affair happened some years ago, in a cross-road; and his fate has
been made the subject of a comic song.
That our countrymen regard Death as a jest, no one who considers their bravery
in war or their appetite in peace, can possibly doubt. And the expressions, “to
hop the twig,” “to kick the bucket,” “to go off the hooks,” “to turn up the toes,”
and so on, vernacularly used as synonymous with “to expire,” sufficiently show
the jocular light in which the last act of the farce of Life is viewed in Her
Majesty’s dominions.
An execution is looked upon abroad as a serious affair; but with us it is quite
another matter. Capital punishments, whatever they may be to the sufferers, are
to the spectators, if we may judge from their behaviour, little else than capital
jokes. The terms which, in common discourse, are used by the humble classes to
denote the pensile state, namely, “dancing on nothing,” “having a drop too
much,” or “being troubled with a line,” are quite playful, and the “Last Dying
Speech” of the criminal is usually a species of composition which might well be
called “An Entertaining Narrative illustrated with Humourous Designs.”
The play of George Barnwell, in which a deluded linendraper’s apprentice
commits a horrid murder on the body of a pious uncle, excites, whenever it is
represented, as much amusement as if it were a comedy; and there is also a
ballad detailing the same circumstances, which, when sung at convivial
meetings, is productive of much merriment. Billy Taylor, too, another ballad of
the same sort, celebrates, in jocund strains, an act of unjustifiable homicide.
Even the terrors of the other world are converted, in Great Britain, into the
drolleries of this. The awful apparitions of the unfortunate Miss Bailey, and the
equally unfortunate Mr. Giles Scroggins, have each of them furnished the
materials of a comical ditty; and the terrific appearance of the Ghost of a Sheep’s
Head to one William White,—a prodigy which would be considered in Germany
as fearful in the extreme, has been applied, by some popular but anonymous
writer, to the same purpose. The bodily ablation of an unprincipled exciseman by
the Prince of Darkness, a circumstance in itself certainly of a serious nature, has
been recorded by one of our greatest poets in strains by no means remarkable for
gravity. The appellation, “Old Nick,” applied by the vulgar to the Prince in
question, is, in every sense of the words, a nickname; and the aliases by which,
like many of his subjects, he is also called and known, such as “Old Scratch,”
“Old Harry,” or “The Old Gentleman,” are, to say the very least of them, terms
that border on the familiar.
In the popular drama of Punch,[1] we observe a perfect climax of atrocities and
horrors. Victim after victim falls prostrate beneath the cudgel of the deformed
and barbarous monster; the very first who feels his tyranny being the wife of his
bosom. He, meanwhile, behaves in the most heartless manner, actually singing
and capering among the mangled carcases. Benevolence is shocked, Justice is
derided, Law is set at nought, and Constables are slain. The fate to which he had
been consigned by a Jury of his Country is eluded; and the Avenger of Crime is
circumvented by the wily assassin. Lastly, to crown the whole, Retribution
herself is mocked; and the very Arch Fiend is dismissed to his own dominions
with a fractured skull. And at every stage of these frightful proceedings shouts of
uproarious laughter attest the delight of the beholders, increasing in violence
with every additional terror, and swelling at the concluding one to an almost
inextinguishable peal.
Indeed there is scarcely any shocking thing out of which we can extract no
amusement, except the loss of money, wherein, at least when it is our own, we
cannot see anything to laugh at.
Some will say that we make it a principle to convert whatever frightens other
people into a jest, in order that we may imbibe a contempt for danger; and that
our superiority (universally admitted) over all nations in courage and prowess,
is, in fact, owing to the way which we have acquired of laughing all terrors,
natural and supernatural, utterly to scorn. With these, however, we do not agree.
Our national laughter is, in our opinion, as little based on principle as our
national actions have of late years been. We laugh from impulse, or, as we do
everything else, because we choose. And we shall find, on examination, that we
have contrived, amongst us, to render a great many things exceedingly droll and
absurd, without having the slightest reason to assign for so doing.
For example, there is nothing in the office of a Parish Clerk that makes it
desirable that he should be a ludicrous person. There is no reason why he should
have a cracked voice; an inability to use, or a tendency to omit, the aspirate; a
stupid countenance; or a pompous manner. Nor do we clearly see why he should
be unable to pronounce proper names; should say Snatchacrab for Sennacherib,
or Leftenant for Leviathan. Such, nevertheless, are the peculiarities by which he
is commonly distinguished.
We are likewise at a loss to divine why so studiously ridiculous a costume has
been made to enhance the natural absurdity of a Beadle; for we can hardly
believe that his singular style of dress was really intended to inspire small
children with veneration and awe.
It can scarcely be supposed that a Lord Mayor’s Show was instituted only to be
laughed at; yet who would contend that it is of any other use? Nor could the
office of the Chief Magistrate of a Corporation, nor that of an Alderman, have
been created for the amusement of the Public: there is, however, no purpose
which both of them so frequently serve.
If the wig and robes of a Judge were meant to excite the respect of the
community in general, and the fear of the unconscientious part of it, we cannot
but think that the design has been unsuccessful. That the ministers of justice are
not, in fact, so reverently held, by any means, as from the nature of their
functions they might be expected to be, is certain. A magistrate, to go no further,
is universally known, if not designated, by the jocose appellation of “Beak.”
Butchers, bakers, cobblers, tinkers, costermongers, and tailors; to say nothing of
footmen, waiters, dancing-masters, and barbers have become the subjects of
ridicule to an extent not warranted by their avocations, simply considered.
But the comical mind, like the jaundiced eye, views everything through a
coloured medium. Such a mind is that of the generality of Britons. We
distinguish even the nearest ties of relationship by facetious names. A father is
called “Dad,” or “The Governor;” an uncle, “Nunkey;” and a wife, “a rib,” or
more pleasantly still, as in the advertisements, an “encumbrance.” Almost every
being or thing, indeed, has in English two words to express it, an ordinary and an
odd one; and so greatly has the number of expressions of the kind last mentioned
increased of late, that, as it appears to us, a new edition of Johnson’s Dictionary,
enriched with modern additions, is imperatively called for. When we talk of odd
words, we have no fear that our meaning will be misunderstood. It is true that
there are some few individuals who complain that they do not see any wit in
calling a sheep’s-head a “jemmy,” legs “bandies,” or a hand a “mawley;” and it
is also true that there was once a mathematician, who, after reading through
Milton’s Paradise Lost, wanted to know what it all proved?
And now that we are speaking of names, we may mention a few which are
certainly of a curious nature, and which no foreigner could possibly have
invented; unless, which would be likely enough, he meant to apply them
seriously. The names we allude to are names of places—and pretty places they
are too; as, “Mount Pleasant,” “Paradise Row,” “Golden Lane.”
Then there are a great many whimsical things that we do:—
When a man cannot pay his debts, and has no prospect of being able to do so
except by working, we shut him up in gaol, and humorously describe his
condition as that of being in Quod.
We will not allow a man to give an old woman a dose of rhubarb if he have not
acquired at least half a dozen sciences; but we permit a quack to sell as much
poison as he pleases, with no other diploma than what he gets from the “College
of Health.”
When a thief pleads “Guilty” to an indictment, he is advised by the Judge to
recall his plea; as if a trial were a matter of sport, and the culprit, like a fox, gave
no amusement unless regularly run down. This perhaps is the reason why
allowing an animal to start some little time before the pursuit is commenced, is
called giving him law.
When one man runs away with another’s wife, and, being on that account
challenged to fight a duel, shoots the aggrieved party through the head, the latter
is said to receive satisfaction.
We never take a glass of wine at dinner without getting somebody else to do the
same, as if we wanted encouragement; and then, before we venture to drink, we
bow to each other across the table, preserving all the while a most wonderful
gravity. This, however, it may be said, is the natural result of endeavouring to
keep one another in countenance.
The way in which we imitate foreign manners and customs is very amusing.
Savages stick fish-bones through their noses; our fair countrywomen have hoops
of metal poked through their ears. The Caribs flatten the forehead; the Chinese
compress the foot; and we possess similar contrivances for reducing the figure of
a young lady to a resemblance to an hour-glass or a devil-on-two-sticks.
There being no other assignable motive for these and the like proceedings, it is
reasonable to suppose that they are adopted, as schoolboys say, “for fun.”
We could go on, were it necessary, adducing facts to an almost unlimited extent;
but we consider that enough has now been said in proof of the comic character
of the national mind. And in conclusion, if any foreign author can be produced,
equal in point of wit, humour, and drollery, to Swift, Sterne, or Butler, we hereby
engage to eat him; albeit we have no pretensions to the character of a “helluo
librorum.”
THE
COMIC ENGLISH GRAMMAR.
“English Grammar,” according to Lindley Murray, “is the art of speaking and
writing the English language with propriety.”
The English language, written and spoken with propriety, is commonly called the
King’s English.
A monarch, who, three or four generations back, occupied the English throne, is
reported to have said, “If beebles will be boets, they must sdarve.” This was a
rather curious specimen of “King’s English.” It is, however, a maxim of our law,
that “the King can do no wrong.” Whatever bad English, therefore, may proceed
from the royal mouth, is not “King’s English,” but “Minister’s English,” for
which they alone are responsible. For illustrations of this kind of “English” we
beg to refer the reader to the celebrated English Grammar which was written by
the late Mr. Cobbett.
King’s English (or, perhaps, under existing circumstances we should say,
Queen’s English) is the current coin of conversation, to mutilate which, and
unlawfully to utter the same, is called clipping the King’s English; a high crime
and misdemeanour.
Clipped English, or bad English, is one variety of Comic English, of which we
shall adduce instances hereafter.
He’s only a little “prodigy” of mine, Doctor.
Slipslop, or the erroneous substitution of one word for another, as “prodigy” for
“protégée,” “derangement” for “arrangement,” “exasperate” for “aspirate,” and
the like, is another.
Slang, which consists in cant words and phrases, as “dodge” for “sly trick,” “no
go” for “failure,” and “carney” “to flatter,” may be considered a third.
Latinised English, or Fine English, sometimes assumes the character of Comic
English, especially when applied to the purposes of common discourse; as
“Extinguish the luminary,” “Agitate the communicator,” “Are your corporeal
functions in a condition of salubrity?” “A sable visual orb,” “A sanguinary nasal
protuberance.”
American English is Comic English in a “pretty particular considerable
tarnation” degree.
Among the various kinds of Comic English it would be “tout-à-fait”
inexcusable, were we to “manquer” to mention one which has, so to speak, quite
“bouleversé’d” the old-fashioned style of conversation; French-English, that is
what “nous voulons dire.” “Avec un poco” of the “Italiano,” this forms what is
also called the Mosaic dialect.
English Grammar is divided into four parts—Orthography, Etymology, Syntax,
and Prosody; and as these are points that a good grammarian always stands
upon, he, particularly when a pedant, and consequently somewhat flat, may very
properly be compared to a table.
PART I.
ORTHOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER. I.
A diphthong is the union of two vowels in one sound, as ea in heavy, eu in
Meux, ou in stout.
A triphthong is a similar union of three vowels, as eau in the word beau; a term
applied to dandies, and addressed to geese: probably because they are birds of a
feather.
A proper diphthong is that in which the sound is formed by both the vowels: as,
aw in awkward, ou in lout.
An improper diphthong is that in which the sound is formed by one of the
vowels only, as ea in heartless, oa in hoax.
According to our notions there are a great many improper diphthongs in
common use. By improper diphthongs we mean vowels unwarrantably dilated
into diphthongs, and diphthongs mispronounced, in defiance of good English,
and against our Sovereign Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity.
For instance, the rustics say,—
“Loor! whaut a foine gaal! Moy oy!”
“Whaut a precious soight of crows!”
“As I was a comin’ whoam through the corn fiddles (fields) I met Willum
Jones.”
After this manner cockneys express themselves:—
“I sor (saw) him.”
“Dror (draw) it out.”
“Hold your jor (jaw).”
“I caun’t. You shaun’t. How’s your Maw and Paw? Do you like taut (tart)?”
We have heard young ladies remark,—
“Oh, my! What a naice young man!”
“What a bee—eautiful day!”
“I’m so fond of dayncing!”
Dandies frequently exclaim,—
“I’m postively tiawed (tired).”
“What a sweet tempaw! (temper).”
“How daughty (dirty) the streets au!”
And they also call,—
Literature, “literetchah.”
Perfectly, “pawfacly.”
Disgusted, “disgasted.”
Sky (theatrical dandies do this chiefly) “ske-eye.”
Blue, “ble—ew.”
We might here insert a few remarks on the nature of the human voice, and of the
mechanism by means of which articulation is performed; but besides our dislike
to prolixity, we are afraid of getting down in the mouth, and thereby going the
wrong way to please our readers. We may nevertheless venture to invite attention
to a few comical peculiarities in connection with articulate sounds.
Ahem! at the commencement of a speech, is a sound agreeably droll.
The vocal comicalities of the infant in arms are exceedingly laughable, but we
are unfortunately unable to spell them.
The articulation of the Jew is peculiarly ridiculous. The “peoplesh” are badly
spoken of, and not well spoken.
Bawling, croaking, hissing, whistling, and grunting, are elegant vocal
accomplishments.
Lisping, as, “thweet, Dthooliur, thawming, kweechau,” is by some considered
interesting, by others absurd.
Stammering is sometimes productive of amusement.
Humming and hawing are ludicrous embellishments to a discourse. Crowing like
a cock, braying like a donkey, quacking like a duck, and hooting like an owl, are
modes of exerting the voice which are usually regarded as diverting.
But of all the sounds which proceed from the human mouth, by far the funniest
are Ha! ha! ha!—Ho! ho! ho! and He! he! he!
CHAPTER II.
OF SYLLABLES.
Syllable is a nice word, it sounds so much like syllabub!
A syllable, whether it constitute a word or part of a word, is a sound, either
simple or compound, produced by one effort of the voice, as, “O!, what, a, lark!
—Here, we, are!”
Spelling is the art of putting together the letters which compose a syllable, or the
syllables which compose a word.
Comic spelling is usually the work of imagination. The chief rule to be observed
in this kind of spelling, is, to spell every word as it is pronounced; though the
rule is not universally observed by comic spellers. The following example, for
the genuineness of which we can vouch, is one so singularly apposite, that
although we have already submitted a similar specimen of orthography to the
reader, we are irresistibly tempted to make a second experiment on his
indulgence. The epistolary curiosity, then, which we shall now proceed to
transcribe, was addressed by a patient to his medical adviser.
“SIR,
“My Granmother wos very much trubeld With the Gout and dide
with it my father wos also and dide with it when i was 14 years of
age i wos in the habbet of Gettin whet feet Every Night by pumping
water out of a Celler Wich Cas me to have the tipes fever wich Cas
my Defness when i was 23 of age i fell in the Water betwen the ice
and i have Bin in the habbet of Getting wet when traviling i have
Bin trubbeld with Gout for seven years
“Your most humbel
“Servent
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . .
Clearkenwell”
Chelsea College has been supposed by foreigners to be an institution for the
teaching of orthography; probably in consequence of a passage in the well
known song in “The Waterman,”
“Never more at Chelsea Ferry,
Shall your Thomas take a spell.”
Q. Why is a dunce no conjuror?
A. Because he cannot spell.
Among the various kinds of spelling may be enumerated spelling for a favour; or
giving what is called a broad hint.
Certain rules for the division of words into syllables are laid down in some
grammars, and we should be very glad to follow the established usage, but,
limited as we are by considerations of comicality and space, we cannot afford to
give more than two very general directions. If you do not know how to spell a
word, look it out in the dictionary, and if you have no dictionary by you, write
the word in such a way, that, while it may be guessed at, it shall not be legible.
CHAPTER III.
OF WORDS IN GENERAL.
There is no one question that we are aware of more puzzling than this, “What is
your opinion of things in general?” Words in general are, fortunately for us, a
subject on which the formation of an opinion is somewhat more easy. Words
stand for things: they are a sort of counters, checks, bank-notes, and sometimes,
indeed, they are notes for which people get a great deal of money. Such words,
however, are, alas! not English words, or words sterling. Strange! that so much
should be given for a mere song. It is quite clear that the givers, whatever may
be their pretensions to a refined or literary taste, must be entirely unacquainted
with Wordsworth.
Fine words are oily enough, and he who uses them is vulgarly said to “cut it fat;”
but for all that it is well known that they will not butter parsnips.
Some say that words are but wind: for this reason, when people are having
words, it is often said, that “the wind’s up.”
Different words please different people. Philosophers are fond of hard words;
pedants of tough words, long words, and crackjaw words; bullies, of rough
words; boasters, of big words; the rising generation, of slang words; fashionable
people, of French words; wits, of sharp words and smart words; and ladies, of
nice words, sweet words, soft words, and soothing words; and, indeed, of words
in general.
Words (when spoken) are articulate sounds used by common consent as signs of
our ideas.
A word of one syllable is called a Monosyllable: as, you, are, a, great, oaf.
A word of two syllables is named a Dissyllable; as, cat-gut, mu-sic.
A word of three syllables is termed a Trisyllable; as, Mag-net-ism, Mum-mer-y.
A word of four or more syllables is entitled a Polysyllable; as, in-ter-mi-na-ble,
cir-cum-lo-cu-ti-on, ex-as-pe-ra-ted, func-ti-o-na-ry, met-ro-po-li-tan, ro-tun-di-
ty.
Words of more syllables than one are sometimes comically contracted into one
syllable; as, in s’pose for suppose, b’lieve for believe, and ’scuse for excuse:
here, perhaps, ’buss, abbreviated from omnibus, deserves to be mentioned.
In like manner, many long words are elegantly trimmed and shortened; as,
ornary for ordinary, ’strornary for extraordinary, and curosity for curiosity; to
which mysterus for mysterious may also be added.
Polysyllables are an essential element in the sublime, both in poetry and in
prose; but especially in that species of the sublime which borders very closely on
the ridiculous; as,
“Aldiborontiphoscophormio,
Where left’st thou Chrononhotonthologos?”
All words are either primitive or derivative. A primitive word is that which
cannot be reduced to any simpler word in the language; as, brass, York, knave. A
derivative word, under the head of which compound words are also included, is
that which may be reduced to another and a more simple word in the English
language; as, brazen, Yorkshire, knavery, mud-lark, lighterman.
Broadbrim is a derivative word; but it is one often applied to a very primitive
kind of person.
PART II.
ETYMOLOGY.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE ARTICLES.
The Articles in English are two, a and the; a becomes an before a vowel, and
before an h which is not sounded: as, an exquisite, an hour-glass. But if the h be
pronounced, the a only is used: as, a homicide, a homœopathist, a hum.
This rule is reversed in what is termed the Cockney dialect: as, a inspector, a
officer, a object, a omnibus, a individual, a alderman, a honour, an horse, or
rather, a norse, an hound, an hunter, &c.
It is usual in the same dialect, when the article an should, in strict propriety,
precede a word, to omit the letter n, and further, for the sake of euphony and
elegance, to place the aspirate h before the word; as, a hegg, a haccident, a
hadverb, a hox. But sometimes, when a word begins with an h, and has the
article a before it, the aspirate is omitted, the letter a remaining unchanged: as, a
’ogg, a ’edge, a ’emisphere, a ’ouse.
The slight liberties which it is the privilege of the people to take with the article
and aspirate become always most evident in the expression of excited feeling,
when the stress which is laid upon certain words is heightened by the peculiarity
of the pronunciation: as, “You hignorant hupstart! you hilliterate ’og! ’ow dare
you to hoffer such a hinsult to my hunderstanding?—You are a hobject of
contempt, you hare, and a hinsolent wagobond! your mother was nothing but a
happle-woman, and your father was an ’uckster!”
Note.—In the above example, the ordinary rules of language relative to the
article and aspirate (to say nothing of the maxims of politeness) are completely
set at nought; but it must be remembered, that in common discourse the
modification of the article, and the omission or use of the aspirate, are
determined by the Cockneys according to the ease with which particular words
are pronounced; as, “Though himpudent, he warn’t as impudent as Bill wur.”
Here the word impudent, following a vowel-sound, is most easily pronounced as
himpudent, while the same word, coming after a consonant, even in the same
sentence, is uttered with greater facility in the usual way.
A or an is called the indefinite article, because it is used, in a vague sense, to
point out some one thing belonging to a certain kind, but in other respects
indeterminate; as,
“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”
So say grammarians. Eating-house keepers tell a different story. A cheese, in
common discourse, means an object of a certain shape, size, weight, and so on,
entire and perfect; so that to call half a cheese a cheese, would constitute a flaw
in an indictment against a thief who had stolen one. But a waiter will term a
fraction, or a modicum of cheese, a cheese; a plate-full of pudding, a pudding;
and a stick of celery, a celery, or rather, a salary. Nay, he will even apply the
article a to a word which does not stand for an individual object at all; as a
bread, a butter, a bacon. Here we are reminded of the famous exclamation of one
of these gentry:—“Master! master! there’s two teas and a brandy-and-water just
hopped over the palings!”
The is termed the definite article, inasmuch as it denotes what particular thing or
things are meant; as,
“The miller he stole corn,
The weaver he stole yarn,
And the little tailòr he stole broad-cloth
To keep the three rogues warm.”
A substantive to which no article is prefixed is taken in a general sense; as,
“Apple sauce is proper for goose;” that is, for all geese.
APPLE-SAUCE.
A few additional remarks may advantageously be made with respect to the
articles. The mere substitution of the definite for the indefinite article is capable
of changing entirely the meaning of a sentence. “That is a ticket” is the assertion
of a certain fact; but “That is the ticket!” means something which is quite
different.
The article is not prefixed to a proper name; as, Stubbs, Wiggins, Chubb, or
Hobson, except for the sake of distinguishing a particular family, or description
of persons; as, He is a Burke; that is, one of the Burkes, or a person resembling
Burke. The article is sometimes also prefixed to a proper name, to point out
some distinguished individual; as, The Burke, or the great politician, or the
resurrectionist, Burke.
Who is the Smith?
The indefinite article is joined to substantives in the singular number only. We
have heard people say, however, “He keeps a wine-vaults;” or, to quote more
correctly—waltz. The definite article may be joined to plurals also.
The definite article is frequently used with adverbs in the comparative and
superlative degree: as, “The longer I live, the broader I grow;” or, as we have all
heard the showman say, “This here, gentlemen and ladies, is the vonderful
heagle of the sun; the ’otterer it grows, the higherer he flies!”
CHAPTER III.
SECTION I.
OF SUBSTANTIVES IN GENERAL.
Substantives are either proper or common.
Proper names, or substantives, are the names belonging to individuals: as
William, Birmingham.
These are sometimes converted into nicknames, or improper names: as Bill,
Brummagem.
Common names, or substantives, denote kinds containing many sorts, or sorts
containing many individuals under them: as brute, beast, bumpkin, cherub,
infant, goblin, &c.
Proper names, when an article is prefixed to them, are employed as common
names: as, “They thought him a perfect Chesterfield; he quite astonished the
Browns.”
Common names, on the other hand, are made to denote individuals, by the
addition of articles or pronouns: as,
“There was a little man, and he had a little gun.”
“That boy will be the death of me!”
Substantives are considered according to gender, number, and case; they are all
of the third person when spoken of, and of the second when spoken to: as,
Matilda, fairest maid, who art
In countless bumpers toasted,
O let thy pity baste the heart
Thy fatal charms have roasted!
SECTION II.
OF GENDER.
The distinction between nouns with regard to sex is called Gender. There are
three genders; the Masculine, the Feminine, and the Neuter.
The masculine gender belongs to animals of the male kind: as, a fop, a jackass, a
boar, a poet, a lion.
The feminine gender is peculiar to animals of the female kind: as, a poetess, a
lioness, a goose.
The neuter gender is that of objects which are neither males nor females: as, a
toast, a tankard, a pot, a pipe, a pudding, a pie, a sausage, a roll, a muffin, a
crumpet, a puff, a cheesecake, a bun, an apricot, an orange, a lollipop, a cream,
an ice, a jelly, &c. &c. &c.
We might go on to enumerate an infinity of objects of the neuter gender, of all
sorts and kinds; but in the selection of the foregoing examples we have been
guided by two considerations:—
1. The desire of exciting agreeable emotions in the mind of the reader.
2. The wish to illustrate the following proposition, “That almost everything nice
is also neuter.”
Except, however, a nice young lady, a nice duck, and one or two other nice
things, which we do not at present remember.
Some neuter substantives are by a figure of speech converted into the masculine
or feminine gender: thus we say of the sun, that when he shines upon a Socialist,
he shines upon a thief; and of the moon, that she affects the minds of lovers.
A SOCIALIST.
There are certain nouns with which notions of strength, vigour, and the like
qualities, are more particularly connected; and these are the neuter substantives
which are figuratively rendered masculine. On the other hand, beauty, amiability,
and so forth, are held to invest words with a feminine character. Thus the sun is
said to be masculine, and the moon feminine. But for our own part, and our view
is confirmed by the discoveries of astronomy, we believe that the sun is called
masculine from his supporting and sustaining the moon, and finding her the
wherewithal to shine away as she does of a night, when all quiet people are in
bed; and from his being obliged to keep such a family of stars besides. The
moon, we think, is accounted feminine, because she is thus maintained and kept
up in her splendour, like a fine lady, by her husband the sun. Furthermore, the
moon is continually changing; on which account alone she might be referred to
the feminine gender. The earth is feminine, tricked out, as she is, with gems and
flowers. Cities and towns are likewise feminine, because there are as many
windings, turnings, and little odd corners in them as there are in the female
mind. A ship is feminine, inasmuch as she is blown about by every wind. Virtue
is feminine by courtesy. Fortune and misfortune, like mother and daughter, are
both feminine. The Church is feminine, because she is married to the state; or
married to the state because she is feminine—we do not know which. Time is
masculine, because he is so trifled with by the ladies.
“Shan’t I shine to-night, dear?”
The English language distinguishes the sex in three manners; namely,
1. By different words; as,
MALE. FEMALE.
Bachelor Maid.
Boar Sow.
Boy Girl.
Bull Cow.
Brother Sister.
Buck Doe.
Bullock Heifer.
Hart Roe.
Cock Hen.
Dog Bitch.
Drake Duck.
Wizard Witch.
Earl Countess.
Father Mother.
Friar Nun.
We have heard it said, that every Jack has his Jill. That may be; but it is by no
means true that every cock has his hen; for there is a
Cock-swain, but no Hen-swain.
Cock-eye, but no Hen-eye.
Cock-ade, but no Hen-ade.
Cock-atrice, but no Hen-atrice.
Cock-horse, but no Hen-horse.
Cock-ney, but no Hen-ney.
Then we have a weather-cock, but no weather-hen; a turn-cock, but no turn-hen;
and many a jolly cock, but not one jolly hen; unless we except some of those by
whom their mates are pecked.
Some words; as, parent, child, cousin, friend, neighbour, servant, and several
others, are either male or female, according to circumstances. The word blue
(used as a substantive) is one of this class.
It is a great pity that our language is so poor in the terminations that denote
gender. Were we to say of a woman, that she is a rogue, a knave, a scamp, or a
vagabond, we feel that we should use, not only strong but improper expressions.
Yet we have no corresponding terms to apply, in case of necessity, to the female.
Why is this? Doubtless because we never want them. For the same reason, our
forefathers transmitted to us the words, philosopher, astronomer, philologer, and
so forth, without any feminine equivalent. Alas! for the wisdom of our ancestors!
They never calculated on the March of Intellect.
We understand that it is in contemplation to coin a new word, memberess; it
being confidently expected that by the time the new Houses of Parliament are
finished, the progress of civilisation will have furnished us with female
representatives.
In that case the House will be an assembly of Speakers.
But if all the old women are to be turned out of St. Stephen’s, and their places to
be filled with young ones, the nation will hardly be a loser by the change.
SECTION III.
OF NUMBER.
Number is the consideration of an object as one or more; as, one poet, two, three,
four, five poets; and so on, ad infinitum.
Other countries may reckon up as many poets as they please; England has one
more.
The singular number expresses one object only; as, a towel, a viper.
The plural signifies more objects than one; as, towels, vipers.
Some nouns are used only in the singular number; dirt, pitch, tallow, grease,
filth, butter, asparagus, &c.; others only in the plural; as, galligaskins, breeches,
&c.
Some words are the same in both numbers; as, sheep, swine, and some others.
“A doctor, both to sheep and swine,”
Said Mrs. Glass, “I am;
For legs of mutton I can dress,
And shine in curing ham.”
The plural number of nouns is usually formed by adding s to the singular; as,
dove, doves, love, loves, &c.
Julia, dove returns to dove,
Quid pro quo, and love for love;
Happy in our mutual loves,
Let us live like turtle doves!
When, however, the substantive singular ends in x, ch soft, sh, ss, or s, we add es
in the plural.
But remember, though box
In the plural makes boxes,
That the plural of ox
Should be oxen, not oxes.
A few Singular Plurals, or Plurals popularly varied, are as follow:—
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
Beast Beastes, beastices.
Crust Crustes.
Gust Gustes.
Ghost Ghostes.
Host Hostes.
Joist Joistes.
Mist Mistes.
Nest Nestes.
Post, &c. Postes, postices, &c.
The cases of substantives are these: the Nominative, the Possessive or Genitive,
and the Objective or Accusative.
The Nominative Case merely expresses the name of a thing, or the subject of the
verb: as, “The doctors differ;”—“The patient dies!”
Possession, which is nine points of the law, is what is signified by the Possessive
Case. This case is distinguished by an apostrophe, with the letter s subjoined to
it: as, “My soul’s idol!”—“A pudding’s end.”
But when the plural ends in s, the apostrophe only is retained, and the other s is
omitted: as, “The Ministers’ Step;”—“The Rogues’ March;”—“Crocodiles’
tears;”—“Butchers’ mourning.”
When the singular terminates in ss, the letter s is sometimes, in like manner,
dispensed with: as, “For goodness’ sake!”—“For righteousness’ sake!”
Nevertheless, we have no objection to “Guinness’s” Stout.
The Objective Case follows a verb active, and expresses the object of an action,
or of a relation: as, “Spring beat Bill;” that is, Bill or “William Neate.” Hence,
perhaps, the American phrase, “I’ll lick you elegant.”
By the by, it seems to us, that when the Americans revolted from the authority of
England, they determined also to revolutionise their language.
The Objective Case is also used with a preposition: as, “You are in a mess.”
English substantives may be declined in the following manner:—
SINGULAR.
CHAPTER IV.
OF ADJECTIVES.
SECTION I.
OF THE NATURE OF ADJECTIVES AND THE DEGREES OF
COMPARISON.
An English Adjective, whatever may be its gender, number, or case, like a rusty
weathercock, never varies. Thus we say, “A certain cabinet; certain rogues.”
But as a rusty weathercock may vary in being more or less rusty, so an adjective
varies in the degrees of comparison.
The degrees of comparison, like the genders, the Graces, the Fates, the Kings of
Cologne, the Weird Sisters, the Jolly Postboys, and many other things, are three;
the Positive, the Comparative, and the Superlative.
The Positive state simply expresses the quality of an object; as, fat, ugly, foolish.
The Comparative degree increases or lessens the signification of the positive; as,
fatter, uglier, more foolish, less foolish.
The Superlative degree increases or lessens the positive to the highest or lowest
degree; as, fattest, ugliest, most foolish, least foolish.
Amongst the ancients, Ulysses was the fattest, because nobody could compass
him.
Aristides the Just was the ugliest, because he was so very plain.
The most foolish, undoubtedly, was Homer; for who was more natural than he?
The positive becomes the comparative by the addition of r or er; and the
superlative by the addition of st or est to the end of it; as, brown, browner,
brownest; stout, stouter, stoutest; heavy, heavier, heaviest; wet, wetter, wettest.
The adverbs more and most, prefixed to the adjective, also form the superlative
degree; as, heavy, more heavy, most heavy.
Most heavy is the drink of draymen: hence, perhaps, the weight of those
important personages. More of this, however, in our forthcoming work on
Phrenology.
Monosyllables are usually compared by er and est, and dissyllables by more and
most; except dissyllables ending in y or in le before a mute, or those which are
accented on the last syllable; for these, like monosyllables, easily admit of er and
est. But these terminations are scarcely ever used in comparing words of more
than two syllables.
We have some words, which, from custom, are irregular in respect of
comparison; as, good, better, best; bad, worse, worst, &c. Much amusement may
be derived from the comparisons of adjectives, as made by natural grammarians;
a class of beings who generally inhabit the kitchen or stable, but may sometimes
be met with in more elevated regions. A few examples will not be out of place.
We are not speaking of servants, but of degrees of comparison; as,
POSITIVE. COMPARATIVE. SUPERLATIVE.
More better,
Most best,
Good betterer or more
bestest.
betterer.
More tighter,
Tight tighterer or more Most tightest.
tighterer.
Bad Wuss or wusser. Wust or wussest.
Handsome More handsomer like. Most handsomest.
Extravaganter, Extravagantest,
Extravagant
more extravaganter. most extravagantest.
Stupider, Stupidest,
Stupid
more stupider. most stupidest.
Little Littler, more littler. Littlest, most littlest.
CHAPTER V.
OF PRONOUNS.
Pronouns or proxy-nouns are of three kinds; namely, the Personal, the Relative,
and the Adjective Pronouns.
Note.—That when we said, some few pages back, that a pronoun was a word
used instead of a noun, we did not mean to call such words as thingumibob,
whatsiname, what-d’ye-call-it, and the like, pronouns.
And that, although we shall proceed to treat of the pronouns in the English
language, we shall have nothing to do, at present, with what some people please
to call pronoun-ciation.
SECTION I.
OF THE PERSONAL PRONOUNS.
“Mr. Haddams, don’t be personal, Sir!”
“I’m not, Sir.”
“You har, Sir!”
“What did I say, Sir?—tell me that.”
“You reflected on my perfession, Sir; you said, as there was some people as
always stuck up for the cloth; and you insinnivated that certain parties dined off
goose by means of cabbaging from the parish. I ask any gentleman in the westry,
if that an’t personal?”
A SELECT VESTRY.
“Vell, Sir, vot I says I’ll stick to.”
“Yes, Sir, like vax, as the saying is.”
“Wot d’ye mean by that, Sir?”
“Wot I say, Sir!”
“You’re a individual, Sir!”
“You’re another, Sir!”
“You’re no gentleman, Sir!”
“You’re a humbug, Sir!”
“You’re a knave, Sir!”
“You’re a rogue, Sir!”
“You’re a wagabond, Sir!”
“You’re a willain, Sir!”
“You’re a tailor, Sir!”
“You’re a cobbler, Sir!” (Order! order! chair! chair! &c.)
The above is what is called personal language. How many different things one
word serves to express in English! A pronoun may be as personal as possible,
and yet nobody will take offence at it.
There are five Personal Pronouns; namely, I, thou, he, she, it; with their plurals,
we, ye or you, they.
Personal Pronouns admit of person, number, gender, and case.
Pronouns have three persons in each number.
In the Singular;
I, is the first person.
Thou, is the second person.
He, she, or it, is the third person.
In the plural;
We, is the first person.
Ye or you, is the second person.
They, is the third person.
This account of persons will be very intelligible when the following Pastoral
Fragment is reflected on:—
HE.
CASE. PLURAL.
Nom. They
Poss. Theirs.
Obj. Them.
Reader, Mem.
We beg to inform thee, that the third person plural has no distinction of gender.
SECTION II.
OF THE RELATIVE PRONOUNS.
The Pronouns called Relative are such as relate, for the most part, to some word
or phrase, called the antecedent, on account of its going before: they are, who,
which, and that: as, “The man who does not drink enough when he can get it, is a
fool; but he that drinks too much is a beast.”
What is usually equivalent to that which, and is, therefore, a kind of compound
relative, containing both the antecedent and the relative; as, “You want what
you’ll very soon have!” that is to say, the thing which you will very soon have.
Who is applied to persons, which to animals and things without life; as, “He is a
gentleman who keeps a horse and lives respectably.” “To the dog which pinned
the old woman, they cried, ‘Cæsar!’” “This is the tree which Larkins called a
helm.”
Larkins.—I say, Nibbs, ven is a helm box like a asthmatical chest?
Nibbs.—Ven it’s a coffin.
That, as a relative, is used to prevent the too frequent repetition of who and
which, and is applied both to persons and things; as, “He that stops the bottle is a
Cork man.” “This is the house that Jack built.”
Who is of both numbers; and so is an Editor; for, according to what we observed
just now, he is both singular and plural. Who, we repeat, is of both numbers, and
is thus declined:—
SINGULAR AND PLURAL.
Nominative. Who
Is the maiden to woo?
Genitive. Whose
Hand shall I choose?
Accusative. Whom
To despair shall I doom?
Which, that, and what are indeclinable; except that whose is sometimes used as
the possessive case of which; as,
“The roe, poor dear, laments amain,
Whose sweet hart was by hunter slain.”
Thus whose is substituted for of which, in the following example:—
“There is a blacking famed, of which
The sale made Day and Martin rich;
There is another blacking, whose
Compounder patronised the Muse.”[2]
Who, which, and what, when they are used in asking questions, are called
Interrogatives; as, “Who is Mr. Walker?” “Which is the left side of a round plum-
pudding?” “What is the damage?”
Those who have made popular phraseology their study, will have found that
which is sometimes used for whereas, and words of like signification; as in Dean
Swift’s “Mary the Cookmaid’s Letter to Dr. Sheridan”:—
“And now I know whereby you would fain make an excuse,
Because my master one day in anger call’d you a goose;
Which, and I am sure I have been his servant since October,
And he never called me worse than sweetheart, drunk or sober.”
What, or, to speak more improperly, wot, is generally substituted by cabmen and
costermongers for who; as, “The donkey wot wouldn’t go.” “The man wot
sweeps the crossing.”
That, likewise, is very frequently rejected by the vulgar, who use as in its place;
as, “Them as asks shan’t have any; and them as don’t ask don’t want any.”
SECTION III.
OF THE ADJECTIVE PRONOUNS.
Adjective pronouns partake of the nature of both pronouns and adjectives. They
may be subdivided into four sorts: the possessive, the distributive, the
demonstrative, and the indefinite.
The possessive pronouns are those which imply possession or property. Of these
there are seven; namely, my, thy, his, her, our, your, their.
The word self is added to possessives; as, myself, yourself, “Says I to myself,
says I.” Self is also sometimes used with personal pronouns; as, himself, itself,
themselves. His self is a common, but not a proper expression.
SELF-ESTEEM.
The distributive are three: each, every, either; they denote the individual persons
or things separately, which, when taken together, make up a number.
Each is used when two or more persons or things are mentioned singly; as,
“each of the Catos;” “each of the Browns.”
Every relates to one out of several; as, “Every mare is a horse, but every horse is
not a mare.”
Either refers to one out of two; as,
“When I between two jockeys ride,
I have a knave on either side.”
Neither signifies “not either;” as “Neither of the Bacons was related to Hogg.”
The demonstrative pronouns precisely point out the subjects to which they
relate; such are this and that, with their plurals these and those; as, “This is a
foreign Prince; that is an English Peer.”
This refers to the nearest person or thing, and to the latter or last mentioned; that
to the most distant, and to the former or first mentioned; as, “This is a man; that
is a nondescript.” “At the period of the Reformation in Scotland, a curious
contrast between the ancient and modern ecclesiastical systems was observed;
for while that had been always maintained by a Bull, this was now supported by
a Knox.”
The indefinite are those which express their subjects in an indefinite or general
manner; as, some, other, any, one, all, such, &c.
When the definite article the comes before the word other, those who do not
know better, are accustomed to strike out the he in the, and to say, t’other.
The same persons also use other in the comparative degree; for sometimes,
instead of saying quite the reverse, or perhaps rewerse, they avail themselves of
the expression, more t’other.
So much for the Pronouns.
CHAPTER VI.
OF VERBS.
SECTION I.
OF THE NATURE OF VERBS IN GENERAL.
The nature of Verbs in general, and that in all languages, is, that they are the
most difficult things in the Grammar.
Verbs are divided into Active, Passive, and Neuter; and also into Regular,
Irregular, and Defective. To these divisions we beg to add another; Verbs Comic.
A Verb Active implies an agent, and an object acted upon; as, to love; “I love
Wilhelmina Stubbs.” Here, I am the agent; that is, the lover; and Wilhelmina
Stubbs is the object acted upon, or the beloved object.
A Verb Passive expresses the suffering, feeling, or undergoing of something; and
therefore implies an object acted upon, and an agent by which it is acted upon;
as, to be loved; “Wilhelmina Stubbs is loved by me.”
A Verb Neuter expresses neither action nor passion, but a state of being; as, I
bounce, I lie.
“Fact, Madam!”
“Gracious, Major!”
Of Verbs Regular, Irregular, and Defective, we shall have somewhat to say
hereafter.
Verbs Comic are, for the most part, verbs which cannot be found in the
dictionary, and are used to express ordinary actions in a jocular manner; as, to
“morris,” to “bolt,” to “mizzle,” which signify to go or to depart; to “bone,” to
“prig,” that is to say, to steal; to “collar,” which means to seize, an expression
probably derived from the mode of prehension, or rather apprehension
characteristic of the New Police, as it is one very much in the mouths of those
who most frequently come in contact with that body: to “lush,” or drink; to
“grub,” or eat; to “sell,” or deceive, &c.
Under the head of Verbs Comic, the Yankee-isms, I “calculate,” I “reckon,” I
“realise,” I “guess,” and the like, may also be properly enumerated.
Auxiliary, or helping Verbs (by the way, we marvel that the Americans do not
call their servants auxiliaries instead of helps,) are those, by the help of which
we are chiefly enabled to conjugate our verbs in English. They are, do, be, have,
shall, will, may, can, with their variations; and let and must, which have no
variation.
Let, however, when it is anything but a helping verb, as, for instance, when it
signifies to hinder, makes lettest and letteth. The phrase, “This House to Let,”
generally used instead of “to be let,” really meaning the reverse of what it is
intended to convey, is a piece of comic English.
To verbs belong Number, Person, Mood, and Tense. These may be called the
properties of a verb; and like those of opium, they are soporiferous properties.
There are two very important objects which the writer of every book has, or
ought to have in view, to get a reader who is wide awake, and to keep him so:—
the latter of which, when Number, Person, Mood, and Tense are to be treated of,
is no such easy matter; seeing that the said writer is then in some danger of going
to sleep himself. Never mind. If we nod, let the reader wink. What can’t be cured
must be endured.
SECTION II.
OF NUMBER AND PERSON.
Verbs have two numbers, the Singular and the Plural; as, “I fiddle, we fiddle,”
&c.
In each number there are three persons; as
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
First Person I love We love.
Second Person Thou lovest Ye or you love.
Third Person He loves They love.
What a deal there is in every Grammar about love! Here the following Lines, by
a Young Lady (now no more), addressed to Lindley Murray, deserve to be
recorded:—
“Oh, Murray! fatal name to me,
Thy burning page with tears is wet;
Since first ‘to love’ I learned of thee,
Teach me, ah! teach me ‘to forget!’”
SECTION III.
OF MOODS AND PARTICIPLES.
Mood or Mode is a particular form of the verb, or a certain variation which it
undergoes, showing the manner in which the being, action, or passion, is
represented.
The moods of verbs are five, the Indicative, the Imperative, the Potential, the
Subjunctive, and the Infinitive.
The Indicative Mood simply points out or declares a thing: as, “He teaches, he is
taught;” or it asks a question: as, “Does he teach? Is he taught?”
Q. Why is old age the best teacher?
A. Because he gives you the most wrinkles.
Q. Why does a rope support a rope-dancer?
A. Because it is taught.
The Imperative Mood commands, exhorts, entreats, or permits: as, “Vanish thou;
trot ye; let us hop; be off!”
The Potential Mood implies possibility or liberty, power, will, or obligation: as,
“A waiter may be honest. You may stand upon truth or lie. I can filch. He would
cozen. They should learn.”
The Subjunctive Mood is used to represent a thing as done conditionally; and is
preceded by a conjunction, expressed or understood, and accompanied by
another verb: as, “If the skies should fall, larks would be caught.” “Were I to
punch your head, I should serve you right;” that is, “if I were to punch your
head.”
The Infinitive Mood expresses a thing generally, without limitation, and without
any distinction of number or person: as, “to quarrel, to fight, to be licked.”
The Participle is a peculiar form of the verb, and is so called, because it
participates in the properties both of a verb and of an adjective: as, “May I have
the pleasure of dancing with you?” “Mounted on a tub he addressed the
bystanders.” “Having uplifted a stave, they departed.”
The Participles are three; the Present or Active, the Perfect or Passive, and the
Compound Perfect: as, “I felt nervous at the thought of popping the question, but
that once popped, I was not sorry for having popped it.”
The worst of popping the question is, that the report is always sure to get abroad.
SECTION IV.
OF THE TENSES.
Tense is the distinction of time, and consists of six divisions, namely, the
Present, the Imperfect, the Perfect, the Pluperfect, and the First and Second
Future Tenses.
Time is also distinguished by a fore lock, scythe, and hour-glass; but the
youthful reader must bear in mind, that these things are not to be confounded
with tenses.
The Present Tense, as its name implies, represents an action or event occurring at
the present time: as, “I lament; rogues prosper; the mob rules.”
The Imperfect Tense represents a past action or event, but which, like a mutton
chop, may be either thoroughly done, or not thoroughly done; were it meet, we
should say under-done: as,
“When I was a little boy some fifteen years ago,
My mammy doted on me—Lork! she made me quite a show.”
“When our reporter left, the Honourable Gentleman was still on his
legs.”
The legs of most “Honourable Gentlemen” must be tolerably stout ones; for the
“majority” do not stand on trifles. However, we are not going to commit
ourselves, like some folks, nor to get committed, like other folks; so we will
leave “Honourable Gentlemen” to manage matters their own way.
The Perfect Tense declares a thing to have been done at some time, though an
indefinite one, antecedent to the present time. That, however, which the Perfect
Tense represents as done, is completely, or, as we say of John Bull, when he is
humbugged by the thimble-rig people, regularly done; as, “I have been out on
the river.” “I have caught a crab.”
Catching a crab is a thing regularly (in another sense than completely) done,
when civic swains pull young ladies up to Richmond. We beg to inform persons
unacquainted with aquatic phraseology, that “pulling up” young ladies, or others,
is a very different thing from “pulling up” an omnibus conductor or a cabman.
What an equivocal language is ours! How much less agreeable to be “pulled up”
at Bow Street than to be “pulled up” in a wherry! how wide the discrepancy
between “pulling up” radishes and “pulling up” horses!
The Pluperfect Tense represents a thing as doubly past; that is, as past previously
to some other point of time also past; as, “I fell in love before I had arrived at
years of discretion.”
The First Future Tense represents the action as yet to come, either at a certain or
an uncertain time; as, “The tailor will send my coat home to-morrow; and when I
find it perfectly convenient, I shall pay him.”
The Second Future intimates that the action will be completed at or before the
time of another future action or event; as, “I wonder how many conquests I shall
have made by to-morrow morning.”
N.B. One ball is often the means of killing a great many people.
The consideration of the tenses suggests various moral reflections to the thinking
mind.
A few examples will perhaps suffice:—
1. Present, though moderate fruition, is preferable to splendid, but contingent
futurity; i. e. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
2. Imperfect nutrition is less to be deprecated than privation of aliment;—a new
way of putting an old proverb, which we need not again insert, respecting half a
loaf.
3. Perfect callidity was the distinguishing attribute of the Curved Pedestrian.
Callidity is another word for craftiness; but for the exercise of the reader’s
ingenuity, we forbear to mention the person alluded to as so remarkable for his
astutious qualities.
Q. What species of writing is most conducive to morality?
A. Text-hand.
SECTION V.
THE CONJUGATION OF THE AUXILIARY VERBS TO HAVE AND TO BE.
PERFECT TENSE.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. I’ze had. 1. We’ze had.
2. Thee’st had. 2. Ye or you’ze had.
3. He’ve had. 3. They’ze had.
FIRST FUTURE TENSE.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. I sholl or ool ha’. 1. We shool or ool ha’.
2. Thee shat or oot ha’. 2. Ye or you sholl or ool ha’.
3. He sholl or ool ha’. 3. They sholl or ool ha’.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. Let me ha’. 1. Let’s ha’.
2. Ha’, or ha thou, or do thee ha’. 2. Ha, or ha ye, or do ye, or you ha’.
3. Let un ha’. 3. Let um ha’.
POTENTIAL MOOD.
PRESENT TENSE.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. I med or can ha’. 1. We med or can ha’.
2. Thee medst or canst ha’. 2. Ye or you med or can ha’.
3. He med or can ha’. 3. They med or can ha’.
SUBJUNCTIVE MOOD.
PRESENT TENSE.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. If I has. 1. If we has.
2. If thee hast 2. If ye or you has.
3. If he ha’. 3. If they has.
INFINITIVE MOOD.
PARTICIPLES.
IMPERFECT TENSE.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. I wor, or wus. 1. We wus.
2. Thee wort. 2. Ye or you wus.
3. He wur. 3. They wur.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
1. Let I be. 1. Let we be.
2. Be thee or ’st thee be. 2. Do ’ee be.
3. Let un be. 3. Let um be.
INFINITIVE MOOD.
Present Tense, For to be. Perfect, For to ha’ bin.
PARTICIPLES.
Here should follow the conjugation of the regular active verb, or, as a Cockney
Romeo would say, the regular torturing verb, To Love; but we have already
assigned a good reason for omitting it; besides which we have to say, that we
think it a verb highly unfit for conjugation by youth, as it tends to put ideas into
their heads which they would otherwise never have thought of; and it is
moreover our opinion, that several of our most gifted poets may, with reason,
have attributed those unfortunate attachments which, though formed in early
youth, served to embitter their whole lives, to the poison which they thus sucked
in with the milk, so to speak, of their Mother Tongue, the Grammar.
PASSIVE.
Verbs Passive are said to be regular, when their perfect participle is formed by
the addition of d, or ed to the verb: as, from the verb “To bless,” is formed the
passive, “I am blessed, I was blessed, I shall be blessed,” &c.
The conjugation of a passive verb is nothing more than the repetition of that of
the auxiliary To Be, the perfect participle being added.
And now, having cut the regular verbs (as Alexander did the Gordian knot)
instead of conjugating them, let us proceed to consider the
IRREGULAR VERBS.
SECTION VII.
Irregular Verbs are those of which the imperfect tense and the perfect participle
are not formed by adding d or ed to the verb: as,
PRESENT. IMPERFECT. PERFECT PART.
I blow. I blew. blown.
Some verbs which in this country are held to be regular, are treated as irregular
verbs in America: as,
PRESENT. IMPERFECT. PERF. OR PASS. PART.
Row rew rown.
Snow snew snown.
SECTION VIII.
OF DEFECTIVE VERBS.
Most men have five senses,
Most verbs have six tenses;
But as there are some folks
Who are blind, deaf, or dumb folks,
Just so there are some verbs
Defective, or rum verbs,
which are used only in some of their moods and tenses.
The principal of them are these:—
CHAPTER VII.
OF ADVERBS.
Having as great a dislike as the youngest of our readers can have to repetitions,
we shall not say what an adverb is over again. It is, nevertheless, right to
observe, that some adverbs are compared: as, far, farther, farthest; near, nearer,
nearest. In comparing those which end in ly, we use more and most: as, slowly,
more slowly, most slowly.
Q. Who, of all the civic functionaries, moves “most slowly?”
A. Mr. Hobler.
There are a great many adverbs in the English Language: their number is
probably even greater than that of abusive epithets. They are divisible into
certain classes; the chief of which are Number, Order, Place, Time, Quantity,
Manner or Quality, Doubt, Affirmation, Negation, Interrogation, and
Comparison.
A nice little list, truly! and perhaps some of our readers may suppose that we are
going to exemplify it at length: if so, all we can say with regard to their
expectation is, that we wish they may get it gratified. In the meantime, we will
not turn our Grammar into a dictionary, to please anybody. However, we have no
objection to a brief illustration of the uses and properties of adverbs, as
contained in the following passage:—
“Formerly, when first I began to preach and to teach, whithersoever I went, the
little boys followed me, and now and then pelted me with brick-bats, as
heretofore they pelted Ebenezer Grimes. And whensoever I opened my mouth,
straightways the ungodly began to crow. Oftentimes was I hit in the mouth with
an orange: yea, and once, moreover, with a rotten egg; whereat there was much
laughter, which, notwithstanding, I took in good part, and wiped my face, and
looked pleasantly. For peradventure I said, they will listen to my sermon; yea,
and after that we may have a collection. So I was nowise discomfited; wherefore
I advise thee, Brother Habakkuk, to take no heed of thy persecutors, seeing that
I, whereas I was once little better off than thyself, have now a chapel of mine
own. And herein let thy mind be comforted, that, preach as much as thou wilt
against the Bishop, thou wilt not, therefore, in these days, be in danger of the
pillory. Howbeit,” &c.
Vide Life of the late pious and Rev. Samuel Simcox (letter to Habbakuk Brown).
CHAPTER VIII.
OF PREPOSITIONS.
Prepositions are, for the most part, put before nouns and pronouns: as, “out of
the frying-pan into the fire.”
Two prepositions, with and without, are sometimes (as we have been informed)
used in the place of substantives: as, “cold without, warm with.”
The preposition of is sometimes used as a part of speech of peculiar
signification, and one to which no name has as yet been applied: as, “What have
you been doing of?”
At and up are not rarely used as verbs, but we should scarcely have been justified
in so classing them by the authority of any polite writer; such use of them being
confined to the vulgar: as, “Now then, Bill, at him again.” “So she upped with
her fists, and fetched him a whop.”
After is improperly pronounced arter, and against, agin: as, “Hallo! Jim, vot are
you arter? don’t you know that ere’s agin the Law?”
CHAPTER IX.
OF CONJUNCTIONS.
A Conjunction means literally, a union or meeting together. An ill-assorted
marriage is
A COMICAL CONJUNCTION.
But our conjunctions are used to connect words and sentences, and have nothing
to do with the joining of hands. They are chiefly of two sorts, the Copulative and
Disjunctive.
The Copulative Conjunction is employed for the connection or continuation of a
sentence: as, “Jack and Gill went up the Hill,” “I will sing a song if Gubbins
will,” “A thirsty man is like a City Giant, because he is a Gog for drink.”
The Conjunction Disjunctive is used not only for purposes of connection, but
also to express opposition of meaning in different degrees: as, “Though Lord
John is as cunning as a Fox, yet Sir Robert is as deep as a Pitt.” “We pay less for
our letters, but shall have to pay more for our panes: they have lightened our
postage, but they will darken our rooms.”
Conjunctions are the hooks and eyes of Language, in which, as well as in dress,
it is very possible to make an awkward use of them: as, “For if the year consist
of 365 days 6 hours, and January have 31 days, then the relation between the
corpuscular theory of light and the new views of Mr. Owen is at once subverted:
for, ‘When Ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise:’ because 1760 yards make a
mile; and it is universally acknowledged that ‘war is the madness of many for
the gain of a few:’ therefore Sir Isaac Newton was quite right in supposing the
diamond to be combustible.”
The word as, so often used in this and other Grammars, is a conjunction: as,
“Mrs. A. is as well as can be expected.”
The Siamese twins formed a singular conjunction.
A tin pot fastened to a dog’s tail is a disagreeable conjunction to the unfortunate
animal.
A happy pair may be regarded as an uncommon conjunction.
CHAPTER X.
INTERJECTIONS.
We have said almost enough about their Etymology already. Still, it may not be
superfluous to bestow a passing notice on the singularly expressive character of
certain of these parts of speech, heard, it is true, repeatedly; but unaccountably
omitted in all previous Grammars. For instance, how many lives does the
warning, “Hoy!” of the coachman or cab-driver daily save? What an amount of
infantile aberrations from propriety is the admonitory “Paw-paw!” the means of
checking. With what felicity is acquiescence denoted by “Umph!” The utility of
the Interjections on various occasions, such as our meals, for example, in
enabling us to economise our speech, is very striking.
CHAPTER XI.
OF DERIVATION.
Those who know Latin, Greek, Saxon, and the other languages from which our
own is formed, do not require to be instructed in philological derivation; and on
those who do not understand the said tongues, such instruction would be thrown
away. In what manner English words are derived, one from another, the
generality of persons know very well: there are, however, a few words and
phrases, which it is expedient to trace to their respective sources; not only
because such an exercise is of itself delightful to the inquiring mind; but because
we shall thereby be furnished (as we hope to show) with a test by means of
which, on hearing an expression for the first time, we shall be able, in most
instances, to decide at once respecting its nature and quality.
There are several words in the English Language which were originally Terms of
Art, but came in process of time to be applied metaphorically to the common
purposes of discourse. Thus lodgings are sometimes called quarters; a word
which, in its restricted sense, signifies the lodgings of soldiers; ill habits, like
diseases, are said to be remedied; men hope, as if indicted for an offence, that
ladies will acquit them of inattention, and so forth. When, as in the instances
cited, the word or phrase can be traced back either to one of the Learned
Professions, or to any source savouring of gentility, it is esteemed a proper one,
and there is no objection to its use.
Now we have divers other words, of which many have but recently come into
vogue, which, though by no means improper or immoral, are absolutely
unutterable in any polite assembly. It is not, at first, very easy to see what can be
the objection to their use; but derivation explains it for us in the most satisfactory
manner. The truth is, that the expressions in question take their origin from
various trades and occupations, in which they have, for the most part, a literal
meaning; and we now perceive what horrible suspicions respecting one’s birth,
habits, and education, their figurative employment would be likely to excite. To
make the matter indisputably clear, we will explain our position by a few
examples.
WORDS AND PHRASES. WHAT DERIVED FROM.
Bone (to steal), Butchers.
Chisel (to cheat), Carpenters.
Clout (to beat), Scullions.
To cut it fat, Cooks.
To come it strong, Publicans.
To draw it mild, Ditto.
To drop off the hooks, Butchers.
To miss your tip, Footmen.
To be done, Cooks.
To be done brown, Ditto.
To collar (to seize), Thieves or policemen.
To be walked off, Ditto.
A sell, Jews.
A shine, Shoe-boys.
A wipe (a handkerchief), Blackguards in general, from its use.
A mawley (a hand), Prizefighters.
To welt (to beat), Cobblers.
To leather (ditto), Ditto.
To strap (ditto), Ditto.
To hide (ditto), Curriers.
Spicy (showy), Grocers.
To hang out (to dwell), Publicans.
A drag (carriage), Stage-coachmen.
Swamped (ruined), Watermen.
To put one’s oar in (to interfere), Watermen.
Get on with your barrow, Dogs’-meat-men.
Kidderminster (for carpet), Upholsterers.
Mahogany (for table), Ditto.
Dodge (trick), Pickpockets.
(N.B. All those are obliged to have recourse to the dodge, who are in the habit of
outrunning the constable.) But, to proceed with our Etymology:
l. s. d.
Reparing of Towo Tables & Muex Stand 0 4 0
Aultern of 2 Blines & Toulroler 0 1 0
Botal jock braket & seter jobs (et cetera) 0 4 0
Newpot board Barers & scirtin &c. stapel 0 5 0
Locks to Cubard dowrs & Esing do laying
0 7 0
down flour cloth & fiting up Top of Butt
Fixing Lether to Dowrs in parlor & Cuting
0 4 0
of sheters in first flour
1 Blin 2 par of Roler End & Rack puleys
fixing of certin Laths in Largin of ole of 0 2 10
washing stand & 2 holefass
Fixing webbin to Stand and fixing Legs to
0 1 6
washing stule
Fiting up front of Dustbin & Cubbard on
0 2 0
Landing altern lock of seler dowr
1 11 4
Government is that power which one part of speech has over another, in
directing its mood, tense, or case.
Government is also that power, of which, if the Chartists have their way, we
shall soon see very little in this country.
Hurrah!
No taxes!
No army!
No navy!
No parsons!
No lawyers!
No Commons!
No Lords!
No anything!
No nothing!
To produce the agreement and right disposition of words in a sentence, the
following rules (and observations?) should be carefully studied.
RULE I.
A verb must agree with its nominative case in number and person: as, “I
perceive.” “Thou hast been to Brixton.” “Apes chatter.” “Frenchmen gabble.”
Certain liberties are sometimes taken with this rule: as, “I own I likes good
beer.” “You’m a fine fellow, aint yer?” “He’ve been to the Squire’s.” Such
modes of speaking are adopted by those who neither know nor care anything
about grammatical correctness: but there are other persons who care a great deal
about it, but unfortunately do not know what it consists in. Such folks are very
fond of saying, “How it rain!” “It fit you very well.” “He say he think it very
unbecoming,” “I were gone before you was come,” and so forth, in which forms
of speech they perceive a peculiar elegance.
The infinitive mood, or part of a sentence, is sometimes used as the nominative
case to the verb: as “to be good is to be happy:” which is as grammatical an
assertion as “Toby Good is Toby Happy;” and rather surpasses it in respect of
sense. “That two pippins are a pair, is a proposition which no man in his senses
will deny.”
“To be a connoisseur in boots,
To hate all rational pursuits,
To make your money fly, as though
Gold would as fast as mushrooms grow;
To haunt the Opera, save whene’er
There’s anything worth hearing there;
To smirk, to smile, to bow, to dance,
To talk of what they eat in France,
To languish, simper, sue, and sigh,
And stuff her head with flattery;
Are means to gain that worthless part
A fashionable lady’s heart.”
Here are examples enough, in all conscience, of infinitive moods serving as
nominative cases.
All verbs, save only in the infinitive mood or participle, require a nominative
case either expressed or understood: as, “Row with me down the river,” that is
“Row thou, or do thou row.” “Come where the aspens quiver,” “come thou, or do
thou come.” “Fly not yet;” “fly not thou, or do not thou fly.” “Pass the ruby;”
“pass thou, or do thou pass the ruby” (not the Rubicon). “Drink to me only;”
“drink thou, or do thou drink only.” “Wake, dearest, wake;” “wake thou, or do
thou wake.” “Tell her I love her;” “tell thou, or do thou tell her I love her.” In
short, you cannot listen to a hawker of ballads, crying his commodities about the
streets, without hearing illustrations of the foregoing rule. “Move on!” the well
known mandate of policemen to those who create obstructions, is a very
common exemplification of it. The nominative case is easily understood in the
latter instance; and the person addressed, if he pretend that it is not, does so at
his own peril.
A well known popular song affords an example of the violation of this rule.
“Ven as the Captain comed for to hear on’t,
Wery much applauded vot she’d done.”
The verb applauded has here no nominative case, whereas it ought to have been
governed by the pronoun he. “He very much applauded,” &c.
Every nominative case, except when made absolute, or used, like the Latin
Vocative, in addressing a person, should belong to some verb, implied if not
expressed. A beautiful example of this grammatical maxim, and one, too, that
explains itself, is impressed upon the mind very soon after its first introduction
to letters: as,
“Who kill’d Cock Robin?
I, said the sparrow,
With my bow and arrow;
I kill’d Cock Robin.”
Of the neglect of this rule also, the ballad lately mentioned presents an instance:
as,
“Four-and-twenty brisk young fellows
Clad in jackets, blue array,—
And they took poor Billy Taylor
From his true love all avay.”
The only verb in these four lines is the verb took, which is governed by the
pronoun they. The four-and-twenty brisk young fellows, therefore, though
undeniably in the nominative, have no verb to belong to: while, at the same time,
whatever may be thought of their behaviour to Mr. William Taylor, they are
certainly not absolute in point of case.
When a verb comes between two nouns, either of which may be taken as the
subject of the affirmation, it may agree with either of them: as, “Two-and-
sixpence is half-a-crown.” Due regard, however, should be paid to that noun
which is most naturally the subject of the verb: it would be clearly wrong to say,
“Ducks and green peas is a delicacy.” “Fleas is a nuisance.”
A nominative case, standing without a personal tense of a verb, and being put
before a participle, independently of the rest of the sentence, is called a case
absolute: as, “My brethren, to-morrow being Sunday, I shall preach a sermon in
Smithfield; after which we shall join in a hymn, and that having been sung,
Brother Biggs will address you.”
The objective case is sometimes incorrectly made absolute by showmen and
others: as, “Here, gentlemen and ladies, you will see that great warrior Napoleon
Bonaparte, standing agin a tree with his hands in his pockets, him taking good
care to keep out of harm’s vay. And there, on the extreme right, you will observe
the Duky Vellinton a valking about amidst the red-hot cannon balls, him not
caring von straw.”
RULE II.
Two or more singular nouns, joined together by a copulative conjunction,
expressed or understood, are equivalent to a plural noun, and therefore require
verbs, nouns, and pronouns, agreeing with them in the plural number: as, “Veal,
wine, and vinegar” (take care how you pronounce these words) “are very good
victuals I vow.” “Burke and Hare were nice men.” “A hat without a crown, a
tattered coat, threadbare and out at elbows, a pair of breeches which looked like
a piece of dirty patchwork diversified by various holes, and of boots which a Jew
would hardly have raked from a kennel, at once proclaimed him a man who had
seen better days.”
This rule is not always adhered to in discourse quite so closely as a fastidious ear
would require it to be: as, “And so, you know, Mary, and I, and Jane was a
dusting the chairs, and in comes Missus.”
RULE III.
When the conjunction disjunctive comes between two nouns, the verb, noun, or
pronoun, is of the singular number, because it refers to each of such nouns taken
separately: as, “A cold in the head, or a sore eye is a great disadvantage to a
lover.”
If singular pronouns, or a noun and pronoun of different persons, be
disjunctively connected, the verb must agree with the person which stands
nearest to it: as “I or thou art.” “Thou or I am.” “I, thou, or he is,” &c. But as
this way of writing or speaking is very inelegant, and as saying, “Either I am, or
thou art,” and so on, will always render having recourse to it unnecessary, the
rule just laid down is almost useless, except inasmuch as it suggests a moral
maxim, namely, “Always be on good terms with your next door neighbour.”
It also forcibly reminds us of some beautiful lines by Moore, in which the heart,
like a tendril, is said to twine round the “nearest and loveliest thing.” Now the
person which is placed nearest the verb is the object of choice; ergo, the most
agreeable person—ergo, the loveliest person or thing.
Should a conjunction disjunctive occur between a singular noun or pronoun, and
a plural one, the verb agrees with the plural noun or pronoun: as, “Neither a king
nor his courtiers are averse to butter:” (particularly when thickly spread).
“Darius or the Persians were hostile to Greece.”
RULE IV.
A noun of multitude, that is, one which signifies many, can have a verb or
pronoun to agree with it either in the singular or plural number; according to the
import of such noun, as conveying unity or plurality of idea: as, “The Parliament
is—” we do not choose to say what. “The nation is humbugged.” “The ministry
are exceedingly well pensioned.” “The multitude have to pay many taxes.” “The
Council are at a loss to know what to do.” “The people is a many-headed
monster.”
We do not mean to call the people names. We only quote what all parties say of
it when out of office. When they are in, it is—why, we may exhaust the alphabet
about it, as Sterne tried to do about Love; but he couldn’t get farther than R.; and
therefore, if we break down, it is no matter. So we will e’en try a leap; and as the
maxim “audi alteram partem” is a favourite one with all rightly constituted
minds, our own inclusive, we will see what can be said on both sides. The
people, then, is termed,
Have not enjoyed the balm of sleep all the livelong night.
Encountered, last night, at the ball, the beau ideal of my heart. Never
knew what love was till then. Derided the sentiment often; jested at
scars, because had never felt a wound. Feel at last the power of
beauty—Write with a tremulous hand; waver between hope and fear.
Hope to be thought not altogether unworthy of regard: fear to be
rejected as having no pretensions to the affections of such
unparalleled loveliness. Know not in what terms to declare my
feelings. Adore you, worship you, dote on you, am wrapt up in you!
think but on you, live but for you, would willingly die for you!—in
short, love you! and imploring you to have some compassion on one
who is distracted for your sake
Remain
Devotedly yours
T. TOUT.
RULE XXII.
A regular and dependent construction should be carefully preserved throughout
the whole of a sentence, and all its parts should correspond to each other. There
is, therefore, an inaccuracy in the following sentence; “Greenacre was more
admired, but not so much lamented, as Burke.” It should be, “Greenacre was
more admired than Burke, but not so much lamented.”
Of these two worthies there will be a notice of the following kind in a
biographical dictionary, to be published a thousand years hence in America.
GREENACRE.—A celebrated critic who so cut up a blue-stocking lady of the name
of Brown, that he did not leave her a leg to stand upon.
BURKE.—A famous orator, whose power of stopping people’s mouths was said to
be prodigious. It is farther reported of him that he was only once hung up, and
that on the occasion of the last speech he ever made.
Perhaps it may be said that the rule last stated comprehends all preceding rules,
and requires exemplification accordingly. We therefore call the attention of the
reader to the following paragraph, requesting him to consider what, and how
many, violations of the maxims of Syntax it contains.
“We teaches, that is, my son and me teaches, they boys English
Grammar. Tom or Dick have learned something every day but Harry
what is idler, whom I am sure will never come to no good, for he is
always a miching and doing those kind of things (he was catch but
yesterday in a skittle grounds) he only makes his book all dog’s ears.
I beat he, too, pretty smartish, as I ought, you will say, for to have
did. I was going to have sent him away last week but he somehow
got over me as he do always. I have had so much trouble with he,
that between you and I, if I was not paid for it, I wouldn’t have no
more to do with such a boy. There never wasn’t a monkey more
mischievious than him; and a donkey isn’t more stupider and not
half so obstinate as that youngster.”
The Syntax of the Interjection has been sufficiently stated under Rule V.
Interjections afford more matter for consideration in a Treatise on Elocution than
they do in a work on Grammar; but there is one observation which we are
desirous of making respecting them, and which will not, it is hoped, be thought
altogether foreign to our present subject. Almost every interjection has a great
variety of meanings, adapted to particular occasions and circumstances, and
indicated chiefly by the tone of the voice. Of this proposition we shall now give
a few illustrations, which we would endeavour to render still clearer by the
addition of musical notes, but that these would hardly express, with adequate
exactness, the modulations of sound to which we allude; and besides, we hope to
be sufficiently understood without such help. This part of the Grammar should
be read aloud by the student; or, which is better still, the interjection, where it is
possible, should be repeated with the proper intonation by a class; the sentence
which gives occasion to it being read by the preceptor. We will select the
interjection Oh! as the source from which our examples are to be drawn.
“I’ll give it you, you idle dog: I will!”
“Oh, pray, Sir! Oh, pray, Sir! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
“I shall ever have the highest esteem for you, Sir; but as to love, that is out of the
question.”
“Oh, Matilda!”
“I say, Jim, look at that chaffinch: there’s a shy!”
“Oh, Crikey!”
“Miss Tims, do you admire Lord Byron?”
“Oh, yes!”
“What do you think of Rubini’s singing?”
“Oh!”
“So then, you see, we popped round the corner, and caught them just in the nick
of time.”
“Oh!”
“Sir, your behaviour has done you great credit.”
“Oh!”
“Oats are looking up.”
“Oh!”
“Honourable Members might say what they pleased; but he was convinced, for
his part, that the New Poor Law had given great general satisfaction.”
“Oh! oh!”
There being now no reason (or rule) to detain us in the Syntax, we shall
forthwith advance into Prosody, where we shall have something to say, not only
about rules, but also of measures.
PART IV.
PROSODY.
Prosody consists of two parts; wherefore, although it may be a topic, a head, or
subject for discussion, it can never be a point; for a point is that which hath no
parts. Besides, there are a great many lines to be considered in the second part of
Prosody, which treats of Versification. The first division teaches the true
Pronunciation of Words, including Accent, Quantity, Emphasis, Pause, and Tone.
Lord Chesterfield’s book about manners, which is intended to teach us the
proper tone to be adopted in Society, may be termed an Ethical Prosody.
Lord Chesterfield may have been a polished gentleman, but Dr. Johnson was of
the two the more shining character.
CHAPTER I.
OF PRONUNCIATION.
SECTION I.
OF ACCENT.
Though penetrated ourselves by the desire of imparting instruction, we are far
from wishing to bore our readers; and therefore we shall endeavour to repeat
nothing here that we have said before.
Accent is the marking with a peculiar stress of the voice a particular letter or
syllable in a word, in such a manner as to render it more distinct or audible than
the rest. Thus, in the word théatre, the stress of the voice should be on the letter e
and first syllable the; and in cóntrary, on the first syllable con. How shocking it
is to hear people say con-tráry, the-átre! The friends of education will be
reminded with regret, that an error in the pronunciation of the first of these
words is very early impressed on the human mind.
“Mary, Mary,
Quite contráry,
How does your garden grow?”
How many evils, alas! arise from juvenile associations!
Words of two syllables never have more than one of them accented, except for
the sake of peculiar emphasis. Gentlemen, however, whose profession it is to
drive certain public vehicles called cabs, are much accustomed to disregard this
rule, and to say, “pó-líte” (or “púr-líte”), “gén-téel,” “cón-cérn,” “pó-líce,” and
so on: nay, they go so far as to convert a word of one syllable into two, for the
sake of indulging in this style of pronunciation; and thus the word “queer” is
pronounced by them as “ké-véer.”
The word “á-mén,” when standing alone, should be pronounced with two
accents.
The accents in which it usually is pronounced are very inelegant. Clerks, now-a-
days, alas! are no scholars.
Dissyllables, formed by adding a termination, usually have the former syllable
accented: as, “Fóolish, blóckhead,” &c.
The accent in dissyllables, formed by prefixing a syllable to the radical word, is
commonly on the latter syllable: as, “I protést, I decláre, I entréat, I adóre, I
expíre.”
ALL FOR LOVE.
Protestations, declarations, entreaties, and adorations, proclaim a swain to be
simply tender; but expiration (for love) proves him to be decidedly soft.
A man who turns lover becomes a protest-ant; and his conduct at the same time
generally undergoes a reformation, especially if he has previously been a rake.
The zeal, however, of a reformed rake, like that of Jack in Dean Swift’s “Tale of
a Tub,” is sometimes apt to outrun his discretion.
When the same word, being a dissyllable, is both a noun and a verb, the verb has
mostly the accent on the latter, and the noun on the former syllable: as,
“Molly, let Hymen’s gentle hand
Cemént our hearts together,
With such a cément as shall stand
In spite of wind and weather.
CHAPTER II.
OF VERSIFICATION.
Hurrah!
It is with peculiar pleasure that we approach this part of Prosody; and we have
therefore prefaced it with an exclamation indicative of delight. We belong to a
class of persons to whom a celebrated phrenological manipulator ascribes “some
poetical feeling, if studied or called forth;” and, to borrow another expression
from the same quarter, we sometimes “versify a little;” that is to say, we
diversify our literary occupations by an occasional flirtation with the muses.
Now it gives us great concern to observe that popular literature is becoming very
prosaic. Poetry and Boxing have gone out of favour together, and most probably,
—though we have not quite time enough just at present to show how,—from the
same cause; namely, bad taste. We mention Boxing along with Poetry, because it
is remarkable that their decline should have been contemporaneous; and because
we are of those who believe that there exists an essential similarity between all
the branches of the Fine Arts; and moreover, because—and we mention it as a
fact no less singular in itself than creditable to the paper in question—that a
celebrated weekly periodical bestows especial patronage on both. With regard to
Boxing, we are glad to see that a few patriotic individuals have of late been
endeavouring to revive the taste for it; and we have some hope that their
exertions, backed by certain cases of stabbing which every now and then occur,
will eventually prove successful. But no one can be found to labour in an equal
degree for the advancement of poetry. Our innate modesty is prompting us to
say, that we fear we can do but little in the cause; but early impressions are
known to be very strong and lasting: and we have a notion that, in teaching
youth to make verses, we shall in a great degree contribute to the breeding up of
a race of poets, and thereby secure, not only laurels, at least, for them, but also
gratitude, veneration, and all that kind of thing, for ourselves.
We have a great respect for the memory of our old schoolmaster;
notwithstanding which, we think we can beat him (which, we shall be told by the
wags, would be tit for tat) at poet-making, though, indeed, he was a magician in
his way. “I’ll make thee a poet, my boy,” he used to say, “or the rod shall.”
Let us try what we can do.
A verse consists of a certain number and variety of syllables, put together and
arranged according to certain laws.
Verses being also called dulcet strains, harmonious numbers, tuneful lays, and so
forth, it is clear that such combination and arrangement must be so made as to
please the ear.
Versification is the making of verses. This seems such a truism as to be not
worth stating; but it is necessary to define what Versification is, because many
people suppose it to be the same thing with poetry. We will prove that it is not.
“Much business in the Funds has lately been
Transacted various monied men between;
Though speculation early in the week
Went slowly; nought was done whereof to speak.
The largest operations, it was found,
Were twenty-five and fifty thousand pound;
The former in reduced Annuities,
And in the Three per Cents. the last of these.”
We might proceed in the same strain, but we have already done eight verses
without a particle of poetry in them; and we do not wish to overwhelm people
with proofs of what a great many will take upon trust.
Every fool knows what Rhyme is; so we need not say anything about that.
OF POETICAL FEET.
Poetical feet! Why, Fanny Elsler’s feet and Taglioni’s feet are poetical feet—are
they not? or else what is meant by calling dancing the Poetry of Motion? And
cannot each of those artistes boast of a toe which is the very essence of all
poetry—a ΤΟ` ΚΑΛΟ`Ν?
No. You may make verses on Taglioni’s feet, (though if she be a poetess, she can
do that better than you, standing, too, on one leg, like the man that Horace
speaks of); but you cannot make them of her feet. Feet of which verses are
composed are made of syllables, not of bones, muscles, and ligaments.
Feet and pauses are the constituent parts of a verse.
We have heard one boy ask another, who was singing, “How much is that a
yard?” still the yard is not a poetical measure.
The feet which are used in poetry consist either of two or of three syllables.
There are four kinds of feet of two, and an equal number of three syllables. Four
and four are eight: therefore Pegasus is an octoped; and if our readers do not
understand this logic, we are sorry for it. But as touching the feet—we have
1. The Trochee, which has the first syllable accented, and the last unaccented: as,
“Yānkĕe dōodlĕ.”
2. The Iambus, which has the first syllable unaccented, and the last accented: as,
“Thĕ māid hĕrsēlf wĭth roūge, ălās! bĕdaūbs.”
3. The Spondee, which has both the words or syllables accented: as, “Āll hāil,
grēat kīng, Tōm Thūmb, āll haīl!”
4. The Pyrrhic, which has both the words or syllables unaccented: as, “Ŏn thĕ
tree-top.”
5. The Dactyl, which has the first syllable accented and the two latter
unaccented: as, “Jōnăthăn, Jēffĕrsŏn.”
6. The Amphibrach has the first and last syllables unaccented and the middle one
accented: as, “Oĕ’rwħelmĭng, trănspōrtĕd, ĕcstātĭc, dĕlīghtfŭl, ăccēptĕd,
ăddrēssĕs.”
7. The Anapæst (or as we used to say, Nasty-beast) has the two first syllables
unaccented and the last accented: as, “Ŏvĕrgrōwn grĕnădiēr.”
8. The Tribrach has all its syllables unaccented: as, “Matrĭmŏny̆, exquĭsĭtenĕss.”
These feet are divided into principal feet, out of which pieces of poetry may be
wholly or chiefly formed; and secondary feet, the use of which is to diversify the
number and improve the verse.
We shall now proceed to explain the nature of the principal feet.
Iambic verses are of several kinds, each kind consisting of a certain number of
feet or syllables.
1. The shortest form of the English Iambic consists of an Iambus, with an
additional short syllable, thus coinciding with the Amphibrach: as,
“Whăt, Sūsăn,
My beauty!
Refuse one
So true t’ ye?
This ditty
Of sadness
Begs pity
For madness.”
2. The second form of the English Iambic consists of two Iambuses, and
sometimes takes an additional short syllable: as,
“My̆ eȳe, whăt fūn,
With dog and gun,
And song and shout,
To roam about!
And shoot our snipes!
And smoke our pipes!
Or eat at ease,
Beneath the trees,
Our bread and cheese!
To rouse the hare
From gloomy lair;
To scale the mountain
And ford the fountain,
While rustics wonder
To hear our thunder.”
Everybody has heard of the “Cockney School,” of course.
3. The third form consists of three Iambuses: as in the following morceau, the
author of which is, we regret to say, unknown to us; though we did once hear
somebody say that it was a Mr. Anon.
“Jăck Sprāt ĕat āll thĕ fāt,
His wife eat all the lean,
And so between them both,
They lick’d the platter clean.”
In this verse an additional short syllable is also admitted: as,
“Ălēxĭs, yoūthfŭl ploūgh-bŏy,
A shepherdess adored,
Who loved fat Hodge, the cow-boy,
So t’other chap was floored.”
4. The fourth form is made up of four Iambuses: as,
“Ădieū my̆ bōots, cŏmpāniŏns ōld,
New footed twice, and four times soled;
My footsteps ye have guarded long,
Life’s brambles, thorns, and flints among;
And now you’re past the cobbler’s art,
And Fate declares that we must part.
Ah me! what cordial can restore
The gaping patch repatch’d before?
What healing art renew the weal
Of subject so infirm of heel?
What potion, pill, or draught control
So deep an ulcer of the sole?”
5. The fifth species of English Iambic consists of five Iambuses: as,
“Cŏme, Trāgĭc Mūse, ĭn tāttĕr’d vēst ărrāy’d,
And while through blood, and mud, and crimes I wade,
Support my steps, and this, my strain, inspire
With Horror’s blackest thoughts and bluest fire!”
The Epic of which the above example is the opening, will perhaps appear
hereafter. This kind of Iambic constitutes what is called the Heroic measure:—of
which we shall have more to say by and by; but shall only remark at present that
it, in common with most of the ordinary English measures, is susceptible of
many varieties, by the admission of other feet, as Trochees, Dactyls, Anapæsts,
&c.
6. Our Iambic in its sixth form, is commonly called the Alexandrine measure. It
consists of six Iambuses: as,
“Hĭs wōrshĭp gāve thĕ wōrd, ănd Snōoks wăs bōrne ăwāy.”
The Alexandrine is sometimes introduced into heroic rhyme, and when used, as
the late Mr. John Reeve was wont to say, “with a little moderation,” occasions an
agreeable variety. Thus, the example quoted is preceded by the following lines:
—
“What! found at midnight with a darkey, lit,
A bull-dog, jemmy, screw, and centre-bit
And tongueless of his aim? It cannot be
But he was bent, at least, on felony;
He stands remanded. ‘Ho! Policeman A!’
His Worship gave the word, and Snooks was borne away.”
7. The seventh and last form of our Iambic measure is made up of seven
Iambuses. This species of verse has been immortalised by the adoption of those
eminent hands, Messrs. Sternhold and Hopkins. It runs thus:—
“Goŏd pēoplĕ āll, Ĭ prāy drăw nēar, fŏr yōu Ĭ neēds mŭst tēll,
That William Brown is dead and gone; the man you knew full well.
A broad brimm’d hat, black breeches, and an old Welch wig he wore:
And now and then a long brown coat all button’d up before.”
The present measure is as admirably adapted for the Platform as for the
Conventicle.
“My name it is Bill Scroggins, and my fate it is to die,
For I was at the Sessions tried and cast for felony.
My friends, to these my dying words I pray attention lend,
The public-house has brought me unto this untimely end.”
Verses of this kind are now usually broken into two lines, with four feet in the
first line, and three in the second: as,
“Ĭ wīsh Ĭ wēre ă līttlĕ p̄ig
To wallow in the mire,
To eat, and drink, and sleep at ease
Is all that I desire.”
Trochaic verse is of several kinds.
1. The shortest Trochaic verse in the English language consists of one Trochee
and a long syllable: as,
“Bīlly̆ Blāck
Got the sack.”
Lindley Murray asserts that this measure is defective in dignity, and can seldom
be used on serious occasions. Yet it is Pope who thus sings:
“Dreadful screams,
Dismal gleams.
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,” &c.
And for our own poor part, let us see what we can make out of a storm.
“See the clouds
Like to shrouds
All so dun,
Hide the Sun;
Daylight dies;
Winds arise;
Songsters quake,
’Midst the brake;
Shepherds beat
Swift retreat:
CHAPTER III.
PUNCTUATION.
“Mind your stops.” This is one of the earliest maxims inculcated by the
instructors of youth. Hence it is clear that the subject of Punctuation is an
important one; but inasmuch as the reader, who has arrived at the present page,
has either not understood a word that he has been reading, or else knows as
much about the matter as we can tell him, we fear that a long dissertation
concerning periods, commas, and so on, would only serve to embarrass his
progress in learning with useless STOPS. We shall, therefore, confine ourselves to
that notice of Punctuation, and that only, which the peculiar nature of our work
may require.
First, it may be remarked, that the notes of admiration which we so often hear in
theatres, may be called notes of hand. Secondly, that notes of interrogation are
not at all like bank notes; although they are largely uttered in Banco Reginæ. Let
us now proceed with our subject.
It is both absurd and inconvenient to stand upon points.
Of how much consequence, however, Punctuation is, the student may form some
idea, by considering the different effects which a piece of poetry, for instance,
which he has been accustomed to regard as sublime or beautiful, will have, when
liberties are taken with it in that respect.
Imagine an actor commencing Hamlet’s famous soliloquy, thus:—
“To be; or not to be that is. The question,” &c.
Or saying, in the person of Duncan, in Macbeth:
“This castle hath a pleasant seat, the air.”
Or as the usurper himself, exclaiming,
“The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got’st thou that goose? Look!”
Crying, as Romeo,
“It is my lady O! It is my love!”
Or in the character of Norval, in the tragedy of Douglas, giving this account of
himself and his origin:
“My name is Norval. On the Grampian hills
My father feeds.”
In short, Punctuation is the soul of Grammar, as Punctuality is that of business.
Perhaps somebody or other may take advantage of what we have said, to prove
both Punctuation and Punctuality immaterial. No matter.
How very punctual the present Ministers are! how well they keep their
appointments!
We have now said as much as we think it necessary to say on the head of English
Grammar. We shall conclude our labours with an “Address to Young Students;”
and as to the question, what that has to do with our subject, we shall leave it to
be settled by Lindley Murray, whose example, in this respect, we follow. All we
shall observe is, that in our opinion, advice concerning manners stands in the
same relation to a Comic English Grammar, as instruction in morals does to a
Serious one. For the remarks which it will now be our business to make, we
bespeak the indulgence of our elder readers, and the attention of such as are of
tender age.
ADDRESS TO YOUNG STUDENTS.
YOUNG GENTLEMEN,
Having attentively perused the foregoing pages, you will be desirous, it is to be
presumed, of carrying still further those comical pursuits in which, with both
pleasure and profit to yourselves, you have been lately engaged. Should such be
your laudable intention, you will learn, with feelings of lively satisfaction, that it
is one, in the accomplishment of which, thanks to Modern Taste, you will find
encouragement at every step. The literature of the day is professedly comic, and
of the few works which are not made ludicrous by the design of their authors, the
majority are rendered so in spite of it. In the course of your reading, however,
you will be frequently brought into contact with hackney-coachmen, cabmen,
lackeys, turnkeys, thieves, lawyers’ clerks, medical students, and other people of
that description, who are all very amusing when properly viewed, as the
monkeys and such like animals at the Zoological Gardens are, when you look at
them through the bars of their cage. But too great familiarity with persons of this
class is sure to breed contempt, not for them and their manners, but for the
usages and modes of expression adopted in parlours and drawing-rooms, that is
to say, in good society. Nay, it is very likely to cause those who indulge in it to
learn various tricks and eccentricities, both of behaviour and speech, for “It is
certain, that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught, as men take
diseases, one of another.” Shakspere.
Beset thus, as you will necessarily be, by perils and dangers in your wanderings
amid the fields of Comicality, you will derive great advantage from knowing
before-hand what you are likely to meet with, and what it will be incumbent on
you to avoid. It is to furnish you with this information that the following hints
and instructions are intended.
Be careful, when you hear yourself called by name, to reply “Here I am,” and
not “Here you are,” an error into which you are very likely to be led by the
perusal of existing authors.
When you partake, if it be your habit to do so, of the beverage called porter,
drink it as you would water, or any other liquid. Do not wink your eye, or nod
sideways to your companion; such actions, especially when preceded by blowing
away the foam which collects on the top of the vessel, being exceedingly
inelegant: and in order that you may not be incommoded by this foam or froth,
always pour the fluid gently into a tumbler, instead of drinking it out of the
metallic tankard in which it is usually brought to you.
In asking for malt liquor generally, never request the waiter to “draw it mild;”
and do not, on any occasion, be guilty of using the same phrase in a
metaphorical sense, that is to say, as a substitute, for “Do it quietly.” “Be gentle,”
and the like.
Never exhort young ladies, during a quadrille, to “fake away,” or to “flare up,”
for they, being unacquainted with the meaning of such terms, will naturally
conclude that it is an improper one.
Call all articles of dress by their proper names. What delight can be found by a
thinking mind in designating a hat as a tile, trousers, kickseys, a neckerchief, a
fogle, or a choker; or a great coat, an upper Benjamin? And never speak of
clothes, collectively, as togs or toggery.
Avoid inquiries after the health of another person’s mother, using that word
synonymously with Mamma, to denote a female parent. Though you may be
really innocent of any intention to be rude, your motives may very possibly be
misconstrued. Remember, also, on no account to put questions, either to friends
or strangers, respecting the quantity of soap in their possession.
Should it be necessary for you to speak of some one smoking tobacco, do not
call that substance a weed, or the act of using it “blowing a cloud.”
When an acquaintance pays you a visit, take care, in rising to receive him, not to
appear to be washing your hands, and, should you be engaged in writing at the
time, place your pen on the table, or in the inkstand, and not behind your ear.
Observe, when your tailor comes to measure you, the way in which he wears his
hair, and should your own style in this particular unfortunately resemble his, be
sure to alter it immediately.
Never dance à la cuisinière, that is to say, do not cut capers.
Eschew large shirt pins.
Be not guilty of patent leather boots.
Never say “Ma’am” or “Miss,” in addressing a young lady. If you cannot
contrive to speak to her without doing so, say nothing.
In conversation, especially in female society, beware of indulging in jocose
expressions, or witticisms, on the subject of executions. If it be necessary to
remark that such and such a person expiated his crimes on the scaffold, content
yourself with simply mentioning the circumstance, and do not make any attempt
to illustrate your meaning by dropping your head on your right shoulder, and
jerking up your neckcloth under your left ear.
Never, under any circumstances, let the abbreviation “gent.” for gentleman,
escape the enclosure of your teeth. Above all things, for the sake of whatever
you hold most dear, never say “me and another gent.”
It may happen, that a youthful acquaintance may so far forget himself as to talk
of giving another “monkey’s allowance, more kicks than half-pence.” You, of
course, will never dream of giving utterance to such language, nor will any
inducement, it is to be hoped, ever prevail upon you to say, as an unthinking
young friend once did, hearing the above threat made, “that you prefer kicks
(meaning thereby sixpences) to half-pence.” In general avoid all low wit.
When you receive a coin of any kind, deposit it at once in your pocket, without
the needless preliminary of furling it in the air.
Never ask a gentleman how much he has a-year.
In speaking of a person of your own age, or of an elderly gentleman, do not say,
Old So-and-So, but So-and-so, or Mr. So-and-so, as the case may be: and have
no nicknames for each other. We were much horrified not long since, by hearing
a great coarse fellow, in a leathern hat and fustian jacket, exclaim, turning round
to his companion, “Now, then, come along, old Blokey!”
When you have got a cold in the head and weak eyes, do not go and call on
young ladies.
Do not eat gravy with a knife, for fear those about you should suppose you to be
going to commit suicide.
In offering to help a person at dinner, do not say, “Allow me to assist you.”
When you ask people what wine they will take, never say, “What’ll you have?”
or, “What’ll you do it in?”
If you are talking to a clergyman about another member of the clerical
profession, adopt some other method of describing his avocation than that of
saying, “I believe he is in your line.”
Do not recommend an omelet to a lady, as a good article.
Be cautious not to use the initial letter of a person’s surname, in mentioning or in
addressing him. For instance, never think of saying, “Mrs. Hobbs, pray, how is
Mr. H.?”
We here approach the conclusion of our labours. Young gentlemen, once more it
is earnestly requested that you will give your careful attention to the rules and
admonitions which have been above laid down for your guidance. We might
have given a great many more; but we hope that the spirit of our instructions will
enable the diligent youth to supply, by observation and reflection, that which, for
obvious reasons, we have necessarily left unsaid. And now we bid you farewell.
That you may never have the misfortune of entering, with splashed boots, a
drawing-room full of ladies; that you may never, having been engaged in a brawl
on the previous evening, meet, with a black eye, the object of your affections the
next morning; that you may never, in a moment of agitation, omit the aspirate, or
use it when you ought not; that your laundress may always do justice to your
linen; and your tailor make your clothes well, and send them home in due time;
that your braces may never give way during a waltz; that you may never, sitting
in a strong light at a large dinner-party, suddenly remember that you have not
shaved for two days; that your hands and face may ever be free from tan, chaps,
freckles, pimples, brandy-blossoms, and all other disfigurements; that you may
never be either inelegantly fat, or ridiculously lean; and finally, that you may
always have plenty to eat, plenty to drink, and plenty to laugh at, we earnestly
and sincerely wish. And should your lot in life be other than fortunate, we can
only say, that we advise you to bear it with patience; to cultivate Comic
Philosophy; and to look upon your troubles as a joke.
VIVAT REGINA!
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, BANGOR HOUSE, SHOE
LANE.
Footnotes:
[1] It may be said that Punch is a foreign importation. True; and the same
assertion may be made respecting the drink of that name, the ingredients of
which are all exotic, except the water: nevertheless the peculiar fondness of our
countrymen for it will hardly on that account be questioned. But the real fact is,
that there is nothing outlandish about Punch except the name, and even that has
been Anglicised. We are proverbial for improving on the inventions of other
nations, but we have done more than improve upon Punch; we have entirely
remodelled his character; and he is now no more an Italian than the descendant
of one who came in with the Conqueror is a Norman. The correctness of this
position will be found to be singularly borne out on a perusal of that celebrated
work, “Punch and Judy;” in which (no doubt from unavoidable circumstances)
the dialogues were actually taken down from the mouth of an Italian, one
Piccini, an itinerant exhibitor of the drama. The book is, or ought to be, in
everybody’s hands. Still, let any one refer to that particular part of it, and,
provided that his taste is a correct one, he will not fail to be struck with the
deteriorating effect which Signor Piccini’s broken English and Italian loquacity
have produced on the spirit of the original. Nothing is more characteristic of the
real Mr. Punch than the laconic manner in which he expresses himself, and
nothing at the same time is more English. As to the embellishments of his
discourse, introduced by Piccini, they are about as appropriate and admirable as
Colley Cibber’s improvements on Richard the Third.
[2] See Warren’s “Ode to Kitty of Shoe Lane,” Advertisements, London Press,
passim.
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