"What a touch of grossness in our race, what an original shortcoming in the more delicate spiritual perceptions, is shown by the natural growth amongst us of such hideous names--_Higginbottom_, _Stiggins_, _Bugg_."

As a matter of fact, _Wragg_ is the first element in the heroic Ragnar; _Bugg_ is the Anglo-Saxon Bucga; _Stiggins_ is the ill.u.s.trious Stigand, and _Higginbottom_ is purely geographical.

We owe a great many of our names in disguise to the paladins and of course to the Bible. _Pankhurst_ is Pentecost, _Chubb_ and _Jupp_ are derived from Job, _Cradock_ from Caradoc (Caractacus), _Maddox_ from Madoc, _Izzard_ from Isolt, _Rome_ from Roland.

Metronymics, as Professor Weekley hastens to a.s.sure us, are not always a sign of moral depravity: in mediaeval times the children of a widow often a.s.sumed the mother's name.

From Matilda we get Tillotson, from Beatrice Betts, from Isabel Ibbotson, from Avice Haweis.

With regard to local surnames we have to accustom ourselves to the idea that the name of a county, town or village was acquired when the locality was left. _Scott_ is an English name, _English_ or _Inglis_ is Scottish; _Cornish_ and _Cornwallis_ first became common in Devonshire, _French_ and _Francis_ are English ... for the same reason _Cutler_ is a rare name in Sheffield. The great exception _Curnow_ in Cornwall may stand for those who could only speak the old Cornish language.

Morris (Moorish) is probably a nickname due to complexion.

"In _ford_, in _ham_, in _ley_ and _tun_ The most of English surnames run."

It is true that we owe many names to "spots." It is curious how _Field_, _Lake_, _Pool_, _Spring_, _Street_ and _Marsh_ persist in the singular, while _Meadows_, _Rivers_, _Mears_, _Wells_, _Rhodes_ and _Myers_ hang on to the plural. So we get _Nokes_, but _Nash_: monosyllables tend to the plural. There are certain Celtic words connected with scenery--_Lynn_, _Carrick_, _Craig_ are common examples.

_Beerbohm Tree_ is pleonastic, meaning pear-tree tree. _Thackeray_ means the corner where the thatch was stored. _Kellogg_ is derived from kill hog. _Cazenove_ and _Newbolt_ have the same meaning. _Rothschild_ means red shield, _Hawtrey_ comes from Hauterive, but Norman ancestry is not always to be a.s.sumed because we find French spot-names so common in England (_Neville_, _Villiers_, etc.). _Boyes_ and _Boyce_ may spring from a man of pure English descent who happened to be described _del bois_ instead of _atte wood_, but this is rare. _Roach_ is not a fish-name, but corresponds to _Delaroche_. _Pew_, if not _Ap Hugh_, was a _Dupuy_.

Occupative names become a natural surname, but _Knight_ is not always knightly, for Anglo-Saxon _cuiht_ means servant; _Labouchere_ was the lady butcher, _Cordner_ the worker in Cordovan leather; _Muir_ was _le muur_, who had charge of the mews in which the hawks were kept while moulting. _Reader_ and _Booker_ have nothing to do with literature: the former thatched, the latter was a butcher.

Professor Weekley devotes one whole chapter to show the difficulties that beset the etymologist in his search to derive one single word accurately. The specimen name he takes is _Rutter_, which he eventually traces to fiddler.

From the lower orders of the church we get _Lister_, a reader; _Bennet_, an exorcist; and _Collet_, an acolyte.

In trades we get _Fuller_ in the south, _Tucker_ (toucher) in the west, and _Walker_ in the north. _Secker_ means sackmaker, _Parmenter_ a parchmenter, _Pargater_ a dauber, _Straker_ a maker of tires. _Grieve_, _Graves_ and _Greaves_ was a land agent, _Coster_ dealt in costards--_i.e._ apples; _Jagger_ worked draught-horses for hire; _Stewart_ was the sty-ward; _Todhunter_ hunted the fox; _Toller_ collected the tolls.

Among nicknames _Earnes_ means uncle, and _Neave_ nephew. Who would recognise _Halfpenny_ in _MacAlpine_? _Coffin_ means bald, _Lloyd_ grey, and _Russell_ red; _Oliphant_ elephant; _Hinks_, from Hengst, a stallion; _Stott_, a bullock; _Luttrell_, an otter; _Talbot_, a hound; _Colfox_, a black fox; _Fitch_, a polecat.

Fish-names are usually not genuine.

IV

_THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE_--BY LOGAN PEARSALL SMITH

There are few of us so learned that we can afford to dispense with the aid given by the small volumes in the Home University Library in any subject, and Mr Pearsall Smith's philological book is one of the most informative and interesting of the series.

Here we learn of the tendency in English to put the accent on borrowed French words on the first syllable when we decide to p.r.o.nounce them in our own way: later borrowings are accented according to what we imagine the native p.r.o.nunciation to be: so we get _gentle_, _dragon_, _gallant_, _baron_, _b.u.t.ton_ and _mutton_ of old time against the newer words _genteel_, _dragoon_, _gallant_, _buffoon_, _cartoon_, _balloon_. In like manner words like _message_ and _cabbage_ show their antiquity when compared with _ma.s.sage_, _mirage_ and _prestige_. _Police_ has kept its English accent only in Ireland and Scotland.

Mr Pearsall Smith, like Professor Wyld, has much to say against the pedants, and shows us how letters like the _b_ in _debt_, the _l_ in _fault_, the _p_ in _receipt_, the _d_ in _advance_ and _advantage_, the _c_ in _scent_ and _scissors_ have been inserted incorrectly by English scholars who ought to have known better.

In the course of an enthusiastic defence of a mixed language as against a pure national home-bred speech he makes the valuable point that we are richer than most nations in that we can express subtle shades of difference of meaning, of emotional significance between such pairs of words as _paternal_ and _fatherly_, _fortune_ and _luck_, _celestial_ and _heavenly_, _royal_ and _kingly_ by reason of this intermixture of foreign elements.

One of the most interesting chapters in the book is on "Makers of English Words," which gives us yet another avenue of approach to the study of the language.

Not only interesting, but surprising, are some of the results gleaned from this: that Sir Isaac Newton was the first to use _centrifugal_ and _centripetal_; that Jeremy Bentham coined _international_; Huxley was responsible for _Agnostic_; _cyclone_ was created in 1848 by a meteorologist, but _anti-cyclone_ had to wait for Sir Francis Galton.

Whewell invented _scientist_ and Macaulay was responsible for _const.i.tuency_. Other words created in the nineteenth century are _Eurasian_, _esogamy_, _folklore_, _hypnotism_, _telegraph_, _telephone_, _photograph_ and a host of other scientific terms. To go back to the cla.s.sics: we owe the formation of many new words to Sir Thomas Browne, among them _hallucination_, _insecurity_, _retrogression_, _precarious_, _antediluvian_. Milton coined _infinitude_, _liturgical_, _gloom_, _pandemonium_, _echoing_, _rumoured_, _moonstruck_, _Satanic_. Shakespeare coined more than all the rest of the poets put together. To Coverdale and Tindale we owe a great number of new compounds, like _loving-kindness_, _long-suffering_, _broken-hearted_. It is delightful to think that we owe _irascibility_ to Doctor Johnson, _persiflage_ and _etiquette_ to Lord Chesterfield, _bored_ and _blase_ to Byron, _colonial_ and _diplomacy_ to Burke, and _pessimism_ to Coleridge. After Keats (whose creations are miniature poems in themselves) there is a remarkable decline in word-creation.

Two valuable chapters are devoted to "Language and History," in which we find how far the evolution of our race and civilisation is embodied in our vocabulary--"A contradiction between history and language rarely or never occurs"--and a further chapter on "Language and Thought" is of extraordinary interest in showing us what words we must delete from our vocabulary if we wish to enter into the spirit and popular consciousness of the Middle Ages, that world of supernatural purposes and interventions. All sense of past and future would drop from us. Our thoughts would be absorbed entirely by immediate practical considerations. We should feel imprisoned, though we might feel more dignified. With the Renaissance we should expand enough to observe our fellows: a century later we should turn to the study of ourselves.

"The change of thought from one generation to another does not depend so much on new discoveries as on the gradual shifting, into the centre of vision, of ideas and feelings that had been but dimly realised before.

And it is just this shifting--this change, so important and yet so elusive--which is marked and dated in the history of language."

There was once an American writer who said: "You commend or condemn yourself by your regular choice of words ... don't use such commonplace words as grab, bet, awful, says, worst, boss, monkeying, job, ain't, tackled, floored, bicker, rumpus, shindy, hunk, fellow, drub, henpecked, blubber, spout, pickings, croak, swipe, swap, handy, fl.u.s.ter, nasty, hankering, flabbergasted, highfalutin.... Are you familiar with such _desirable_ words as la.s.situde, flamboyant, nascent, legendary, perennial, Nemesis, cryptic, brooding, imperturbable, disenchanted, belated, cleavage, august, clarity, demarcation, indigenous, cloistered, malevolent?"

Well, if you agree with him (and there are people who do) it's quite time you started to read some books on the English Language, and if you don't it means that you already understand the delights of philology and you will need no further encouragement to read the four books I have mentioned, if you have not already done so.

PART IV

CERTAIN FOREIGNERS

I

MONTAIGNE

I begin with the third book of Essays because I happened, for the purposes of writing about him, to re-read that first. And on the first page we find our reason for reading him: "I speake unto Paper as to the first man I meete." "These are but my fantasies," he says in another place, "by which I endevour not to make things known, but myselfe" ...

and truly that is the whole matter. We do not read Montaigne to learn anything, but to make a friend. No man was ever so completely unashamed or so completely honest in his depiction of himself:

"All contrarieties are found in me, according to some turne or removing, and in some fashion or other; shamefast, bashfull, insolent, chaste, luxurious, peevish, pratling, silent, fond, doting, labourious, nice, delicate, ingenious, slow, dull, froward, humorous, debonaire, wise, ignorant, false in words, true-speaking, both liberall, covetous and prodigall."

Though this list is pretty long, it omits the most delightful quality of all. Ingenuous is the first word we apply to Montaigne. His pages sparkle with nave statements. "I will follow the best side to the fire, but not into it, if I can choose. If neede require, let Montaigne my Mannorhouse be swallowed up in publike ruine: but if there be no such necessity, I will acknowledge my selfe beholding unto fortune if she please to save it.... Verily I could easily for a neede bring a candle to St Michaell, and another to his Dragon," from which we may safely a.s.sume that Montaigne owes much of his happy-go-lucky, care-free nature to his wisdom in not embroiling himself in public affairs. "I speake truth, not my belly-full, but as much as I dare," he says, and what follows may account for the greater pleasure we derive from his later essays ... "and I dare the more the more I grow into yeares.... I teach not: I report." Of the effect of his work we read: "In my climate of Gascoigne they deeme it a jest to see mee in print.... In Guienne I pay Printers, in other places they pay mee."

One of the most delectable essays in this third book is on Repentance, where we read: "Were I to live againe it should be as I have already lived: I neither deplore what is past, nor dread what is to come" ...

the philosophy of a sane man in whom cheerfulness keeps on breaking forth: "It is one of the chiefest points wherein I am beholden to fortune, that in the course of my bodies estate, each thing hath been carried in season.... I therefore renounce these casuall and dolourous reformations.... A man cannot boast of contemning or combating sensuality if hee see her not, or know not her grace, her force, and most attractive beauties ... in truth we abandon not vices so much as we change them."

In the next chapter he pleads (it is one of his favourite subjects) for mutability. "We must not cleave so fast unto our humours and dispositions.... The goodliest mindes are those that have most variety and pliablenesse in them.... Life is a motion unequall, irregular, and multiforme." Books, he would have us believe, seduce us from study, but "Meditation is a large and powerfull study to such as vigorously can taste and employ themselves therein. I had rather forge than furnish my minde." So he reads to busy his judgment, not his memory. Of the three commerces or Societies which he would indulge in, discourse with friends, intercourse with fair women ("a sweet commerce for me"), and recourse unto books, he writes: "The first is troublesome and tedious for its raritie, the second withers with old age, the third is much more solid-sure and much more ours ... it comforts me in age and solaceth me in solitarinesse; it easeth mee of the burthen of a weary-some sloth; and at all times rids me of tedious companies: it abateth the edge of fretting sorrow.... I never travel without bookes, nor in peace nor in warre: yet doe I pa.s.se many dayes and moneths without using them. It shall be anon, say I, or to-morrow, or when I please; in the meanewhile the time runnes away, and pa.s.seth without hurting me." He gives us exact details of the dimensions of his library, where he turns over "by peece-meales," "now one booke and now another." This is his private sanctuary. "Miserable in my minde is he who in his owne home hath nowhere to be to him selfe." But he urges as the great objection to reading that "the minde is therein exercised, but the body remaineth there whilst without action, and is wasted and ensorrowed. I know no excesse more hurtfull for me, nor more to be avoided by me, in this declining age."

Of his att.i.tude to women, which is exactly that of Donne in his early days, we hear much. In his amours he likes to set an edge on his pleasures "by difficultie, by desire, and for some glory ... surely glittering pearles and silken cloathes adde some-thing unto it, and so doe t.i.tles, n.o.bilitie and a worthie traine.... Something may be done without the graces of the minde, but little or nothing without the corporall ... but it is a society wherein it behooveth a man somewhat to stand upon his guard." In chapter four, on _Diverting and Diversions_, he dwells on the importance of little things in life: "The remembrance of a farewell, of an action, of a particular grace, or of a last commendation afflict us," when we miss not at all the big thing.

"Caesar's gowne disquieted all Rome, which his death had not done." ...

"The teares of a Lacquey, the distributing of my cast sutes, the touch of a knowne hand, an ordinary consolation, doth disconsolate and intender me." Which draws him to the brave and totally unexpected conclusion: "It is the right way to prize one's life at the right worth of it to forgo it for a dreame." In chapter five, _Upon Some Verses of Virgil_, he amplifies at enormous length what he said in an earlier chapter about the fascination of fair women.

It is a trick of his to give headings to his chapters which are wholly misleading, but it would be hard anywhere to find a parallel for so innocent a t.i.tle for so deliciously frank a discussion.

"From the excesse of jollity," he begins, "I am falne into the extreame of severity ... therefore, I do now of purpose somewhat give way unto licentious allurements." This is an understatement ... "As I have heretofore defended my selfe from pleasure, so I now ward my selfe from temperance ... wisdom hath her excesses, and no lesse need of moderation than follie." So he attempts to amuse himself with the remembrance of past "youth-tricks," and to judge from the length of the chapter he found that the amus.e.m.e.nt did not quickly pall. It certainly does not pall on us.

"I take hold of even of the least occasions of delight I can meet with all ... I am ready to leape for joy, as at the receaving of some unexspected favour, when nothing grieveth me": and he discredits those who will attack his licence before he starts: "Few I know will snarle at the liberty of my writings, that have not more cause to snarle at their thoughts-looseness." ... "For my part I am resolved to dare speake whatsoever I dare do ... the worst of my actions ... seeme not so ugly unto me as I finde it both ugly and base not to dare to avouch them....

A ly is in mine opinion worse than leachery." "I greedily long to make my selfe knowne, nor care I at what rate, so it be truly ... in farewels we heate above ordinary our affections to the things we forgo. I here take my last leave of this world's pleasures: loe here our last embraces. And now to our theame."